#got distracted while packing and just started looking through all of my old digital art files.

[prettycoolducks]

decided to quickly redraw/draw over an old (and I mean OLD) GLaDOS drawing. I liked the idea I was going for! It's GLaDOS standing over Cave Johnson's corpse lol. Original drawing under the cut (:

#art #my art #art of duck #portal #portal 2 #got distracted while packing and just started looking through all of my old digital art files. #I actually had redrawn this before but I never finished it #GLaDOS #cave johnson #I did a lil thing with the . the chassis. looks kinda like a halo. but also horns? glados be like i can be your angle or ur devil #I have no idea when this is from #I like the idea of making android GLaDOS's hair like Caroline's but choppy like she cut it herself or something #portal fanart #Im a sucker for GLaDOS as a ghost symbolism #she was driven to kill everyone in the facility for what they did to her but she DOESNT EVEN REMEMBER WHAT THAT WAS. until the end of p2 of #its so good. gotta replay portal 2

[vogueinnie]

✍︎︎ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

       ━ WARNINGS ;  fem!reader, age gap (reader is 20 and seungmin is 27), mention of cigarettes, smut (focused on the reader’s pleasure), oral (f.), everything is just fluffy and awkward, kinda love at first sight      ━ WORD COUNT ; 2.2k      ━ NOTE ; feedback are so welcomed!!

“At your brother’s work ?!” You clear your throat and apologize for being loud, giving Yeji, your bestfriend, a death glare.

You were supposed to go at her house but, as clumsy as she is, she forgots the keys… in the house. You had two options ; go back to your own, which means procrastinating and giving zero fucks about your homeworks, or go to her brother’s work to take back the keys.

“Hum, yeah… But, there’s a little something… He needs his keys to close the shop, so… we have to work there…” Second death glare. “But you know him, he don’t give a fuck as long as we’re not noisy ! And his co-worker is cool too, I promise.”

You were friend with Yeji since you were a child. Of course you knew her old brother, Hyunjin was such a nice guy. He may seems cold on the outside but he has the warmest personality and had always made you feel like his own little sister even tho you haven’t seen him in a while, due to school.

You sighed at Yeji’s puppy eyes, nodding, knowing that you’ve already lost the battle. She was the best negociator.

That’s how you ended up in front of one of the most famous tattoo shop in your city. Indeed, Hyunjin was the owner of it with his long-time friend. They both were tattoo artists since more or less 2 years. According to Yeji, he was drawing before learning how to talk so it seems pretty logical for him to work in something artistic.

Without knowing why you felt a little bit uneasy, asking the blonde girl if she’s totally sure that it won’t bother Hyunjin and his friend to have you there. You were just students and for adults aged 27-28 years it could be annoying to hear you talk about your lessons. But she was quick to reassure you, even showing you her texts with her brother through her phone.

“Hyunjin ! We’re here !”

As soon as you entered the shop Yeji screamed at his brother and you clap your hand to her forehead.

“Shush ! What if he’s wor- “

“Hello to the prettiest girl heeeeere. No, Yeji, I’m not talking about you, you ugly rat.”

Your smile was immediate after the blond-haired and obviously tattooed boy puts you into a warm hug, patting your head while poking his tongue to his young sister, like the very 28 years old matured adult he is. He had no customers at the moment, and he was just working on some new design, but you can still hear some little machine noises so you guess his friend was tattoing someone in the practice room.

“It’s been a really long time Y/N, how are you ? C’mon, have a sit. Y’all need to work on your classes ? You can sit there, I’m just here, he shows you the sofa right beside the table with his index, if you need anything. You’re at home, here. Seungmin will be over in maybe fourteen minutes so you have time to work.”

You both nod in unision, sitting on the chairs to starts working on an unfinished cases while Hyunjin was giving you two glasses of water to finally go back to focus on his drawings. Yeji and you were sharing ideas, writing and making some researches on your respective laptops. No breaks were allowed unless you’ve finished what you’ve started.

“Maybe we should add the fact that... Hey, Seungmin !” Yeji’s smile was wide and she greets someone behind you, shaking her hands.

Politely, you turn around to face the one you’re supposed to be Hyunjin’s co-worker, Seungmin. You hold back your jaw from dropping on the ground the moment your eyes met his.

He was, honestly, the most beautiful human being you have ever seen. His dark purple hair where falling onto his forehead in a delicate way, covering half of his dark brown and absolutely magnetic eyes. His pretty nose was pierced with a silver ring and his lips were as pink as your burning cheeks. His broad shoulders were hidden in a large black t-shirt and at this right moment your eyes were glued to his inked forearms. Of course you’ve already seen inked people, Hyunjin was one of them, but him…There was something special about him.

“Hello ? Is anybody here ? Youhou, are you alive ?” You heard Hyunjin while he was moving his hands in front of Seungmin’s eyes causing you to cut the contact between the two of us.

Apparently, he was gazing in your eyes too.

“Yeah… yeah, sorry I was just thinking about... you know... stuffs. Hey, Yeji, you good?“ Even his voice was soft and smooth, almost honey-like. He comes closer to the desk you were working on so you immediately stand up, bowing down respectfully and you realized how taller he was compared to you. “Who are you ?”

You frowned your eyebrows, almost agape by his suddenly cold voice and distant attitude. Your eyes can’t no longer detach from each other, and you open slowly your mouth. Everything about him was fascinating, from his lack of expression to the way he was nervously playing with his fingers. Well, you supposed it was nervosity.

“I... I’m Y/N. I’m Yeji’s friend, I’m sorry if we’ve disturb you.”

He hums and nods, leaning over you to take his cigarettes pack and you gulp silently at your sudden proximity. His strong and wooded scent was all around you, making you melt. You had the perfect view on the two black eyes drawn on his throat and you almost felt judged by them from acting like a teenager. It felt like they were staring into your soul, knowing your deepest secrets.

But the most humiliating part was probably the Hwang’s suggestive look on you.

—————————————✰ —————————————

You were so stupid. Nobody could be dumber than you. You were at the highest rank of stupidity. Idiot was your second name.

You sigh, dry throat and shaking hands. You were at the front door of Hyunjin and Seungmin’s tattoo shop. Alone. Indeed, yesterday your brain wasn’t working like usual, thanks to one particular man, and you forgot your phone there. Yes, your phone. You were that distracted. It was 2pm and Yeji couldn’t come with you cause she had classes, but you didn’t. And you really needed your phone after almost a day without it.

You came into the shop, looking all around you to realize that Hyunjin wasn’t here. Seungmin was staring at you from across the room, coming closer to you with your treasure in his hand, and you had forget for a moment how much his inked hands looks like. You stare at the pretty heart drawn on his thumb, the long black line on his major digit and the word “ LOVE “ on his wrist. You were so focused that you almost forgot about your phone.

“You like them ?” You jump at his slow voice and you can feel your cheeks burning instantly. Were you really that dumb to fix your eyes on his hands ? “You can touch them, if you want.”

He puts your phone on the table near you, holding out his two hands in front of you. It was almost sureal. Two adults, standing in front of each other awkardly. You can’t hide the excited smile to grows on your lips and with softness you touch his tattoos with the tip of your index finger, retracing them as if it was a pen. You were surprised by the softness of his pretty skin.

“They are so pretty... You points at a cute little smiley on his other hand. This one is my favorite ! You hear him chuckles, looking at you with such fondly eyes you were so destabilized. You back off him when you realize the situation, biting your lips. I’m sorry... I... I was just... I mean, you know, my phone...”

“You can stay. He said quickly. Hyunjin isn’t here and I have no appointment. I’ve heard you were working on some juridic cases yesterday and I... Well, I have a master in law, so I was wondering maybe I can help you ?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, first cause he was offering you to stay with him, alone, and second cause he has done the same studies as you, something you wouldn't have thought of.

The both of you were then sitting in the sofa, casually talking as if you knew each other since forever. You’ve discovered that he didn’t wants to be a lawyer but his parents had always put some pressure on him to have what they liked to call a good job. And it wasn’t his way of thinking, he wanted to feel free, to love his job and not to feel any pressure from anyone. He was so kind to you, making you more feel comfortable than yesterday. Shy, sweet, talkative and curious about anything you’re saying. A 28 years old man, mature, understanding and independant.

Needless to say that you didn’t talk about your school lessons, but just about the two of you. Also needless to say that you were fascinated. There was just something about his eyes scanning you everytime you were talking, and it felt so good to be the center of his attention. Your conversations were so fluids, you couldn’t hold back yourself to talk and to look at his beautiful features.

“Mind if I draw on you?” He cuts you off when you were talking, grabbing his colorful pens that was near him. He looks at you with his still hypnotic dark eyes and you nod your head with a shy smile. He kneels down infront of you on the ground as you were still sitting on the sofa. You internally thank the beautiful days for allowing you to put on a skirt. “Can I draw on your thighs? I mean, I have a big idea! But I want you to discover it, but if it makes you uncomfortable I-”

“No, no! It’s ok! You can, of course, do it Seungmin. I trust you.”

He smiles timidly, probably knowing that he got a little carried away. He was so passionnate about art that you couldn’t refrein him to do what he has to.

Seungmin then starts drawing on one of your legs, starting from your ankle to your knee. He draws pretty colorful flowers on your skin, it was so soft and beautiful you can’t stop staring at his work on you. He quickly reaches the level of your thigh and he was so close to you that you felt his hot breath against your shivering skin. You felt you mind dizzy for a moment, as his lips were also close to you. Unconsciously you tighten your legs between them, which makes him raise his face to look at you. His pupils were now totally black and this view of him between your legs was all you needed to lose your mind.

You softly grab his hair, making him smirk and immediatly starts to kiss your two thighs. He was so soft, taking his time to discover all of your sensitive spots. And you ? You were already lost, spreading your legs slowly so he can be placed correctly between them. Your inner thighs was his target, he sucks your flesh and you whines at the feeling.

