#so i went out this evening and two of the four drains were completely clogged :( but i got out my tool & as soon as i cleared a little spac

[coquelicoq]

yeah sex is great but have you ever unflooded your street by removing leaves from the storm drains using the litter-grabber tool you bought from lowe's two weeks ago for that exact purpose?

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham’s and Kazuichi’s mangaka S/O wants to draw them

Gundham Tanaka:

·       Though you were the Super High School Level Mangaka you specialized in historical fantasy! You absolutely adored doing research and finding new mythical beasts and species to sketch and incorporate into your work. It was no surprise that Gundham became your muse the moment you two met!

·       Gundham would allow you to visit his creatures and draw them to use as bases for cryptids and monsters of all sorts in your manga. The four Dark Devas often acted as your pose models given how unusually animated they were for hamsters.

·       Having asked the Overlord of Ice to allow you near his animals so often you spent much time together and eventually started dating.

·       “My Queen, the Stringer of Fates, what curse dares to plague your soul?! You’ve not touched the pages with which you create and destroy worlds, as if it were deadly to do so! You’ve yet to search out a demon to immortalize. Not even have you greeted the four Dark Devas of Destruction as you always have.” You huffed lazily watching the rabbit Gundham was currently grooming. “Artists’ block. I can’t seem to draw or write anything. Either I just stare at a blank page for hours, or I start something which quickly dissolves into an incoherent mess!” Rubbing your temples, you grumbled at the clogged feeling fogging your mind. “I did pull a few all-nighters last week. Maybe I’m just drained. But if things keep going like this, I’ll miss my deadline! I already asked for an extension on it last week, I can’t keep doing this!”

·       Gundham watched as you picked up the sketch pad and pencil. There was this stiffness in your movements. Your hand which once flowed about gracefully like a bird in flight now paved plain straight lines. Your eyes darted about unable to focus on anything. “UGH! I can’t even draw a proper circle for the rabbit’s body!” Sinking into your seat you tossed your sketch pad and pencil aside. “Perhaps a day of respite is in order.” “No, I already took a day off yesterday. I feel I’m even worse now than I was two day ago.”

·       The Devas quickly scurried over to you, hopping into your lap, or climbing onto your shoulder to nuzzle your cheek. “… thanks.” Gently petting the two in your lap you sighed in defeat.

·       It was at that Gundham abruptly stood up. “Where is my Queen, and what have you done with her, villain?!” “… Huh?” “MY Queen would never rot away so quickly into a decrepit state such as this! She’d fight and claw till her final breath! She’d never faulter so easily!” “I Am, your Queen.” “Hmph! No, you are not. Now, tell me where she is.” You marched right up to Gundham glaring at him. “I’m right here! I am your Queen, the Stringer of Fates!”

·       It started as a chuckle which boomed into uproarious laughter! “There you are. That determination, your will to live has returned to your eyes. I am glad to have you back.” Surprisingly, you did feel like you had more energy than before. “So, shall we be off? A piece of you is still missing and we must search it out less you start to fade away once more.” “… Yeah, a date sounds nice right now.”

·       As a bright blush dusted his cheeks, the Overlord of Ice took your hand into his bandaged one, the other taking your bag of sketch supplies, he led you out of the school grounds into the great beyond!

·       The day was filled with fun and laughter as you raced from place to place, doing anything you could think of. A walk in the park, a trip to the arcade, lunch at a café, shopping at a bookstore, and anything else you could have dreamed of.

·       As the sun began to set, Gundham and you found yourselves at the clear beach, dancing around barefoot, not a care in the world. “… Gundham. Thank you, today was amazing.” His entire face instantaneously flushed hearing his true name being called. In that moment he just looked so beautiful to you. His sheepish smile, those tender eyes, just, everything about him.

·       “May I draw you?” “… Of course, my Queen.”

·       And thus you drew, having completely forgotten that morning or the past few days, you were struggling.

·       “Ah! Your depiction captured my true form! I should have known you could see through my mortal guise!” He so happily admired your drawing with sparkling eyes.

·       While he was distracted you worked on another piece, one of a dark king holding his queen close on the soft shores of the beach.

  Kazuichi Soda:

·       You never held much interest in machinery till you came to Hope’s Peak and met Kazuichi. It seemed just about every time you saw him, he was tinkering with something, from a small robot toy to a monster truck engine. Often times the parts of whatever he was working on were spread out, and then seeing how they all fit together fascinated you. Without realizing it you’d end up just watching him work for hours and sketching out the pieces and tools he was using.

·       Quickly this fascination bled into your own work, incorporating steampunk-esque elements into it. And the more elements you added, the more references you needed. At first you tried getting some on your own, but you’d just end up injuring your hands and fingers in some way or you’d break the pieces.

·       “Look, you got me into this mess and now you have to take responsibility.” “W-what!?” Before Kazuichi could panic you placed an old, rusted pocket watch before him. “How do I disassemble this!?” For a week or two after you’d bring some new item to Kazuichi to disassemble and reassemble. You eagerly sketched out the pieces you needed the references of and more.

·       Quickly you and Kazuichi became friends. You would chatter away as you did your own things. Before you knew it the two of you ended up spending time together just to be together, no drawing and no tinkering.

·       Kazuichi would go to you for advice for his unrequited crush on Princess Sonia to which you’d try your best to help, even if it did hurt a little given your crush on the mechanic. She wasn’t the only thing he spoke of though, so you had plenty of other conversations.

·       Kazuichi certainly liked chatting so when one day he was quiet you got a bit worried… Then you remembered something. “Oh Soda. You’ve never been on a school trip before, right?” “Hmm, uh, yeah. I skipped out on the only one I got a chance to go on.” “Because of financial issues, right.” “Yeah.” “Well, I happen to be going on a trip all over Europe for background references and I was thinking who better to take along than my best friend and best mechanic I know!” The news certainly perked him right up, and he excitedly chattered on about traveling! Quickly the news spread, and it ended up becoming a class trip! Honestly, though a trip alone with Soda sounded lovely, you more enjoyed seeing how ecstatic he was to be going on an actual class trip with everyone.

·       The trip was fantastic, it seemed to be nonstop fun. Often you’d forget that you were being payed to go on this trip for work and that you needed to get reference materials, thankfully Mikan took more than enough reference photos for you.

·       Though during the trip, you noticed how Kazuichi, though still friendly, was a bit more reserved than usual. When you asked him what was wrong, he said he appreciated the concern, but it was something he had to work out on his own.

·       Eventually your trip took you all to France the city of love. The place was certainly an artist’s dream, you found yourself drawing nonstop there. It was amazing!

·       At one point in your trip your class wanted to get to a restaurant at the top of a rather large hill, but the only way to get there was via a thin road by car. So, you, Kazuichi, Sonia and your driver were the last to get to the restaurant.

·       Then the car broke down. Kazuichi immediately went to check the engine while Sonia stood at the edge of the road, looking out at the sunset. It was a gorgeous sight, her profile, the sunset, the city lights, everything. You had started sketching out the scenery when a though struck you.

·       You elbowed Kazuich, gaining his attention. You then leaned in real close while still looking at Sonia, not noticing the blush spreading on his cheeks as he kept looking to you. “Hey Soda, now’s your chance. This view is absolutely romantic, and you’re in the city of love. Don’t you think this is the perfect time to ask out the girl you like?” This hurt, it really did, but seeing how happy he was to be going on a school trip without worry like he always wanted, you could hardly imagine his joy if Sonia got together with him at a time like this. It hurt, but you just wanted to see him happy.

·       “… Ask out the girl I like, huh…… Okay.”

·       Turning to you he placed his hands atop your shoulders. “Y/N I have a crush on you. Please go out on a date with me.” “… Wait? I thought… what about Nevermind?” “I, well, yeah, I do like her, but… I really like you… I… That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out lately and... so I... You get it, don’t you!?” “… Soda, please let me draw you!” “Huh?” “Well, if we start going out, we’ll be boyfriend and girlfriend, right? I’d like to have something to commemorate the moment by.” “S/O!” He pulled you into a tight hug, giddy out of his mind.

·       You ended up drawing him at the restaurant. He loved the drawing so much he took a picture to use as his phone’s lock screen. From then on you often drew him for references for poses and though all great, his favorite would forever be the first one you made of him. It was made to celebrate you getting together, it was always so special to him.

[mewmedic]

An Offering, Chapter 2

Read it on AO3 here.

Summary: Claudette walked off and met Meg again, who extended her arm to link up and she reciprocated. The two survivors crossed over into the fog together once more. She was surprised at how Meg was willing to be so close and even touch her. Before she was abducted into this realm, Claudette never really had anyone who was like this in her life. She didn’t know many people who wanted to spend time with her. To most around her, she was the weird girl who likes plants too much. She was torn from her thoughts when Meg began to speak.

Warnings: None.

Notes: This chapter went way longer than expected. But the next chapter should be shorter and the final.

    Claudette was stirred from her sleep by the call of a trial. It was a sleep cycle she had acquired over a pretty quick period of time, much like waking up before an alarm she has set for school. She rubbed her groggy eyes and turned her gaze to the primrose flowers in a satchel. Memories of last night returned to her mind: Meg distrusting her, the embarrassment, then she forgave her. The whole encounter was so awkward and she would really just like to move on from it. But she dreaded that it would have to be brought up again when the four of them met for the trial. She was going to have to explain the primrose to Jake and Dwight somehow. She exited her tent with her satchel and met the others at the fire.

    “Oh, there she is. Claudette has a surprise for us.” Meg looked like she was mid conversation with the two men and was ushering her into the topic by waving her arm. Claudette stopped moving and felt her throat clog, her whole body tensed. Her brain flashed imagery of her last public speaking moment, an awards ceremony where she nearly melted behind the podium. How could she approach this without Jake and Dwight thinking she was crazy like Meg did?

    “I… uh… Primrose is an ingredient used in medicine that treats eczema and other skin issues and… and...” Jake was deadpanning her like he was waiting for her to get to the damn point while Dwight looked like he was painfully resisting the urge to bite his nails out of boredom. She shot a desperate look to Meg that screamed ‘please help me out of this pit of verbal quicksand.’

    “What Claudette is trying to say is. She thinks whatever monster gave us this campfire put it here so we could make, like, sacrifices to it. Things we find in the fog could help us.” Meg shot her arms out gesticulating with every point she was trying to make.

    “I would prefer the term offering. Sacrifice just sounds so… violent. But yes, I believe burning this primrose could maybe motivate us to heal each other more.” Claudette thought she was starting to find her footing in the conversation thanks to Meg’s explanation. Unfortunately, Jake rolled his eyes at her statement.

    “I’m pretty sure our motivation to heal is the psychotic guy hunting us down.” Jake was mostly a quiet individual, but when he did speak, he was quite curt. Claudette secretly wished he would be a bit more of a ‘team player’ but felt ashamed to even think that.

    “Oh, whatever. You only heal us when we basically grovel and beg for it.” Meg crossed her arms and tapped her foot, clearly trying to control her temper. Dwight’s eyes darted around the campfire like he was looking for an opportunity to add his two cents.

    “Meg’s right. Anyways, it’s not like burning some flowers could possibly hurt us… Right?” Dwight unrolled his fists into open hands and showed his palms in a sort of shrug. “Right?” His voice was smaller now, almost like he was trying to reassure himself this time. Jake immediately scoffed and crossed his arms. The fog began to creep closer to the survivors and Claudette steeled herself. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tossed the satchel into the flames. The last thing she saw before the fog whisked her away was the fire spiking into the air.

    ***

    The trial was pretty standard for Claudette. The killer that they call ‘The Hillbilly’ had eliminated her on her third hook when there were two generators left to finish. She hated dying so close to completion, all that hard work down the drain, at least for her. Now her friends would be left to deal with aftermath of her mistakes. The first death often causes the trial to spiral out of control and she couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. Claudette might even be the only one who will die this trial, although that would be unlikely. It seemed like the most common outcome for their trials was for two to live and two to die.

    She sat at the campfire as she waited for the others to return, gripping her knees in trepidation. After several minutes, Jake’s unconscious body gradually materialized from the fog one glowing body part at a time. The man sat up and the two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Claudette was too timid to ask what Jake was trying to get across with his stare. She didn’t want to be confrontational, so she just tilted her head down and stared at the dirt. Jake stood up and made his way back to the inside of his tent.

    A few minutes later, Meg and Dwight emerged from the fog together. Meg had her fists in the air like she had just crossed a finish line. Dwight trailed behind her, holding his gut in pain with his back hunched over. Claudette stood up and scurried over to Dwight, reaching a hand towards the wound.

    “It-it’s okay, Claudette. I have a medk-k-kit in my tent.” Dwight stuttering betrayed his attempt to sound like he was handling the pain well. She could tell Dwight probably just wanted to be alone after a hard trial so she let him go, against her best wishes. She knew she could heal Dwight better than he could himself, but she didn’t have the nerve to boss him around. The man drifted away to his tent so Claudette turned to Meg, who still looked quite victorious. She was shifting her weight from leg to leg in an excited dance, like she still had energy from the trial left to burn.

    “You are not gonna believe what I saw in the trial.” Meg proclaimed like a teenager who just heard the hottest rumor. Meg turned her head side to side to make sure the boys weren’t around and cupped a palm up to her lips like she was going to tell a secret. “Jake unhooked Dwight, and then he healed him.” She leaned back and let out a hearty cackle like a mad woman.

    “Really?” Claudette crossed her arms and placed a finger on her chin like she was waiting for more information.

    “Okay, so Dwight was hooked and I was on my way to get him. This was after you died, by the way, so the only people who could’ve got him are me and Jake. And I’m thinking there no way Jake’s gonna get him so I will. I’m about to exit the corn but I stop in my tracks when I see Jake in the distance. He did it, he really did it! Off the hook Dwight goes and he doesn’t even ask for a heal. Jake just gives it to him. And because Dwight was healed for the rest of the trial, he was able to take a hit while I opened the exit gate!” She slammed her hands together in a loud clap and was doing little jumps up and down. “Can you believe that?!”

    “So, you both only got out because of Jake’s healing?” The gears in Claudette’s brain were turning but she was disrupted by Meg.

    “You know what this means, right? The offering worked Claudy! It worked!” Meg struck a dramatic pose, craning her foot behind her in an arc and raising both hands in the air again.

    “Oh gosh, he really was motivated to be more altruistic, huh?” Claudette tapped her finger on her chin like she was lost in thought. It also could have been Dwight and Meg shaming him before the round. Who knows? Wait, did Meg just call her Claudy? She didn’t hate it; she just hadn’t been called that since maybe high school.

    “We should go get more before we get forced into another trial.” Meg swiftly turned to head into the fog. Claudette reached out to Meg and tapped her shoulder.

    “Wait, I need to fetch my trowel and another satchel.” Claudette headed to her tent then grabbed her trowel and a spare satchel, which she had found at Coldwind Farm not too long ago. When she exited her tent, she noticed Jake and Dwight were quietly talking while sitting on a log. The tone seemed like the conversation was private, as they both stopped speaking when they noticed Claudette. “Meg and I are going out to look for more offerings. Okay?” The two men nodded their head and then returned to looking at each other.

    Claudette walked off and met Meg again, who extended her arm to link up and she reciprocated. The two survivors crossed over into the fog together once more. She was surprised at how Meg was willing to be so close and even touch her. Before she was abducted into this realm, Claudette never really had anyone who was like this in her life. She didn’t know many people who wanted to spend time with her. To most around her, she was the weird girl who likes plants too much. She was torn from her thoughts when Meg began to speak.

    “So, what exactly are we looking for?” Meg pushed her free hand out in front of her, like she was trying to test to see if she would whisk away the fog. It unfortunately did not work.

    “I’m not sure really. Any sort of plant really.” She really did not know what kind of plants can grow out in this unusual dimension, finding the primrose really seemed like miracle. She really hoped she would be able to spot something as she didn’t want to let the team down. But right now, she only saw dirt on the ground as they walked.

    Claudette felt a soft warmth envelope her hand that was close to Meg. Almost like there was something holding it. Like a hand? It couldn’t be. Her body tensed for a millisecond and her eyes slowly traveled from the dirt to her own hand. There it was: Meg’s hand holding hers. She felt a heat rise in her cheeks so she had to be blushing. Claudette shot a speedy glance over to Meg; she was blushing too! She never imagined someone as confident as Meg could ever feel anxious about anything. The two girls both shot a knowing glance at each other. Claudette had no objections to this; but it seemed to all be coming at her so fast. Everything about Meg was fast so she guessed she would have to learn to keep up.

    Claudette stopped moving and Meg followed suit when she noticed an interruption in the dirt. It was an herb that looked like it had just started to grow as there wasn’t much of it. Just some pale green stems and the leaves that had red veins inside. The two survivors knelt down to get a closer look. “I think… I think this is crispleaf amaranth. Although I’ve never actually seen it in person since it doesn’t grow where I live.”

    “Where are you from?” Meg tilted her head curiously.

    “Oh, Uh, I’m from Montreal.” Claudette realized then that she didn’t really know the others’ pre-fog origins.

    “I’m from Colorado. You don’t sound Canadian, like, at all.” Meg spoke in a light-hearted manner.

    “What’s a Canadian supposed to sound like?” Claudette seemed taken aback a bit.

    “Canadians are supposed to say sorry like Sor-Eee and about like aboot.” Meg’s spoke playfully. Claudette quickly swiveled her head to face Meg and dropped her jaw in faux offense. “Oooh, can you speak French? Say something in French.”

    “Belle fleur. It means beautiful flower.” Claudette noticed Meg bite her lip like she was lost in thought and turned her view back to the herb in front of them. It may not be a flower or visually appealing, but it had beauty in its own way. “Anyways, amaranth in Greek means ‘the unfading flower.’ This Crispleaf has a self-supporting growth form, meaning it has its own supportive tissues so it doesn’t need to climb an object to grow high.”

    “So, it’s a real resilient son of a bitch?” Meg smirked, resting her chin on her knuckles.

    “That’s one way to put it, yeah. I think it will help us survive a trial.” Claudette laughed as she spoke and she gently pushed the trowel into the dirt. She left the trowel in the dirt and retrieved her satchel from her pocket. After a bit more digging the crispleaf had found its way into the little bag. She then put the trowel in her back pocket so she could carry the satchel. Both of the girls stood back up in unison.

    “So, did you go to college to learn all this plant stuff?” Meg asked.

    “Yes. I was honestly scared to leave my home, but I got a scholarship to a great school so I just had to go. What about you?” Claudette innocently questioned.

    “Well, I got a scholarship… But my mom got sick so I had to turn it down.” Meg turned her face away to hide the tears beginning to well in her eyes.

    “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Claudette squeezed Meg’s hand just a little bit tighter in a meek way to show support.

    “I just… Being stuck out here is so painful. I have no idea how she’s doing.” Meg’s tears began to fall now.

    “Meg, I believe we’ll all get out of here, and the first thing we’ll do is go see your mom together.” Claudette spoke with a confidence that she can’t remember having in a long time. Meg turned her head back to Claudette and began to wipe the tears from her eyes. Claudette could tell from her behavior that she was ashamed cry. Meg suddenly let go of Claudette’s hand and threw her arms around her in a vice grip of a hug. Claudette gasped, dropped the satchel, and awkwardly tried to use her arms to pat Meg on the back. Her face reddened when she felt Meg rest her chin on her shoulder. She sat in silence, patiently waiting for Meg’s sobbing to fade away. “Are you ready to go back to the fire?”

    “Y-yeah. Sure.” Meg separated from the other woman. Claudette bent over and picked up the satchel. She then reached out her open palm to Meg, who then softly entwined her fingers with Claudette’s. The two walked for what felt eternity in silence until the blooming light of the campfire greeted them. “Claud, please don’t tell the guys about all that.”

    “Of course. It will be just between us.” Claudette let go of Meg’s hand and placed it on her own heart to try and show her sincerity.

    “Bye.” Both of them said at the same time. They both paused for a second at the unintentional timing and chuckled. They parted ways to their own tents to prepare themselves for the next trial. In the depth of Claudette’s mind, she wondered if the first offering had really worked. What if it was just a coincidence that Jake decided to take care of Dwight? She sat alone in her tent; vision locked to the herb held tightly in both hands. All that was left to do was wait.

[yoongs-yoongi]

Or Was It?

Jungkook x reader

Summary: Jungkook getting head. Das it. Das the story.

Warning: cursing, smut, mouthfucking. adorable Jungkook.

A/N:I don’t think I’m cut out for smut but I keep trying lol. Happy 🎂 Jungkook!I hope you never find this!

Jungkook was having himself yet another sleepless night. He tossed and he turned, he even tried laying at the bottom of the bed. Nothing worked. Tonight was especially worse because Jungkook was sporting a hard-on.

He decided to rely on some good old fashion porn to allow himself some peace tonight, but in the midst of it all, the power went out. A thunderstorm no one knew was coming happened and knocked the power out, leaving poor Kook with a hard dick and his frustration.

He tried jerking off to memories and other pornos he’d seen, but that didn’t work, only made it worse.

“Ugh!” Jungkook hopped out of bed. Maybe a cold shower will help, he thought. He peeled his boxers off him and threw them in his dirty clothes hamper. Usually Jungkook would never walk around the house completely naked out of respect for you, his roommate. But you’re in your room sleep.

Jungkook was only going down the hall. He’ll be in and out, you won’t know a thing.

“Well good morning to you too.” Jungkook turned his head to see you at the kitchen table. You were eating a bowl of what he assumed to be cereal, you had your phone’s flashlight as your source of light.

“____!” He exclaimed.

“Jungkook.” You said simply, smiling.

“Wh-what are you doing up?”

“I could ask you and your friend the same question.” You cocked your head to the side. Jungkook gasped seeing as he still had his dick showing. He grabbed a nearby pillow to cover it up.

“Oh yeah, that’ll do the trick.” You giggled.

Jungkook paled, “What are you doing up!”

“I got hungry so I got up to get some cereal. You know the powers out?”

“Yeah I was made aware already.” Jungkook scoffed at the cruel memory of the storm blue balling him.

“You didn’t think to tell me? I ran into a freaking chair and crushed my pinky toe.”

“I was a little busy at the moment, and besides most people would have woken up when that big ass crackle of thunder sounded and shook the whole complex.”

“I think we’ve both figured out I’m not like most people.” You grabbed your bowl and finished of your milk.

“Well if you excuse me I’ll be in the shower... bathing.” Jungkook tried to ease towards the bathrooms.

“I could help you.” Jungkook turned back around with big eyes, “You know with your ‘bathing.’” You shrugged.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Did I stutter? I said I could help you with your dick.”

If it’s even possible Jungkook got paler. This situation was so bizarre that he didn’t know what to say. He just stood there looking at you. You sat there looking back, waiting for him to say something. When you realized he wouldn’t you spoke up. “A mouth is way better than cold water, plus I can’t have you stopping the drain up again.”

The light jab caused Jungkook to jab back, it was a reflex. You two are always bickering. “Like you’re hair doesn’t clog both sinks-what are you doing?” You were now on your knees in front of him.

“What you don’t want me to?”

“It-but-you…” Jungkook didn’t know what to say. If someone had told him his roommate of four years would be on her knees for him he wouldn’t believe it. Jungkook always assumed you thought of him as some bratty, little kid, you showed no interest in Jungkook at all. Which is why it was so normal for him to walk around the house ALMOST completely naked and the same for you.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head.” You laughed. “Relax, don’t think about too much.”

“Easy for you to say.” Jungkook scoffed.

“Just look at it as friends helping each other out.”

“How am I helping you out?”

“I’ve been so busy with school and work, I found myself in sexual drought. I need to see if I’m still the pro that I am.”

“So you wanna test that out on me? What if you’re not this pro you claim to be? What if you nip me with your teeth.”

Jungkook has had that happen before, he shivers randomly sometimes still thinking about it.

“Only one way to find out, right?” You removed the pillow from his hand, “Unless you don’t want me too..”

Your face was so close to his dick he could feel your breath on his tip. “I feel like I should be telling you no or something.”

“Are you telling me no?”

“No. I don’t know, I just don’t want this to be awkward, once we cross this line we can’t go back.”

“Then we won’t go back. I’ll just suck your dick from now on when you want me to, unless I’m not in the mood then your fucked.”

“You can’t say things like that to me. We’re roommates!”

“We share rent not solemn vows! Now do you want your dick in my mouth or not?”

Jungkook racked his brain. He looked back and forth between you and his dick. The tip began to drip precum, you watched it drop to the floor. “Tick tick, am I gonna suck your cock?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. Your lips broke into a twisted smirk. What has Jungkook got himself into? “Since you waited so long to decide I’m just gonna get to the point of this. You can enjoy my mouth some other time. We’ve got class in a couple of hours.”

You grabbed Jungkook dick and began to suck on the tip. Jungkook hips bucked forward making his deep go down your throat by accident. “S-sorry-oh fuck!” Jungkook tried to remove some of himself from your mouth but you kept him in place. Forcing his dick deeper down your throat. You’ve seen you’re share in dicks, but Jungkook takes the cake. Who knew this shy dork was harboring a package like this. He was well groomed, pink all over with delicious looking veins appearing around it, big and thick as shit. You’d gladly suck him dry.