“Please...” You see him smile, licking everywhere but your heat spot. Even your pubic area was drowned in sweet kisses. “Please, I... Do something I can’t...”

Seungmin hums, gripping your legs so they can rest against his shoulders. He lifts your skirt up, moving your pantie on the side and take his time to look at your intimate parts with hungry eyes. You clear your throat, embarassed that he looks at you like that and he gives your clit a kiss.

“So fucking pretty... Fuck, Y/N you’re so pretty, look at that pretty flower...” You chuckles at the surname he gaves to your womanhood. 

He doesn’t waste any more time and starts kissing your wet folds at a slow pace, taking his time to taste your wetness. His tongue was heaven like against you, he was so precise and slow, you couldn’t contain your moans escaping your mouth. His plump lips surround your bud, sucking on it and circling his wet muscle all around your swollen one. 

Your legs tighten against his head as you feel the heat waves crashing against your lower abdom like a delicious torment.

Two of his fingers join his tongue and he finally insert them in your clenching wetness. Your eyes rolls back the moment you feel yourself kinda full, but you lost it the moment he curls his fingers inside of you to stroke your sweetest no-return point.

You moan his name, biting your lips, moving your hips against his magical mouth as he helps you rode your orgasm, pumping his two fingers in you while licking tirelessly your folds and clit the fastest as he can.

Your breath was cut, and you can feel him gives butterflies kisses on you, replacing correctly your clothes on you. He stands up, cleaning his own fingers by licking them which make you blush at the view. He strokes your messy hair, kissing your forehead with a reassuring smile.

“I think I’ve found my muse.” 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #seungmin smut #seungmin scenarios

[bearhatarmy]

I really really miss photography. 

Photography feels like an old friend I’ve lost touch with. It pains me greatly that I just don’t have the energy or stamina to do it anymore. It really filled a creative void after I was unable to create my original comedy posts any longer. My illness keeps taking and taking from me and it is a challenge to find ways to adapt and cope.

The saddest part is that I felt like I was just starting to master photography as an art form. I was at that point where I could instinctively do all of the technical things and concentrate purely on the art. Lighting was becoming intuitive to me instead of a complicated puzzle I had to solve each time.

Yes, I took a lot of photos that I am really proud of. (Which I am spreading throughout this post).

But sometimes I mourn the photos I could have taken if my chronic illness hadn’t worsened.

It’s also hard seeing the new cameras and lights that have been released since I had to stop. I *just* missed a technological revolution. New features that would have allowed me to do more with less energy. To push the boundaries of my creativity. To get shots I could only dream of back then.

Full frame mirrorless cameras have opened up so many creative possibilities. The low light performance, the detail, the dynamic range--it has all been improved greatly in just a few years. But there are also many automated usability features that allow the camera to offload work and concentration from the brain. These new digital wonders can even be used as cinematic quality video cameras--something I would have liked to have explored.

I had to take these match photos in a pitch-black room, with a reversed lens, with no control over my aperture, and a manual flash. It took forever to time it properly because I had a whopping 3 frames per second. It would have been a cinch with a mirrorless camera, with super fast burst modes and an electronic viewfinder. You can see exactly what your image will look like before snapping it. But you can also “see in the dark” using a high ISO preview. Before you had to use a live view mode on the back screen. But on older cameras that mode was clunky and slow and... it just sucked.

Enlarge!

MOAR BIGGER!

Weirdly, one of the biggest advances is due to a shortened “flange distance” where the lens connects to the camera body. It seems like a small thing. Literally only a centimeter or so. But because of the lack of mirror, camera designers are able to move the lens closer to the sensor and design more advanced lenses with incredible sharpness. Combined with increased megapixel counts, that would have been amazing for my macro photos.

Electronic viewfinders take the guesswork out of exposure--even in bright sunlight where screens get washed out from glare. And being able to compose portraits with highly accurate eye-tracking autofocus would have been a tremendous advantage. 

No more “focus and recompose.” 

No more “Did I get the eye? Let me zoom to 100% on this tiny screen.” 

I could have spent more of my concentration getting natural expressions from my subjects and composing my photos without distraction.

And IBIS! 

I missed out on motherhecking IBIS!

This photo of my wonderful friend Erin was taken handheld at sunset. The original RAW version was extremely dark--even though I was using a high ISO. I had to do a ton of work to get this to not look like noisy garbage. But there just wasn’t any other way to capture it... UNTIL NOW.

IBIS (eye-bus/👀-🚌) or “in-body image stabilization,” allows the camera sensor to kind of... float. You can eliminate camera shake caused by the subtle micro-movements when handholding. 

How do I explain it? Ummmm...

It turns the sensor into a chicken head.

So instead of increasing the ISO (which is like a volume knob for light which gets grainier as you crank it), you can lower your shutter speed. In the past, depending on the lens, 1/60th of a second was about as slow as you could set it. With IBIS, as long as the scene you are capturing is relatively still, you can take photos in very low light without a tripod. This is great because tripods are a pain in the ass and you can’t always have one handy. Plus, you can combine an IBIS camera with a stabilized lens to get a de-blurrification multiplier. Then you can get sharp handheld photos that are technically considered long exposure. I’ve heard people say they got sharp photos exposing at several seconds. Literally going from a fraction of a second to 2 goddamn Missisisppi. I can’t even quantify how many fantastic photos are being taken right now that would have been unusable blurry messes a few years ago. We get to enjoy these photos all because they installed a chicken head inside cameras.

AND DARN IT ALL TO HECK I HECKING MISSED IT, GOSH HECKING DANG IT!. 

Sorry... didn’t mean to curse like a sailor that stubbed his toe while stepping on a Lego. 

I think I’ll have a cool refreshing root beer to calm my IBIS envy.

(Those water droplets are a total fraud, by the way. It’s fake blood without the red added.) 

And with the progress in battery and wireless technology, artificial lighting has become lighter and more portable while still being powerful enough to compete with the sun. I could have used strobe lights in my little studio, packed them up into a small case, and gone to the middle of the field to use them there.

Yes, I was able to convert my old studio lights to be “portable-ish” but we had to lug so much equipment to accomplish this photo of Brittany in the red dress. The battery pack alone weighed as much as one modern light. I was stuck in bed for a week afterward from all of the carrying of heavy gear.

Before that, this was my hacked together “outdoor” light. The Flash-O-Tron 3000. It looks cool but it was delicate and hard to get through doorways.

After charging 12 AA batteries overnight, I had to drag this contraption outside at the buttcrack of dawn to get my favorite photo of Otis. 

I had to use a handheld mirror to reflect my popup flash in the direction of the Flash-O-Tron 3000 to trigger it. It worked about 25% of the time. Oh, and I was laying on cold wet grass, manually tracking Otis--who refused to sit still. I had to line up a single autofocus point on his head for every snap. The concentration required felt like my brain was juggling chainsaws.

But guess what they invented last year?

PET. EYE. AUTOFOCUS. 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? 

A little robot inside the camera is all, “Hey, that’s your dog’s eye!” and just follows it no matter where your pup moves.

I NEEDED THAT SO BAD!

This shot took 10 minutes of me trying to lock onto his eye with a macro lens. The depth of field at that distance was the width of his eye and, again, he does not sit still. 

I want a time machine so I can go back and retake every blurry Otis photo. 

Also, many of the modern strobes have NO WIRES. You just stick a thing on top of your camera and you can set off lights several football fields away. My photo studio has tons of wires routed in the ceiling and coming out of the walls. 

[Hi-Res Version]

And then those wires all go into a weird analog remote with old school sliders that controlled the power of the flashes. But the sliders were difficult to finely adjust.

Now you can load an app on your phone and adjust the flash power digitally and adjust the brightness in 10% increments. You can save lighting ratios and recall them instantly. And you can preview your work with high powered LED modeling lights so you don’t have to take 50 test shots. 

No more nudging a light and taking a picture. Raising the power and taking a picture. Swapping out a modifier and taking a picture. Back and forth, back and forth. 

Essentially, what you see is what you get, so setting up lighting takes a fraction of the time and effort with these new lights and cameras. That would have been so helpful with my disability.

Oh... the lights are less expensive too.

The future of camera tech looks exciting as well. I think the computational photography that is in the latest smartphones will soon be added to more professional cameras. That is going to make high-end photography so much more accessible to anyone who wants to try it as a hobby. The learning curve will flatten further, and as long as you are creative, you will be able to take beautiful, high-quality photos.

Some might say that not having all of the new tech helped me gain important experience, expertise, and problem-solving skills. Some believe the inconveniences are a photographer’s trial by fire. The struggle makes the art more authentic. And since I learned how to do it the hard way, my journey is more valid than some photography influencer on Instagram with an iPhone.

To that I say... BULLLLLSHEEIIIT.

Those inconveniences just made me SUPER DUPER TIRED.

And some of those influencers take really kickass photos. Not all of them are butts either.

I love photography but there is a reason I had to stop. Like anything, doing it well was a lot of work. I always ended up having to quit taking photos much sooner than I wanted. I had to scale back my ambition to fit my energy requirements. I could only do photography on days when my body was cooperating fully. I had to cancel many photoshoots because the preparation was just too much to handle. And after my bigger projects it took me forever to recover.

GIVE ME ALL THE CONVENIENCES PLEASE.

That “you have to struggle” attitude is no-good-gatekeepy-ableist crap. 

Old photographer grumps are upset because they spent years learning how to focus manually on horseback and use the sunny 16 rule and develop film in a converted shed they built by hand and now “those darn kids” can use an iPhone on a skateboard while doing a kickflip with their eyes closed and still pull focus.

However, despite there being a lower barrier for entry, the technological improvements add new complications to the advanced side of things. So you can make photography as difficult as you desire if you are willing to learn new stuff. Which old school photo grumps are notoriously averse to.