You continued to take his dick into your mouth until your nose was pressed against his stomach. The fun didn’t stop there, you began to shake your head back and forth while swallowing around him.

“Fuck! Oh shit!” Jungkook grabbed the back of your head for some support. You pulled back just to the tip, and twirled your tongue around it. You popped your lips off him, “Fuck my mouth.” You held your hands behind your back, Jungkook grabbed your head, too far gone to care anymore, and shoved his dick back into your mouth and began thrusting. He started to twitch.

“I’m close! Fuck I’m so close! Yes- oh my god yes!” You took him all the way again and kept yourself pressed to his stomach. To speed up the process you began to hum around him, not a second later you could feel him shooting down your throat. Jungkook was panting heavily, he felt light headed.

“Jungkook?” Your voice was faint as darkness surrounded him.

The next morning Jungkook woke up in his bed. He wondered how he got back in he sure doesn’t remember putting himself to bed. Unless, what he thought happened last didn’t really happen and he just dreamt it. He looked under the covers, and realized it had been a dream. There on him were the same boxers he thought he took off last night.

He rubbed his face, “Damn it felt so real.”

He caught himself chuckling, “Of course it wasn’t real you idiot. Stuff like that only happens in the pornos.”

“Kook!” You barged in. “Wake up, I’ve got to be in class in 45 minutes. If you wanna ride, get up!”

“Alright, alright.” He peeled the covers back and got up. He looked all over his room for something clean to wear. “What’s up with your voice this morning?” He yawned picking up a shirt and some sweats. “You sound hoarse.”

“You fucked my throat raw last night, remember? Then you passed out on me. I had to help you back to bed. I guess I’m still a pro.” You winked . “Now hurry up!” You left out, closing the door. Jungkook was left standing there dumbfounded and horny all over again.

You came back in, “Oh and I made eggs.”

[urdbell18]

Those Moments In Between The Problem with Mary’s Hair

AN: So thanks to this virus I’m out of work for the next too weeks and I’m bored out of my mind. So I got this great idea about creating a mini series to my main fic A Seed Hidden in the Heart. This is the first story but f you guys have anything that you want me to write about just message me! I think this might be fun. 

Zelda loved a lot of things about Mary. She loved how Mary could anticipate her needs before she even needed them. She loved how Mary always had an ear to listen with and if anyone needed help she was willing to lend a hand. Most importantly Zelda loved how Mary was with her family, especially her daughter. Mary was the perfect parent, she was strict yet fair, fun but knew when to be serious, reliable without being overwhelming. Mary took to being a guardian to two extremes, a teen and a small child, almost effortlessly and it was just one of the reasons why Zelda loved her.

Mary had only one flaw however and that was her hair.

Now don’t get Zelda wrong, she loved Mary’s hair. Mary’s hair was soft and full of volume, perfect to tangle your fingers in. It’s just the problem is that ‘volume’ translates to ‘a lot’ and Mary had a LOT of hair. A sort of trail seemed to follow Mary wherever she went as several strands of hair would end up on things, mostly soft surfaces like the pillow cases and the back of the sofa. It wasn’t noticeable at first but over time the build up of loose hair started to become more obvious which triggered something inside Zelda. Zelda wouldn’t call herself a neat freak, she was just the type of person who liked things to be a certain way and that way just happened to be organized. So her reactions when she saw the large collection of hair on the pillow or on the headrest in her car were perfectly normal for her. She bought a large collection of lint rollers and that was that.

Or so she thought.

A month after Mary moved in Zelda noticed that her tub wasn’t draining as it normally would. It wasn’t something that she noticed at first until she came into the bathroom to brush her teeth and the tub would still be filled with water from her daughter’s bath. It gave her pause. She checked the plug and it was fully dislodged so it wasn’t that, so what could it be?

Zelda didn’t think about it again because everything seemed to go back to normal, her tub was draining like it should be until, yet again, it wasn’t. She noticed it first when she was taking her morning shower and found herself in ankle deep water. Curious, and luckily she didn’t break her neck getting out of the tub. The problem got steadily worse until she couldn’t stand it anymore and turned to the only person that she knew who could fix it, Ambrose. Ambrose was their resident handyman, he couldn’t fix big problems like when a tree fell and put a whole in their roof but for small problems he was great. He had an answer for her almost straight away when she came to him, his exact words were, “Again? I just cleared it two weeks ago.”

Two weeks ago? That was the first time that Zelda noticed the tub wasn’t draining properly. It was also, when she checked the calendar, the end of the month. That meant on the first Ambrose completed his monthly chore of maintenance on all of the household plumbing, including the tub in Zelda’s room. So the drain was clogging faster than normal and the only reason why that was that Zelda could think of was because of Mary.

All evidence pointed to Mary. Zelda never had this kind of problem before. Not when she shared the room, and thus the bathroom as well, with Hilda. There’s never been a problem with her and Vida. Mary was the only factor that added up. All that hair had to go somewhere and down her drain wasn’t one of them. So she bought a drain trap to catch it all and it was fine until… this

The drain trap needed to come out. It did its job and that was the underlying problem. A clump of hair and other things that Zelda didn’t even want to think about circled the trap. She was NOT going to touch it. She called out to Mary who came into the bathroom a bit confused.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to remove that.” Zelda pointed at the drain trap but didn’t look directly at it in fear of being sick. Mary looked over the edge of the tub and grimaced.

“And what exactly is that?”

“That my dear is a week worth of your hair trying to clog up my drains yet again.”

“Last time I checked I’m not the only one with hair. How do you know this is all my doing?”

“Because I never had to deal with this before until you.”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean!?” Zelda took a deep breath. This was escalating out of proportion.

“I don’t want to fight with you but we can’t have the drain clogging up every other week. Could you please just clear the drain.”

“Fine.”

A compromise was reached after that. Zelda would set the trap while Mary would clear it as well as picking up any stray hair that she could. And everything worked out just fine.

_____________________

Part 2

There were some advantages to living in Greendale. One of them that Mary cared about the most was the humidity or lack thereof. There was little to no humidity in Greendale and thus her hair wouldn’t get staticy or dry like it did whenever she was sent to camp in Arizona. That was hell on earth.

However, Greendale did come with one disadvantage and that was rain. It rained a LOT in Greendale. Their yearly rainfall rivaled that of Seattle and Forks and they were one of the rainiest towns on the east coast. All that rain led to one thing that Mary was starting to believe was even worse than the humidity. Frizz.

When spring hit Greendale there were two things that Mary could count on, her allergies and frizz. Both things were manageable. She had her allergy medication for outside, she didn’t really need it for inside anymore thanks to Zelda’s neat freak nature. Zelda says she’s not a neat freak but she totally is and Mary loves her for it. She still had some off days, mostly it would be her eyes would be too dried out for her to put in her contacts. The frizz however, she hadn’t quite mastered. She tried everything, and she means everything, to try and tame it with little to no results. After years of dealing with the same thing she just accepted it as something that happened and went with it, unless something happened.

Like getting a hairbrush stuck in her hair.

The thing about her hair was that it was always kind of hard to brush. Unless she used a smoothing conditioner her hair would become coarse and make the act of brushing it twice as hard. So meeting some resistance wasn’t that unheard. None of that didn’t matter when frizz was involved and so it wasn’t completely unheard of if her brush got stuck in her hair but this was completely different. Her brush wasn’t just stuck it was stuck. Any other time she could get her hairbrush out of her hair but, nope. Her tugging was only doing one thing and that was causing her pain. As loath as she might want to admit it she needed help. Luckily the first person she came across was Hilda.

“Hilda.” The plump blonde woman jumped a bit, she probably wasn’t expecting anyone to still be upstairs.

“Oh, good morning Mary. Thought you would be downstairs with the others.”

“I’ve had a bit of a set back that has kept me and I’m in need of your assistance.”

“What’s wrong?” Instead of trying to explain it Mary turned around so that Hilda could get a clear view of the blue backing of her hairbrush. “Oh my! How’d this happen?”

“Would you like me to blame genetics or the weather?” She heard Hilda chuckle behind her and a warm hand landed on her shoulder.

“Brace yourself love, this is going to hurt.” Mary took a deep breath and placed a hand on the railing. Without further hesitation Hilda started to yank. She was right, it hurt!

Nether noticed Vida coming up on the first landing nor her eyes wide in horror until…

“Mommy!”

At the same time downstairs:

Zelda closed her newspaper, only one article interested her today and now that her reading was done she folded the newspaper and placed it next to her empty plate. She checked her watch and her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Mary and her sister should be downstairs by now and yet when she did a head count they were missing. Ambrose was here eating a bowl while stretched out on the bench. Sabrina was putting some final touches on a school assignment. And Vida was next to her downing the last remainders of her milk. Mary’s absence didn’t go unnoticed by her either.

“Where’s Momma?”

“I don’t know, baby why don’t you go upstairs and check up on her.”

“Okay!” With that Vida jumped down from her seat and rounded the corner out of sight. Zelda checked her watch again and sighed. At this rate Mary wouldn’t be able to sit down for breakfast. This wasn’t the first time it has happened so Zelda got up and filled a travel mug with coffee and popped some toast in the toaster. Mary could eat in the car, something that she never allowed, but Mary needed to eat something and her threat of vacuuming her entire car if she saw even a single crumb was enough for Mary to keep things neat.

“Mommy!” Zelda’s blood ran cold and she rushed out of the kitchen to where her daughter's voice was coming from. Behind her she heard Ambrose and Sabrina scrambling to catch up with her.

“Vida what’s wrong!?”

“Aunt Hilda’s hurting Momma!” Zelda opened her mouth to say something else but froze. At the top of the stairs was her sister and her girlfriend. Something was poking out the back of Mary’s head and she had an ironclad grip on the banister. Vida looked at her with big eyes filled with unshed tears. Zelda could only imagine what all of this looked like to a four year old.

“What is going on here?”

“I was just trying to help with…” Hilda’s sentence trailed off and she waved a hand to the back of Mary’s head. Mary just gave a sheepish sort of smile and a light blush crept up on her cheeks.

“Hilda.” Zelda didn’t need to say anything else as she went up one side of the staircase. Hilda went down the other, ushering Sabrina, Ambrose, and Vida to the main floor. Vida looked up at her but Zelda just nodded and gave her a soft smile. She went with Hilda without a whimper. When Zelda reached Mary that blush seemed to have gotten darker and spread higher on Mary’s sharp cheekbones. “Let me see.” Mary turned to show Zelda the hairbrush that was half embedded in her hair. With gentle fingers Zelda observed the damage. “Come with me.” Zelda turned back to her bedroom, Mary followed her. She pointed to her vanity and, after a slight hesitation, Mary sat down. All Mary could see in the mirror was Zelda’s torso and the flexing of her shoulders as her arms moved. Next thing Mary knew the brush that was causing a tugging pain in the back of her head was being held out to her with a smug look on Zelda’s face.

“Frizz?” Mary gave her a side nod and took back the brush. There was a huge clump of hair in the bristles. Mary hates to think about the damage to her hair. “All you had to do was say something.” Mary turned to look at Zelda surprised.

“Really?”

“It’s not as bad as it was when I lived in London but I’d get the occasional flare up now and again. We just need to find the right combination for you but for now...” Zelda went into the bathroom then came out with a tube in her hand. “Try this.” She squeezed some cream into her hand and then ran her fingers through Mary’s hair. It felt good, really good, and Mary gave off a low moan, it almost sounded like a purr. “That’s better wouldn’t you say?” Mary brought a hand to her hair, it felt almost back to normal, it was still a little rough but a whole lot better than it was before.

“Thank you.” Mary got up and gave Zelda a quick peck on her lips. Zelda hummed and kissed Mary back.

“There’s toast and coffee waiting for you downstairs, We need to get going.” Mary looked at the alarm clock and cursed under her breath. She quickly grabbed her shoes and scrambled to keep up with Zelda. Hilda was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, she handed Mary a travel mug and her toast. She and Vida sent them off with a hug and a wave goodbye as she, Zelda and Sabrina went off for another exciting day of Baxter high.

After that Zelda found the perfect combination to contain her frizz. Some cream, a little hairspray and she was good as golden. No more dryness. No more stuck hair brushes or cries for help. 

Thank god.

[lastbluetardis]

Family of Six (3/14)

After James and Rose bring their newborn twins home, they work to find a balance between all four of their children, and each other. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU.

This chapter: all ages, 4500 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 33, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: 5, Twins: 9 days

If you like reading my stories, consider leaving me a tip? Or leave a reply on this post to tell me what you thought? And as always, reblogs are very much appreciated so more people can see this.

Chapters will be posted every other week — next update: August 6th

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14

The second week home with the babies did not go nearly as smoothly as the first—this was primarily due to the fact that all four children got sick. Exactly one week after James and Rose brought the twins home, they received a call from Sianin’s school in the early afternoon, asking them to come pick her up. When James arrived at the school’s infirmary, he found his daughter lying lethargically on a cot, her face pale except for the pink spots on her cheeks.

“Hiya, darling,” he whispered, crouching beside her. He smoothed her hair away from her face, letting the backs of his fingers linger at her forehead. She was burning up. “I hear you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m really sleepy,” Sianin mumbled, barely keeping her eyes open.

“I know. I’m gonna take you home and get you in to bed,” he said.

He planted a kiss to a rosy cheek, then stood. After signing a form, he walked back to his child and lifted her into his arms. She tucked her face into his chest and was nearly asleep by the time James deposited her into her car seat. She was completely out when they arrived home.

Rose greeted him when he walked through the front door with their daughter.

“How is she?” she asked, pressing her fingertips all across Sianin’s face.

“Very fatigued,” he answered. “I’m gonna go put her down.”

“You don’t think it’s the flu, do you?” Rose asked, her forehead crinkling with concern. “She had the shot for it. And it’s the end of flu season.”

“I don’t know, Rose,” he sighed.

“Daddy?” Sianin blinked blearily up at them.

“We’re home,” he announced. “I was just about to get you into bed.”

“Will you lay with me?” she asked, nuzzling her hot face into his neck.

“Sure thing,” he answered.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” Rose asked.

“My head hurts,” Sianin replied, turning her head to peek at her mother. “And my cheeks hurt.”

Rose gently pressed down on Sianin’s sinuses. “Here?”

Sianin nodded, then sniffed. “My nose is getting stuffy.”

“I’ll give you some medicine to help unstuff it,” James promised.

He then moved down the hall and crawled into his and Rose’s bed with Sianin, and stayed there until it was time to pick Ainsley up from school.

By that night, Sianin had a full-blown fever and completely clogged nostrils. Her fever stabilized then broke by the next morning, but the rest of her symptoms remained the same. James and Rose concluded it was nothing more than a bad cold and sinus infection; nevertheless, they continued to monitor her closely.

Unfortunately, she’d managed to infect her older sister. Ainsley awoke with a sore throat, clogged nose, and the beginnings of a fever, prompting them to keep her home as well. The day didn’t get any better when the twins began showing signs of illness, too. They were both being fussy, but when their normally-quiet breathing morphed to raspy pants, James and Rose knew that their youngest children had succumbed to whenever infection Sianin and Ainsley had.

If they thought it was difficult watching their elder children struggle with a severe cold, it was nothing compared to the agony of watching their newborns struggle with one. James lived in a perpetual state of anxiety, worrying whether or not his babies could breathe okay or if their temperature was too high. He and Rose were glued to the internet, Googling their babies’ symptoms; they also placed several calls to their pediatrician to ensure everything was okay and were ready to take them to the hospital at a moment’s notice.

James barely slept, and he knew Rose wasn’t faring any better. They awoke at the slightest cough, sneeze, or hitch in their babies’ breath. They’d adjusted the bassinets to be at a slight incline to hopefully help their sinuses drain.

But their draining sinuses upset their fragile little bellies, and more than once, James and Rose found themselves cleaning up a new puddle of baby vomit.

“Da-aaad,” Ainsley called from the living room one morning. “Hannah and Maddie puked all over themselves.”

James took the pan of frying eggs off the burner, then walked into the living room. Both babies were, indeed, lying in a puddle of their own sick. They were on their stomachs, so there was no fear of them choking, but he picked them up and wiped their mouths, just to be certain.

“I’m gonna go finish the eggs real quick, then I’ll come and clean them up,” James said, setting the babies down on a clean patch of blanket.

“Want me to change them?” Ainsley asked.

“No, no, I’ll do it,” James said. “Besides, your breakfast is nearly done.”

“Mum lets me help,” she grumbled.

James bit back a sigh. “All right. Get them naked. But if at any moment, you think something’s wrong or if you’re having trouble getting their clothes off, give me a shout. Promise me, Ainsley.”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise,” she said. 

James went into the kitchen to finish breakfast, half-focusing on the eggs, half-listening for a shout from Ainsley, and half-asleep from the all-nighter he and Rose had pulled. He made quick work of scrambling the eggs and putting bread in the toaster, then he went to the fridge and poured a glass of orange juice for Ainsley and Sianin.

As though he’d summoned them, Ainsley and Sianin trotted into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

“Did Mum give you your meds this morning?” he asked.

They shook their heads, and he went to the cabinet. He paused, then asked, “Er… did I?”

That earned him a giggle from both daughters, and again, they shook their heads. He nodded and pulled the liquid cold medicine down from the top shelf. He poured out their dosages and stood guard as they swallowed it down with a grimace.

“Are Maddie and Hannah nice and naked?” he asked.

“Yep,” Ainsley answered.

“I got them new outfits to wear,” Sianin interjected.

“Thank you for your big help,” he praised.

He then plated their eggs and toast before going to the living room. Both babies were in only their nappies, a bit of residual vomit streaked across their necks and chins. He talked to them quietly as he cleaned them up and got them tucked away in their new onesies. He then balled up the vomited-on blanket and took it to the laundry room, putting it and a few towels into the washer.

When he returned to the living room, both babies were staring alertly up at the ceiling. He bent down to pick up one of his daughters. “Right. Now my sweet little…” James’s body went numb as he looked down at the baby in his arms. Hannah? Or Maddie? Shit. “Hey, Ains… Can you come here for a sec?”

He heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, then Ainsley appeared in the living room.

“Yeah?”

“Where were Hannah and Maddie when you stripped them?”

“Um. I think Hannah was to the left and Maddie to the right,” Ainsley said, cocking her head to the side.

“You think, or you know?” he snapped, his voice coming out harsher than he intended it in his building panic. He didn’t remember where the baby in his arms had been lying, so even if Ainsley was remembering correctly, that wasn’t helpful for him.

Ainsley’s face fell at his tone.

“I don’t remember,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze to her feet.

James caught himself before he could say something else. This wasn’t Ainsley’s fault.

He set the baby down on the floor next to her twin, then crouched in front of Ainsley.

“It’s okay,” he said. He cradled her cheeks in his hands and made her look at him. “I’m very sorry for getting short with you. I’m really tired is all, but that’s not an excuse. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m sorry.”

Ainsley nodded, then asked, “How are we going to figure out who’s who?”

James shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. I am rather clever after all. Go back to your breakfast.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then ushered her to the kitchen. He turned to his two newborns and sank to his bum as he looked between the babies. His eyes traced their chubby pink cheeks and wispy brown hair and murky blue eyes, straining to find a difference or hoping for a spark of recognition.

“All right, my darlings,” he said, absently bouncing their little feet with his fingertips. “You’re only eleven days old. How detrimental could it possibly be if I accidentally mislabel you? Of course, the best case scenario is that you’re not identical—which, at the moment, I would be shocked if you’re not—and we can go to the doctor and have them run another DNA test to let us know who is who. They should have your DNA on file somewhere, right?

“Other best case scenario: I pick correctly, and you continue your wonderful little lives as Hannah Brianne and Madeline Emily Tyler-McCrimmon.

“But honestly, the worst case scenario is that you still continue your wonderful little lives as Hannah Brianne and Madeline Emily Tyler-McCrimmon without ever knowing you were anything but who you are. Seriously. You’ll never know that you were, for eleven days, called by the opposite name. What could be the harm? I’ll make up something to tell Ainsley, and we’ll keep it a secret from Mummy. No harm, no foul, eh?”

“What are we keeping a secret from Mummy?”

James squeaked and snapped his head towards the sound of his wife’s voice. Rose was leaning against the wall at the entrance of the living room.

“Er… I don’t suppose you could pretend like you didn’t hear that sentence?” James asked sheepishly.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’. “Come on. Spill. What secret are you and our twins colluding about to keep from me?”

James sighed and returned his attention to the twins. One of them was sucking on her fingers, while the other had snot running down her cheek. He picked up the snotty one and swiped her face with a tissue, much to her annoyance. She let out a loud, squawking wail. After a moment of cuddles and kisses, she calmed down, and James set her on the blanket.

“What’s the matter, love?” Rose asked, sitting on the floor next to him.

“Oh, not much. Just that I’m an awful father,” he lamented.

Rose frowned. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“Oh, you will when you’ve heard what I’ve done,” he said. He steeled himself for her reaction before he admitted, “I don’t know which twin is which.”

There was a beat of silence before Rose broke into a round of giggles.

“I’m serious, Rose!” he said, upset that she was amused by his anxiety. “I don’t know who is who!”

The hysteria in his voice sobered her. She reached out and hugged his arm, then she touched the baby nearest to her. “Maddie.” She pointed to the one closer to him. “Hannah.”

“How the hell did you know that?” he demanded, feeling both relieved and miffed at the same time.

Rose shrugged. “I just… do. And you do too.”

“I clearly bloody well don’t,” he snapped.

“James, you’re sleep deprived and got stuck in your own head,” she said soothingly, massaging her fingers through his hair for emphasis. “I have no doubt that if you would’ve calmed down a little bit, you eventually would’ve gotten them right.” She pecked a kiss to his cheek then whispered, “And you know what… they’re eleven days old. I don’t think it would have mattered if we accidentally fucked it up and switched them.”

James breathed out a chuckle through his nose, then rested his head on top of hers. “That was the secret we were going to keep from you. I was going to pick randomly which baby had which name and I’d resolved to never ever mention that maybe I’d gotten it wrong.”

Rose’s resulting laughter was interrupted by the phone ringing in the kitchen.

“Mum, Dad, phone!” Ainsley called unnecessarily.

“Yep, we hear it, love,” Rose said, pushing herself to her feet. She turned back to James and helped him up too. “You all right?”

James nodded and looked down at the babies. Now that Rose had pointed it out, of course—of course—the baby on the left was Hannah and the one on the right was Maddie. It seemed so obvious now. And yet…

“I feel like a rubbish dad for getting my own children confused with each other,” he said, watching more snot roll down Hannah’s upper lip and cheek.

“You’re not,” Rose assured him. “I promise.”

She lifted onto her toes and brushed a kiss to his stubbled jaw before going into the kitchen to take the phone call. James, meanwhile, bent down and picked Hannah up. He rubbed yet another tissue across her poor nose, which was beginning to chap and turn red from all the abuse it had been suffering over the last few days.

She squealed and arched her head away from his touch as best as her limp little body could.

“Daddy’s just helping,” he soothed. He cursed when his tissue-covered thumb snagged on a huge wad of crusted mucus, ripping it out of her nose. She screamed and began heaving great big sobs. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Daddy’s so, so sorry.”

He kept repeating his apology into her ear as he cradled her close, bouncing as he walked around the living room. When she still hadn’t quieted five minutes later, Rose stepped up to him and held out her arms.

“She might be hungry,” she said. “She probably puked everything up.”

James nodded and jutted his chin to the living room. Once Rose sat down on the couch and unzipped her cardigan, he handed the baby to her. It took a few tries, but Hannah finally latched on and suckled lazily.

“Who was on the phone?” James asked, going over to where Maddie was half-asleep. She made a few noises when he picked her up, but she quieted almost instantly. He sat down beside Rose and watched the rhythmic motions of Hannah’s jaw as she nursed.

“Elizabeth,” Rose replied. “Serendipitously, the DNA results came in. Hannah and Maddie are indeed identical twins.”

“No shit,” he grumbled to Rose’s amusement.

Rose knocked her knee into his, then reclined against him.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked. “We’re surrounded by four snotty, feverish kids. It’s only a matter of time ‘til we get infected.”

“I’m okay, I think,” she said. “Though I am utterly exhausted—part of me wishes Ainsley and Sianin could go to school so I could nap more easily.”

“They’ll probably sleep for most of the day,” he said, hoping that were true.

Rose hummed noncommittally. Then she said, “Oh, crap. The girls and I are supposed to have a hair appointment tomorrow. But I dunno if I want to take them out anywhere when they’re ill.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll cancel it,” he said. “Want me to reschedule for next weekend? No, wait, that’s Sianin’s birthday. Er… the following weekend then? Unless you want a mid-week evening appointment?”