This new tech has all kinds of novel things to discover and figure out. There is drone photography. There is advanced macro photography using robotic focusing rails and ever-improving focus stacking software. You can now network more lights together than ever before. Karl Taylor did a photoshoot with 12 lights! (Captain Picard would totally lose his shit.) Long lasting batteries and computerized sliders have created new timelapse possibilities. Stabilization software allows complex hyperlapse videos. Better low light performance and sharper lenses with big apertures combined with stacking or star trail software has improved astrophotography. Advances in material science have allowed darker and darker high quality neutral density filters for extreme long exposure photos. New focus tracking algorithms have allowed for wildlife photography that was never possible before. You can capture fast-moving birds in the sky from farther away and still get amazing detail. Faster burst modes allow people to capture split-second action. Never miss a good header at your kid's soccer games. (Is that a thing? I have no kids and don’t remember how to soccer.) IBIS allows photography without a tripod. So now people can trek to harder to reach areas, AT NIGHT, and take sharp photos with little noise. Increased dynamic range and new HDR displays will allow photographers to take images of lights and capture their actual intensity. What if the lights in photos could glow like they do in real life? Think about a neon sign at night in the rain reflecting in a puddle. That would look so neat. 

Not to mention learning how to process photos in editing software is an entirely separate and challenging skillset you can master. There are thousands of techniques you can learn to elevate your images. Dodging & burning, frequency seperation, and compositing, oh my! Programs like Lightroom and Photoshop are constantly updated with new features that expand possibilities.  

None of that is easy. It will all require diligent study and practice to master. Technical skills will always be an aspect of photography that anyone can pursue. But not everyone will need as much technical skill to start having fun and create art. 

And much to the chagrin of those grumps... phones are perfectly viable to create that art and they will keep getting better.

You might find it odd that this love letter and goodbye to photography has so much talk of technical gadgetry. But, for me, it isn’t out of place in this sentimental essay. Technology was my first love. My parents bought me a 66mhz Packard Bell computer when I was 12 and technology was the first thing I was ever good at. I learned every function of that machine. I would sometimes break it just so I could learn how to fix it. I took it apart and put it back together. It was my first true obsessive hobby. I found my creativity soon after, and I immediately used that technology to help me create art. I wrote comedy. I learned how to digitally paint. I recorded music. And eventually I found photography. It was the perfect marriage of technology and art. I could nerd out as much as I want while still getting my creative fix. 

So yeah... I miss it all. 

I miss all of the technical nerdery. I miss trying out new gadgets. I miss editing the photos I’ve taken. I miss taking pictures of my beautiful friends. I miss taking pictures of weird products. I miss asking Delling to call apiaries to find me freshly dead bees so I can take macro shots of their fuzzy little torsos.

I really hope some day I find a treatment that gives me enough energy to take photos again.  

Thankfully my writing helps me feel creative and productive and fulfilled. And it’s something I can do even if I’m not able to get out of bed. And I am grateful I have so many awesome people that actually want to read what I have to say.

So thanks to everyone for that. 

I always find a way to move forward. That’s just the nature of surviving chronic illness. But glancing back at what I lost is a pain I never quite get used to. 

Though, writing this has helped. 

Looking back at all that I accomplished has helped. 

And I do feel lucky I was able to accomplish what I did--even if missing it makes me sad sometimes.  

[letterstotheone-whomilovemost]

12/31/2020 (14 months after the event)

Happy New Years!

It has been a rather weird year, hasn’t it? While some days from this year feel like they were only yesterday, others feel like half a decade ago. To be quite frank, the same applies to the last time I saw you. I’m sure if you saw this you would go “blah blah, you say the same thing every time you write.” While this is true, I can’t help it. I started taking new medication, as of 14 days ago. My psychiatrist, I have one of those now-- along with a therapist haha, recommended me getting put on escitalopram for my severe anxiety. It’s always been pretty bad, but over the course of the past 14 months, it has skyrocketed pretty high. Isn’t it strange how our minds develop as we get older? Survival of the fittest? Or is it just adaptation? The human body is pretty neat, let alone our brain. 

I was going through my photos the other day, and got the sudden urge to delete all of them. Of course, I’m not as crazy as just upright deleting them-- so I uploaded all of them onto a drive, and then deleted them from my phone. All of them. Decided it was time for a fresh start, why not start with the one thing I open every day, right? I decided earlier today, about a week after I deleted all of my photos, that I would go into my drive to try and find a photo from September that I downloaded from a manga I was reading. Of course I got sidetracked, I scrolled to 2014 and was going through all of my old photos with my brother and my family, and then suddenly I got to 2017 and there it was. The black and white photo of you and I at the parking deck, both of us laughing as hard as we possibly could. I smiled softly of course, as the beautiful memory came rushing over me. But then something hit me. For some reason, this isn’t how I remember you. My brain forgot what you looked like, or at least started trying to. It’s been about a year since I last saw a photo of you. While the brain is so incredibly amazing, it has a bad habit of memories starting to fade, especially when it’s a person attached to bad memories as well. It works in some cases, where people are trying to forget-- but even still it does the opposite and leaves the person going “Why can’t I forget you!?”. Strange, right? The human mind is so beautiful. I can still hear you talking to me sometimes, if I try hard enough. Lately, I haven’t been so hard on myself. I’m trying to figure myself out still, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is okay that I still love you. I know I more than likely always will. That’s what love is, right? Being able to love and never losing that love, no matter what happens. 

All of this being said, I figured I would kind of recap everything that has happened in the wonderful year of 2020. It has been one hell of a ride.

January, the month of my brother’s 15th birthday. He was so happy and we all celebrated his birthday with him the following weekend. We also went hiking the same month, while it was cold; my mother, brother, and I had a blast. This month was mostly just working and being lazy on my off days. I had a fall out with my best friend.

February, I had a love hate relationship with this month. I tried dating someone new, I saw that you had gotten in a relationship two months prior and figured it was time for me to try and move on as well. Needless to say, dude was a douchebag and was a very violent individual. I left him within 3 weeks. My birth father, his newlywed wife, my cousin from my favorite uncle, whom I had never met until then, and I all went to Ruby Falls. It was quite a beautiful journey. Whilst I fought with my father, it turned out to be an okay experience. Later in the month, I ended up getting into a fight with my landlord, who was demanding that I pay extra, even though I was not behind on any payments. I ended up cooperating with them, so that I didn’t lose my home. I celebrated my little sister’s fifth birthday.

March, I lost my job. Millions and millions of other people did as well. Covid-19 struck the world. I took it lightly and just assumed that yet again, the media was blowing things out of proportion. My landlord wasn’t understanding of the fact I was put out of work, along with millions of others. They ended up being generous for the month after I showed them statistics. I ended up being lazy, doing nothing but watching Netflix and Disney plus for the entire month.

April, Corona Virus was boring at this point. We had all been told, “Oh! We’ll all be open for business again in the next two weeks!”. That was the first week of March, and it was now April. The government didn’t give us any kind of help until the last week, so that kind of fucked me. I spent most days laying in bed on TikTok. I also got super into streaming in the beginning of this month, and my platform was finally starting to take off.

May, unemployed for two months. I debated taking a job at a warehouse. Unfortunately, the media deterred me from doing so. There was a spike of cases in my state; it was terrifying. I didn’t leave my house much. I got my dog, for the first time in 4 years. It was beautiful, I cried. He was so happy to be back home. I started a routine of watching anime every morning at 7 am and then going for a walk. I wanted to get back into a daily routine, regardless if I had a job or not. I was falling behind on bills, and I really needed to distract myself. I started getting into digital art, rather than traditional, for the first time ever. I stopped making my music.

June, I reconnected with a lot of old online friends from 2013. It was strange and I didn’t really know how to feel about it. It was nostalgic in a way, spending late nights on discord calls. I didn’t really enjoy it all too much, I felt like it all needed to stay in the past. I started anti-depressants, again. This time it was Prozac. It made me feel extremely drowsy, and made me feel out of body most of the time. I tried to date, again. An old friend that I had from 2013, we reconnected and even though they were out of state, I decided-- “Hey, maybe this will be good for me. I don’t have to worry about them getting aggressive with me, we can take things slow, and we can pace ourselves.” Oh man, if only I knew. He flew down to my state, met the family, was extremely respectful and even stayed in a hotel the first trip. Everything seemed to be going okay.

July, my 21st birthday. Did I drink? No. Sounds crazy, right? I had about half a drink, and decided I just didn’t want any. I had stopped taking my antidepressants, the new boyfriend had said that I wasn’t acting right. It fed into my suspicion, that the meds weren’t doing a whole lot for me. They were just making me really sleepy and on edge all the time. The new boyfriend had come down again for my birthday and mother’s birthday, since we share the same birth week. Celebrated with my mom, her best friend, and I. July was pretty hectic, since I had decided I would be moving to West Virginia on August 5, 2020.

August, I moved to West Virginia. I packed up all of my belongings, uprooted everything I had ever known, hugged my family goodbye, and got into the back of a truck with a u-haul attached to it. I rode in the back of the vehicle for 14 hours, fell asleep in Kentucky, woke up in Ohio. It was daylight by the time we approached West Virginia. It was so beautiful, all of the mountains. I was moving into the house in which he lived in, which his sister was next door on one side, and his parents on the other side. We had the nice river breeze, since Ohio river was within eyesight. I lived in the Tri-state area so it was Pennsylvania on one side, Ohio on the other, and us-- five minutes to each state. It was a good first couple of days. Then we got into our first fight. I was unable to work, since I left my car behind. Luckily, I had saved up a bunch of money for me to be able to buy one. He hit me with really low blows, saying I didn’t need to work-- since women weren’t good for that kind of thing. It hurt, to be honest. I had never seen him like this before, in the eight years I had known of his existence. He had been with me in my hometown for three weeks and not once acted like this. I walked on eggshells, bought a car with my hard earned money, then got a management job at the Domino’s that was ten minutes from my town I was living in. Towards the end of the month, he got aggressive with me. He stopped working the same week I had moved in, he had no car. He had no ambition, he decided to just give up. Maybe that’s what I tried to see, maybe-- just maybe I could help him find some ambition. I wanted to save him, in a way? We got into a severe fight, I couldn’t take it anymore-- I fought back, and he ended up swinging on me.