“I promised Sianin we’d make it a girls’ day out,” Rose answered, digging her phone out of her pocket. “Better try for the weekend after next. Thanks, love.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, making a kissy face at her before he called Rose’s preferred hairdresser and moved the appointment.

The entire family spent the day napping and generally lazing about the house. Ainsley and Sianin had no energy and the twins were uncomfortable and fussy. The sounds of their near-constant whimpering and wailing drove Sianin to tears—“They’re so loud and I’m so tired!”—so James and Rose traded off spending time with their sick babies in the living room and their sick bigger babies in their bedroom.

James made a mental note to strip his and Rose’s sheets that weekend as he lay with Ainsley and Sianin, each of them coughing and sneezing all over him and the bed. (He tried to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat… it was just early allergies, is all.) Ainsley’s and Sianin’s hot cheeks were pressed to his chest as they cuddled into his side, and he wrapped his arms around them, hugging them tight and wishing he could magic their illnesses away. 

He joined his children in a nap that did wonders for his sleep-deprivation headache. When he awoke, he saw he’d been sleeping for over three hours.

Bugger, he thought to himself, especially when he realized Ainsley and Sianin were no longer beside him. He rubbed his fingertips across his sleep-crusted eyes and stumbled into the living room, where blissful silence greeted him.

Ainsley and Sianin were snuggled up together on the couch, a blanket strewn across them. Rose sat in the rocking reclining chair, the twins curled to her chest. Her eyes were glazed and she looked like she was about to nod off.

Rose glanced over at him as he approached and gave him a weary smile.

“Feel better?” she asked, tilting her face up to accept his swift peck.

“Loads,” he replied. “You could have woken me sooner. I feel bad I left you alone for so long.”

“We were fine,” she said, then she looked down at the twins. “Weren’t we, girls? Haven’t you been so good for Mummy this afternoon?”

He brushed the backs of his fingers across both babies’ foreheads. They didn’t seem as hot anymore, but their little chests were still rapidly rising and falling as they strained to breathe.

“I hate this,” he murmured.

He didn’t remember ever having this much concern for his sick children before. Then again, he couldn’t remember one of his children getting sick this young. They weren’t even two weeks old yet; their immune system was still pathetically fragile, and with every cough and sneeze and cry of their delicate bodies, his heart broke.

“I know, love,” Rose said.

“Do you need a break?” he asked. “Want to go lie down?”

“Would you mind?” she asked.

“Yep, I definitely mind you getting a bit of rest after I took a three-hour nap in the sanctuary of our bedroom.”

“Smartarse,” she said fondly.

“Give me a minute to wee and get a snack,” he said.

When he returned, he took the twins from Rose and shooed her off down the hallway.

Finally by the weekend, the prognosis wasn’t as bleak. Sianin and Ainsley were more or less better, minus some lingering sniffles and exhaustion. The twins’ breathing had also returned to normal, and now they were just snotting all over themselves as their sinuses continued to drain.

After an exhausting morning of cleaning up yet another vomiting spell by the twins, James settled with both babies on the couch while Rose, Sianin, and Ainsley played the kids’ edition of Monopoly. 

“Can we watch a film?” Ainsley asked when the game was over.

“Sure,” James mumbled, half-asleep. “Pick something out.”

“Daddy, I wanna cuddle,” Sianin announced.

“Daddy’s cuddling with the babies,” Rose said. 

“No, no,” James said, slowly wriggling himself to the center cushion. “I don’t have any arms, but if you don’t mind being the point person with snuggling…”

He let the sentence dangle, and Sianin’s face lit up. She clambered onto the couch and pressed herself into James’s side, wrapping her arms around his middle as far as they could go without squishing a baby.

A moment later, Ainsley came to his other side and lay down with her cheek pillowed on his thighs.

“Everyone comfy?” he asked as Rose draped blankets around both eldest children.

“Mhm.”

Ainsley was already half-asleep, but Sianin was flipping through Netflix for something to watch. She eventually settled on an animated film they’d seen dozens of times. He could probably quote it in his sleep. At least he could use this time to rest and not think about anything.

He was proud of himself that he managed to make it twenty minutes into the movie before he felt himself begin to doze off. Rather than fight it, he secured his grip on the twins and let his head fall back. After days of caring for four sick children, James’s exhaustion caught up with him. His mind went utterly, blissfully blank as he joined his daughters in a late morning nap.

He was groggy and disoriented when he awoke some time later, but the moment he realized the warm weight of two babies was gone from his arms, he jolted upright. Before his panic could choke him, he saw both babies facing him from the safety of their cots.

“Thank God,” he muttered, having had visions of Hannah and Maddie on the floor, face-down, with their necks cocked at awkward angles.

Ainsley and Sianin were still tucked beside him, but now that his arms weren’t full of the twins, they’d more completely wrapped themselves around him. Sianin was half-straddling his lap, her head tucked in the crook of his neck and a knee hovering precariously over his groin. That was the first thing he shifted away from him, not only to save his bits from being squashed, but also because he was in desperate need of the loo and her leg pressed into his lower abdomen uncomfortably.

Sianin stirred when he scooted her to the side.

“Hey, darling,” he whispered as she blinked up at him in confusion. “You can keep sleeping, but Daddy needs to get up.”

She grunted unintelligibly and rolled away from him, resting her head on the armrest.

Ainsley’s cheek was pillowed on his thigh, and she’d reached up and was hugging his knees. He unwrapped her arm from his legs, then slowly shuffled out from under her head. He guided it onto the couch cushion, folding up a blanket to support her neck. She sighed and hugged her blanket around her shoulders, tucking her face into the soft fabric.

Despite his screaming bladder, James leaned down and pressed a kiss apiece to Ainsley’s temple, then Sianin’s, overwhelmed by how much he loved his kids.

Once he’d relieved himself, he moved to the kitchen for something to nibble and found Rose sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop and camera. She was bowed over a steaming mug, a tissue mangled in her hands.

“Rose?” he asked, setting his hands on her shoulders.

She started and glanced up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy. His heart fell.

“What’s wrong, love?” He pulled up a chair beside her and sank into it as he reached out and rested his hand on her thigh.

“Nothing,” she croaked, a trembling smile crossing her lips. “Postpartum hormones, y’know.”

He frowned. 

“Honestly,” she insisted. Then she turned away from him and pressed a few buttons on her computer. “Look at this.”

She pivoted the laptop towards him, and his breath caught in his throat. Rose must have photographed him with the girls as they napped on him. She’d forever frozen this moment in time, the stillness of having four of his favorite humans in his arms or pressed up next to him, all of them sleeping peacefully.

His throat tightened; he wanted to live forever in this photo.

“When we were trying to get pregnant, my mind would always show me visions of you holding all of our kids,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “I wanted that so badly.”

“Me too,” he croaked, remembering back to that desperate yearning that had overtaken his entire body.

“But those pictures my mind conjured up were so weak compared to the real thing,” Rose continued.

“Well, probably because you imagined only three kids,” he drawled, earning him a pinch on the side. Sobering, he admitted, “I thought I knew how this would feel. I thought I knew how utterly in love I would be. But God, this is so intense. Don’t get me wrong—I was overwhelmed when Ainsley and Sianin were born. But somehow the birth of Hannah and Maddie has exponentially increased how much I love them, too. And you, Rose.”

“I’m so happy, James,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “I’m so happy.”

She looked it, too. Despite the difficulties of these past few days and the exhaustion that painted dark smudges beneath her eyes, she hadn’t lost the radiance of joy that becoming a mum again had given to her.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and scooted his chair as close to hers as he could. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him.

“I saw those visions too,” he murmured. “When we were trying… I saw you pregnant, and nursing, and helping Ainsley and Sianin hold our baby, and crouching beside a wobbly toddler who was trying to learn to walk. I saw it all.” He let out a shuddering breath, acknowledging the heartbreak he and Rose had gone through, but then replacing it with the happiness now coursing through his veins. “It was all worth it though, yeah? If we could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me too,” she replied. “Though I do regret the pain we both went through and caused each other. Truly. If there was one thing I could redo, it’d be that. But Hannah and Maddie are so worth it. And I think we’re better for it, y’know? We’re stronger. Our love is stronger. I thought our communication had been great before, but now…” She let out a huge breath. “Now it’s incredible, James. We’re incredible.”

“We are, aren’t we?” he preened. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and pressed a series of kisses to it. “I’m so in love with you, Rose. I’m glad you’re my soulmate, my wife, and the mother of my kids.”

She gave him a tight squeeze but said nothing.

“What other photos did you take?” James asked, hovering his fingers over the laptop. “May I?”

Rose nodded. “‘Course.”

He pressed down on the arrow keypad and browsed the pictures Rose had imported.

“We really do make beautiful babies together,” James said, his chest puffing out as he gazed at his daughters’ faces.

“It helps that half their gene pool is from the most attractive man in the world,” Rose said, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

James blew out a breath. “Pfft. You’re the most attractive woman in the world, so that means both halves of their gene pool were comprised of the two most attractive people in the world. It was destiny it was, for them to be the most beautiful children in the world.”

Rose laughed, and James’s heart throbbed. He loved his family. He loved them more than he could possibly describe. He loved them more than his own life, a thousand times over.

“Maybe we’re a tad biased,” Rose said, a grin still splitting her face.

“Nah,” James said flippantly. “No parents are ever biased when it comes to their own kids.”

“Right,” Rose drawled.

He giggled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and continued browsing the photographs on Rose’s computer. 

They sat together in the kitchen, basking in the silence of the house that they knew wouldn’t last, content to simply hold each other in a rare moment of stillness.

If you’ve made it to the end, consider leaving a comment or reblogging? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[aj-artjunkyard]

Hogwarts School Of Divinity (A ToA crossover fic)

Artemis and I kept our arms tightly linked as we entered the great hall. There was so many people. Hundreds of teenagers silently judging, trying to wire out which house we would be in by our looks and family trees. Not that I minded, of course. Being the centre of attention is kind of my thing. We all shuffled up the wide aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, feeling the hundreds of eyes latched onto us. I glanced to my right and caught the eye of Persephone, my Slytherin half-sister who was in her seventh year at the time. She paid no attention to me, and kept on scarfing down a large plate of ham, taking no breaths between bites. I shuddered. Sometimes that girl really grossed me out. A few tables away from her sat Ares, my Gryffindor half brother. He was in his fourth year, and was making a racket by chucking pieces of food at the poor Hufflepuffs at the table in front of him.

I pitied the Hufflepuffs. They had no reputation. They were dirt among diamonds. The youngest, untalented sibling. A bunch of sissies. That’s what my dad told me. 

“Only the weak are put in Hufflepuff!” He had thundered. “My children are either cunning, brave, clever or nothing! The Hufflepuffs are the friendly ones,” he had spat. “Is that what you want to be known for? Friendliness?” Father had been a Slytherin when he was at school. A great one, too. He had been Head Boy and Prefect, so I figured he knew what he was talking about. The only people in my family who have been in Hufflepuff were my mother, my uncle Hades and my auntie Hestia. All were okay, I guess, but I did not want to be pegged as soft-spoken or a wuss. I had so many half-siblings and family, and I wanted to stand out. I wanted to make my dad proud.

We reached the top table, where an old, grimy looking hat was placed on a simple wooden stool. 

“Oh please,” I whispered to my twin. “They expect us to wear that dusty old thing? And that stool. Would it not be more welcoming if it were say…a golden throne? Just spitballing ideas, don’t bother making me headmaster yet.” Artemis rolled her eyes.

“You are so high maintenance!” She whispered back to me. “You do realise we are not going to be pampered like we are at home?”

“Honestly, Artie. Once they see us arrive at the Gryffindor table, they’ll make us their leaders!” She smirked at my comment. 

“We are going to own these losers. I just hope we don’t get stuck with our father’s legacy. I mean, Head Boy and Prefect? That’s a lot to live up to.”

“Ach, don’t sweat it sis! When we’re Head Boy and Girl, dad will be so impressed. Athena’s the only other one who’s really got a shot so far. And she’s four years ahead of us. We’ll have no trouble landing those crowns.”

The deafening voice of Professor Hera, the universally hated vice principal and my step-mother, rang out, the sound reverberating off the stone walls and commanding silence. She declared that Headmaster Zeus (my dad) could not be here tonight, for he was off on school business. A slight snigger went up from the crowd. My dad was a known ladies’ man and irresistible bachelor. How else would he have so many kids who weren’t even directly related? Every time he was ‘off on school business’ a new kid cropped up a couple of years later. Hera did not seem to find this particularly funny, and snapped at the students for silence. She then explained how the sorting worked, and reluctantly stepped back to allow the hat to sing its yearly song. This was the part I’d been looking forward to. I love music. 

“Step up, step up! And gather round,

To find where you belong.

All of you I shall astound,

With my great sorting song!

One of four you shall be,

But do not fear or fret.

I‘m never wrong as you shall see,

When on your head I’m set!”

It went on for a few more verses, and I could only get more excited. The hat was so good at this! I would have to get his advice while I was up there.

All too soon, the song ended, and Hera began calling names. 

“Diana, Artemis!”

My dear sister squeezed my hand and dashed up to the podium. No sooner than the hat was placed on her head, it sprang to life and screamed: “GRYFFINDOR!” 

Whoops and cheers engulfed the right side of the room. Artemis suppressed a wide grin as she made her way over to the sea of red. Our family was well-known and it was usually an honour to have one of us on your team. She would most definitely be welcomed. More names were called. I was not worried. I would surely get into Gryffindor. That’s where my twin was, and we were alike in so many ways.  Besides, if worst came to worst, I could tolerate Ravenclaw - of course, I was as creative as they get.

When there was about ten kids left, it happened. 

“Phoebus, Apollo!”

I smirked and sauntered my way up to the front, and and on the stool, grinning over at the Gryffindor table, letting them know I’d be a good addition to their house. My sister nodded to me, seeming a lot more nervous than I was. I felt the hat being placed on my head.

Immediately, my head was buzzing with voices and old memories being yanked to the surface of my brain from deep in my subconscious. A gruff, echo-y voice ‘hmm’ed and muttered to itself; “Well...that’s interesting. Very interesting indeed...” I gripped the sides of the stool. 

“Interesting?” I thought to the hat, not sure if it would hear or respond.

“What’s interesting is that you could easily belong to any house. You’ve got a lot of clashing attributes. Hmmm...intelligent, but not fore-thinking. Kind but vengeful and quick to anger. Confident yet insecure. Quite a tricky one.”

“Gryffindor, please. Also, I liked your song.” The hat chuckled. It sounded like an old squeaky toy had been clogged with dust. 

“Thanks. But it’s not that simple, kid.”

This mumbling and going back and forth between houses lasted an eternity. I saw Ares yawn and turn his attention back to chucking bread at first years. Over at the Ravenclaw table, my half-sister Athena furrowed her eyebrows and concentrated on me, probably trying to figure out if her previous predictions on my house had been incorrect. Artemis only stared at me, but made no emotion obvious. 

“Well, kid. You’ve got the stuff. I think you’ll be...”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat hollered across the hall, sending a roar of applause and cheering from the Hufflepuff table. It had been years since they’d had someone from my family in their house, that last being my boring uncle Hades, and they were ecstatic. surely, given my great ancestry, I would win them fame! Let me tell you, dear reader, I was crestfallen. Completely and utterly crushed.

I felt all colour drain from my face as I looked over at my sister for reassurance. She did not look shocked. Instead, she wore a pitying, knowing expression. That look wounded me even deeper. I swallowed hard as I stood, drunkenly staggering to a free space, any space on the Hufflepuff benches. The Loser Benches. My knees wobbled dangerously and my hands trembled. Finally finding a free spot, slipped in and shook off the pats on the back and scowled at those who punched me gently on the shoulder in way of greeting. Of course, this usually would have been my cue to flash my glorious white-toothed grin at all who were around me, but the situation had caught me extremely off guard. Every word of congratulations and welcome washed over my head in a wave of static. I was reduced to glaring daggers into the steaming bowl of carrots on the table.

The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. Other unfortunate pansies at the Hufflepuff table had received my wordless message and left me alone, until a third year elbowed me in the ribs, nodding his head towards a copper-skinned seventh year student clad in black and yellow robes who must have been the Head Boy. He was rounding up the youngest and yelling: “First years! First year Hufflepuffs, follow me please!” across the hall. I reluctantly stood and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible (I know! How unlike me! Surely the very bricks of the school should have ripped apart at the very thought) as I made my way toward him. 

We passed the Gryffindors on the way out of the Great Hall. Frantically, I looked around for any sign of Artemis, but instead was met with Ares’ malice grin. He pushed himself in between me and the rest of my house, causing a traffic jam of students. The  second and third years that surrounded us gave me worried glances; they’d seen the wrath of my brother. But so had I. 

“Dad’s gonna hang you, Sunny,” he jeered, stomping closer to me. I stood my ground, glaring up at his fiery amber eyes. I had dealt with my half-witted half-brother a billion times before. He was all bark, no bite. I was not scared of him. 

“Go complain to your mummy, Ares.” I retorted, pointing up the hall to the teacher’s table where Hera sat talking to Demeter, the Herbology professor. “Or does she not care about you either?” He scowled.

“You’re one to talk, brat. You got the Loser house, just like your Loser mother!”

“Take it back,” I hissed, my hands curling into fists. He laughed gruffly. Taking another step, he puffed out his chest and held up his chin in pride. I rolled up my right sleeve, and Ares’ toothy grin widened, hitting me full force with his pungent breath. But before things could get physical (eg: interesting), the Hufflepuff Head Boy whom I was supposed to be following shouldered himself between us. 

“Back off you two,” he said in his obviously practiced ‘Authoritative Voice’. “And you there, Ares. Don’t think the headmaster doesn’t have his eye on you. One wrong move and you’ll be out of this school faster than you can say ‘Hogwarts’. I’d say your father would be far more disappointed in a failure student than one that was put in an unpopular house. Now shoo!” Ares, like the coward he was, scampered off and disappeared in the crowd. The older boy turned to me. “You okay?” I only grunted in response. He gave a half-hearted kind smile and guided me back to the gaggle of students who were swarming down a old stairwell, were he left to push his way back to the front of the line to become their leader again.

The Hufflepuffs flocked through wide, stone corridors alongside the Slytherins, who were also heading down into the basement. Persephone caught up with me and chatted excitedly about how dead I was.

“Daddy’s going to murder you!” She japed in a cheerful sing-song voice. “Oh, you are dead meat, Sunny. You going to have to stay here during the holidays and-oh! Maybe you’ll have to stay over the summer too! Isn’t that awful?” She giggled in that annoying way that girls do. Her dark glossy hair spilled down her shoulders in waves, reminding me of reeds that had withered in the sun. A curl of it was pinned back in a brooch shaped like a skull. Her tanned complexion reflected the light of the magical candles floating down the hallways. Her eyes were her mother’s; deep and green, but with a certain scheming cruelness in them that Demeter’s eyes did not possess. Those were my father’s genes. With one last snort of laughter, she informed me that she was off to scare more ‘firsties’, and ran ahead.

Eventually, the two houses parted ways, the Slytherins going deeper underground while we took a left and continued on the same floor. As we passed a large, intricate still life of a bowl of fruit, the Head Boy at the front yelled “Nearly there!” Not twenty seconds after, the group stopped. I couldn’t see what all the commotion was about. Had we run into a ghost who told us to get lost? Had we taken a wrong turn? Or maybe they’d finally realised that I should be up in one of the towers, with the Gryffindors. Yes, that last one seemed likely. I stood on my tip-toes and jumped, but all I could see was a ceiling-to-floor stack of old, dusty barrels. Boring. 

“Okay, first years! Come up to the front please! Second to seventh years, make way! You already know how this works.” The second to seventh years did as they were asked, and squished themselves to the side of the corridor, smiling and giggling, giddy from being in the company of their friends at Hogwarts once again. The first years filtered to the front, and faced the stack of barrels, most of us equally confused (though some no doubt had siblings in this house before them, and knew of the secret entrance before I did). “Alright, now listen closely! If you get this wrong, you may have to take several showers before you get the stench off you!” He said cheerfully, his voice echoing down the candle-lit hallway. 

A girl in front of me nudged the person next to her and hissed; “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Another girl whispered back; “If you tap the wrong barrel or the wrong sequence, one of the lids bursts off and drenches you in vinegar! How cool is that?” I shuddered. The last thing I wanted was to stink and be wearing yellow robes on my first day in class. 

Meanwhile, the Head Boy had been explaining the password, and had now paused to look for a volunteer. I wasn’t worried. I’d been here for no more than a few short hours, and already he’d had to pull me from a fight and see me getting stroppy at the dinner table. He’d choose one of the wide-eyed kids, who would probably thank the barrels if they got a vinegar shower. But despite common sense, his eyes landed on me. 

“You there,” he pointed. “Come on over! Don’t be shy! I’ll walk you through it.” I cursed my natural stand-out-from-the-rest demeanour, and shuffled forward. I did not want a reason to embarrass myself. He put one strong hand on my shoulder, and pointed at a barrel. “That one there. Barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row. Remember: tap to the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, yeah? ‘Hel-ga Huff-le-puff’.”

Leaning toward the barrel, I poised my finger over the old wood and looked over my shoulder, where the Head Boy gave me an encouraging nod. This was just like music, right? Just a simple five-beat rhythm. I could do this. I tapped the barrel. 1-2 1-2-3. 

The barrel’s curve swung open, revealing a little upward-sloping earthen passage. Cheers went up from the crowd behind me, and I couldn’t help a little smile creeping through my grumpy facade. Advancing one by one, they patted me on the back before turning to the entrance. They made their way into the passage, ducking down to get through the barrel, but straightening up once through the wooden doorway. A minute or so later, there was only me and the Head Boy left in the corridor. I looked at him quizzically.

“Why would you choose me?” I asked. “I’ve been nothing but trouble all night.” He chuckled.

“You only needed encouragement. I’ve seen the principle - your dad - angry. I don’t blame you for wanting to be in a different house, especially if a parent’s opinion is involved. There’s one like you every year. The one who thinks they’ve let everyone down before they’ve even  begun, just by being put in the ‘friendly’ house. I was that student too, believe it or not. All they need is a gentle push, like the Head Girl did for me when I was a first year. It’ll work out,” He prodded his temple. “The hat knows best. Now get inside. Next comes your mission briefing.”

“My what?”

“It’s a Hufflepuff rite of passage. You’ll see.”

It turned out that the so-called ‘Hufflepuff rite of passage’ was more of a trust-building team exercise. Each first year was put into groups of five or six, and took it in turns to be sent out into the hallway to find the kitchen. (“A well-known Hufflepuff trait is our brilliant finding abilities” a student had told us. “Don’t stray from this corridor. That’s all the clues you’ll get from me.”) The group who came back with the best snacks won. The kitchen happened to be behind the painting of the fruit, and could be opened by tickling the pear. (I still don’t quite understand how a fellow first year figured that out. They said that “If I were a pear stuck in a boring old painting all day, I’d want to be tickled too!” There’s really no explanation I can give you, reader. Apologies.) The house elves in the kitchen gave us full access to the cupboards, and told us to take whatever we wanted. Nice guys, those house elves. We stocked up on as much junk food as we could carry. Croissants and Jelly Babies, cinnamon rolls and danish pastries, peppermint toads and leftover pudding from the feast.

Upon arrival back to the common room, we dumped our treats down by the armful. Every pocket, sleeve and hood was filled with some kind of tasty confection. We were judged. Unsurprisingly, my group lost to the five kids who had came back with ambrosia (an enchanted brownie-like substance that glittered gold and changed its flavour to whatever you wanted while still in your mouth). None of us sulked. None of them teased. We all simply enjoyed the food together - it was divine.

By the time the clock struck 2am, the Head Boy advised us all to go to bed. I waved goodnight to my new acquaintances, and left the low-ceilinged, sofa-ridden, comfy common room. When I saw the official black and yellow Hufflepuff robes laid out neatly on my assigned bed (The first years had been wearing plain black robes bought from Diagon Alley until they were allocated a house) I somehow knew that dusty old hat was right after all.

[crazedlunatic]

Zach Can’t Win

“Ugh, go away.” Zach, who was laying in his bed, groaned.

“You have to cut your hair.” Kurt said.

Sarah, who was sitting on the end of Zach’s bed while he played with a two week old puppy, nodded eagerly when Zach wasn’t looking.

Because while she adored his curls… they were getting a little extra unruly.

“I don’t want to cut my hair.”

“Honey, you look homeless.”

Zach looked up, screwing his face up. “What?!”

“Yes. Apparently now there’s rumors that your father and I are divorcing and I’m shunning you because you look like him.” Kurt gave him a look. “Please, Zach. Please. I am so sick of social media.”

“Daddy, you never ask Nick to cut his hair.”

“Because Nick cuts his hair. His hair also doesn’t clog up the shower drains. You and Blaine have the same hair. If you kept yours shorter like he does—”

“Wait.” Sarah gasped. “Hair cut or hair cut?”

“Hair cut.”

“No!” Sarah shook her head. “You can’t make him do that. He should just get it so it doesn’t look as, uhm… homeless-y. But not short.”