September, I packed all of my belongings that I could into my tiny little Toyota, and left in the middle of the night. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to go to my mom’s house. My mother had known how bad he had gotten, since he acted such a way with my mother on the phone, unknowingly. I drove for 15 hours, well 13 but with rest stops to nap for a bit since I was running off of no sleep, but I finally ended up back home. I ended up staying with my mom for a bit. Later had to relocate, so I moved in with an old friend. Started streaming again.

October, Worked. Literally worked the entire month, my entire existence fell into dread. I became overly aware of how much time had passed. I felt like I had been doing nothing. I dreaded the last day of the month, every day just gave me more and more sadness.  I didn’t want the day to come. I started dreaming of you more and more and more. Halloween came, I decided to look at it differently, I started to thank you-- rather than try to hate you. I came to the conclusion that I would never hate you.

November, Thanksgiving! I started to become grateful, moved back into my mom’s house. It was a bumpy ride, but I managed to get back into the habit of doing healthy things. Started going to the gym again, drinking more water. I told my father he was dead to me, haven’t spoken to him since. I got to spend Thanksgiving with my real family, my mother and her best friend’s family. They watched me grow up since the day I was born. It was so much better than any other holiday I had ever had up to this date.

December, I started a new form of medicine. This time it was for anxiety, since that’s the main factor of my illness-- or so we think so far. I am on escitalopram, and I started it the week before Christmas. I got to see my real family again. It was nice, but this time I got to reunite with my childhood best friend for the first time in fifteen years. It was so lovely. I have become almost bedridden again, but it won’t last long-- since it’s just a side effect of my medicine. I also got to see some friends from high school, but then I realized-- they’re the exact same way they’ve been since the beginning. They wanted nothing but to talk about drama. It just isn’t my thing, I don’t like dealing with people much anymore, because of the constant drama. I’ve learned a lot about people changing, and the lack thereof.

I think this year has been a year full of lessons for me, and it has been tough. As they say, there’s no pleasure without pain, no pain no gain, right? This year has taught me a lot about myself and the people around me, and I am extremely grateful for the things I have experienced. I’ve learned so much about who I am as a person. I’ve grown a lot, while this year has kicked my ass. I have high hopes for the next year. For the first time, since 2016, I finally see a future in myself, by myself. 

To New Beginnings, Lovebug.

I love you, always.

22:27

#dear lover #dear love #letters to the one i love most #letters to the one i loved most #letters to you

[thecleverdame]

TTWDBI - Eight

Part Eight - Deceit

Masterlist

Summary: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader - Sam is young, powerful and comes from one of the wealthiest families in New York. When he meets an Omega bartender who’s far from what his family expects, Sam is forced to make a series of hard choices.

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, smut, knotting, breeding, dominance, ownership, angst, family drama. This chapter contains an attempted sexual assault, actual physical assault, and talk of past abuse.

Words: 6.5k

Beta: @ilikaicalie -

Part Nine is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

“Where are we going?” You peek out of the walk-in closet. “I need a few details. I don’t know what to pack.”

“Just pack everything.” Sam’s distracted, staring down his iPad with a stylus between his teeth.

“Winter everything or warm weather everything?” You slink out into the bedroom. “Come on, just a hint. Just tell me...are we staying in the state or are we going somewhere more exotic.”

“Nope.” He quips, marking notes on the digital screen.

“How long are we staying? Are we driving or flying?” You persist.

He perks up a little, actually making eye contact with a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Pack enough for a week, a dress or two, something warm. A bathing suit, well, on second thought you won’t need the suit…”

“You’re awful.” You laugh, as he nips at you.

It’s been a month since Jake and things between you and Sam couldn’t be better. The last four weeks have been wonderfully uneventful and it’s given you the time to enjoy each other. In fact, you’ve discovered that the more you’re around each other, the deeper your love grows. Fate must have known what it was doing when it brought you together.

“Bring that black thing with all the lace, the one piece. I love your ass in that.”

“Maybe.” You smile, pulling the aforementioned neglige from the hanger and carefully folding it into the suitcase. “How many bags can I bring with me?”

“As many as you want we’re taking my dad’s plane so you can - fuck!”

“Aha!” You jump back out of the closet, to find Sam shaking his head, glaring at you. “We’re taking a plane somewhere. Out of the state? Out of the country?”

“You think you’re so slick.” He puts down the iPad and stands up, moving toward you. “You’re just going to have wait until tomorrow.”

“Come on!” You whine. “I wanna know.”

“I’m not saying another word, I might give something else away. I’ve kept it secret this long. I’m not letting you trip me up at the finish line. My lips are sealed.”

He pulls to you him, one hand around your waist, fingers curling around your back as his thumb trails over the scar on your neck.

“I’m excited.” You whisper, eyes fluttering at his touch. “I haven’t traveled much. I always wanted to, Donna and I were going to backpack through Ireland but neither of us ever had the money.”

“I’m gonna take you everywhere.” He murmurs, leans down for a light kiss. “Just wait.”

Prague, Czech Republic

The city is like a rich noir novel come to life. It’s a taste of the old world, with its decadent buildings and thick, hanging fog. It’s like living in a Bela Lugosi movie. You’ve been here for three days, with five more to go. A whole week in a place you didn’t know you loved until the plane landed and you stepped out into this strange new land.

It’s well after sunset as you walk arm-in-arm with Sam over the cobblestones.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, hot breath puffing out into the frigid night air. He places a gloved hand over yours.

“Starving.” You smile, picking up the pace.

Dinner is a five-course meal in a candlelit tavern that looks like a medieval alehouse, complete with walls of stone and soft music playing the background.  It’s a small place, only a few other couples cuddle around the aging wood tables giving the illusion of privacy. You might as well be the only ones here as you get lost in Sam, and food, and the otherworldly surroundings.

By the time the sorbet arrives you’re both so full, you can only manage a taste before sitting back, grinning like a fool. Sam looks just as happy, he’s had a smile plastered across his face since you left New York and this broad, unadulterated joy looks good on him.

“I can’t believe this is my life.” You giggle, reaching across the table, laying your hand over his.

“You like it here?” He doesn’t need to ask, he knows he picked well. He’s watched you discover art and architecture and European cuisine. He knew you had deeper interests, a desire to see more than your previous life afforded but in this place, you’re blossoming.

“It’s not just the city, it’s being here with you. Everything just feels right.” You blink back tears. “I’ve never been able to breathe without something looming over me. I just feel so free. I love you so much.”

If it’s even possible his smile widens, dimpled cheeks rounding out.

“I love you, too.” He squeezes your fingers. “What’s been your favorite thing so far?”

“St. Vitus Cathedral at night.” You answer without even thinking about it. “I’ve never felt anything like that before, it was overwhelming and...emotional. Is that weird?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt the same way when I saw it for the first time. I was visiting my mom and we came here. I was eight or nine and I stood there for an hour, transfixed. We should go back. We can go tonight.”

“Really?” You confirm. “I’d love that.”

“No better time than the present.”

After dinner, you wander through the city. It’s chilly but tolerable as you stroll for the better part of an hour, talking about nothing and walking arm in arm as a fat moon rises high in the night sky.

St. Vitus rises in front of you like an architectural beacon, lighting up the night like a gothic fairy tale.

“I never wanna leave.” You whisper, feeling both of Sam’s arms wrap around you from behind.

“What do you love so much about it?” He asks softly, nuzzling into your hair.

“The city, the people...but mostly I think it’s being with you. When we’re home you work so much...I’m not complaining. I just miss you sometimes.”

“We’ve got the rest of our lives to be together.” He whispers as he releases you. You turn to look at him but he’s already on one knee, crouching in front of you.

“Sam.” You’re already crying as he tugs the glove off your left hand.

“I love you. I wanna spend my life with you.” He states simply, a sparkling ring between his fingers. “I don’t want to wait any longer to start our life together. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You blurt out, half laughing, half crying, while he slips the ring onto your finger.

“I’m gonna make you so happy,” he whispers, standing and cradling your face between two warm hands. “I promise.”

The rest of the week is a lovesick haze. The days are spent making love and endless conversation about the details of your new life. Everything feels like it’s falling into place, life has finally come together to give you something good.

New York City

“Come in!” Mary claps her hands together, grinning wildly.

“Hi,” you gasp as she embraces you in a tight hug.

“Sam,” She releases you and reaches out to her son, kissing him on the cheek.

“Hi mom,” he grins as she pats his face. “You’re happy.”

“Well, I have a surprise for you.” She looks at you, the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on her face. “I think it’s just what we need.”

“What is it?” Sam smiles at you, taking your hand and leading the way to the study.

Rounding the corner you find two extra guests seated on the leather sofa, your parents.

You stop in your tracks as Sam tugs on your hand, turning to look between you and these new strangers. You’re locked in a staring match with your father, who’s teetering on the edge of the couch with a glass in his hand. Your mother is sitting uncomfortably beside him, these two couldn’t be more out of their comfort zone. They’ve always considered wealth in itself to be an offensive extravagance.

“Hello, Y/N.” Your father stands up, clearing his throat.

You unconsciously sidestep closer to Sam even though he’s not physically intimidating like when you were a girl, now he’s just a man in cheap trousers who no longer holds sway over your life.

“Hi, Dad.” You don’t move to greet him, there’s complete silence until your mother joins her husband, slinking past him to place a kiss on your cheek. “Mom.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly the reception I was hoping for.” Mary’s tone is painfully cheerful despite the unbearable tension.

“I’m sorry,” You pull yourself together. Turning to Sam you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes, you won’t be able to fake your way through this. “Sam these are my parents, Alastair and Naomi. Mom, Dad, this is Sam.”

Sam, always quick with his social graces, shakes your father’s hand and introduces himself to your mom while you are trying to formulate a plan. You were fully prepared to never see either of them again, but you find yourself in a room with two people who rival John and Mary in their cruelty.