“I don’t look homeless! Besides, any time my hair is short people think I’m Dad and they ask me for autographs and I’m sorry but I can’t do that.”

“Also, one time when his hair was shorter a guy came up and kissed him.” Sarah added. “I was there… I laughed hysterically and dropped my ice cream cone.”

Zach gagged and pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Just trim it once a month, okay? I cannot take you to the fashion show next week looking like that.” Kurt massaged his own forehead.

“Well I cannot take you to high school graduation in three weeks with an attitude like that.” Zach shrugged.

Kurt’s eyes widened. “You have to cut your hair!”

“I don’t have to cut my hair! Oh my God!”

“Honey, you do. You really do. You really want to be a parent with hair that big? What if the baby suffocates?”

Sarah bit her lip, trying very hard not to laugh—but she didn’t know if it was at Kurt or Zach’s facial expression.

“If the baby suffocates, we’ll just get pregnant again!” Zach threw his arms in the air.

“Hey, I’m ho—” Blaine walked in and trailed off, seeing their faces. “Oh no. Just let him do what he wants with his hair, Kurt. Haircuts are very stressful when you’ve got longer curls. It kind of hurts too.”

“If he didn’t have longer curls that wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’m not Dad!” Zach stood. “Besides, it’s the only way people can tell us apart unless they’re close enough to see Dad’s eye wrinkles.”

“Hey, that was rude. I was defending you.” Blaine pouted.

Sarah came over, hugging Blaine. “He can be very mean sometimes.”

“I know.” Blaine sighed dramatically, like he was talking to a therapist. “I just try so hard to be supportive but it’s never enough.”

“Blaine.” Kurt sighed.

“The thing is the last time I cut my hair short, you were upset until it grew back out.” Zach said exasperatedly.

“It’s true, Kurt.” Blaine said.

“It is not.” Kurt snapped.

“No, you were.” Zach protested. “You frowned every morning when you saw me and at night you’d just pet my short hair.”

Sarah looked between Zach and Kurt, amused.

“You think you want me to cut it short but you don’t. It happens every time and has since I was three. Every four years we do this, I give up and cut it off to shut you up, and you mope… and then I get sexually assaulted by people who think I’m Dad… despite the fact that nobody ever sexually assaults Dad.” Zach huffed.

“It’s all a front. They actually know it’s you.” Sarah quipped.

“Just get the hair cut!” Kurt exclaimed.

“Fine.” Zach said, grabbing his wallet off the desk. “Fine. I’ll go do it right now.”

“Thank God.” Kurt let out a sigh of relief.

“I don’t want to hear another word ever because I’m 18 now and this is the last time that you’re winning this argument. I’m only doing this to prove you wrong by the way.”

“Prove me wrong? I want you to cut it.” Kurt looked confused.

“No!” Sarah whined. “Don’t do it.”

“Oh, it’s done.” Zach walked out.

“It’s just a freaking trim.” Kurt said, still confused.

“Uh, Kurt… he’s getting more than a trim.” Blaine said slowly. “You were talking about shorter hair.”

“Yeah. He is because you pissed him off and he’s proving his point.” Sarah pouted.

“He wouldn’t cut his hair short to prove a point.” Kurt said confidently.

Blaine gave Sarah a look and she nodded in understanding because they both knew it.

…

“Told you.” Zach pointed, seeing Kurt’s face literally drop when he entered the kitchen.

“We’re the twins…” Nick said slowly, holding his fork with broccoli near his mouth. “But… you and Dad look like the twins.”

“No!” Kurt frowned.

“I told you. You want it, you want me to look like him, but you can’t handle it.” Zach said. “So here. Enjoy the barely curly curls while you can because next time, we’re going full curl afro. I’m talking that red head Olympic guy from when  you were younger curly.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Sarah, who was sitting next to Nick at the table, tried to reason. “You told me that looks stupid.”

“Zachy…” Kurt went over, touching his barely there curls.

“I expect reimbursement too because that was the last of my gas money.” Zach held out a hand.

“Think you’ll get reimbursement in Ithaca?” Blaine joked.

“Uh, I’ll have access to my money.” Zach said. “Or you could just, you know, give it to me now since I’m eighteen and moving in August anyway.”

“Yeah, no. Sorry.”

“Grampa has a fit every time you do something to make you look more like Dad.” Nick cut in.

“Daddy’s fault.” Zach shrugged.

Nick came over and touched his short curls too. He then said, “Hey, you’ve got a birthmark over your ear.”

“You do too, Nick.” Kurt sighed. “I can’t believe you did this, Zach.”

“Yeah well you left us for six months to go to Tokyo or wherever, soooo…” Zach shrugged—which killed Kurt even more because he looked exactly like Blaine.

Honestly, Blaine and Zach spoke so differently that when Zach had longer hair it was hard to see them as looking exactly alike. Even their mannerisms were completely different—at least they seemed that way.

When Zach’s hair was shorter though, it was like looking at a younger and more soft spoken teenage Blaine. Zach did laugh a lot more than Blaine had when he was younger—and Kurt was convinced it was because he and Blaine had been such good, supportive parents.

Which made him hate Blaine’s parents even more, but that wasn’t the point.

Zach’s curls were the point.

“Zach, just so you know, you are the one that will end up making me drink. I always thought it would be Nick but you’ve completely thrown us all off.” Kurt sighed.

“Hey, I am not that bad!” Nick protested. “I can’t help that your fans love me and think I’m hilarious.”

“No regrets, just love.” Zach grinned.

“God, don’t bring Katy into this.” Nick groaned. “If I have to hear her voice one more time, I’m stabbing my ear drums out.”

“One song he won’t sing is ‘I Kissed A Girl and I Liked It.’” Sophie chirped coming in. “I still can’t believe you kissed Rachel, Daddy.”

“But you’re supposed to always have my side.” Blaine pouted.

Sophie looked between Blaine and Zach before turning to Kurt. “You had to do it, didn’t you? Can’t you just leave his poor head alone?”

“Technically I was making a point about how he really loves my curls even though he argues for me to cut them. Every time I’ve cut them short, he’s done this.” Zach shrugged as Sarah came into the room behind Sophie.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” She yelped. “You told me you’d never cut it that short!”

“I was proving a point!”

“I’m having a baby with someone who cuts off his hair to prove a point?! But your curls are my favorite!” Sarah whined, touching his head.

“I can’t win with you people.” Zach threw his hands in the air. “Bye!”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under A Red and Green Cloud - prt 1

Keith wasn't sure if time on Daibazaal moved faster than he remembered, or if it was Lance's presence that seemed to make time fly. Initially, he'd been doubtful of Lance sticking to his word and handing the reins of Kre'el's case over to Shiro. Out of everyone, he understood painfully well what this case had meant to Lance. So when he'd seen Lance rifling though papers in the control room of the Telula, he'd been sure his husband was about to break it to him that all the words that made his heart sore, were just that. Words. Yet, for his sake, Lance organised everything he could for Shiro. He transferred the information he had on each planet that he and Coran had thought plausible to a "liberated" holopad, then gone about meticulously transcribing all his notes to go along with them. As well as his own personal statement over what had happened since he first set foot on the outpost. With Shiro now knowing almost all there was to know, the white lies in the reports were minimal, covering that he could conceive and carry a child. The quintant that Lance passed it all over to Shiro, Keith had very nearly cried. Lance had worked himself to the bone to make sure the report was perfect. Working himself into a panic attack so severe he fainted, then woke up so disoriented that he'd tried to go, Keith, almost the same tick as his eyes opening.

Keith was proud of his boyfriend for trying to stay on Daibazaal for him. There was plenty of work that needed to be done when it came to transcribing prisoner documents and releasing those who'd only committed petty crimes. Lance was still unable to venture through the palace without his mask half up. The scents sometimes so severe that his eyes would water, but not once did he complain about it. Keith had thought things were all going smoothly until a few quintant before they were supposed to head to join Lance's family for Christmas.

Having kept the evidence case under his bed until it was finally time to turn the evidence over to the Blades for processing, Keith hadn't realised Lance had found it. Not until he'd returned from a quintant filled with Blade meetings which Lance wasn't allowed to be privy to... a stupid and pointless call. It wasn't like Lance was going to be leaking information about the secret workings of Daibazaal to anyone. His husband was nervous about returning home, Keith had accidentally overheard him fighting with some family member on his comms, which had set Lance on edge. Assuming the nerves would ebb once they actually made it to Earth, Keith swept it under the rug. Allowing Lance to have his privacy. But that's the thing about hindsight. It was a quiznakking bitch when you saw the picture in full.

Boarding the Telula, Keith had dropped by to say "hi" to everyone in the bridge, thinking Lance would be pouring over plans for Christmas. He'd written up a full plan on dealing with family, something Keith had thought a joke until they were all forced to memorise every plan and strategy, and the bug-out plan on the off chance that quiznak hit the fan. With Lance not there, Keith headed down to their room. Lance's sensitive nose and Keith's instincts didn't want the Cuban man too close to Galra. Lance couldn't control his scent. Keith knew if something happened, he was more likely to attack completely unprovoked, so he'd suggested that they simply sleep on the Telula where the doors could be locked down.

The first sign that something was wrong, was Lance not being in their bed. His boots were near the end of it, the blankets half pulled to the floor, with the hint of coppery-iron in the air that could only be blood. Daehra had been on the bridge, if something had happened to Lance, she would have informed him. Backtracking to their bathroom, he let himself inside. Curled up in the corner for the shower, Lance was crying his eyes out. Blood running down to stain the water pink from his nose, vomit clogging the drain. Not even noticing as Keith turned the freezing cold water off, Keith lifted his boyfriend out the shower when he failed to rouse at Keith clicking his fingers near Lance's ear. As he lifted his lover, a sodden bag of pills spilled to the shower floor. In their wet and mushy state, there was no way to tell how many of the obnoxiously yellow pills Lance had taken... In the tick that followed, Keith had no words for the range of emotions he felt. The happiness he'd allowed into his life was snuffed out in an instant. Lance having betrayed his trust so thoroughly disgusted him. Carrying his boyfriend out the bathroom and to their bed, he wasn't as gentle as he should have been. Hurt that Lance hadn't told him he was struggling with the compulsion to dose himself up. The moment Lance hit the bed, his body began to seize. Panic mode setting in as he bolted to the bridge to retrieve Daehra, the voice in the back of his head yelling at him for his carelessness.

Lance was still seizing when they got back. Dimly he found himself mentally aware of the fact the seizure has already passed the dobosh mark... when the two dobosh mark passed to the three, the seizure finally slowed. Lance's body shaking and twitching as the fit passed. His husband had promised he'd talk to him if the cravings got too much. If his mind got too much. They'd spent that morning running through "forbidden" topics at Lance's family home... He didn't understand how things had gone from shaky to a drugged up mess... Under Daehra's guidance, Lance was moved to the medbay. Keith left unable to do anything but bury his face in his hands and wait until Lance woke up.

He knew him waiting a full four vargas before he woke. Tired blue eyes were quick to form tears. Reaching for Keith's hand, Keith pulled away. All the half-Galra could do was mumble "What happened?" Pushing himself up to sit, Lance pinched the bridge of his nose "It's not what... no. It is..." "You swore you were quitting!" "I was! I am..." "So why did you steal that bag from evidence?! God. Do you have any idea how upset I am right now?! I spent all day in meetings while you were getting high" "I threw them up... I... I threw them up. The moment I swallowed I knew it wasn't what I wanted..." Like that made anything better "You could have died!" "I know!" "Then why did you do it?!" Drawing his knees up, Lance shrunk back against the bed. Daehra had the back of the examination bed raised in case Lance vomited in his sleep "I... I..." "You what?" "I had a breakdown. I wanted to go find you for lunch and I got lost..." "That's an excuse" "I know..." "Then tell me what happened? How long have you had those tablets?!" Lance cringed "Lance!" "A few quintants. I found the case by accident when looking for my socks that Kosmo stole. Before I knew what I was doing, I took them. I didn't know how to return them, so I kept them hidden. It was after Great-Aunt Sara fought with mum..." "What fight?" "Sara's very religious... She said that if "that gay son of yours doesn't repent his sins, won't be allowed in heaven". I basically started another fight in the family. So when I saw the pills I took them. Then today... I got lost in the palace. Two of the guard tried to help, but one of them sniffed at me while the other grabbed my arm and I lost it. I think... I think I broke the nose of the one who grabbed me. It wasn't even hard... I was back there again with Klearo on top of me and then holding me down... his men telling me how good I feel... and I... I wanted to die... I could feel them on my skin again... but... when I swallowed the pills... I felt so sick with guilt that I made myself throw up... I don't remember what happened after that. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking stupid. Klearo is dead. He's dead... but his voice. I... I could feel him breathing across my neck... I'm stressing so badly about going home... that I don't even know if I should go anymore. I know I want to go... but... I'm so fucking anxious now that it's so close. I want it to perfect... because I want to show off the man I love"

Keith let out a sigh as he sat back in the chair, legs slightly bent and back arched against the cold metal as he stared up at the lights above. This was the first bad relapse Lance had had in a while. He was talking with a therapist, not one of the two Coran had found, but one that was based on Erathus and had been recommended by one of the girls at the club. Therapy wasn't an instant cure, but if Lance had finally found someone to talk to... why... why did this have to happen? "Why couldn't you tell me this? You could have sent me a message?" "That my family is stupid?" "No. Yes. That this woman was being stupid" Family had always been hugely important to Lance. That'd pretty much been obvious since day one. If Keith coming home for Christmas as Lance's boyfriend was going to cause issues, then... "Because I didn't think it would affect me like it did... and I was so fucking ashamed. I'm still coming off that red stuff..." "Would you have told me? If I hadn't found you in the shower?" Doey eyes looked into his, sniffling, Lance nodded "Tonight... when you came back. Honesty... if I'm not honest I can't get over this. The tick the pills went down my throat... I wanted to call you and tell you what I'd done" "You tampered with evidence" Lance nodded sadly "I know..." "And you scared the fuck out of me again" "I'm sorry" "I wish that this hadn't happened, but you did try to throw it up. You know you've done the wrong thing. You admitted it. Did you take anything else from the case?" "No... just the uppers... I wanted to forget him" "Anything I say won't be as bad as what you're telling yourself right now. I'm not happy... really not happy. Even if you're ashamed, you need to tell me things like this. There are other ways to deal with it"

The dam broke, Lance dissolving into soft sobs "Did you hurt yourself? Other than the pills? Did you cut yourself?" "N-no... I... I tried to wash him off my skin... but... I couldn't... couldn't..." Lance was working himself too much. Softening his approach, the half-Galra moved from his chair to up to sit on the edge of the bed, gathering Lance up against him "You scared me. Your seizure passed after three doboshes. Do you know how bad that is for a seizure?" "I'm sorry!" "Shhh. Ok. Ok..." "I was fucking stupid... I knew that taking them was a bad idea... but I've been on pills for so long now... and we still can't... the red..." They'd tried dipping the red uppers in Lance's daily doses again, only for Lance's symptoms to become almost unbearable, especially around the others. Hunk, Shay, and Pidge had stayed around for the first movement after Lance passed the case over, in an attempt to fix bridges... only it wasn't so easy to fix bridges when Lance's arse was being kicked by withdrawal. In the end, for the sake of his mental and physical health, they upped the dose again to the half-strength with the plan to drop it once Christmas had passed and Lance was safely setting up his new outpost venture. Sighing against Lance's hair, his boyfriend smelt pained and exhausted "How about I take you back to our room? I need to shower and change, then we can watch something in your holopad for a bit?" "You're being too nice to me. I fucked up" "I'm being nice too because I love you, and because you were honest. I'm choosing to believe you when you say you were going to tell me you'd taken those pills, so your reward for being honest is rest and cuddles" Lance shook his head "I don't deserve you. I don't deserve that" "As your husband, I'm saying we're having cuddles" "You've worked all day... it's not fair on you" "It's not fair that when I get home from a full day of Galra bullshit, that I want cuddles from my man?" "Cuddles from me... I'm not that good" Keeping one arm around Lance's back, Keith slid the other under his boyfriend's legs, lifting him to his chest "Trust me. I've been waiting all day to come home to you. The shitfest that Galra politics is... Nope. I'm out. Too many people still want to shoot each other" Lance stiffened in his hold, Keith quick to realise why "Not that they could. We have blaster jammers in place in the main hall. It's just frustrating that we're trying to transition to peace and people still want to resort to weapons" "You're safe there... aren't you?" "Yeah, babe. Mum and Kosmo make sure of that. Where is he?" "He's not here" Kosmo had gotten good at reading Lance's moods before Keith could. Sometimes when it looked to the wolf that Lance was going too far into his own head, Kosmo would take it upon himself to distract Lance with sloppy kisses and yips "Then he'll probably be with mum, or Acxa... anyway, you need to rest while I shower"

Careful to lay Lance in bed this time, the bottom sheet was suspiciously fresh, with Daehra's scent lingering in the air. Tucking Lance in, Lance shyly asked for his shirt. Handing him over the thin garment, Lance was like a cat with catnip as he rubbed his face against the shirt in the search of scent. Keith might have done similar with more than one of Lance's shirts before, but there was something so much hotter when Lance was happily sighing up a storm over his scent. Feeling his dick twitch, he scolded himself, practically fleeing the room before it could progress... but fuck if it didn't tickle his pride to have such a cute husband who found safety and satisfaction in something as small as his scent.

* Other than the slight bump in the road, and Lance nearly having a panic attack, that he worked himself out of, while they were readying to leave Daibazaal, the trip to Cuba went smoothly. Taking both their ships for the sleeping spaces, Keith's ship was grav hooked to the bottom of Lance's. On the bridge Lucteal, Daehra, Zak and Tobias watched in anticipation as they exited the wormhole and got to lay eyes on Earth for the very first time in their lives. Resisting the urge to smirk at their looks of awe, Keith confirmed their arrival with the Galaxy Garrison and their flight plan to Cuba, Daehra letting out a long gasp as they flew over the complex that had once been their school "Yeah. It's pretty impressive now. Most of what you see has been added on since Earth was liberated from the Galra. This is where Lance and I both went to school, with the other Paladins"

Keith hoped that didn't sound too insulting. The complex was much larger than the outcrop of buildings on Daehra's planet, possibly even larger than the cave system her race called home. Having been to Earth before, his team was down in his ship more than likely getting into mischief. Veronica had told Acxa to go ahead, that she'd been working for Christmas, but Keith knew that was a lie due to the fact Shiro had told him that the three of them would swing by on Christmas Day. Shiro and Curtis had other plans with Curtis's family, but Veronica would be staying on until the New Year. Being Acxa, she'd wanted to stay with girlfriend so was slightly confused as to why she'd been sent to Earth with everyone else.

"Keith technically got kicked out after he attacked a teacher and left him half-blind" Piping up from the passenger chair to the left, Lance's input wasn't welcome. Shooting his husband a glare, Lance shrugged "My whole career there I had to be continually told how I was never any good, and how I failed in comparison to you. I think I'm allowed the jab" "Then take the jab at them, not me. It's not my fault they recognised my incredible talent" "Yeah, yeah. You don't need to rub it in. What's the ETA on Cuba?" "Around... 10 doboshes..." "So direct. Don't crash, I'm going to freshen up" "Babe, don't you want to see the look on your team's faces?" "I do... but that was me trying to covertly say I'm going to give mum the heads up" "Oh..." "Yeah. Don't crash"

Leaving them in the bridge felt weird. Lance was nervous, but he said he wanted to face his fears. Yet, it kind of felt to Keith like he was running from looking at his family's farm. With the coordinates pre-entered, it was an easy flight. Daehra's face nearly pressed against the window as they flew over the ocean, even Lucteal looked impressed. Zak was trying to ignore it all, talking to Tobias, but Keith was sure that was an act too. If he hadn't wanted to come to Earth, then he could have gone to Erathus with Th'al who was anxious to get back to work. The view of the ocean barely lasted a few moments before they were back over land and Keith's attention was on a vast sea of red. When Lance had planted the junipers in an attempt to call Allura back to him, he hadn't quite pictured the fields after fields surrounding the modest two-story house. The sight was more than breathtaking and frankly verging on intimidating. In front of the house was a large white tent of some sort, with a huge white "X" assumedly painted to indicate landing around the side of the property where the barn wasn't "Is this Leandro's home?!" "Yeah... but remember, it's Lance while he's here" "It's breathtaking..." Scars of occupation still littered the grounds near the house. Deep chasms that had been rocky holes when Keith's had left Lance behind, were now bathed green with new life. Still, below them, people were starting to gather at the sight of the ship's shadowing the sky. From down the stairs, Keith heard Lance yelling up "Land already! You're scaring the aunties!" Rolling his eyes at the thought of Lance's judgmental aunts, Keith lowered his ship down to sit on the "X", then spent the next few ticks finding the system to release the grav hooks. Maybe showing off just a little, he looped the Telula around to show the scale of Lance's farm off, before settling her down on the side closer to the tent "Alright. Are we ready?" "Yes..." Squeaking her reply out, Keith really wished Lance was there to comfort Daehra "Don't worry, his mother likes you. From what Lance has said, you're home free" "I do worry. I hope his mother likes her gift. I have no idea how to navigate your Earth traditions" "Most of the attention should be on Lance, so you have nothing to worry about. Plus, the actual day is in a few days, by then you're going to be a pro at this... and you have your powers. You'll probably understand everything happening around us better than we do" "I do hope Lean-Lance has waited for us"

Lance had waited. Standing at the top of the loading ramp, his husband was a ball of nerves practically jumping on Keith as soon as he was in pouncing range. Clinging to his arm, Lance nodded at his team "Don't forget, we can leave if something goes wrong. Don't take anything they say too personally, and... Most of all, I want you to know I'm proud of all of you. It doesn't matter what they say, I'm proud to call you my team. Mami's waiting for us in the marquee. She got a bit carried away cooking and organising everything, so don't be overwhelmed at how many people are there and how much food there is" Lance's team still looked pretty nervous. Moving his left hand, Keith intertwined his fingers between Lance's "You, ready babe?" "Yeah..." They'd settled on saying they were dating, and letting Lance's immediate family know they'd gotten married. It was more than Keith ever could have hoped for, which was why his heart was racing as cool beads of sweat rolled down his back. Facing a horde of rabid Galra would have been easier, or at least that was how it felt.

Making it down the ramp in one piece, his team was waiting for them in the shadow of the Telula. Acxa looked as if she was ready to faint, summing up Keith's fears perfectly "If they can accept me, they can accept you" Pursing her lips together, Acxa shifted her weight. In a very "Shiro" move, Lance reached out and patted Acxa's shoulder "Seriously. The only family members that matter will be cool with it. Rachel will probably tease you, but she'll save most of that for me. Especially after we tell them we're dating. You've got nothing to be embarrassed over. You make V happy, and that's the main thing. We should head over before Mami comes to get us. Her feet aren't that great, no matter what she says"

Lance was trying so hard to make them all comfortable, despite his anxieties. His husband was adorable in the way he rested his head against Keith's shoulder as they walked over to marquee. Inside were what seemed to be at least three dozen people. Kids were running around playing and screaming. Adults sipping drinks as they gossiped and laughed. All of it cutting to silence the instant Lance led them in...

"Mijo!"

Calling out them, Lance's mother came rushing over. Whispers erupting as some stared at the way Lance was clinging to Keith's arm "Let me see my boys! Both of you are so handsome. Lance, you need your hair trimmed now that it's long enough to do something with. And Keith, as handsome as ever. Oh, I'm so happy you're both home for Christmas..." Hugging them both tightly, Lance's mother kissed both their cheeks before releasing them and moving back to examine their teams "Please excuse this old lady from Cuba. Lance did tell me all your names. Acxa, sweetheart it's wonderful to see you again. I know Veronica is sorry she's not here with you, but you're part of this family now too. And Daehra, and Lucteal... then we have Tobias. Zak, Zethrid and Ezor... right? It's all so wonderful to have you here" Lance snorted, he had mentioned his mother had an abundant fondness for Christmas "As if you'd forget, mami. Where's papi?" "He and Marco will be down shortly. They're breaking apart the ice for the drinks" "Ahh... mami, can we talk to you?" "Why? What's wrong? Has something happened again?"

Shaking his head Lance moved to try and hide as the savage older woman came up behind his mother "What's going on here? Who is this boy our Lance clings too?" Keith could see the mental resolve it took not to snap at the woman as Lance's mother turned to face her "Sara, this is Lance's..." "I'm his friend, Keith" Holding out his free hand, the woman openly sniffed at it "Right. Well, that's enough of that" Letting his hand drop when the wisened woman didn't take it, Lance tugged him back as he moved to stand in front of him "This is Keith. Keith is my boyfriend" Lance's aunt Sara looked as if she was about to faint as she staggered back from them "No... No, did you know?" Lance's mother gave a thin smile. The poor woman probably thought she'd have time to ease the great aunt into the idea of Lance loving another man. Keith really didn't understand religion, even before his trip to outer space, but just because he didn't understand it didn't mean that he didn't understand how important it was to others "Lance? Our Lance? Running away from home to fight aliens wasn't enough for you? You had to bring... one of them home?" "Keith is only half-alien. He's also my boyfriend. We've been together for months now"

Sara dropped her drink, Spanish pouring out her mouth as Lance glared at her. Tugging Lance's hand, Keith felt as if he was ruining the family reunion "Babe?" "Ignore her" "If she doesn't want me here..." "Don't want you here! What did you do to our Lance?! He was normal before..." Growling, Lance pulled Keith tight. His boyfriend's mum trying to calm the hysterical woman down "Babe..." "No. This isn't ok. I don't care that you don't speak Spanish, I do and this is unacceptable..."

Clearing his throat, Lance drew the attention from his great aunt Sara. Keith's heart in his throat, knowing that anything was likely to come out of Lance's mouth now that he was annoyed "... You're all going to find out eventually, but Keith is my husband. We're married. I know that goes against what some of you believe, but he's been my best friend for years and it kind of just happened. The people with me are our teams. They're all family to me. Now, I know you're all going to gossip, so don't you dare start making trouble for any of our friends. They have saved me and all of us here on Earth more than once. Lisa, are you able to get everyone set up while Keith and I head up to the house?"

One of the women who'd been fussing over the kids shot him a thumbs up... which logically meant that she had to be Lisa. Mumbling something prayer like under her breath, Lance's mother shooed them towards the open flap the marquee with the two other wrinkled bags coming to fuss over Sara. Keith knew he shouldn't think of her that way, being Lance's relation and all, but they had no right prying their noses into something as personal as their relationship... Hold up... Lance just told them all that they were married... They'd gone from thinking they were having Lance home, to knowing Lance was running around with his husband and space... without having told any of them that he was married or having invited them to the wedding ... Oh quiznak... Acxa would call Veronica... if Veronica told Shiro and found out Shiro knew... A shudder of sympathy ran up Keith's spine as they quickly followed Lance's mother.

Stopping a few metres from tents opening, Lance's mother turned to them "You shouldn't let her get to you like that, mijo. You know everyone will be talking about you and Keith now. Keith, I'm sorry. Some of the others can be quite narrow-minded..." Lance pulled Keith up to him like he was a safety blanket as he tried to interrupt his mother "Mami..." Lance's mother steamrolled on "And married. My goodness... Why did you not tell me?" Lance was growing tense, scent starting to change. If Lance could up to his whole family for him, Keith could stand up to Lance's mother "I'm sorry. I... ugh... we didn't know we were actually getting married at the time. And now I've shown up here after marrying you son, but I promise I won't let him down or hurt him. He means the world to me, and while we were married by accident, I wouldn't change it. He's amazing. He's smart, and funny, and way too caring... and I love him" Lance's mother sighed as she fished her tea towel out her apron, giving it a small flick before wiping her hands "Heavens give me strength. I don't know how someone gets married by accident, but if anyone was going to, it was the pair of you. We'd better head up to tell your father before someone else does..."

Staring up towards the farmhouse, Lance held him back as his mother strode on "Babe?" Shaking his head, Lance sighed "Sorry. She made me so mad when she dismissed you like that. Like, she doesn't even know you. She can't just... I was supposed to tell mami and papi about it before everyone else... I quiznakked it all up" "You might have gone about it in the wrong order, but you made me feel really happy when you stood up for me" "Why wouldn't I stand up for you? I'm your husband and you're the love of my life... we'd better head up. Dios... mami's probably going to have told papi by now..." "We can say it was a slip of the tongue... If you want?" Lance held him tighter "No! No. We decided we would tell them. And I want to say you're my husband... I just didn't expect it to be so soon" "They'd probably have caught on eventually. We should head up, I don't want to make a bad impression in front of your rather" "Papi... Papi will love you. He's not as loud as mami, but that doesn't mean anything bad. He's worked hard all his life and it's just him" "I married you without asking..." "You married me without me knowing either. It'll be fine. I'll get to show you the house..."

Lance had shown him the house before. And he'd carried a drunk Lance home more than once after the immediate death of Allura. His husband probably didn't even remember "That'd be nice" "Yeah. Rachel is in my old room. So we'll have to be stealthy" Releasing his hold, Lance took up his hand, striding towards the house as he pulled him along "Our stealthy? Or actually stealthy?" "There's no air vents, so super stealthy? She hears all" "I'll have to remember that" "She's also probably going to try and flirt with you..." "Flirt with me?" Why would anyone be flirting with him? He was just... Keith? "Yep. Don't let her suck you in. And don't let her start talking to you. She'll never shut up" "What about Marco?" "Oh, he's cool. I can picture you two standing there watching the crowd with a drink in your hands, exchanging the occasional "yep" as you do" "Babe, are you sure this ok?" Turning back to him, Lance shot him a smile that went straight to his heart "I've got no idea, but it's all going to be ok if you're here" "I've got your back babe" "I know" Keith really wasn't ready for this... and it definitely wasn't his back that he was worried about.

[badchoicesposts]

Don’t Dream It’s Over Flashbacks Part Two

DDIO Masterlist

AN: This is a compilation of all of the flashbacks of Liam and Ali’s story from my Don’t Dream It’s Over universe. You can find the full story on my masterlist.

CHAPTER 6

Ali and Liam were two very different people. There was no doubt about it. They were crazy about each other regardless, but at first glance anyone would believe that they had absolutely nothing in common. 

Liam rivaled Luca for the title of the most well-rounded person she had ever met. He was tall, well dressed, and well respected by everyone he met. His blond hair was always annoyingly perfect, even when it had been slept on for the full seven hours of sleep he got every night, and he was good at everything he tried to do. He worked out five days a week and had a natural charm that drew people towards him wherever he went. Liam slept on silk sheets, drank expensive liquor and, worst of all, was a morning person. He was always up early, eager to start his day and be productive. He was typically easy going, but he could take action and control a situation effortlessly when he needed to. 

Ali, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She barely reached five feet tall in the right pair of heels and spent most of her time in sweatpants or leggings because of the insecurities she had about her body. Her workout routine consisted mainly of walking everywhere she needed to go, and she had terrible social anxiety. She had no constant sleep schedule, and at this point, she was practically nocturnal, only being able to get in small amounts of sleep during the day due to her insomnia. She had found her current bed sheets from the discount bin of a department store, and the most she ever spent on alcohol was twenty dollars for a bottle of tequila. She had perfect grades, but she was still constantly stressed about them. 

Liam was put together, and on most days she was a hot mess. When she says the words “trust me, I know what I’m doing” there’s about a seventy-five percent chance that she has no idea what she’s doing. However, when he said the same words, she never once doubted him. That is until he decided he could repair the clogged drain in his kitchen sink on his own. Her suspicions were confirmed as she watched the Prince of Cordonia, his nice dress shirt soaked in water, fiddle with a pipe, determined to be “normal”.

“Love, maybe you should just call someone,” she said, raising her voice slightly so he could hear her from where the upper half of his body was lying under the sink. 

“I can do this,” he called back, irritation evident in his voice. 

“Sure you can,” she mumbled under her breath, taking a seat on a stool in the kitchen. “Have ever even looked at a pipe like that before?”

The banging noises she heard from under the sink was her only response, and she rolled her eyes as she texted Drake to tell him to contact the building’s superintendent. A few minutes passed by in silence before there was a sudden popping sound and Liam’s angry voice filled the room. Ali looked up to see him emerging from under the sink soaking wet, while more water pooled onto the kitchen floor. She wanted to be mad that he had made the situation worse and not given up when he realized that he didn’t know what he was doing, but the sight of him before her made her burst out laughing. 

“It’s not funny,” he said, sending a glare in her direction. 

“Yes, it is,” she replied when she had finally managed to calm herself down. 

He narrowed his bright blue eyes at her, trying his best to stay mad, but he knew that it was a losing battle. He knew that he looked ridiculous. 

“I guess we can cross chef and plumber off of your list of potential jobs,” she said, starting to giggle again as she remembered their first date where he tried to cook for her. 

“Now stop the water and clean up that mess. The super will be here in the morning.” 

Liam watched as his girlfriend ran out of the room before he could get another word in. 

CHAPTER 7

Ali and Liam moved around the kitchen in a comfortable silence as they prepared dinner. Well, as she prepared dinner. Liam was mainly observing, helping out here and there when she instructed him to. Ali wasn’t eager to have a repeat of the spaghetti incident and wanted to make sure they had something edible tonight because he had insisted that they stay in. 

The two had been dating for three months, and he was Ali’s first actual boyfriend. She was crazy about him and glad that she could experience so many of her “firsts” with him. 

“You’re staring,” she said, as she began to carve the chicken that she had just taken out of the oven. 

“You’re beautiful,” Liam said, with a smile. 

Ali tugged anxiously at her top. She had always been self-conscious about her body, and even though she had been working towards loving herself, she would still feel insecure from time to time. Especially when she compared her body to Liam’s. Liam was tall, broad shouldered, and muscular while her body was all curves. She wasn’t overweight, but she definitely wasn’t considered thin, and she often agonized over the stretch marks she found all over and her slightly chubby stomach. She knew that besides dealing with her other issues, one of the main steps in her mental health recovery was learning how to be kinder to herself. Regardless, hating yourself could be a hard habit to break when you’ve been doing it since you were thirteen. 

Liam moved to stand behind her, pressing his chest to her back and burying his face into the side of her neck. 

“I mean it. I think you’re so beautiful,” he said, pressing small kisses to the skin there.

“I know you do, Liam,” she mumbled, a smile forming on her face.

They ate in a comfortable silence, sharing small smiles. However, Ali could feel the anxiety coming off of him every time she caught him staring at her. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” she asked when they were finally done with their meal. 

Liam sighed and pulled her down onto his couch. He kept one arm tightly around her waist and began to gently play with her fingers with his other hand. 

“There’s something that I need to tell you,” he said softly.  

“What? Are you married or something?” she joked. 

The smile quickly left her face when she realized that he wasn’t laughing with her. 

“Oh, my god! You are!” she said. She was completely shocked and went to pull out of his arms, but he tightened his grip on her body. 

“No, I promise I’m not married.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, relaxing into him and placing a hand on his chest. 

“I haven’t been completely honest with you about who I am. My father isn’t actually a diplomat,” he said.

He took a deep breath before his next words.

“My father is the King of Cordonia. Ali, I’m a prince,” he said, holding his breath as he waited for her reaction. 

Much to his surprise she began to chuckle. 

“That’s funny. You really had me going there for a second,” she said with a smile.

She pulled away from him and grabbed her glass of water from the coffee table in front of her, taking a large sip. 

“Love, I’m being serious,” he said. 

“What? Liam, I’ve never even heard of a place called Cordonia,” she said, still smiling. 

“It’s a small country in the Mediterranean. Most people haven’t heard of it,” he said. 

Ali raised her brows and Liam, still smiling. 

“Okay, Liam, you’ve had your fun,” she said, resting her glass back down and leaning into his side.

“My love, please. I am being serious,” he persisted. 

Ali rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. 

“Fine, you’re being serious,” she said, quickly typing in the words “Cordonia” and “Prince Liam”.

Her jaw dropped as a picture of the man sitting right next to her came up.

“Oh, my god! You’re being serious!” she exclaimed.

She jumped into a sitting position and looked at him, her mouth hanging open. Even though a million things were going through her mind at once, none of them were good. She wasn’t going to fool herself into thinking that just because he was a prince she was going to get a happily ever after. If anything, she saw their relationship completely fall apart before her eyes. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. I needed a chance to get to know you without worrying about that getting in the way,” Liam said. 

Ali could tell that he was still nervous.

“Is anything I know about you even true?” she asked.

“I’ve told you the truth about everything except for my title. I needed you to know me as Liam, not Prince Liam of Cordonia,” he said, reaching for her hand. 

He could tell that she was still uncomfortable by the fact that she didn’t lean into him the way she usually did. 

“I know that this is somewhat of a shock, but, if you’ll let me, I would like to tell you more about my country and who I am,” he said hopefully. 

CHAPTER 10

Ali wandered up and down the aisles of bookshelves, stopping every once in a while to pull out one that caught her eye. The public library had been one of her favorite places for as long as she could remember. She had always been an avid reader and had basically grown up in the children’s section. 

The Marshall twins, who she had been babysitting part time for the past year and a half, were both enjoying the public storytime that was offered the facility, and she was glad to have a moment to herself. She loved both of the children, but two four year olds could be a lot to handle. 

Her eyes scanned over a copy of “Jane Eyre”, and she pulled it off the shelf, smiling to herself. She opened the book, flipping through the pages casually, taking in a sentence here and there. 

“I’ve heard that’s a classic, but I have to admit that I’ve never read it myself,” said a deep, accented voice from behind her. 

Ali jumped, not realizing that someone was nearby, and turned to meet a man with bright blue eyes and a kind smile on his face. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized.

“That’s okay. I just didn’t realize that someone was behind me,” she said, smiling up at him. 

“Have you ever read it?” he asked, gesturing to the book in her hand. 

“Yeah, I have. It’s one of my favorites actually,” she said honestly, handing it to him, “I would definitely recommend it.” 

“Thank you. Do you have any other recommendations?” he asked. 

Ali began to slowly walk down the aisle again, her fingertips gently tracing the spines of the books as she passed by. 

“Well, I’m the type of person that would recommend the ‘Harry Potter’ series to just about anyone, but I realize that they’re not for everyone,” she said with a laugh as he trailed behind her. “I also love ‘Tuesdays With Morrie’, it literally made me cry, and I’m a sucker for just about any book with diverse characters. To be honest, I don’t really have a specific genre of book that I look for. When I was younger I loved mysteries and fantasy, but now I’ll read just about anything as long as I think the plotline sounds interesting.”

“I usually read nonfiction, but I’ve been trying to branch out recently,” he said.

“Is there a specific genre that you’re looking for?” 

The two continued their conversation, stopping every once in a while to pull books off the shelves. The man was obviously very well educated and was easy to talk to. She found herself laughing with him and genuinely enjoying his company.

“When I was young my mother would always take me to the library. She would say that no matter where you are in the world, you were always at home a library because the knowledge it holds is universal,” he said.

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman,” she responded with a smile. 

A fond smile appeared on the stranger’s face, and Ali felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. He definitely had an amazing smile.

“She was. I don’t want to appear too forward, but would you like to continue our conversation over coffee?” he asked. 

Ali was taken aback for a second, but she quickly recovered. She wasn’t exactly accustomed to being asked out for coffee. 

“I would say yes, but I have to pick up the kids from storytime downstairs,” she said, checking the time on her phone, “I should actually get down there now.”

“Kids?” he asked confused. 

“Oh, no! They’re not mine! I’m babysitting,” she said quickly. 

“Maybe another time then?” he asked hopefully as they began descending the stairs to the first floor of the library.

“I don’t even know your name,” Ali said with a laugh. 

“I can’t believe I haven’t properly introduced myself yet,” he said, scolding himself, “I’m Liam.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Liam. I’m Ali.”

CHAPTER 11

Ali was stretched out on Liam’s bed, the sheets pulled up around her body, falling in and out of sleep as she listened to the rain fall outside. The man himself was fast asleep next to her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and his head laying on her chest. She ran her fingers through his soft hair mindlessly, the smell of his shampoo filling her senses and lulling her into a relaxed state.

Ali smiled at the feeling of Liam’s breath on her bare skin, and her eyes began to close again. It had taken forever to get used to sleeping next to someone like this, but now she didn’t think she would ever be able to sleep without him again. There was nothing she loved more than being wrapped up in his arms, and the feeling of him next to her always put her at ease. She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep before she was jumping up again at a banging sound coming from somewhere in the apartment. 

She wrote it off, figuring that Drake was just walking around the living room but tensed again at the sound of a loud crash. 

“Liam,” she said quietly, gently shaking him awake.

He mumbled in his sleep before opening his eyes slowly.

“What’s wrong?” he groaned, still not completely awake. 

“There’s someone in the living room,” she whispered back. 

Liam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, before throwing the covers off of his body. Ali grabbed his shirt from the floor and buttoned it up over herself as he left the room. She gave him a few moments alone and ventured out into the living room after some time passed without any noise. 

When she entered the living room she saw a soaking wet Drake sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, with Liam sitting next to him. He had obviously just come in from the rain. The small side table that was beside the couch had been shifted from its spot, and a broken lamp was lying on the floor. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked softly, taking in the scene in front of her. 

Liam nodded, a strained smile on his face as he rested one of his hands on Drake’s shoulder.

“Go back to bed, my love,” he said back.

She could tell that the two needed a moment alone and nodded in understanding before returning to the room where she allowed herself to fall asleep.

Ali woke up the next morning to an empty bed. She reached over to grab her glasses from the bedside table, and saw Liam buttoning up a shirt at the foot of the bed. 

“Good morning,” he said, leaning over to kiss her lips gently. 

“Morning. Are you leaving already?” she asked, grabbing her phone to check the time. 

“I have to go into work a little earlier than I thought. But, I already have coffee ready in the kitchen for you,” he said with a smile. 

“What was wrong last night?” she asked, getting out of bed and gathering her clothes. 

She grabbed her jeans off of the floor and walked over to Liam’s dresser, taking out one of the t-shirts he had to change into. Liam sighed, sitting on the bed and pulling her down with him.

“The date slipped my mind. Today is the anniversary of the death of Drake’s father. This is usually a difficult day for him every year. The earlier I get into work, the sooner I can be back here for him.” 

Ali nodded sadly and kissed his cheek.

“Let me know if either of you need anything,” she said, squeezing his hand. 

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to grab a shower before I leave, okay?” she said. 

He nodded in response and pulled her into a kiss before they both got up again. Ali made a beeline for the bathroom as Liam exited the apartment. She took her time, letting the warm water relax her muscles and was feeling completely refreshed when she stepped out.   

“Hey,” she said quietly, as she stepped into the kitchen to see Drake already up and holding a cup of coffee.

He was definitely hungover, but she couldn’t imagine that the whiskey she could smell in his coffee was going to be much assistance in getting over it. He nodded at her in response, not meeting her eyes, as she walked around him to pour some for herself. She took a sip of the hot liquid and looked back over at him. He seemed absolutely miserable, and she felt her heart ache for him.

Ali and Drake weren’t close, and she didn’t want to assume that she knew how he was feeling, but she still felt for him. 

“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to talk about it. 

“I’m fine.”

“People who are fine don’t usually start their day with liquor in their coffee,” she pointed out, keeping her voice soft. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, looking up at her tiredly.

“I don’t want you to say anything, but I want you to know that you can,” she responded, smiling at him kindly. 

Drake looked her over for a moment as if trying to gauge her sincerity. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and opened it before holding it out to her. She took it from him, pouring some into her mug before handing it back. 

“My dad used to do security for Liam and Leo, so my sister and I were allowed to hang out with them. That’s how Liam and I got close even though I don’t have the lineage to merit it. He died saving Constantine’s life in an assassination attempt on The Crown,” Drake said. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that must have felt,” she said honestly, taking a  gulp of her now whiskey infused coffee.

Drake chuckled humorlessly. 

“Not great.”

Ali didn’t speak. She just continued to sip from her mug, wanting to give him some space to continue talking if he chose to. Drake got up from the kitchen and walked into the living room with his mug and the liquor bottle. She followed and sat down next to him on the couch. 

“The worst part was that I… I mean we, my sister and I, we didn’t just lose him,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“After it happened, my mom couldn’t take it. She just up and left in the middle of the night. She didn’t even say goodbye, just left a note saying that she was sorry. She asked another member of the guard, Bastien, to take care of us,” he said with a scoff. 

“We weren’t his responsibility. Hell, he was barely old enough to be taking care of two kids. But, he did anyway. He took care of us because she couldn’t be bothered to. I haven’t even seen her in years.”

The bitterness was evident in his tone as he spoke of his mother, and he had put down his mug, opting to drink straight from the bottle instead.

 “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult that must have been for all of you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Savannah, my sister, she took it the worst,” he said. 

“And let me guess, you didn’t take it at all,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

He gave her a questioning and surprised look, the alcohol allowing him to finally let his guard down. 

“How did-” he trailed off, his words slurring slightly. 

“Call it a hunch. You don’t seem to be very in touch with your feelings,” she said, taking the bottle from him. 

He let out a laugh. It was tired, but it was also his first genuine smile this morning. 

“I needed to protect her. To be strong for her.” 

“I’m sure you did an amazing job,” she said, lowering her voice into a soothing and reassuring tone.

Drake sat there looking at the wall for a moment. Neither of them seemed to want to break the silence.

“What about you?” he finally asked. 

“What about me?” she said, bringing the bottle up to her lips. 

She took a swig of the liquid before bringing it back down to her side, deciding that Drake had already drunk enough for the morning. 

“What’s your tragic backstory? Liam’s mentioned… a few things,” he said. 

“Do you really want to know?” she asked. 

He nodded, raising his brows to signal that she should speak. 

“I got into a really bad depression when I was thirteen years old, and it lasted for a really long time. I, uh, I don’t really talk about this with anyone, but I guess, looking back on it I had been seeing signs of it in myself for a while. I was just too young at the time to know what anxiety or depression was,” she began. 

Drake was looking at her intently, hanging onto every word.

“Were you close to your dad?” she asked. 

Drake furrowed his brows, the sudden change back to his story confusing him. 

“Yeah, he worked a lot, but he always tried to make time for us. He was the best man I knew.”

Ali smiled at his words, glad to hear this. 

“Mine wasn’t so great. Not the worst guy in the world, but definitely not the best. I think a lot of my, uh, issues stemmed from him.”

She didn’t know why she was telling all of this to Drake, but once she had begun talking about it, she couldn’t stop. She was getting too emotional and the words just continued to spill out of her mouth.

“He was an asshole, to be honest. He had a quick temper, and you always had to walk on eggshells around him, never knowing when something would set him off. He was emotionally abusive, and he could be physically abusive to my mom. There were times when I was scared he would turn on me too. Just snap and hit me one day, but he never did. I still vividly remember one night when I was fifteen. My parents were fighting, and I got in the middle and tried to calm them both down. The look in his eyes was terrifying. He started coming towards me, and it felt like my heart had stopped beating. I thought he had snapped. He stopped himself at the last minute, but by then the damage was already done. I was so terrified I had to call my friend Luca to come pick me up. I don’t think I stopped shaking that entire night,” she said with a shudder.

“The physical stuff stopped about a year before I got ‘diagnosed’, but the emotional stuff went on for a lot longer. He would sometimes leave for weeks at a time, going off and doing god knows what with god knows who, but he would always come back, and my mom would always let him. It was always the same thing. He would snap one day, be angry at us for a while and then go back to normal and act like nothing had ever happened. It was exhausting, never knowing if one small screw-up would make him lash out.”

There were tears streaming down her face now, and Drake hadn’t taken his eyes off of her.

“There were some other things too, of course. I had major self-esteem issues, and I definitely had self-image issues. I uh- I had an eating disorder for a while, too,” she stopped momentarily to fiddle with her fingers. “Anyways, things got really bad with me the summer before high school, and it lasted pretty much all the way through. Senior year, when everyone was getting ready for prom, I was getting sent to the hospital for a ‘major depressive episode’. That’s fancy talk for ‘I wanted to kill myself’,” she tried to joke.

Ali felt Drake brush his fingers against her hand hesitantly, but instead of grabbing it, he moved away and placed his hand back in his lap instead. 

“I was nineteen when I finally started getting better. I had about five good months before both of my parents died in a car accident.”

“Damn,” Drake whispered as she took another drink from the bottle. 

“Yeah, so as you can imagine, all the progress I made kind of went down the drain. But, I had the Larsons with me. Luca and his siblings let me move in with them, and they helped take care of me. They were there for some of the hardest parts, and they helped put me back together when all I wanted to do was fall apart. Because of them I was able to start getting back to myself. It’s been about two years since then, and I still have some pretty bad days, but I’m trying to be okay,” she concluded.

Drake remained silent for a moment, taking it all in.  

“Wow, I’m sorry to unload all of that on you when you’re already having a bad day. It kind of just started coming and wouldn’t stop,” she said, embarrassed at her confession and hastily wiping away her tears. 

“Don’t apologize. I asked you to,” he said, “You’re pretty damn strong, you know that right?”

“So are you,” she said, with a sad smile.

[beheadingofmakai]

“Exorcist” Is A Strong Word

<- Previous Chapter

The girl’s fragile body heaved and thrashed violently as the Exorcists chanted while holding the unholy presence prisoner to shackles affixed to their own bodies, each of the men standing on opposite ends of the bed.

“...Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris...” the older of the two chanted as the younger focused entirely on subduing the demon’s attempts to resist with a smaller, simpler chant.