“I just thought it was about time that we met Y/N’s parents.” Clasping her hands, Mary scrunches up her nose, smiling from you to Sam. “And what better time? You two can tell us all about Prague.”

“Actually, this is perfect.” Sam’s arm slips around your waist. “We have some news.”

“Oh?” John speaks up for the first time, tilting his head and staring at Sam. It’s amazing how much disappointment the man can convey with a single, one syllable word.

“Yeah,” Sam’s hand squeezes your hip and you look to him for the first time. He’s smiling, a bright genuine smile that even his father can’t take from him. “I asked Y/N to marry me.”

John snorts, Mary’s face contorts into a hideous expression of forced joy and your father remains stoic. It’s Naomi, your mother who has the biggest reaction, moving in to embrace you while your arms hang at your side.

“Congratulations,” she sputters, lifting your hand to see the ring. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the sizeable diamond. “Oh my gosh.”

“If she’s a wearing a ring that must mean she said yes,” Mary approaches you for a hug, nearly shoving your mother out of the way to get to you. “I wish you would have told me Sam, I could have helped with the ring.”

“I think I did alright on my own.” Sam’s grin, his eyes locked on you.

“It’s perfect.” You add, trying not to be distracted by this unexpected turn of events. This should be a happy announcement and you hate that your past is tainting the present, bleeding into your new life like an open wound that refuses to heal.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married.” Your mother has the same dulled, Stepford Wife expression she wore your entire childhood. “Marriage is such a gift, such a sacred bond.”

“Does that mean you’re happy for me?” The question comes out with an edge despite doing your best to temper the disdain.

“Of course.” She looks between you and Sam.

“Congratulations.” John’s face is even, unreadable as he approaches his youngest son.

“Thanks.” Sam accepts his father's half-hearted hug.

“Well,” Mary’s frozen in place, hands clasped together, turning to your father who hasn’t spoken or moved from his seat. “This is delightful news, isn’t it.”

“Seems backward to me.” His eyes lock onto you just like when you were a kid, so much silent contempt for what you are. He’s always resented that his daughter is an Omega. “You’re already claimed. What’s the point?”

“Dad.” You warn. Everyone is watching but all you can see is your father.

“I think it’s wonderful.”  Mary tries to intercede. “With the baby things will be-”

“Mom!” Sam hisses.

Your mother looks heartbroken and your father’s eyes narrow in on you.

“You expected me to be shocked?” He snorts. “I wouldn’t have expected anything different from our daughter. She’s always had trouble keeping her legs closed.”

“Hey,” Sam is right beside you, ready to jump but you put your arm out to stop him.

“I know what you think of me. You’ve always made that much clear.”

“And you’ve always lived up to expectations. I tried my best with you, your mother and I both did. But you and your sister never listened.”

“Tried your best?” You laugh dryly. “You treated us like we were filthy, like being an Omega meant that I was damned from the get-go.”

“You had no self-control. It was bad enough when you were little but once you presented and that first heat came it was clear what kind of women you’d end up becoming.”

“I was a child!” You shout, tears springing to life. “I needed you to love me, to protect me. I needed mom to show me how to handle myself. All either of you ever did was hurt me.”

“This is the problem with today’s society. A little discipline never harmed anyone, and you needed more than you got.”

“I can’t be here with him.” You turned to Sam who’s already wrapping an arm around your waist.

“You’re going to burn in hell. You’ve always been a whore and I knew that you-”

“Stop.” John’s booming voice cuts through the noise, snapping everyone to attention. “You can’t speak that way to her, not in my home. You should leave.”

“Gladly.” Alastair stands up, your mother following blindly just as she always has. He stops to offer you final look of disgust. “You’re in the middle of a vipers nest and you don’t even know it. I’ll pray for you.”

“Get out.” Sam pulls you against him.

-

“What an awful man.” Mary comments, tucking hair behind both your ears. You can’t stop crying and the embarrassment doesn’t help. She wipes her thumb across your cheeks. “If I had any idea I would never have invited him here.”

“All I want is to live my life, to be happy. I don’t know why that’s always been so hard for me.”

“Well, there’s nothing happier than a wedding.” She dotes, handing you a glass of water, turning to Sam who’s seated next to John at the end of the table. “Have you two talked about dates yet?”

“Next month.” Sam nods, tapping his finger on his whiskey glass.

“Next month?” She scoffs, eyes darting to John. “Why so soon?”

“She’s going to start showing at some point.”

“My son is suddenly concerned about what other people think.”

“We don’t want to wait any longer. We want to move forward as a family.” You chime in. Mary doesn’t look at you, instead takes a seat at the table.

“I think it’s a good thing.” John offers casually as the three of you turn to look at him in disbelief. “Family is important. That’s a lesson I’m still learning. I haven’t always been the most supportive, but if Sam’s happy, if you two make each other happy, then why the hell not.”

He raises a glass, tipping back the final vestiges of whiskey, his eyes never leaving you.

--

On Monday morning you’re not feeling well. Sam looks at you sideways, sipping a cup of coffee.

“You alright?” He kisses your cheek before checking his tie in the mirror beside the door.

“Just tired.” You mumble, wrapping the robe around yourself. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Go back to bed.” He suggests, grabbing his keys off the counter, swooping in for one last kiss.

There’s a gentle buzzing coming from somewhere in the kitchen. Sam pulls away as you both look around. After a few seconds of silence, it buzzes again. Something’s vibrating.  He follows the sound to the pantry, sliding the doors open, the sound growing louder. After shifting a few canned goods around he pulls a small black flip phone from the back of the highest shelf, from behind a 5lb bag of rice.

“It’s a phone?” You ask, watching and he flips it open with his thumb.

“Yeah, it’s dying.” He holds it up, the screen is nothing but the image of a drained battery.

“How’d it get in there?” You ask as Sam hands it to you.

“No idea, must be the housekeeper’s.” He shrugs. “I gotta go, see you tonight.”

-

Sam’s knee deep in a fresh set of analytics, already late for the quarterly meeting when there’s a knock the door.

“What it is?” He asks, expecting Rowena’s head to poke around the corner. Instead, it’s Mary who steps into his office, offering him a tight smile.

“I came at a bad time?” She’s slinking toward his desk as he shuffles papers back into the proper folders.

“Sorry mom, I’m right in the middle of it. I’m already late for a meeting. Can we talk later?”

“I just need a second.” There’s a large manilla folder in her stands, clutching it like she’s holding the crown jewels.

“I’ve only got one minute, but we can get coffee later if you want to-”

“I’d like that, but I-I have to show you something.”

“What?” He’s only half paying attention. When she doesn’t speak he looks up to find her holding the folder out toward him. “What is that?”

“Before you get mad at me, I want you to hear me out.” She explains calmly.

“Mom-”

“I care about you Sam, I won’t ever feel bad for that. I know you think you love this girl but the truth is no really knows where she came from or-”

“I’m not having this discussion.” Sam rests his knuckles on the desk, leaning forward.

“She’s not who you think she is.” Mary’s flustered, unadulterated anger rising her voice. “I know you think I’m always trying to manipulate you, but I’m not the only one-”

“Please, just stop. You’re on dangerous ground. You wanna be careful what you say next. I thought you were on board. Has this whole supportive production just been an act?” He can’t believe she’s still trying to pry her way into his relationship.

“No, I’ve been trying, honestly I have.” She walks around his desk, setting the folder in front of him. “You need to look at this when you have the time.”

“What is it?”

“After I first found out you claimed an Omega I hired a private investigator to look into her background. I needed to be sure you weren’t going to end up hurt.”

“Unbelievable.” Sam shakes his head.

“Sam, he found some things you need to see before you decide to marry this woman.”

“Everybody’s got shit in their past, mom.” He throws up his hands, looking from her to the folder, unwilling to dignify this with an adequate response.

“Not like this.” Mary’s jaw clenches. “She has been busy-”

“No.” Sam interrupts, he’s had enough. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“I hope, for your sake you look at what he found. Don’t call me, call him. His number is in there.”

Sam sighs, takes a deep breath trying to fathom what in the world his mother is up to now. He’s disgusted but interested enough to pick up the pack and slide it in with his other documents.

“You need to stay out of my life.” He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. “Find a way to get supportive or get out. It’s one or the other, Mom. I love you, I do, but I’ve got to go.”

-

By noon you’re sick to your stomach, lightheaded and generally feeling unsettled. Figuring it’s better to be safe than sorry you call the clinic. Dr. Johnson has an open appointment the next morning so you take the slot and go back to bed.

A few hours later the cramps wake you out of dead sleep. You jolt into consciousness clutching a hand over your abdomen, sweat covering every inch of you. Something is wrong, you know it in your bones.

You get yourself in a cab and head to the nearest emergency room. You don’t want to call Sam, not yet. He and John are having an important day, meeting with investors and getting ready for the global launch of their new flagship drug. Things have been going so well even his father is coming around. You don’t want to throw a wrench in the works by overreacting.

Omegas are made to carry children. You keep repeating that to yourself as you sit in the waiting room.

After twenty minutes you’re in a triage room in a paper gown waiting for the doctor. They’ve taken a gallon of blood but no one’s told you anything.

There’s a soft knock at the door.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Tuttle. I’m told you’re not feeling so well?”

“Not the best.” You smile as he takes a seat on the stool, rubbing hand sanitizer between his hands. He flips open your chart, reading through the notes.

“Twelve weeks, no complications. You’re claimed… Sam Winchester?” His eyes snap up, glancing at the gleaming rock on your finger.

“Yeah.” You blush, covering the ring self-consciously.

“I just read an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about the work Gilead’s spearheading. It’s an exciting time in medicine.”

“Sam will happy to hear that.” You try to move on from the niceties to the issue at hand, closing your eyes as pain bubbles up from your gut.

“I’m surprised you’re here. You don’t have a personal physician? And you're alone?”

“My doctor couldn’t see me until tomorrow and I didn’t want to worry Sam unless I know something’s wrong. I didn’t think I should wait, though.”

“Smart.” He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re fine. No bleeding?”

“No, I just feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. The cramping comes and goes.”

“It’s not uncommon.” He places a hand on your arm. “Lay back for me.”

You stare at the ceiling as he gently presses on different areas of your stomach, asking about abdominal tenderness while making small talk.

There’s a knock on the door and a nurse enters the room, handing him a tablet. He reads the screen, forehead furrowing.

“The doctor you’ve been seeing, Dr. Johnson, she never mentioned you have low progesterone levels?”

“No,” You sit up, unease tightening in your chest. “Is something wrong?”

“I didn’t say that.” He shakes his head. “We’re going to do an ultrasound, just to be on the safe side.”

After a few minutes, there’s a cart wheeled into the room. One nurse is joined by two more as the doctor squirts gel onto your stomach, all four pairs of eyes silently glued to a screen you can’t see.

Dr. Tuttle clears his throat, mouth tightening. It doesn’t take a genius to gage the confused reactions of the medical team.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, tears pooling. “Did I lose my baby?”

“No.” The doctor removes the wand from your stomach. “I can’t discuss this any further with you. I have to speak with your Alpha-”

“Are you kidding me?” You’ve reached the end of your rope with this shit. This is your body, your child and you want to know now. “Tell me what’s going on, I have a right to know.”

Dr. Tuttle takes a breath, “Can I have the room please.”

“Please just tell me.” Wiping tears you wait in terrified anticipation until it’s only the two of you in the room.

“I shouldn’t do a pelvic exam without the consent of your Alpha. I could get in trouble. But I feel in this case I need to make an exception.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because I need to do one. Right now.”

“This doesn’t feel right, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I don’t want to say anything else until I have more information.” He looks you dead in the eyes. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Great.” You close your eyes, trying not to sob. “Why not.”

There’s an ultimate humiliation in not having power over your own body. You lie on the table, feet in stirrups and an arm hooked over your eyes, as the doctor performs an examination. It’s almost twenty minutes before he’s finishing poking and probing. You listen to the sickening sound of him snapping off rubber gloves.

“We’re done.” He gently places a hand on your arm, using the other to pull you into a sitting position. His face is grim, looking at you like he’s truly sorry for what he’s about to say.

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“You’re not pregnant.” He states calmly.

The air feels thick like you can’t get enough into your lungs to take a full breath. There’s a numbness that starts in your head and descends over your entire body as you sit and stare at Dr. Tuttle, expressionless.

“Did, um, did I do something wrong?” You ask, the words falling out of your mouth on autopilot. “Is this my fault?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You were never pregnant.”

“I don’t understand.” Never pregnant. It’s too much, too confusing and your brain can’t process what he’s telling you. “But I…”

“You have high levels of estrogen, extremely low progesterone and a synthetic version of hCG that showed up in your tox screen. It’s tricked your body into pseudocyesis. It mimics all the symptoms associated with a normal pregnancy. Swollen belly, breast tenderness, nausea, and weight gain. In some cases even the feeling of fetal movement. You wouldn’t have known the difference. But I can say with a hundred percent certainty that you have never been pregnant.”

You stare at him, unable to move or speak, the gravity of this revelation setting in.

“But I-I saw a heartbeat. I saw my baby.”

“Whatever you saw, it wasn’t your pregnancy.” He takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is unconventional, I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I have to call your Alpha.”

“Okay.” You’re still, focused on the wall. You can’t think anymore. If you let yourself feel it’ll be too much, so instead you shut down. “I need to go.”

“I think you should stay. We’ll call your Alpha, maybe we can all sit down together-”

“No.” You discard your gown in front of him, nudity is your last concern as you search for your jeans. “Thank you, but I need to go home now.”

-

Sam’s phone vibrates in his pocket for the third time in five minutes. He checks it again, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize so he hits the mute button.

“You need to take that?” John leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the shareholders presentation that’s currently in progress.

“I don’t know.” Sam grimaces as a fourth call comes in. “I think I better.”

Stepping into the hallways he answers, already annoyed. “Winchester.”

“Sam Winchester?” The voice is male and unfamiliar.

“The one and only. Who is this?”

“My name is doctor Tuttle, I’m a physician at New York Presbyterian.”

Sam’s heart drops into this stomach.

“What’s wrong?” He’s sweating before the question is finished.

“Your Omega came in today, I treated her for what I thought were pregnancy-related symptoms.”

“Is she alright?” He takes off toward his office, breaking into a run. He just needs his car keys. “Is something wrong with our baby?”

“She’s fine, but I do have some pretty unsettling news, Mr. Winchester. I think it’s best if you come here so we can speak in person.”

“I’m on my way.”

Twenty minutes later Sam’s sitting in a small office with lime green walls, listening as he’s told that his entire world has been a lie.

She was never pregnant. It appears to be a chemical induced pregnancy.

The words rattle around in his head. The doctor keeps talking, the hospital legal counsel sitting in the corner taking notes.

“How is this possible?” Sam can feel the rage boiling in his veins. You’ve been lying to him all this time, it’s the only explanation. “She had an ultrasound, I was there.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman has faked a pregnancy.” The lawyer speaks up. “You’d be surprised what people will agree to do for a little bit of cash.”

“I’m not entirely convinced that’s the case.” Dr. Tuttle speaks up. “She came in knowing we’d run tests, all it took was a blood screen and an ultrasound to determine she wasn’t pregnant. And her reactions appeared to be genuine. I tried to get her to stay, to wait for you, but she insisted on leaving.”

“I haven’t been able to reach her.” Sam runs a hand over his mouth. There’s a pressure building in his chest, starting to make it hard to breathe “I need to get out of here.”

He tried to call you several times on his way to the hospital but your phone is turned off. He left Donna a message but he didn’t know who else to call. You’re unreachable and his entire world is coming apart at the seams.

--

He sits in his car in the parking garage, key in the ignition but the car is still off. Sam can’t think straight. There are a million thoughts swirling in his brain. His eyes fall on the folder his mother handed him this morning, and he picks up, pulling out a stack of documents.

The first sheet is withdrawal history from your bank account. He hasn’t checked it since the business with Jake but the money didn't stop there. There are a series of withdrawals every month totaling around ten thousand dollars. There are two pages stapled to that one, showing charitable donations to the clinic you’ve been attending. And a deposit statement from the account of Amelia Richardson for fifteen thousand dollars.

Next is a transcript of text messages from an unlabeled number to a second number identified as Jake. It’s a series of messages that end in asking him to come to the apartment the day of the assault, along with the building address and security code.

The following page is a list of internet searches from your home IP address. Some of it’s about him, his family and then the inquiries trail off into fertility. Next, are various detailed searches regarding marriage laws and the details of financial responsibility once an Alpha marries an Omega. Then the specifics of the new drug that Sam’s been working on.

The connections begin to click together. He’s spent the last year listening to scientists explain how their cure for heat sickness works, It’s simple really. It tricks the body into thinking it’s pregnant. It can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way.

The next page is a series of photos. The first two of are you coming and going from the clinic.  

In the third, you’re sitting alone at a table in a cafe. Directly behind is a young blonde, it takes Sam a moment to place her. It’s the ultrasound technician. In the following photo, the girl is gone and you’re joined by Donna. There’s a handwritten note in the margins that reads withdrawal of a thousand same day - pay off?

Next is a surveillance shot of you and Amelia in a hallway at Gilead, you’re talking about something and there’s a note, a reference back to your bank withdrawal and the corresponding deposit into Amelia’s account.

The final photo makes his heart stop. It’s different than the rest and there’s a Post It that says found in Jake’s apartment. It’s from four or five years ago at a charity event. Sam and Dean are front and center, arms around each other’s shoulders. Sam remembers that night well, they both drank too much and ended up flying to Vegas at 3 am. But behind Dean is your image, a younger version of you dressed in a caterer’s uniform, holding a tray of champagne, staring at the back of Sam’s head.

The last page is the name of a divorce lawyer, Rouel Felder, and grainy photos of you leaving his office. Felder is ruthless, he’s represented everyone from Rudolph Giuliani to David Gest.

There’s a handwritten synopsis from the investigator.

It is my personal opinion, based on these facts, that the subject has engaged in ongoing deception regarding her pregnancy and her relationship with Jake Livingston. I believe the subject new that J. Livingston had photos of her contact with S. Winchester prior to their most recent meeting and that the subject cultivated the situation that lead to the death of J. Livingston at the hands of her Alpha.

The picture is clear. You’ve had an agenda from the beginning, this has all been one long, elaborate con designed to get him to marry you.

He opens the door of his car just in time to vomit on the cement. He wipes his mouth with his tie, before yanking it off his neck, tossing it on the ground of the parking garage. There’s a moment when he can’t see straight, his vision blurring as a sickening combination of anger and betrayal rises up.

He punches the steering column a half dozen times, not stopping until his knuckles bleed, but what he really wants is to punch a hole in the windshield. He’s about to really lose it when his phone vibrates and Donna’s name scrolls across the screen.

“I got your voicemail.” Donna quips as soon as he picks up. “I haven’t heard from her. Is something going on-”

“Did you fucking know?” Sam snarls, gripping the phone so tight his fingers turn white. “Have you two been laughing behind my back?”

“You’re gonna need to take a chill pill, buddy.” Donna shoots back. “You might be used to talking to other people like that, but not me.”

“I know what she’s been doing.” He hits the horn of the car with a closed fist.

“Care to share? Because I don’t have a freakin’ clue what you’re talking about.”

“This whole thing was a setup. The sob story about her parents, getting me to take out Jake and a baby that doesn’t fucking exist.”

“Are you drunk?” She asks flatly. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

“I’m so sick of people lying to me!” Sam lashes out, he wants to hurt someone, the rage bubbling up inside him has almost reached its breaking point. “I trusted her.”

“I still have no clue what you’re talking about but you need to take a breath.” She replies calmly.