The room was dimly lit, just four candles providing both lighting and ambiance to the grotesque or extraordinary, depending on who ask, scene that unfurled in front of the terrified parents of the possessed girl, flanked by the two focused men, one tall and with wavy hair that rested in a ponytail atop his left shoulder, the other sporting shorter, dark red hair, and a far more stiff posture that spoke of inexperience and anxiety. The girl was held in place by two large, thick golden chains of light that protruded from the very bodies of the two men, a most fetid and unholy spirit attempting to resist their intervention, convulsing and shrieking in tones both audible and inaudible to humans.

“I-Is she fine!?” blurted out the concerned father of the girl, his wife holding him back and “shhh”ing him, urging him to be quiet as he was instructed. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing while my daughter is suffering like this!”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done, sir,” replied the younger Vinn, trying to sound as calm and pleasant as possible, as if he wasn’t wrangling a creature most foul by the tentacles. “My partner is almost done with the-- Oh, here it comes, one second, please, I need to catch it.”

“...You need to catch it?”

“Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri Gloria!”

A blinding flash of light burst from the girl’s chest, and an ocean of pitch black darkness with dark red orbs that you might just mistake for eyes burst forth from her mouth, immediately being captured by Vinn in a small rectangular object, and just as fast as it came, it was gone. “...Eyup, that’s a good one, now let’s scram,” commented Bastian casually, slinging his coat over his shoulder and heading to the exit.

“...Jeez. Sir, madam, your daughter is perfectly fine now. She’ll be asleep for a couple of hours, but his work is as precise as he is rude, unpleasant, and smells bad in the morning. Now, I need you to come here for a second so I can give you the post-care instructions.”

“T-thank you so much, Mister Ingram! Our daughter is everything for us! Do tell us, if it’s any medicine or doctor, we’ll pay for it!”  the ecstatic mother raved, her tears of joy already streaming down her face.

As soon as they got close, Vinn grabbed them both by the back of the neck, a dull green light in his fingertips, and the couple’s eyes went white for just a second. “...Huh? Who are you? Do you have any business with us...?”

“I said that the toilet is now completely fixed.” remarked Vinn. “It shouldn’t need any further repairs. It gave us a hell of a bad time, and the smell was horrible, but we sanitized the place while we were at it. We’ll send the bill later, have a good day!”

“...Oh, right! The toilet, yeah, darn thing, kept clogging up for no reason! Why, we had some good chili some days ago, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it-- Oh, um, thanks a lot, Mister Ingram! See you around!”

                                                         ——-

“No one’s looking?”

“Nope. Let that bastard out. Imma let him have it.”

“Oh boy, alright.”

The back alley where they stood was a spacious, convenient space between two large buildings, both made of brick, with a large green dumpster on the side, and out of the sight of any city crawler that wasn’t looking for trouble. The backside of a large billboard promoting a popular soda brand hung above them as the older man spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and cracked his knuckles like a boxer about to despoil a champion of his belt. It was 2:34 PM, two men on the clock, two hands ready to guarantee the local hospital would see some action today, and two eyes that rolled at the outdated display of bravado, because, let’s face it, who the hell still spits on their own hands and rubs them together anymore? Only whatever few Pre-Amnesia cartoons that can be salvaged together do that anymore.

Vinn produced a cheap, common, and rectangular sponge from his breast pocket and squeezed it with all of his strength, a black sludge and a blood-curling scream oozing out of it. “OOWWW! Ow ow ow! Yo, hold on! No need to-- AHH! Please, come on, man, yeesh!”

As the viscous sludge hit the pavement, a vaguely person-shaped creature began forming as more and more sludge accumulated, until the sponge had been squeezed dry, and in the floor lie a young man, large and built, with broad shoulders and a body hugging t-shirt that flattered his physique. He’d probably look very dashing if he wasn’t already off the floor and against a wall, with Bastian Ashfield’s firm grip on his neck.

“Possessing a little girl, man? Really? What shitter did you come from?” barked Bastian as he turned him around and seized his wrist, pushing him face-first against the wall. “What did you do to her? Lie, you piece of shit, lie right now and give me the excuse I need to smoke your ass right this instant.”

“Woah woah, man, calm down! I didn’t do anything to her! It was just the ol’ vitality drain, you know? A man’s gotta eat!” cried the demon nervously, struggling in vain to get out of the detective’s grasp. “...I did play a couple of pranks on those old folks, but I didn’t harm no one, I mean, anyone, I swear!”

Bastian looked at Vinn, whose eyes were coated in the gentle light of Fallitur, the SSSD of True Sight. “...It checks out. He’s saying the truth. He didn’t do anything aside from getting nourishment and... Playing some pranks, I guess. This one reeks of milk, man. How old are you, 14?”

“Alright, perfect.” Bastian interrupted before the demon could answer, casually tossing him to the ground as he put his coat on. “Vinn, you remember what I told you yesterday? That I needed to confirm one extra thing with you?”

“Yes, and just as you did today in the morning, when you broke into my house in the middle of my breakfast, Bastian.” remarked the younger Exorcist with the slightest but realest hint of resentment in his voice, his delicious bacon and cereal interrupted by a certain hydromancer who stealthily got inside from a window. “...But you refused to say it because you need to be cryptic and vague and ‘mysterious’ in order to make up for lacking manners and a personality.” Vinn punctuated the word “mysterious” by doing quotation signs with his fingers.

“Where’s your sense of adventure and suspense, Ingram? Were you That Kid in school? The one that did sudoku during recess ‘cause he always lost at Hide and Seek?” -- Bastian laughed, since he clearly had gotten under Vinn’s skin -- “Well, whatever, look, you can handle sacraments and spells well, you can fight well, your heart is the right place, but I need one more thing outta you, one thing more important than those and, if you lack it, you are out of the game.”

Vinn was certainly irritated with his high maintenance and annoying partner, but it was true that he was very curious and intrigued about what this final requirement might be. “...What is it?”

“I need you to find this guy a job.”

“What?!” grunted the demon on the floor.

“What.” flatly responded Vinn.

“What~?” mockingly quipped Bastian, lifting his arms in mock surrender, saying it in a funny voice. “I said, you need to find--”

“But why do I need to find this guy a job?”

“Vinn, we are Exorcists. You remember what they taught you way back in the first year on the Academy? What is it that Exorcists do?”

“We solve crimes related to Mythics or magic, and we--!”

“...You seem to have remembered something.”

Vinn brought his hand to his mouth, almost ashamed of himself. “...It’s been so long... But yes, Exorcists... Solve Mythic and magic-related crimes, but they also serve as involved parole officers for minor crimes, which includes setting Mythics right, letting them know their rights, and assisting them in finding their place in society in a way that lets them live with dignity and a purpose.”

“...And assisting them in finding their place in society in a way that lets them live with dignity and a purpose”. Bastian said these words alongside Vinn, his mocking demeanor gone and his hands reaching for a cigarette. “...It’s definitely not unwelcome to know that you can crack skulls when you need to, and that you care about Mythics, but see, if you can’t actually provide this help to them, then I don’t need you. The Academy’s fucked up, ain’t it? You spend one class in the first year talking about the supposed duty of the Exorcist, and then the rest of it all is learning how to pulverize them, or worst, how to smoke them. It never comes back up, does it? Not in the entire god damn MAB-approved and cooked curriculum. Well, Vinn, if you are going to truly help me set this rotten MAB right, you are going to show me you can do the most important job: Helping Mythics out for realsies. Not ‘beating up Mythics’, not ‘gathering evidence’, but actually caring and showing concern for Mythics that deserve this help, that with just that little push, can find their place in this God forsaken city.”

“...” Vinn held his tongue tight because Bastian was absolutely right. The Mythic Affairs Bureau’s Mythic Law Enforcement Academy’s education was mostly based on immediately assuming Mythics were a threat to humanity, something that always bothered Vinn, but the fact that even then, all he could think about this current case was to just give the demon a warning and letting him go instead of doing his duty properly was enough to make shame itch from within his skin. Vivid memories of his time at the Academy popped into his head, all the spellcasting, all the sacrament learning, the weaknesses of Mythics, what items and elements were most effective at hurting each type, and among all of these, he had naught a memory of Mythic rights or how to properly help them. “...Oi, Bastian, generally speaking, how many Exorcists would’ve killed this guy for what he did?”

Bastian’s face grew grim. “...Seven out of ten, I’d say. They would’ve truly and well exorcised him instead of just pulling him out. This one’s weak, too, so they wouldn’t have bothered like this, definitely”. The demon, who had gotten back on his feet but had not dared make a run for it, gulped visibly. “I’m going back to the Office to interview our lovely necromancer nurse. Help this guy out properly. I’m not demanding you do this in a day, but put your truest and hardest into this. I want to see if you can really call yourself an Exorcist.”

As Bastian walked away, Vinn recovered his composure and approached the demon. Short, stylish black hair, tight black t-shirt, built physique, and jeans. He was dressed as the most generic Joe out there, but his particularly model-like physique set him apart, and he’d look handsome if he wasn’t trembling in his sneakers. The somewhat red eyes of the demon avoided contact with Vinn’s green own as he uncomfortably shuffled in place. It was easy to see that he was not exactly calm, alone in a back alley with an Exorcist who had just caught him red handed.

“Oi, calm down. My name’s Vinn Ingram, and honestly, I am not going to harm you at all. I don’t get kicks from kicking kids like you around, so come on, ease up, what’s your name?”

“...How could you tell I’m a kid? I am pretty sure I have the appearance of an adult male right now. Are you a really experienced Exorcist?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, totally, I’ve been doing this for a while.” responded the man on his second day of work. “I just know how to tell Mythics apart really well by now. Demons especially.”

“...Mathanac. 17 years old, almost 18. This is my True Form, though, I’m not trying to look older on purpose. Look, I realize what I did was wrong, so please, can we not do the smoking thing? I didn’t hurt anybody, just maybe slid a couple of ice cubes down someone’s trousers, and, um, maybe I printed out scary pictures and hid them behind the shower’s curtain... And...”

“...And?”

“Well, um, maybe I spun my head a couple of times to freak ‘em out.”

“...I can’t even be mad at you for that one, it’s a classic.”

“Yeah! See? So please, come on, man, just give me a pass here, I’ll really be on my best behavior! Don’t put me in a room with that other guy, please.”

Vinn scratched the back of his head. Interaction after interaction, he understood one thing more and more with each word that came out of anyone that ever mentioned Exorcists: They were feared, they were dreaded, and they weren’t welcome, not by the Mythics they were supposed to guide, nor by the Humans they were supposed to protect.

Turns out, this job wasn’t as rosy or as noble as initially expected, if you have basic decency and a moral compass. Though he had serious personality problems, that was the one thing Vinn did like about Bastian: It was truly luck for him to be partnered with what seemed to be one of the few decent Exorcists in the line of duty, if the comments of anyone he’s ever met so far on the clock and his own experiences in the MLEA were anything to go by.

 “...Look, man, I am not going to hurt you at all. We are kinda close in age too, I’m just 21. All I want to do is help you find your place in this city so you don’t have to resort to possessing people again, and so you don’t get in trouble again. Tons of Mythics live just fine and without causing trouble, so there’s no reason to believe you wouldn’t be able to as well.”

“...21?” Mathanac took a step back and stabbed Vinn with doubtful eyes. “...You just said you were a very experienced Exorcist, but you are just 21? Liar alert! You are trying to bamboozle me! Trick me, even!”

“Oh! No no, uh, it’s just--!”

     Of kindred spirits, ink stains, and the reassuring caress of purpose:                                 – Chapter 2: "Exorcist” Is A Strong Word –

“See! You are just another Exorcist that wants to have his kicks by smoking me the moment I decide to trust you!”

“Aah, crap, look, sorry... I’ll explain, I’ll explain, please believe me.” Vinn sighed deeply, nervously fiddling with his hands just slightly. “I... Have been around demons since I was a kid. I know what to look for when trying to identify their age.”

Mathanac looked less panicked but no less confused than before. “...You’ve been around demons since you were a kid...? Aren’t you an Exorcist? Isn’t it your job to put us out of commission?”

“Ahh, man, look, “Exorcist” is a strong word, I like to think of myself as a civil worker first and foremost, ‘cause to be honest, screw having to outright off Mythics for small shit, you know? It’s not fair. I try to at least do my part, it’s what I’ve always aimed to do, since the first day I entered the Academy.”

The demon was taken aback. Demons are creatures fundamentally made of emotions, and they can read the emotions of others better than they can read between lines. Mathanac sensed no subterfuge or trickery behind the words of the young Exorcist, no matter how hard he tried to. “...I didn’t think good Exorcists existed... You care about Mythics and demons for real, huh? You ain’t lying.”

“...I’d rather not get into it, but I kinda want to protect demons. Don’t tell my partner I said that, though, I really dunno how much I can trust humans.”

The demon laughed. “Aren’t you a human, though?”

“Yeah, I am, but I don’t know shit about them, haha.”

“...Haha, what? What kinda oddball are you? Just in whose care did I get put? Man, today’s wild, first I see a grown man scream like the shrillest kindergartener, and now I am face to face with an Exorcist who isn’t a full on dickhead!”

“Hey, better me than some human jerk who’d outright freaking smoked you, man.”

The two laughed, the atmosphere clearly more light than when Bastian was around. “...You looked and talked real stiff when dealing with your partner and the girl’s parents, but you are all loosened up now, it’s killing me. What’s up with that?”

Vinn chuckled nervously. “...I don’t know how to handle other humans too well, but demons are easy. You can just speak your mind, you know? No need to watch your words, ‘cause they understand you. Let’s get looking for your job, though, the sooner we are done with this, the better for the two of us.”

The demon and the Exorcist nodded, and off they went to the business district, but unknown to them, a pair of magenta eyes was fixed on them, having been watching them for a while now. Silent like the shadow of a ghost, the silhouette moved out, tailing them in secret.

                                                        ——-

“So, Mathanac, whatcha good at?”

And the first question was like a well placed hook right into the demon’s ribs. “...Ya think I’d be out here possessing children if I was good at anything?” 

“I’m asking what is you primary emotion. Demons are fundamentally emotional people, and there’s usually a main temperament to you from the moment you are born. We should start by picking something suited to your temperament.” advised Vinn, adjusting his coat and checking his phone. “I mean, it’d be stupid going to random places, hoping you’ll hit it off by coincidence, yeah? It’s better if we can reduce our options.”

Mathanac’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. “I truly have no idea. My parents got... Smoked by Exorcists when I was a baby, apparently, and as soon as I could start possessing people, the family that had me ‘till then sent me on my way. Never really had the talk with anyone that could’ve helped me figure this out.”

There was a moment of silence between the two men, with Vinn unsure of what to respond with when faced with this rather grim turn of events. “...Sorry to hear that, man. I, uh... Damn, sorry, I really don’t know what to say, I don’t want to patronize you, either.” The answer to Vinn’s condolences was a forced chuckle.

“Don’t worry too much. My parents were apparently pretty damn vile, so it was inevitable. That’s also why I never really do any harm to whoever I possess, I mean, if these two dedicated demons got smoked in the end, someone far weaker like me would get pulverized in no time if I were to lay one finger on anybody. I’m a coward by nature, so I’d rather not sign my own death warrant if I can help it.”

“That doesn’t make you a coward, but jeez, alright, I guess our only option is to go to random places and try it out. Alright, so, how do you feel about the food industry?”

The demon boy raised his hand. “Question! I meant to ask this before, but how are you gonna get me a job just like that?”

Pulling out his MAB-issued notepad from his breast pocket, the young Exorcist flipped it open and showed a list of names and addresses to the inquiring demon. “This is a list of places where, if we mention who we are, we’ll be given freedom to get you hooked with a job as part of our parole officer duty. These are mostly Mundane-owned places, but they know of Mythics and such.”

The MAB has many connections, even with people outside the world of Mythics. Even though the majority of people in Stroln are Mundane -- that is, humans that are not users of any sort of sorcery or sacrament -- some Mundanes do indeed know of the world of Mythics that lies hidden under the surface of the expansive city for this or that reason. Generally, these Mundanes are visited by the nice, cordial chaps of the MAB, who politely request, without any sort of threats or implied violence, of course, that they sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement that, if breached, can result in red stains on the carpet. These NDAs contain pretty severe restrictions, but these can be lessened through various means, one of which is agreeing to participate in the MAB Parole System, which allows Exorcists get jobs for their assigned Mythics, no questions asked.

“So that system is actually real? I had heard some people talk about it before, but I assumed it was just bluster.” exclaimed Mathanac in marvel. “Yeah, let’s go for a bite.”

“You’ll be the one cooking, smartass.”

Not ten minutes later, Vinn introduced himself to the owner of a small diner, and got the owner to give Mathanac a trial day immediately upon mentioning the MAB. Though not comfortable with the clear fear in the owner’s eyes upon hearing the acronym, it was a step forward for Mathanac’s rehabilitation.

“...Jeez, never thought the day would actually come...” the owner lamented as he opened a ledger and wrote some stuff.

“Pardon?” inquired Vinn. “How come you never thought the day would come if you are a part of the MAB Parole System? If you signed up for it, it is at least expected that you consider the possibility.”

“Eh. Everyone signs up for that for the benefits, since no one actually makes use of it. It’s the first time in years an Exorcist comes and brings it up, and the previous time it was brought up was when I was asked if I wanted to sign up for it. Just my luck...”

“...Please excuse me.” Stroln’s beauty and hospitality never ceases to impress.

                                                       ——-

“Alright, you get to wait some tables today. Play nice and you can keep the job.” explained the young Exorcist as he sat by the counter. “I gotta watch you and review your performance, so just do your best. The owner says he wouldn’t mind a mild demon like you on the payroll, plus, you got your looks going for you, which always helps in the service industry.”

“Alright, it’s worth a shot. It’s just knowing what each person wants and delivering it, right? Yeah, easy peasy, got this in the bag, dontcha worry!” Mathanac boasted, getting changed into the diner’s uniform and apron already.

The door’s bell chimed, and in strode a new customer, almost too conveniently, just in time for Mathanac to test his waiting mettle. The customer was quite the sight, as well, with striking magenta eyes, a head full of shoulder length white hair with her right lock dyed black, and most notably, a lilac t-shirt that exposed her left shoulder, albeit it wasn’t due to the shirt being designed with that in mind, but rather, it was too big for her. This would usually call attention by itself, but the most curious aspect of the t-shirt was the large ink stain on the front, clearly not part of the original article, which contrasted not too pleasantly with the lilac color of the clothes. With a smile and a joyful stride, she sat on a chair, looked at the menu briefly, and then looked at the Exorcist with expectant magenta eyes.

“Oi, on table 17, go get her order, man.” chided Vinn, prompting the demon to make his debut in the food industry. As he watched the demon and the girl talk, the Exorcist checked his phone and texted Bastian.

                                                                        Is the interview going well?

marvelous shes a dumbass but shes the real deal no doubt

                                                                       Mathanac is starting with his job                                                                        and he’s a pretty decent demon                                                                        so I don’t think this will be hard.

cool im glad youre calling him by name can’t stay on the phone much longer don’t get cocky though keep an eye on him                                                                        Alright, mom.

There was nothing for Vinn to worry about! In the time spent texting with Bastian, Vinn had been keeping an eye on his demon: Mathanac had taken the order, brought the seasoning and sauces, the girl’s drink, the whole deal. Why, just now, he had set down the noodle soup she had ordered! No problem, no dilemma, it was in the bag. Right up until she wanted to put some salt on the soup and the cap fell off, dumping a mountain of tiny white rocks on the noodle soup, accentuated by the snickering of a certain demon, whose laughter immediately ceased upon receiving a powerful finger jab in the ribs.

“You were doing so well! Why the hell did you think this was a good time for a prank!?”

“Haaa, oww, haha... Man, come on, there’s no sin in adding some... Spice to a meal!”

Finger jab and a cry of pain that, if put through a translator, it would read “worth it”.

“Salt’s not even a spice, dumbass. Ma’am, I’m so sorry, we’ll get you a new bowl.”

“Oh, no no! No worries, hmhm, it was pretty funny, no worries! I’ll pay for it, too. I’d like it wrapped for take out, please.” replied the girl with a gentle demeanor and a pleasant smile as she stood up and got close to Vinn. “Actually... That guy’s a demon, isn’t he?”

Vinn took a step back, surprised. “...Guess you are not a Mundane.” The girl simply chuckled and lifted her arms in mock surrender, answering by just nodding. “Ah, no, sorry, didn’t mean to sound accusatory. Vinn Ingram, Exorcist with the Seventh Office of the MAB. I’m helping this guy get a job, but...”

“Oh? An Exorcist actually helping a Mythic? I see! And this is the part where I get careless, lower my guard, you ask for my papers and send me to jail over some little bit of bureaucracy, right?” she prattled.

“Ahh, no, look, I won’t--”

“Chill, I’m just kidding. I know that you are really helping that guy out. I saw you guys before. I miiiiiight have overheard you, and decided to follow you.” -- the girl stretched -- “You got a little careless, I guess!”

“Oh, she totally heard us, haha. Some Exorcist you are,” taunted Mathanac, coming back in his regular clothes and with the take out wrap. “The boss fired the crap outta me, so I guess this is a good time to go to the next place. Ah well, food biz ain’t my thing, anyways.”

The young Exorcist pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, easy for you to say... Well, we’ll get going then, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself, miss...?”

“Oh no no, I won’t snitch on you, no worries! In fact, I’m of a mind to come along. This should be fun.”

“Yeah, no, I can’t let a civilian get involved in an MAB affa--”

“Oh, guess I’m snitching, after all. Seventh Office phone number... +56 9 762--”

“Welcome to the group! It’ll be our pleasure having you come with us! Please don’t get me flayed alive on my second day of work!”

“...Second day...” “...Pff... Second day...!”

The demon and the girl, who could figuratively be said to also be a demon, said this in unison, one voice with concern, the other with palpable hilarity.

“...L-let’s get going.”

                                                       ——-

The sky of Stroln turned pink behind the three young adults. Step after step, they would find a new place for Mathanac to work at. Step after step, Mathanac would do a prank and get fired. Step after step, the girl would laugh and Vinn could feel his hairline receding and his life becoming shorter. What he thought would be an easy job had turned out to be a nightmare. On top of the very building by the back alley where they had technically met for the first time, atop the billboard, the three sat, taking a short break, mostly for the sake of Vinn’s nerves.

Cracking open a can of beer, the young Exorcist sighed and drank half of it in one go. “...Haa... Mathanac, you are going to give me a god damn ulcer.”

“Ah, look!” the girl exclaimed, pointing at another billboard from their vantage point. The other billboard had burns and scratches that made it impossible to read or make out in the slightest. “A Pre-Amnesia billboard, huh? It’s a miracle that relic is still up.”

“Oh yeah, I thought the same thing yesterday. I think that one is the same I saw. I guess no one wants to foot the bill for that one when there’s this one here.”

“Hmm? Is it rare for that burned-up billboard to be up?” Mathanac asked, apparently out of the loop. “I mean, they could just clean it and reuse it, no?”

“Looks like our little unemployed prankster isn’t too cultured,” teased the girl. “Do you know what Pre-Amnesiac things are?”

“Oi, buzz off, I was busy trying to survive these years, not learn the lore of the world, nature, and all things that surround us, oh mighty scholar,” jested the demon, always in a good mood, despite having been fired from 14 jobs just today. “What’s that about?”

Vinn threw the now empty can and produced another from a plastic bag nearby. “You see those burn marks on the billboard? They aren’t actually burn marks. No matter what you do, you cannot remove, repair, or erase them. They cannot be affected at all. It’s unknown what caused those immutable marks, but whatever they hide, it’s as good as gone. That’s what happened to everything when the Amnesia hit.”

“Mmhm! Books, movies, videos, virtual text files, photos, audio tracks, billboards, even the washing instructions in clothing... It’s all gone. Not only did humanity lose its memories when the Amnesia hit, it lost almost everything that they had made or accomplished, too. 33 years ago, that was one hell of a show, I bet. Imagine coming by one day and not remembering a thing,” followed up the girl, a more solemn tone replacing her usual upbeat one.

Mathanac gasped. “...Woah, what? I had heard of some amnesomething stuff, but did it really hit the whole world? And it just erased everything? That’s nuts...”

“Not everything,” Vinn explained. “People forgot almost everything, and most information was outright gone and inaccessible, but not all. There’s many theories, but the most widely believed one is that the more something was recorded or known, the more it resisted the Amnesia. That’s why we know we are ‘humans’ and that you are a ‘demon’, for example, or how we still know how to make stuff like the concrete mix for buildings. Had we truly forgotten everything, we’d have gone back to something that was apparently named the Stone Age. In fact, the Amnesia wasn’t all encompassing: There’s entire groups of people dedicated to reconstructing Pre-Amnesia things, and they have been able to fully salvage books simply by finding enough copies of it and piecing together what isn’t covered in those burn marks.”

The girl clapped and cheered. “It’s just as the nerd said! So basically, it’s weird that that thing has been there for 33 whole years and no one’s cared enough to take it down. Some people are pretty sensitive about Pre-Amnesia paraphernalia, too, so I bet more than a couple of people have complained about it.” The clapping, however, caused the girl’s already loose t-shirt to shift even lower on her left shoulder, and Vinn’s eyes couldn’t help but react to said shift, only to find what seemed like a tattoo next to the girl’s shoulder blade. He couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like a circular object wreathed in something spiky.

“Nice tattoo. What is it?”

“!” The girl immediately adjusted her t-shirt back and forced a laugh. “Ah, haha, you saw it. Yeah, um, it’s... Just some ink I got, just some tattoo, random impulse, really.”

“Cool acting. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” -- Vinn stood up after emptying his second can -- “More importantly, what the hell do we do about Math’s job?”

“...Mister Exorcist, you haven’t realized yet?”

Vinn looked at the girl with confused eyes. “Haven’t I realized what?”

“You’re going at this the wrong way. Your heart’s on the right place, I mean, if anyone had told me about an Exorcist that’s stuck by a demon through 14 disastrous jobs, I wouldn’t have believed it. Since you truly want to help this idiot, I’ll help. First, what has been the reason for his gold medal record in getting fired?”

The Exorcist scratched his chin. “He keeps making pranks. No matter the job, he keeps doing something mean but kinda funny, and that ends up getting him booted... Actually, now that I think about it, he was doing pranks on people when he had possessed the little girl, too.”

“What can I say? I like adding that extra oomph to stuff, man. It just ain’t me to do something serious.”

The girl had opened her mouth, but words were unnecessary when she noticed the young detective’s eyes, which were wide open, as if he had struck a realization. “...Seems you’ve realized it, Mister Exorcist! You were trying to fit a squ--”

“I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole!” declared the young man, his vim returning, his eyes ablaze. “Mathanac, follow me, I want you to try something.”

“Huh. Sure thing, let’s do this.”

The three got off from the billboard, the sky already dark, but the day definitely not over, not just yet.

                                                      ——-

Mint Hill Street. Not a main street by any means, but one that does see a lot of pedestrian activity. Many shops, offices and apartments compose this hillside road, with busy people darting by and lo twenty four-seven. Today was a day like any other in this busy street, but with one main, loud, and colorful difference. Standing in the middle of a small crowd, a man in a bright red wig and a big red nose clamored to his loving audience. His oversized suspenders contained all sorts of artifacts of hilarity, and he seemed to be the one that had the most fun of them all, even if the audience was all smiles.

“Hmmm?” the colorful man expressed, upon noticing the not-so-smiling face of a little girl. “Why the long face, little fella? Did something happen?”

“Ahh... No, it’s nothing, Mister Clown, it’s just, the last few days I’ve been exhausted, as if something had been draining my energy... I’m feeling better now, but it was a couple of weird days, and I don’t remember much... B-but I am enjoying your show here!”

“Why, I feel like you are trying to bamboozle me! Trick me, even! With a face like that, you corner me, nay, force me to have to utilize one of my secret...” -- the clown exaggeratedly looked to both sides before coming close to the girl and muttering the rest -- “...one of my most secret techniques, just for you! Now, tell me, what’s your favorite animal?”

“I like cats!”

“The contract is sealed, little girl!”

The clown produced a balloon from his pants, inflated it, and began shaping it like a cat. “See,” the clown announced. “This fella’s name is Missifus, and he’s such a lovely cat! And he likes lovely little lasses that smile brightly! Now, where’s one such girl? Hmmm? I don’t see one...”

“Hehe! Me! Me!”

“Oh! Who are y-- N-no way! Are you the same little girl from just now!? What a radical change! Oh, this won’t do, this won’t do! See, Missifus loves girls who smile, but his family will get jealous if he leaves with someone with a smile this good!”

The little girl’s face was about to droop from the disappointment before the clown continued. “...That’s why they have decided that they will all come with you!”

In a flash, four other balloon cats of different colors appeared out of seemingly nowhere, crowding the happy girl with lots of cute balloons, which her parents helped hold as they all smiled in gratitude to the clown. The crowd cheered, and many coins and bills filled the outstretched blanket in the ground, where the audience was free to donate to the performer.

“Haha! I’m glad you enjoyed the show! Let’s call it a day for today, yes? See you around!” And with that, the clown packed his things and quickly left, disappearing into a back alley, where he removed his wig and nose, and came face to face with Vinn and the girl, who were cheering and clapping for him.

“I can’t believe I know a star! Please sign my shirt!” congratulated the girl, patting Mathanac’s shoulder. “No, but for real, that was pretty good! You sure it was your first time?”

“Eyup! Never done this before, but it felt so natural, and I feel so... Satisfied.”

“You gave one hell of a show, I’m impressed, man. You were the one having the most fun out there. So, it was the emotion of “laughter”, huh?” Vinn commented, writing on his notepad.

“It sure seems that way. I feel much better and more fulfilled than any time I’ve ever possessed anyone.”

“Demons can get sustenance in many ways, but the main and most effective way is to be exposed to the emotion that governs their being. So it makes sense that you would feel like you just had a feast from making so many people laugh. I take this to mean you won’t be possessing more people?”

The demon laughed and clicked his tongue. “No, sir, no more of that for me... And, Vinn? Thanks, man, for sticking with this idiocy for as long as you did. You had no reason to, but you did it. I swear I won’t cause any more trouble.”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it? Good Exorcists exist! Out of all the jokes I saw a literal clown make today, that one is the best one! Just quit that job and join Math as a clown already,” the girl jested and she playfully pocked Vinn in the ribs with her elbow.

“Jeez, I get it already... Man, it feels weird to be praised for just, like, not being a dick, haha. Well, that’s case closed, then. I gotta check in with you now and then, Math, since I am still technically your parole officer, so--”

“Yeah, no problem, dude, hit me up whenever, we can hang out or something.” interrupted the demon, having no problem with this arrangement at all. “I’ll be on busy streets like this one mostly. You can easily find me by looking for the tall guy with the massive red nose.”

The three laughed and then realized that it was already night. “Well, today was a pleasure, but I gotta get going. Nice to have met you, Mister Exorcist and Math! Best of luck!”

“Ah, wait! Thanks a lot for your help! I wouldn’t have made it without you!” Vinn quickly exclaimed.

“Damn right you wouldn’t, haha. Everyone has a role in this world, see? You just gotta figure out what it is, what’s that little something you are good at, and then, the road is easy. Well, see ya! I hope you help many more Mythics!” And with that, she was gone.

“...So what was her name, anyways?”

“Iunno. She never said. Well, Math, see you around.”

The city of Stroln was far from perfect. Crimes that affect both Humans and Mythics keep happening, unimpeded and shamelessly. Abuse of power is common, and in the end, you can only truly trust yourself and those close to you to keep you safe. But, today at least, Mint Hill Street was made a livelier place, thanks to a certain colorful man, and the man that helped him get there. 

Every wall starts with a brick, after all.

                                                      ——-

The large steel door covered in graffiti closed behind the lithe girl, who confidently stepped into the comfortable darkness, magenta eyes barely visible in the pitch blackness of this nondescript building. Far ahead, a little light finally could be seen, and near it, a man in red robes sat on a table, reading a book. The closer the girl got to the man, the stronger the scent of chamomile incense became. As she stepped out of the darkness and into the dull light, the man’s eyes turned to her, and he finally waved.

“Back late today, aren’t you?”

“Sorry! I kinda got distracted by something. It was an interesting day,” the girl explained, setting the take out wrap on the table.

The older man in the robes gestured for her to have a seat. On the table, two plates of hot food were ready to be feasted upon. “That’s great to hear! Tell me about it while we eat.”

The girl gasped and immediately took a seat. “Awww, Balthazar... You held off on dinner to wait for me? Thank you, ehehe...”

“Oh, it wasn’t much! So, tell me! You seem to be very happy.”

“Yeah! So, like, I came across an Exorcist cornering a demon in a back alley. I was ready to eviscerate him, when I noticed that he was actually helping him!”

The man’s eyes were wide open. “What, for real? Like, actually helping him? Hey, I’ve told you lying is pretty tasteless!”

“No no, for real! I couldn’t believe it either, but he was legitimately helping out the demon, so I joined them to see where it would go, and--”

“I see you two are enjoying a late dinner as usual.”

The elegant, feminine voice came from the shadows, from whence an alluring silhouette emerged. As soon as her words were heard, the white haired girl in the ink stained shirt held her tongue and looked away.

“...We are, Alkelda. Anything we can help you with?” said the man, quickly locking eyes with the elegant shadow.

“Four days from now, we’ll be conducting our experiment. I assume you know what this means, right?”

“Yup. You need your test subjects soon, right? Don’t worry, we already have it scheduled. We’re planning on getting them tomorrow, so relax. We are ahead of schedule.”

“Oh? My, it pleases me how efficient you and your... Partner are, Balthazar. I assume it’s just you two, as usual?”

“Yup. We’ll be going out to get them tomorrow. We’ll bring them here, so have the pens ready to receive them.”

“Mhmhmhm... Excellent. Well, enjoy your meal, Balthazar and Sacrifice. You have a busy day tomorrow, from what I can tell.” As fast as she came, the silhouette was gone.

If disgust had a shape, it definitely was the girl’s face right now. “...Can’t get used to that bitch...”. The man simply laughed at that comment.

“Just go to bed, and take it easy. It’s all in the name of clarity. We’re almost there, we can’t let personal grievances get in the way so far in the game.”

“Yes, it’s all in the name of clarity... Yes! Indeed! Yes! You are right! See you tomorrow Balthazar. Thanks for having dinner with me!”

The girl hurried to her room, and locked the door behind her. 

“...Everyone has a role in this world, see? You just gotta figure out what it is, what’s that little something you are good at, and then, the road is easy...”

Red robes that matched those that the man wore hung from a rack, beneath a large, realistic, almost grotesque full-head mask of a pig.

“...For some, that role is that of an entertainer that gifts laughs to those around them. This is admirable.”

A small jar of a bright liquid sat on the dilapidated desk opposite to her bed.

“...For some, that role is that of a seed of hope among a rotten crop, doing what they should, and yet, they don’t. This is admirable.”

A long baseball bat, inscribed with runes, leaned against the wall, next to the robes.

“...For some, that role is that of the ultimate sacrifice that will save all, in the name of clarity...”

A slender, pale finger ran across the repulsive mask.

“...This is admirable.”

    Of kindred spirits, ink stains, and the reassuring caress of purpose:                                 – Chapter 2: "Exorcist” Is A Strong Word –                                                        End  

                                           To be continued in Chapter 3: Neon War Paint.

[kyotocaitlyn]

Long Term Care: What Dementia Taught me about Life, Nursing, and Love

If some one had told me the day I graduated with my fancy bachelor’s degree in biology that I would spend over a year working in a long term care facility on a lock-down memory care unit, I would have shook my head and laughed at them.  Geriatric medicine was not something in my well-thought out life plan.  

No, my plan was to work as a medical scribe for a while and then apply for a physician’s assistant program.  When all that was over with, I’d finally be able to begin my career working in pediatric medicine, something that has been my dream for over ten years.  That was my life plan that I had designed and it seemed full-proof.  A program called PhysAssist Scribe was going to provide online training and after I had completed the online training, they were going to assist me in finding a scribe job near me.  I was already enrolled and thus my summer post college began.  Like most post-college plans, though, this plan fell through within a few weeks.  My typing speed was excellent, as was my ability to hear and understand what was begin said so I could scribe.  My down side was spelling.  I could not spell any of the medication names to save my life and it clogged up my overall time spent on a patient’s chart.  So, without any warning or indication from PhysAssist, I was let go from the program.

I was devastated.  I was that 22-year-old college graduate with a mostly useless degree living at home with my parents and little siblings with no plan and no job.  I felt hopeless and aimless as a nearly four-month long process of applying for entry level laboratory jobs began.  I was rejected from every job I applied to.  By the end of August and the pressure of having to pay for student loans loomed closer, I began to panic.  I had no idea what I was going to do.  There was one thing, though, that I had told my self I would never do.  I would never get my CNA and work in a nursing home.  I knew about the poor conditions, the back-breaking labor, the emotional turmoil, and the way people saw CNAs.  They saw them as nothing more than butt-wipers, not the essential back bone of modern health care.  I wanted nothing to do with that.  But there was a nursing home literally 5 minutes away from my house with a hiring sign up that whole summer.  As September inched closer and I got desperate, I knew I had no choice.  That nursing home offered in-house certification classes while working full time and I knew they would essentially hire me on the spot.  

So, I swallowed my pride and applied.  I got a call and a phone interview right away and soon, I was in orientation.  I was terrified.  I both knew what to expect and had no idea what to expect at the same time.  I was being thrown head-first into patient care in a field I never even wanted to be a part of.  I was surrounded by people of various walks of life in that class and always felt out of place because of my knowledge, my background, and my degree.  My bosses ranged from people with associates degrees to RNs, some of whom had little to no respect for me or what I was going to be doing for a living.  I had never felt more out of place in my life.  I wanted nothing more than to just quit and work in customer service or something but I knew better.  The patient care experience was going to be irreplaceable and help me get into whatever PA or nursing program I wanted to go to.  This was something I had to do and I knew that.  So I was going to tough it out for how ever long I needed to.

My first day of on the job training had me on the memory care unit.  That unit was small, only 20 residents, and was locked down meaning if the doors leading in or out of the unit were opened without the code, an alarm would sound.  The unit was designed specifically with dementia and Alzheimer’s in mind.  It gave them a safe place to wander (a common symptom of dementia), gave them a place for stimulation and activities, and a place for them to get the specialized care they need and deserve.  Those first few minutes on the unit were the scariest of my life.  I had never been personally touched by dementia so I genuinely had no idea what to expect.  I stood next to my trainer, watching quietly as these elder people wandered with walkers or wheelchairs around the unit, congregating in the TV area.  They looked at me from a distance, trying to size up this new person in their home.  Consistency is crucial for dementia and Alzheimer’s patients so throwing a new person into the mix can cause anxiety and behaviors.  But, as the night went on (I was on second shift until about August of this year), I slowly felt less scared.  The residents began talking to me and though sometimes it made little to no sense (word salading was common as was just talking nonsense or talking as if it was a totally different time or place) it made me feel better.  

Over the course of my on the job training, I spent two more days on that unit and two in other sections of the building.  When I wasn’t on the dementia unit, I felt out of place and even sort of missed it down there.  Most people I worked with disliked the dementia unit.  They didn’t like all the behaviors, the combativeness, and felt like that unit was mostly “baby-sitting”.  A lot of my coworkers felt like because of their dementia, there was a barrier between themselves and the residents, a barrier that might even prevent forming real, genuine relationships. A lot of my coworkers also didn’t seem that concerned with forming relationships with the residents at all.  They showed up, barely did their job and left people soaked, and then left.  That attitude struck me as odd because in my mind, if you were going to be spending eight hours a day or more with those same residents for days on end, you should want to build a relationship with them.  It would make caring for them easier.  Despite all this, there was a thought in my mind that no matter how much I cared for or loved those residents, their dementia would make it nearly impossible for them to reciprocate.  That didn’t really matter to me, though, because each and every day I went in and loved on those people regardless.  Their ability to connect or understand or even know my name didn’t matter.  I loved them and planned on caring for them like they were members of my own family.

Over the course of many months, I began to learn things about those residents and began to notice how many “I love yous” we shared during a shift.  I never knew if they were genuine or just saying it because they felt like it was the right thing to say in that moment, but it always felt nice to hear.  I began advocating for my residents, suggesting new therapies and requesting more help each and every day I worked.  I would bug dietary when they neglected their jobs to the point that they hated seeing it was my unit calling.  I stood up to the other CNAs who belittled my unit, calling it nothing more than “babysitting”.  I would let people know how draining the unit could be, both physically and emotionally.  I would leave in tears many nights because I would get punched by someone who claimed to love me.  I would get yelled at, spit on, ridiculed, teased, and sexually touched by these people who told me they loved me just minutes before.  I knew it was their disease doing it, not them.  I knew they truly didn’t know what they were doing 90% of the time and probably really did care about me.  But the behaviors were hard to work with.  The yelling, the pinching, the hitting were hard to endure day in and day out.  But I did it.  I got bit.  I got felt up.  I got kicked in the shins.  I got my hair pulled.  I got kneed in the face.  I got my wrists squeezed and twisted.  I did it for months because all that bad stuff, while it was hard, never made the impact on my soul that the good stuff did.

The gentle hand holds.  The soft conversations as I got them ready for bed.  The laughs we shared when the residents would say something so goofy that I couldn’t help but laugh.  The hugs I got.  The compliments.  The words of encouragement that somehow despite the dementia they knew I needed to hear.  The way they would laugh during showers when I’d wash their feet because they’re ticklish.  The time spent sitting behind the nurses’ desk with Little Bean.  The time spent learning German so I could communicate better with my German-speaking resident.  The hours I spend coloring and handling soft toys.  The games of balloon toss.  All those good things left a bigger impact than all the nasty behaviors that the dementia was doing to them and me.  I was slowly learning how terrible dementia really was but how blessed I was to be working with them.  Dementia was horrible but these people were incredible.  I loved them all so much, even though I knew the dementia could make it hard for them to love me back.

During the summer, a resident that resembled my late grandma began actively dying.  She had had increased edema in both legs, weeping, a strange red blotchy rash that caused her no discomfort, and a low grade fever.  She had no real symptoms of anything outside of the edema that everyone assumed was from her CHF that was more or less not an issue.  The only other thing I was really worried about with her was that she had a decrease in appetite.  Whenever I’d bring these issues up to a nurse, they’d shrug it off because she was 98 and on hospice.  That response always made me clench my jaw, but I put up with the ignorance and kept bringing my concerns up.  When she started dying, I went to see her and her chin would quiver a little when I’d talk to her.  She passed peacefully with no pain, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we could have done something more for her if someone had just listened to me and taken my concerns seriously.

A couple weeks before that resident began dying, my Bean was moved to a different floor.  I shared my concerns about her moving to a crowded, over-stimulating floor with a member of nurse admin.  I told this nurse that I was worried that my anxious Little Bean would be stranded at the nurses’ desk in an unfamiliar floor with people everywhere, phones going off, and call lights buzzing and fall out of her wheel chair because she was unsupervised.  I told the nurse that I was terrified that one fall would be the one that killed her and I was brushed off.  I was told that I was favoring Bean over the community and that I should think better of the aides on other floors.  I visited that resident everyday she was up there until one night, the scenario I described happened.  Bean was stranded at the nurses’ desk late at night and fell, hitting her head.  She began to actively pass later that morning.  I was devastated.  I cried practically all shift when I found out that my Bean, the Bean whom I had shared so many moments with over the last year, was in pain and dying.  I went to see her that night, kneeling next to her bed and sobbing.  Then I noticed Bean was rolling toward me.  Her lips were moving like she wanted to say something to me, but couldn’t, and she squeezed my hand.  It was then that I realized that dementia didn’t prevent these people from loving.  No, it was a mutual relationship Bean and I shared.  I meant as much to her and she meant to me.  Little Bean loved me and I knew it then more than I had ever known it before.  Yes, dementia is an ugly terrible disease but when a person with dementia says they love you, they mean it.  They mean it with their entire being.  Yes, they might think you’re their mother, their sister, or their daughter, but they mean it when they say it.  They know you aren’t just some stranger.  They may not know your name, but they know you.  They trust you and they love you.  Believe me, they love you.

After little Bean passed, I began thinking about everything my residents have taught me and now that I have worked my last shift at that facility, a certain thing keeps creeping up in my head.  There’s a verse in the Bible about what love is and it’s all I can think about.  My residents have taught me so much about love and I didn’t even know it until one of them that I loved so dearly left this earth to go be with Jesus.  The verse is 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 and it reads, 

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

My residents taught me that love really is all of these things.  Love is patient.  Love is having to explain to a confused person why they cannot leave the locked unit 1,000 times a day and having to do it with a smile on your face each time.  Love is being able to patiently take the seemingly endless slaps and yelling, all while being friendly and professional.  Love is choosing to be patient, even when those behaviors seem unmanageable and you’re at your wits end.  Love is kind.  Love is showing unbelievable kindness to someone who was literally just beating up on you minutes before.  Love is just smiling and nodding when someone is being cruel to you, but you know it’s the dementia talking.  Love is choosing to be kind to someone who more than likely is not kind to you in that moment.  Love does not envy.  Love is knowing that while it’s okay to long for something more or something better, that there is no good in envying what others have.  Love does not boast.  Love is knowing that you are no better than anyone else.  Love is choosing to be humble.  Love does not dishonor others.  Love is choosing to be genuine and honest, even when it’s hard.  Love is not self-seeking.  Love seeks to build others up, not tear them down.  Love is knowing that you’ll get peed on or beat up on, but doing it because it is right and it is good.  Love is not easily angered.  Love is knowing how frustrating your job is, but never showing your frustration or even anger to the residents because you know they cannot help the way they are acting.  Love really does keep no records of wrongs.  When a resident does hit or yell or spill bodily fluids on you, you do not throw that in their face to use it against them.  Love is forgetting they were cruel, just as they did.  Love really does not delight in evil, but always does rejoice within the truth.  Love does not look to blame, shame, or condemn.  Rather, love builds up, love supports, and love tells the truth.  Love is celebrating the little victories, rather than loosing it over the things that goes wrong.  Love does protect.  Love is standing up for your residents, even though you know sometimes what you say goes in one ear and out the other.  Love is getting in between two angry, violent residents so they cannot hurt themselves, but can hurt you.  Love does trust.  Being loving builds trust, breaking down the barriers of dementia and Alzheimer’s.  When that resident loves you, they trust you and there’s nothing more important than that.  Love trusts that their cruelty comes from disease, not from the sake of being cruel.  Love does hope.  Love is hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.  Love is hoping that your hard work has given hope to a family that’s suffering through dementia as their family member is.  Love is hoping and yearning that one day, this world will be dementia free.  And love truly does always persevere.  Love is coming back, even when the bad days out weigh the good.  Love is working short staffed, getting flat-out ignored by those higher than you or even ridiculed by those higher than you, and encouraging the families that dementia is tormenting.  Love is coming back with a smile, not tucking your tail in between your legs and running.

My residents have also taught me a lot about nursing.  They have taught me to value the input of CNAs as important and even life-saving because they are.  CNAs are the eyes and ears of a long-term care facility.  They see the same residents day and day out so when they come to you with concerns or changes in condition, you should not shrug them off.  You should not belittle them.  You should not ignore them because they are “just CNAs”.  They are coming to you because they care and they are concerned.  There is nothing more important than that.  It’s better to investigate and find nothing than to do nothing and have someone suffer.  My residents have taught me that health care is a team sport, not an individual one.  Everyone must work together for the benefit of patient, listening to one another and bouncing ideas off each other.  We should not look down on those with a narrower scope of practice or those with less experience.  Instead, we should treat them as the important members of the health care team that they are and respect them.  There is no room in true patient-focused health care for self importance.  Patient-focused health care should be loving and as I’ve seen, love truly doesn’t boast and is self sacrificing.

I’ve seen and learned a lot this last year.  Those residents are family to me and I owe them so much.  They taught me so much about how to not sweat the simple things, how to be more flexible, and how, ultimately, God is in control.  God put me on that dementia unit for a reason I didn’t understand until recently.  I needed to understand what I was getting myself into before I dove head-first into a career in health care.  I needed to suffer so I would come out on the other side as someone who understands the struggles of those I work with and for.  He put me there so I could learn how to be an advocate and how to love, even when it feels like the person may not love you back.  I’ve learned how to deal with death better and learned that it really is okay to cry as long as you know that dementia and old age is no longer destroying the person I loved.  They are restored in Christ if they knew him, that that is the greatest comfort at all.  For those reading who do not share my views, it has taught me that everyone takes comfort when a loved one passes because we know they are free from dementia which I have learned this year to be one of the worst diseases on this earth.  

I have learned so much and this post is already so long.  I cannot possibly talk about everything I have taken away from this experience in long term care so I’ll end with this; health care should always be about love.  If love is absent, true healing, encouragement, and peace cannot be achieved.  When I first started doing CNA work, I was told by some that I should avoid getting too attached to my residents.  I was told it would be too much and interfere with how I did my job; that when one died, I’d be too distraught to do my job if I got too attached.  That is the biggest lie you could tell someone getting into this field.  It’s good to get attached, so long as it’s professional and comes from a place of love and compassion.  Caring goes such a long way and growing attached is only natural if you are doing it right.  Health care becomes robotic if there is no love, and love can only take root if you are attached to the people you are trying to help.  Attachment comes in many forms, not always in forehead kisses or deep conversations.  Attachment can be simply holding someone’s hand in the ER or the back of an ambulance during an emergency when they’re alone and/or scared.  Attachment can be listening, just listening to the patient even when they don’t make sense.  Attachment can be an extension of love and compassion, something that should not be absent in healthy care.  Thank you to all of the residents I have cared for over the last year for loving me and teaching me so much about life and love.  Thank you to all the wonderful nurses who have helped show me that despite the terrible hours, hard work, and emotional stress that this job really is worth it in the end.  Thank you to the resident family members and the residents who have become like family to me.  You all mean so much to me and I cannot thank you enough. Thank you.   