“I’m talking about Y/N being this whole other person...I was so blind.”

“Stop.” Donna commands and Sam bristles. “Whatever happened you need to stop. This is the kind of crazy shit I warned her about. I told her you’d be bad for her..”

“Me?” Sam snorts in disbelief. “Bad for her?”

“Yeah, your crazy family has had it out for her since you two hooked up. I don’t know what happened but what I do know is that if you think she’s lied or betrayed you somehow, then you really are just a self-absorbed asshole. She’s put herself out there over and over again just to be with you, and now you’re talking like she’s some kind of criminal or something? Have you actually taken the time to get to know her? Because if you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Sam’s silent.

“You don’t deserve her.” She spits. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to find my friend and figure what the hell is going on. It sounds like she probably needs someone to be there for her, and it sure as hell isn’t you.”

--

He’s calmed down and he’s got a plan. He’s going to remain collected and confront you with the facts. Show you the photos and the documents and ask for your side the story. The more he thinks about Donna’s words the more he knows she’s right.

This isn’t you. He’s an idiot for thinking anything else.

He can believe a lot of terrible things about almost anyone, but not you. Maybe he’s blinded by his love for you, or maybe it’s just your bond but he can’t imagine that the situation is what is appears to be.

Sam can hear it the minute the door opens. Your cries are audible from the living room and he follows the sound to find you sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor, sobbing into your hands.

He doesn’t understand much about what’s happening, but the moment he sees you he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you had no idea. There’s no faking this kind of despair.

“Y/N.” He says softly from the doorway and you let out a howl, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, rocking back and forth on the floor. Gasping through the tears he can hear you struggling to breathe, you’re hyperventilating.

“Hey,” he sits on the floor, scooting closer, pulling you between his legs to wrap himself around you.

“I c-can’t b-breathe.” You sputter, gasping like a fish on dry land.

“Yes, you can.” Sam wants to cry too, but his emotional outbursts are the last thing you need right now. This moment is the greatest test of his ability to be an Alpha and he’s not about to let you down, not again, not after everything. “Breathe with me. Come on, in...out...in...out.”

He takes exaggerated breaths so you easily feel the rhythm of his body, each inhale and exhale is measured and slow until you calm down enough to find the pace on your own. But as soon as the panic attack passes your tears come back, gut-wrenching sobs that crush Sam’s heart.

“I don’t understand. I could feel our baby.” You howl. “I could feel it inside me but it was never there.”

“I know.” He kisses your head, rocking with you in his arms.

“I-I didn’t w-want it and then I fell in love with the idea of-” You can’t finish.

For a long time, neither of you say a word, you just cry for nearly an hour until you’re too physically exhausted to shed another tear. Even after the crying stops, he holds you as the minutes tick by and you lie limply in his arms.

“We’re gonna find out what happened. I promise you.”

“I don't care.” You whisper, utterly defeated. “I want my baby.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispers, a tear sliding down his cheek. “We’ll have a baby. As soon as you want, whenever you’re ready.”

“I don’t think I can.” You grip his arms, holding on like some unseen force might try to pull you away from him. “My heart is too broken.”

-

Part Nine is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Tags: @smallgirlbigpersonality 

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#TTWDBI #Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader #sam winchester x reader #alpha!sam winchester

[vernonfielding]

Life Writes Its Own Stories

Welcome to my obsession! An Amy/Jake newspaper AU: Amy Santiago is a Brooklyn crime reporter eager to break the big story. Jake Peralta is a cynical NYPD detective who trusts no one. If they can get over themselves, they may figure out they’re on the same side.

AN: I am incredibly grateful to the amazing @fezzle for her help with this story: as a beta, a cheerleader, a title-brainstormer and a friend. She offered invaluable feedback that changed the whole tenor of this story, in a way that I think made it so much better. I am so lucky to have found her.

A note to readers wary of multi-chapter fics: This story is complete. I will be posting updates every couple of days, unless I get hit by a bus or something, in which case @fezzle has permission to post for me.

And now, onto Chapter 1 of 15! (You can read at AO3 too.)

Chapter 1

Amy took the subway stairs two at a time and sprinted into the bright morning sunshine, slowing down just enough to glance down at the cell phone in her hand and check the time. She was already one minute late.

“Damnit,” Amy said under her breath and picked up her speed again, waving over her shoulder at the taxi that honked when she darted through the traffic on Bergen. She took the turn onto 6th Avenue so fast that she had to flail her arms to keep her balance, then she put her head down and raced. She ran right up to the front entrance of the 99th Precinct and slammed to a stop, gasping for breath.

“Press conference is delayed,” said the cameraman standing beside her. “Nice day, huh?”

Amy glared at him and he laughed. It was approaching triple digits and the humidity was well over 80 percent and she could feel sweat pooling in her lower back and under her breasts. She plucked at the front of her blouse where it was stuck to her chest. At least she wasn’t late.

The other reporters were spread out in a loose ring around the front of the precinct, most of their faces familiar to Amy. There were three TV journalists, a couple of radio folks, the guy from the online newsletter who was at literally every event in Brooklyn – Amy could never tell how he managed it – and, to her surprise and displeasure, reporters from The Times and the Daily News. And she’d thought her day was already a mess – now this story was competitive.

Amy undid her ponytail and tied her hair into a slightly more secure bun, glad to get a little more air on her neck. She took out her phone again and opened the voice recording app, then pulled out her notebook and her favorite pen and her two backup pens, which she shoved into the pocket of her skirt. She was just checking her email when the precinct doors swung open and Captain Pembroke stepped out, followed closely by Scully and a handful of other cops. The reporters surged forward as one, arms thrust out with cell phones and other recording devices. Amy hit “record” on her phone and stacked her notebook on top so she could jot down every word, just in case.

“We made an arrest in the Adams case,” Pembroke said without preamble, in the same smug voice he used for every interaction with the press, no matter how grave the news. “Last night, we took Keith Jones, fiancé of Judy Adams, into custody…”

Amy took down the name of the suspect and then paused, listening as Pembroke went over all the details of the case. She was still a little confused as to why he’d called a press conference. This wasn’t an especially remarkable case, other than that the dead woman was young, blond and beautiful. (Amy had actually spent a weird amount of time studying her eyeshadow to try to figure out how she got such a fantastic daytime smoky-eye.) She’d been found strangled in Prospect Park last weekend, and for a day or so there had been concerns in the community that she was attacked by a stranger preying on women, which was probably why The Times and the Daily News were here. But that didn’t explain why the NYPD was holding a press conference.

Pembroke droned on for a while but he didn’t have much new to say – Amy had already been tipped off about the fiancé by Scully – and when he finally asked for questions, Amy let herself be nudged back by the other reporters as they yelled out their follow-ups. She glanced down at her phone, debating if she could stop recording, when a voice whispered in her ear.

“Ask about the ex.”

Amy jerked and looked back over her shoulder. A man was standing right behind her. He had dark tousled hair and he was wearing sunglasses and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Amy thought, out of nowhere, ‘He has nice forearms.’ He also had a detective badge around his neck.

“What did you say?” she said.

The detective nodded toward Pembroke. “Ask him about the ex-boyfriend.”

Amy gaped at him for a moment, then turned back to Pembroke, who was smirking in a self-satisfied way at the assembled journalists -- which, again, was not anything new.

“Peralta!” a voice called out.

Amy looked back over her shoulder just as the detective did the same. He glanced once more at Amy, mouthed “the ex” very dramatically, then turned on his heel and walked away.

One of the TV reporters asked if a wedding date for the dead woman and her fiance had been scheduled and Pembroke said, “That’s a stupid question, we’re done” and made for the front door. The reporters let him go, and Amy ducked through the scattering pack of them. She reached Pembroke just as he was pushing open the precinct door.

“Captain?” Pembroke turned and looked her up and down, slowly. Amy felt her skin crawl and she cleared her throat. “Amy Santiago. With the Brooklyn Bulletin. What can you tell me about Judy Adams’ ex-boyfriend?”

Pembroke’s face went suddenly hard and he narrowed his eyes. “Why? Who told you about him?”

“No one,” Amy said, quickly. “Just, I heard there was an ex and I wondered if he was a suspect.”

Pembroke stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable, then muttered, “No comment” and disappeared into the precinct.

+++

Amy worked the story the rest of the day. A quick look on Facebook confirmed that Judy Adams did have an ex-boyfriend, and he was a cop who worked out of Queens. She tracked down family and friends and talked to the fiance’s lawyer and even got Scully to slip up and tell her that Judy had once taken out a restraining order on her ex. Finally, with just half an hour before deadline and on a last-ditch whim, she called the jail to ask if anyone with the ex-boyfriend’s name was there, and the answer was yes. He’d been booked on murder charges that very afternoon. After Amy confirmed that the birthdate and city of residence of the inmate were the same as the ex-boyfriend – she’d seen it happen before, people with the same name getting confused in the media – she topped off the article and sent it to Terry, who ran it by Holt.

They made the deadline.

“That was good work, Santiago,” Holt said later, after asking her to stop by his office.

The story was Amy’s first big scoop, and Holt had never praised her before, not even a nod the first time she made the front page. She tried to school her face into a professional facade, though based on how much her cheeks hurt from containing her grin, she probably just looked insane.

“I can’t believe they were going to try to pin the murder on her fiancé,” she said, forcing herself to sound cool and casual.

“I doubt they were going to hold him for long.” Holt leaned forward and folded his hands under his chin. “My guess was they wanted to distract us with the fiancé, then let the story blow over for a few days before they arrested the police officer. They only arrested him today because you were asking questions.”

At that, Amy didn’t even bother to fight her grin. “I’m just happy justice will be served,” she said.

Holt nodded sagely and told her to go home. “I’ll want a follow tomorrow on this cop,” he said as she headed back to her desk to pick up her things.

Amy decided to walk home instead of taking the subway. It was late enough that the heat of the day had finally dissipated a little, and anyway, she hadn’t been outside once since getting back to the newsroom. It was nice to breathe some fresh air, such as it was in New York.

Today had been by far her most successful since joining the Bulletin staff three months ago. Honestly, it had been her first successful day, period.

At 30, Amy knew she was a bit on the old side for an entry-level job covering cops at a community newspaper like the Bulletin, but she’d just switched careers after a post-college stint as an elementary school art teacher. She’d actually been surprised when Holt had offered to put her on cops -- it wasn’t the most glamorous beat, but it was a step above general assignment. And it was a beat she genuinely loved. Of course she had aspirations to make it to The Times someday, but for the moment, she was thrilled to be exactly where she was: covering the NYPD, source of the grisliest, most sensational news in the country.

But crime was a tough beat, with especially fierce competition and tight-lipped sources and a lot of gossip and misinformation to contend with. The cops themselves were sometimes the hardest part of the job. There was so much bitter history and genuine mistrust between the NYPD and the media.

Amy had been feeling overwhelmed from her first day, and though Raymond Holt was a smart, inspiring editor in chief, he was also intimidating and she badly wanted to impress him. She’d been barely keeping up with the crimes of the day and had been starting to feel like maybe she didn’t have the spark to nail the bigger stories -- the scoops that make or break a reporter.

Until today, anyway. Amy hummed to herself as she crossed through Fort Greene Park, which was still buzzing with activity even after 10 p.m. on a Friday night, though much of the noise came from the bars and restaurants on the perimeter. Her story would already be online by now, and tomorrow it would be on the front page of the newspaper. She could hardly wait to see the reaction it would get. Even The Times would have to follow her lead.

As she headed up Franklin toward her apartment, Amy replayed the events of the day all over again. It had started with that detective. He’d had an impish smile and unruly hair, but his information had been solid. She wondered why he’d picked her out of the crowd of reporters.

Peralta. That was the name he’d responded to. She’d have to look him up sometime.

+++

“Peralta, you are an idiot.”

Rosa shoved her phone in front of Jake’s face and he jerked back instinctively, sloshing beer down his shirt and into his lap.

“Rosa, what the-”

“Read,” Rosa said, shaking the phone. He took it from her and squinted at the text she’d pulled up on the screen.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t think she’d get the story that fast,” Jake said, impressed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rosa snatched her phone back. “The Vulture will slaughter you if he finds out this came from you.”

Jake shrugged, though in reality the very idea of being found out tipping off a reporter made him feel slightly ill. “I just didn’t want to see that asshole get off.”

“You know they were going to arrest him anyway.”

“Yeah, but only after no one gave a shit anymore, and then at least the department could save face,” Jake said. He grabbed a napkin and blotted at his wet clothes. “I’m just tired of this bullshit.”

He knew he didn’t have to explain to Rosa the bullshit he was talking about. The Vulture had taken over the Nine-Nine almost two years ago, and their jobs had been hell ever since.

Pembroke’s stated goal was not so much about catching bad guys, but making the NYPD – and more specifically Pembroke himself – look good. In theory, those were the same goals. But somehow under the Vulture the two paths diverged, and Jake and Rosa had found themselves increasingly pressured to prioritize cases that would get positive media attention and back off of the – as Pembroke put it – garbage ones.

Most of the decent cops in the Nine-Nine had left within a year of the Vulture taking over, but somehow Jake and Rosa were still there, partnered on a lonely island surrounded by cold, unfriendly, shark- (or vulture-) infested waters.

“If you’re thinking of making a habit of this, don’t,” Rosa said, tipping her beer bottle toward Jake in a weirdly threatening way. “The Vulture will find out, and if he doesn’t, Wuntch will. It’s too risky.”

“I know.” Jake sighed, and took a long pull from his beer. “I just kind of lost it today when he actually called a press conference and fed them all lies. He knowingly arrested the wrong man and made him the headline of the day. That’s messed up, Rosa.”

Rosa nodded glumly. “Yeah, that was all kinds of fucked up.”

They drank in silence for a while, ignoring the other cops and assorted locals at Shaw’s. Jake grabbed a handful of nuts from the bowl on their table and picked out the cashews before tossing the rest in his mouth.

Approaching that reporter had been a spontaneous decision. He’d snuck out the back of the precinct to watch the press conference, knowing it was going to piss him off. When the Vulture had started spelling the fiance’s name -- to make sure the journalists got it right, of course -- something in Jake had snapped.

He’d waited until the reporters converged on him to ask their questions and then sidled up right behind the young woman in the back. Her shiny brown hair had been falling out of her bun, the loose strands curling around her neck, and her pink blouse was sticking to her back with sweat. She’d clearly been startled when he’d suddenly whispered in her ear, but she’d recovered quickly. He’d watched her approach Pembroke straight away. So she was brave, or else just new.

Jake left Shaw’s on the early side, after Rosa decided to chew him out some more. At his apartment, he showered and changed into sleep clothes and climbed into bed, then he pulled up the Bulletin story and read it to the end. She’d done good work, and Jake felt an unexpected flush of pride. Rosa was right, he’d taken a big risk -- but it had been the right thing.

He scrolled back up to the top of the story and read the byline.

‘Well,’ Jake thought, as he flipped off his phone and tucked it under his pillow, ‘it was nice working with you, Amy Santiago.’

CHAPTER 2

#b99 #b99 fic #jake and amy au #newspaper au #life writes its own stories #peraltiago

[operationrainfall]

Not too long ago I extolled the virtues of Super Rare Games. I still maintain that they offer a great service that helps bring deserving Switch games to physical formats. But this time they’ve truly done something special. They took a game that is relatively unknown even to most niche game fans and helped it blossom into an even better product. That game is none other than Old School Musical. I would love to take credit for discovering it, but it was first brought to my attention by a great PR firm. I hadn’t heard of it prior, nor was I familiar with the diabolical French genius of La Moutarde. I really enjoyed Old School Musical when I reviewed it a couple years ago. Honestly, only one thing held it back – it was just a digital release. Now thanks to Super Rare Games, that’s no longer the case. And thanks to them providing me with a copy to review, I can once more share how awesome Old School Musical is!

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First, a little background on the game itself. Old School Musical is a rhythm game that pays homage to classic video games. It features really simplistic yet attractive artwork, and is focused on heroic brothers Tib and Rob. Their mother has gone missing, and they set out to rescue her. That itself is a small miracle, given how traumatic their childhood was. But nevertheless they set out, and find themselves confronted with that most insidious of video game features – glitches! They soon come across a portal that leads to a space station, which itself has yet more portals to other worlds. Thus begins their quest to save mother, all while being beset by dangerous and often hilarious glitches. Some of the games they parody include Mega Man, Metal Slug, Star Fox, Metal Gear Solid, R-Type, The Legend of Zelda and much more. Not only do the brothers take on appearances that conform to the universe they arrive in, but they fight to the music! One favorite moment involves the brothers flying a spaceship to Tetris inspired tunes while confronting a giant head that looks a bit like Andross.

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Your job is to hit the notes flying frantically across the screen while the brothers prance around. The notes come fast and furious, and there’s a variety of types. Some require a simple press, others have to be held and some use the trigger buttons. It’s not that complex, but it can get pretty overwhelming. Thankfully there’s different difficulty settings, so you should be safe playing on Easy. But even then, get ready, cause the game ramps up bit by bit as you make your way through the Story mode. Though that mode is definitely my favorite, featuring some laugh out loud humor and deranged situations, there’s more to Old School Musical. Once you’ve beaten the game, you unlock The Chicken Republic. That mode is basically a mental exercise of what would happen if the fowl Link constantly harasses got intelligent, built weapons and fought back? Though you do briefly go to the Republic during the Story mode, there’s a huge section that’s skipped over. Thankfully that section is the primary bonus content in the game.

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The main draw of The Chicken Republic are the modifiers. You aren’t just playing against the music here, you’re also playing against dirty tricks. Notes will shrink, the color will disappear, things will speed up and slow down unexpectedly, and chickens will even rain from the sky to distract you. By far my favorite modifier is when the shirtless man starts dancing in the middle of the screen. It’s utter insanity, and it’s a big reason I love Old School Musical as much as I do. That said, the modifiers can get irritating at times. Thankfully you’re able to play any song you’ve beaten and unlocked in the Arcade mode later, without those pesky modifiers.

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There’s actually one more element to Old School Musical I have to cover, and that’s the DLC. It got two packs, each one focused on a new artist. First was Toricity, by a Japanese musician that makes music on Game Boy. Then there was MV Expo, by another crazy French man. I really love the songs in both of these DLC packs, but I do wish there were more of them. Each DLC only has 5 new songs, which brings the grand total of songs in the game to 60. That’s not a ton, but there’s a good variety of talent. And though you might think this game is short and sweet, those that want to take their time and relish the music are welcome to do so. Mostly to get higher scores, but still it’s a nice incentive.

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Now, that’s a whole lot of talk about why I love this game. But Super Rare Games makes it even better as a physical game. There’s just something special about being able to hold a game box in your hand. Like their other releases, Old School Musical comes with a pack of random cards, a sticker and a manual. Unlike the last Super Rare Games product I reviewed, this one isn’t actually an instruction manual. It’s a tiny artbook, which is a nice touch. Given how simple the mechanics are for the game, it wouldn’t have made much sense to devote multiple pages to explaining things. But as a fan of the retro style of the title, I’m happy to flip through and check out the art.

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Super Rare Games has really outdone themselves here. I loved Old School Musical before, but this is a perfect pairing. It’s the crazy fun of La Moutarde mixed with the pristine packaging of SRG. It’s a reason I’ll continue to support this storefront, and pick up any cool games that deserve more attention!

  Super Rare Games Brings the Rhythm with Old School Musical Not too long ago I extolled the virtues of Super Rare Games. I still maintain that they offer a great service that helps bring deserving Switch games to physical formats.

#La Moutarde #nintendo switch #Old School Musical #oprainfall #Physical #Super Rare Games