[andavs]

Another from this long list of prompts, completely unprompted.

Number Ten: “If you use up all the hot water again, I swear to god! You’re on the couch for a month!!”

Stiles needed to take a good long look at his life, he decided as he dug the emergency plastic seat covers out of the trunk of the Camaro.

Reason number one: he and all of his friends kept emergency plastic seat covers in their trunks so in the event of a big bad monster exploding all over them, they wouldn’t have to explain massive blood stains to the guy at the auto detailing shop.

Again.

They only made that mistake once, and Lydia spent the night in jail three counties over.

Stiles shook out the plastic with a spiteful flourish at the universe, and laid it out over the leather passenger seat, while Derek did the same for the driver’s before sliding in.

Stiles hesitated, bracing himself.

Reason number two: Stiles was far too young to always be this sore.

He groaned as he lowered himself into the car and the plastic crinkled underneath him. His knee was messed up, he knew that much without professional opinion, but he was going to hold off on an official diagnosis unless it got to the point where he couldn’t walk on it. And he was pretty sure that none of the blood soaking his khakis was actually his, so compared to the last few big faceoffs, he was doing pretty well.

But it was the soreness, the constant aches when he got up in the morning—his shoulder actually ached with the weather. His grandfather had that problem, and even his dad didn’t have as many back problems.

Stiles was twenty-eight and there were days when a bad enough thunderstorm rolled through, and all he could do was lie on the couch and pop Tylenol like candy.

At this rate he’d be using a cane at thirty.

He yawned as Derek put the car in gear and drove towards home, letting himself drift off.

Reason number three: he was always, always exhausted.

As far as he coworkers knew, the only exercise Stiles ever got was pickup games of lacrosse in the park, so when he came in with an arm in a sling, they laughed at his clumsiness. When he ended up in the hospital from another “car accident”, they laughed at his bad luck.

Classic Stilinski.

But the exhaustion, the almost daily cat naps on his desk—that was harder to explain away.

The proper response to “go to bed earlier” was definitely not, “can’t, there’s a full moon tonight.”

When Glen laughed and said, “just don’t go out with people,” he couldn’t say, “they will literally die if I’m not there with mountain ash.”

If he came in looking hungover, and that was what people assumed, he wasn’t about to correct them with the truth of getting infected by a mildly toxic spore that made everything hurt and left all of his senses fried and oversensitive.

Basically, the entire office thought he was living life like a frat bro college student and he didn’t have a decent lie to replace that perception. The only upside was that his boss found it weirdly endearing that he took naps on his desk and didn’t try to make him stop or threaten to fire him for it.

(He had a sneaking suspicion there was an Instagram full of pictures of him sleeping at work and the entire office was following it, but he hadn’t been able to find it and if there wasn’t one, he didn’t want to give them any ideas by asking.)

It was after midnight when the Camaro finally pulled into the parking lot of their building. Another long late night, another 10am desk nap in the morning.

Another Instagram post.

They trudged/limped up the stairs to their fourth floor apartment in silence (reason number three-point-five: the stairs), locked the door behind them, and quietly started to strip off their filthy, stained clothes. Stiles gathered them up while Derek put away their wallets and keys, and headed into the kitchen. He pulled the trash out from under the sink, and as if Derek read his mind, he called,

“Throw them out, I’m not even trying.”

There was no saving them.

Reason number four: their astronomical clothing budget.

The sheer amount of clothing they’d thrown out in just the last year alone was astounding. Stiles had just stopped getting attached to anything he owned, because even if he tried to plan it out, kept spare clothes in his trunk, there was always some stupid emergency popping up when he was wearing his favorite shirt. When the Creature from the Black Lagoon was dragging Scott back into its lair, there was no time for a wardrobe change.

Derek had it easy. He’d always opted for grabbing a five pack of generic henleys, he didn’t like logos or jokes on his shirts.

Stiles, on the other hand, had gone through eight Batman shirts in three years.

He stripped off his pants and tossed them in too.

The shower turned on, and Stiles realized he’d missed his chance to go first.

Motherfucker.

“Hey! If you use up all the hot water again, I swear to god, you’re on the couch for a month!” Stiles called, knowing Derek could hear him over the running water, and Derek yelled back,

“Just shower with me!”

Stiles stared out the kitchen window for a second, debating.

Reason number five: their shower.

Derek owned their building so at least they didn’t have to explain the constant clogs to a landlord, but god, their poor shower. There was no telling what kind of bits and pieces went down that drain, probably straight up body parts, and the drain certainly made its displeasure known. They were single-handedly paying for their plumber’s daughter’s private school education with his near monthly visits. If they didn’t call, he called to check up on them.

Whatever, they were due for a declogging anyway.

He tossed his underwear in the trash for good measure, and padded down the hall to the bathroom, trying not to touch anything on the way.

They showered in silence, washing away grime and…fluids and shampooing each other’s hair, trying to avoid shallow cuts with the soap and failing, trading spaces under the steady stream of water until it started getting cold.

It was their drain’s personal form of revenge, since Derek had recently updated the water heater for the entire building and no other tenants had reported this issue. Because of course their drain was some level of sentient.

Of course.

They dressed quietly, Derek wrapped up Stiles’ knee and got some ice, and they finally settled in bed. For all the crap their lives threw at them, for all the total and complete bullshit they’d gone through in the last ten years, this—climbing into bed with Derek and feeling his warm arms around him—this made it worth it.

Stiles adjusted the bag of ice on his knee and stretched it out carefully, groaning at the pull in his muscles. That was definitely going to bruise, and it would be impressive.

“Need a drain?” Derek murmured, already half asleep, but holding up his hand, ready to help.

Stiles shook his head and snuggled back into his pillows. “Save that for tomorrow when the pain really kicks in.”

Derek put his arm down, patting around the bed until he found Stiles’ hand to hold loosely. They were both too tired and sore to do anything more than thread their fingers together and lay there.

Reason number six: Stiles would really like to be able to do more than lie on each other in a sore and exhausted silence. The nights they had energy to do more than fall asleep mid-lazy kiss were depressingly few and far between.

What he wouldn’t give for a regular and frequent sex life that didn’t involve maneuvering around a busted knee again.

Derek tapped his thumb against Stiles’. “Rethinking your life again?”

Stiles nodded against his shoulder.

“What’s the verdict this time?”

Stiles wiggled in a little closer and sighed, closing his eyes. “We’re doing just fine.”

[markmceachran]

The Four Prisoners

Clip recognized the sound of the whipping blades. Without his vision he was struggling to walk in the sand and tripped up frequently. Hands on his upper arms kept him upright and moving forward, but other than that there was no courtesy in the assistance. Often times he felt dragged when his feet couldn’t quite keep up with their intentions. Wheezing through his nose and pushing air around the gag was as close as he could come to breathing which was already made difficult by the thin air.

This air had a little bit of moisture in it, not like the rest of the desert, more like the cell, or whatever prision he was being kept in. The windows had been replaced by thick boards. He remembered it not being up very high when they put him in there because the elevator wasn’t moving for very long, but the garbled announcement from the little box didn’t offer him any more clues. Moist air wasn’t an immediate benefit, it was a few weeks before things started to change.

First it was the air, it changed from one day to the next, desert dry for weeks, and then one morning it was damp like it was in the garden before he burned it. Then water in wasteful amounts. It was another four weeks or so, Clip struggled to keep track of the days of their imprisonment so he couldn’t be sure. It came out of the faucet, like when he was a child, and went down the drain as if they didn’t need the rest. Someone had to show them how to use the toilet, which was even more wasteful. Why would you put your shit and piss in a bowl of water? Clip thought at the time. They aren’t thirsty.

Threats from the woman were needed to get them to use the toilet instead of their bucket. Their keepers grew tired of dumping the bucket, he imagined. He told them they could simply let him go outside to do his business and they wouldn’t have any bucket issues, but they, rightfully, didn’t trust him. Clip wouldn’t have trusted himself either. He would have made a run for it at his first opportunity.

Into the little pond then for his poop and pee, and the others as well, flushing after every poop so they don’t clog the toilet. With this much water, water to waste on such things as feces, these people must be the richest in the world. They could buy anything with it, anything that was left anyway. This old Bob must be swimming in it, and all the riches it comes with.

Clip made sure that the others, Badger, Weed and Zeb, didn’t get drunk on water. They were weak minded and could be seduced by it. Not like Clip, he was strong because he had to be, because he was now the leader of the team. He didn’t like it, he wished Jacko was still around. What has his tenure in the role been like? Jacko is killed fighting with that girl, and then Clip is suddenly in charge. Right away he and his men are taken prisoner, and there they were day after day, just prisoners. How much leading can a man do from prison? he thought.

“Don’t get drunk on water,” he would say. “Only take what you need. Stay thirsty. Thirst makes us strong.”

They were fed once a day. At first it was just enough to keep them alive, but then the meals became more elaborate, more varied. By the end of their tenure they would have been able to feast, if Clip had let them. “Just enough,” he said. “No more than you need to sustain yourself.”

He was a true soldier of The Dragon. Now he was being shuttled off somewhere with the rest of his team. They said “released,” as if he were in some sort of prison from the before-world. He continued to trip in the sand. The canvas hood over his head blocked out the view, only letting the light in through tiny pinholes. In the darkness of the hood the light was blinding when his eyes caught it. At least the hood kept the sand out of his face as it was blown up from the downdraft of the helicopter. He was right up on it, so the sound told him. The engine noise grew distinct from the whipping blades and, sure enough, he heard a door open.

The helping hands that gripped him now pulled his head down and pushed his body up into the flying machine. He had never been up in a flying machine before. As he sat, as his legs were being bound and his body bound to the chair, he wondered what it would feel like to be up in the air. Without seeing it, would he know if he was up or not? He hoped they would take off his hood, but they didn’t. They bound him to the chair and then moved on to the next man. All four of them were bound. Clip could hear his commrades grumble as they were being shoved up into the machine and strapped in. Had they ever been up in the air in one of these machines, or a plane, or anything that flew?

The noise made all other sounds like whispers in the wind. He could hear that there were people talking in front of him, perhaps in the piloting area of the machine, but he couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying. He imagined it was talk of where they were going, how fast to go there, how high to fly. He had fooled them, he thought. They were going to set he and his men free. They thought they’d broken them, or convinced them to keep their mouths shut in exchange for their lives, and their freedom.

It was around the seventh or eigth week of captivity that they started asking Clip what should be done with he and his men. He remembered the doctor woman asking first. She was so gullible. Clip told Badger, Weed and Zeb to agree with them, to agree to keep their mouths shut and never go back east to tell the rest of The Dragon about any of it. Sure enough, the doctor lady brought up others to talk to Clip and his men. They all stuck to the same story, they all agreed to never tell anyone about the city, the building, the water, the women, none of it.

Eventually things got formal. They, the survivors, set up a new room on the floor with a row of chairs on one side, and a single chair on the other. Clip was escorted in by the dangerous lady, the one who killed Jacko. He wanted to hurt her so bad, and he sensed that she wanted to do the same to him. She was rough with him. She didn’t need to be, he wasn’t putting up any fight, but she seemed to need to be mean to him. Nothing was said as they moved into the makeshift parole board. She simply pushed him down in the little chair opposite the panel of people.

“What’s your name?” the old man asked. He was at the center of the panel, along with the doctor lady.

The rest of the panel was all women, of whome Clip recognized two or three, one he had bedded, at least from his perspective that’s what happened. There were twelve of them up there. Absenst was the fierce fighter and the pilot.

He gave his name, and answered all their questions truthfully. It didn’t matter to him that he was giving up the details of The Dragon, where they are, where they might be going, which he didn’t know. His goal was to convince them that he wasn’t a threat, that he would be just fine if they let him out along with his team. If it’s just one lie among many truthes he thought they might buy it.

Clip might have believed his lie, even made it a truth had he be given other options. He couldn’t grasp such a thing. It would have required him to have been given an opportunity to be a part of some other type of community, a group not bent on the completion of Nature’s mission, some survivors, perhaps. Such a scenario couldn’t have occured to him, he simply had no experience that he could recall that wasn’t something like The Dragon, some group that shit on the little guy in order to raise itself up. Even with Tynon’s seemingly altruistic mission, it still put The Dragon above others, above all those who are trying to survive. They were worthless bags of water and meat. Clip’s only experience with survivors who were just trying to live turned them into prey. He couldn’t and wouldn’t want that for himself. To him, even the panel of 11 women and the old man still looked as though they should be hunted.

Burying those feelings was all he had to do, and convince them otherwise. “I’d like a chance to start over, somewhere else, somewhere where they don’t know me, where I can blend in and just live out a normal life,” he said. His words hung in the air between his lonely chair and the 12 judges. Dripping with filth, each letter of it, he could hardly read the whole phrase without choking on it.

They tucked him in a little room afterward. He was joined, one by one, by each of his men. Then they were finally shuffled back to their original prison with the running water in the sink and the toilet that bathed their poop before wasting a gallon of water to send it to the wherever.

His words, their words worked because now they were being loaded into the helicopter to be whooshed away to a new home, at least until they’re out of view. Then they’ll burn it to the ground, kill everyone in sight, and work their way back to Toronto.

It was a week after their grilling that the doctor lady came to tell them the good news. “You’ll be sent to an outpost far away. It’s a place Angel visits on his trading routes. They have enough supplies to keep you fed. You’ll have to work, and work out what else you can do for them. Eventually you’ll be able to head out on your own if you like. We don’t have any formal agreement with them. We just know they need some help.”

Clip and his men all nodded eagerly, but not too eagerly. The plan was working perfectly. These dopes bought the lies.

She went on with some of the details and why they might have to wait. The helicopter was not quite ready, they hadn’t contacted the outpost yet and so on. But it wouldn’t be too long, just a few weeks, she said.

* * *

Up, up went the flying machine, shoving Clip’s heart into his stomach and pinching his throat. For a brief moment he felt like he had to pee. It was very smooth, and not windy. Even with the doors closed Clip thought it would be a little windy, but the air inside was just air, like that on the ground.

He closed his eyes, feeling the motion of the machine floating through the air. Clip wasn’t nervous at all, even though he had seen the machine, or one just like it, crash out of the sky. He was flying, it was amazing. And he and his team were about to be free again. After all they did, they were still going to be free.

Justice wasn’t going to find him, not that he knew what justice was. It was just another word from the before world. It meant nothing to him.

He could hear the pilots chattering again, but still couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Soon the machine went forward instead of up. He could tell because he got light for a second, and then heavy toward his back, and the sound of the blades changed and the whole machine tilted forward.

I wonder what the ground looks like from up here, he thought. Everything must be so tiny, I could probably crush it beneath my foot. He smiled under his hood, but no one could see it. He decided to close his eyes and let his other senses feel the motion of the machin through the air. Little pockets would bump into the blades and give the machine a slight jostle, or lift it up briefly on one side, or drop it altogether by a few inches. It was so smooth in recovering, he had never felt anything like it, or at least that he can remember.

This is what babies feel, he thought. Their mothers carry them around and they are blind to the world, just like me. Then one day they emerge, and open their eyes, and they’re free, just like I will be.

They flew for hours. Clip didn’t know how fast helicopters could fly, but he imagined they must be more than a hundred miles away from old Bob’s outpost. He didn’t care how long it took. He was loving the feeling of floating through the air. It was calming in a way that nothing else was. He even dozed off a coupld of times, abruptly awakened by a jostle and dip.

Finally he felt the machine dropping from the sky. His stomach climbed into his throat to let him know. More chatter came from the front as the machine finally landed on solid ground. The jostling, the bumps and dips and all the other air feelings stopped. Engine sounds started to taper and someone opened the door. A dragging sound, like a pair of feet on metal, slipped behind his seat. He rightfully guess that one of his men was being taken out of the machine. Then the door closed again and he could hear nothing but his own breathing through the gag.

Excitement overwhelmed him, his freedom was at hand. He started to plot his way back to Toronto, how he’d be careful to avoid Chicago, giving it a wide berth. They would train and practice fighting each day before they set off toward their city. They’d find outposts and not even ask them any questions before killing them. They’d eat more than just the people, they’d find any kinds of fruits or canned food as well, like the stuff they got in prison.

The door opened again, interupting his dream. Another man was scuffled off and the door closed. He wondered why they were being taken one at a time. Maybe they have to untie us carefully, he thought. They don’t want us showing up looking like prisoners, or dangerous people. The Bob at the outpost might not like that we’re being dropped off. That’s probably it. Oh, Bob, you don’t know what’s about to hit you. You poor wasted bastard, I can’t wait to kill you.

The door opened again, another man off. I’m next, he thought. In a few moments I’m going to be free and we’ll go back to Toronto and we’ll tell Tynon about Chicago and old Bob and the crazy girl and the doctor and the flying man. He’ll send us back with the whole army and we’ll take Bob’s output and blow up the garden again and break the toilets and the sinks and the train and the helicopter again. We’ll tear it all down so that no one can use it again. Not even old Bob could rebuild it, especially because he’ll be dead.

The door opened one last time and hands untied Clip from the helicopter seat. His hands and feet were still bound and his hood and gag were left strapped to his head. The hands dragged him off. The engine had shut down completely and the only sounds he could hear were his dragging feet in the sand and the footsteps that accompanied them. The wind was still, and the sun instantly warmed the moist air within the hood. Clip was sweating an excited sweat. He was about to be free.

His two captors stood him upright on his monopoded feet, making sure that he could balance on his own before they let go of him. One of them pulled the hood up in the back, just enough to untie the gag and pull it away from his head. Then all at one the hood was removed.

The sun blined him for a few seconds, it was so bright. He had to squint and everything was blurry. Looking around, at first he could only see a person in front of him and one behind him. He blinked the tears out of his eye and they started to adjust to the brightness. The big machine was nearby, not making a sound or a move. Around him on the ground were piles of clothes, no men in clothes. Mostly men, anyway, some of them didn’t look human, more like burned wood. He looked carefully at the few that were nearby. It was Badger, Weed, Zeb and Jacko, all of them dead or dying.

“We were supposed to be free,” he said.

Hands behind him grabbed his head and held it tight. He couldn’t turn around to see who it was, but he knew it was the pilot, the man they called Angel. His hands were strong, they gripped the controls of the machine that could fly, they should be strong.

Clip wondered if he should scream. There was no one worth screaming too in this place. He recognized it, this was their first stop. This was where they killed Bob and Janice and Kevin. He really liked that day. This was Buffalo. There was no one in Buffalo worth screaming to. The outpost keeper, Bob, wouldn’t help them anyway, even if he was alive.

“You are free to die,” she said.

It was her, the crazy killer woman who killed Jacko. Before he could consider what was about to happen to him, it happened. The hands on his head force him to look down at his belly and it was already bleeding. She had punched it full of holes with a knife. Once his eyes were fully locked on the horror she cut a slice across it, letting the guts spill out toward his feet.

Still standing, still breathing, he looked at her, a fellow killer, and the hands on his head let him nod to her. He accepted his fate and he wanted her to know it, and she did. She ended him quickly afterward with a slice across his throat. As his brain lost its life sustaining bloodflow his mind wandered back to the helicopter, back to the peace of the flight, back to the womb.

* * *

Angel and Hope finished dragging Clip’s body into place before heading back to the helicopter to wash their hands. Such wasteful exhuberance with water wouldn’t have been possible before, and they’d have been left to fly home covererd with drying blood and sand. No one wanted to see them come home like that. They were heroes who got rid of the prisoners, they needed to look the part.

After they got into the air they circled the area. It had taken days to collect all the bodies and get them to Buffalo without anyone really asking questions. All that slow, plodding work had finally paid off in what they were looking at from above.

Like the skywriters of old, Hope asked Angel to send a message to The Dragon, should they ever venture down to Buffalo again. She didn’t want to make it a threat, anymore than 21 dead bodies is a threat. It was more of a request written in the fallen soldiers they sent out to find her, like a truce or peace accord. She wasn’t even sure they’d be able to read it from the ground very well. Propping the bodies up didn’t seem practical as they’d probably fall over in the course of time, so on the ground would have to do.

They considered leaving one of them alive to give the warning. It wasn’t practical either as the survivor would have full knowledge of where they were and all manner of tactical details about the building, and the train, and the helicopter and all the things that were keeping them alive, and all the other people that would be put at risk. These men all had to die.

A simple message in the sand would have to suffice, a request. Something that said, nicely, to please not send any killers after us anymore. Leave us be, and we’ll leave you be. Hope didn’t really embrace that last part, but the message was simple enough that it didn’t make any promises like that.

Circling above Buffalo they felt a little pride in their creation, on the ground written in 21 dead and dying men were the words, “NO MORE.” They were oriented south to north so that The Dragon would be able to read it from their approach from the north.

Angel and Hope didn’t know if they’d ever actually get the message. Maybe they’d just give up on their vengence and stay in Toronto, or move on to New York or some eastern city. Even if they did venture south again, the sand might just as well have the bodies all covered up by the time they arrive. Or worse, just the first word would be covered and the message’s intention would be completely misrepresented.

It didn’t matter, really, if they got the message. Hope and Angel both knew that they would do what they wanted to do. They’d spread, and conquer, and kill and try to bring an end to it all. That’s what The Dragon do.

The message was, perhaps, more for them, the two in the helicopter and those back at the bar. They weren’t going to be bullied by The Dragon, or anyone else. They were done being conquered. They were learning to fight back. The next band of evil that makes it way into their presence will meet the same fate as the 21 corpses on the ground. They’d be wise to steer clear of Jim’s bar, and of Angel’s helicopter and especially of Hope.

The post The Four Prisoners appeared first on Mark McEachran.

https://j.mp/3d36JmJ November 30, 2017 at 08:30AM

[hornetdiaries]

Clinical Trials

Medically speaking I’m pretty smart.  I may not know how taxes work, why cars need gas, or how to change the time on a watch I’ve owned for over four years, but if you need someone to spell duodenojejunostomy I’m your gal.  That being said, the hardest part of third year nursing is working in the clinical setting.  Suddenly the safe baby proof embrace of the classroom is forsaken for the desolate septic wasteland of hemorrhages, urine outputs, and trying to read physician's handwritten notes.

    For eight hours we do our best to be of service to the nurses we shadow while hunting down every patient willing to let us start an IV, and somewhere in between chart on three different platforms the entirely same information in a way that is sparkling with SBAR perfection.  Because apparently having to document every two hours that the patient’s language is still English is the most important thing to do with my time.

    My first unit was the OB portion of clinical, which means that people will hand me the most important thing in their life that’s so only hours brand new, and have the utmost faith that I completely know what I’m doing.  I’ve never held a baby before in my life.  The last time there was an infant even in my proximity was when I was the infant.

    Nevertheless, I soon grew to love the happy halls that always smelled clean and were filled with new parents who just wanted to coo with you all about the last few burps their new bundle of happiness had, all while you keep the pain pills coming right on schedule.  It doesn’t take long to get the hang of putting on a bright smile and nodding along to their stories while casually searching for the uterus and making sure they don’t spontaneously hemorrhage and die in their sleep.

    My first time on the mother-baby unit was a lovely time of breezing through meds and washing babies.  I was with a fairly fresh nurse, we can call Becky, who was not expecting to come in and work a twelve hour shift with a student in tow, but was attempting to be cheerful about it all the same.  Nearing the end of my eight hours, Becky and I were walking across the unit to deliver a pain med to one of patients.  That’s when the nurse sitting at the nurses station stopped us.

    “Becky” she called in her deep southern to the bone accent, “I need your help a minute.  I have to run to my car and get something real fast, can you watch the station while I’m gone?  You and Rachel are the only nurses on the floor right now and she’s busy doing a dressing change”

    “I don’t really know how to work the computer” Becky muttered, already walking to the door and entering the glass paned station anyways.  I followed close behind, wondering why we couldn’t do the med pass first and then come back.

    “Don’t worry, I’ll only be gone three minutes, ain’t nobody gonna call” and sure enough as soon as Becky sat down in the worn swivel chair, southern nurse was already halfway down the stairwell.  I didn’t think much of it, seeing as how there were maybe eight patients on the floor and the entire day had been an easy ride without so much as a spike in blood pressure.

    Becky and I get to chatting about the sort of fast paced topical conversation that you get to have with a stranger of eight hours you’ve been forced to share every minute with, all while staring at the vitals chart on the wall.  It’s the most nerve racking TV show, the black screen of patient numbers and values of their wellbeing displayed, every rise and fall eating away at the back of your mind.  That’s why I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw the SPO2 start falling from the low nineties to the eighties.  Oxygen saturation should be mid nineties to a hundred.  I’ve seen it drop to sixties as a patient gasped for air through a wad of mucus clogging their throat, but to watch it spiral down the drain into the eighties and then seventies, setting off alarms as it went, was like watching a plane slowly crash into the ground before you.

    “Becky, I think we need to check on that patient” she turned around to watch the monitor I was watching wide eyed.

    “It’s probably fine…” the expression on her face changed like someone had wiped over it hard with a rough rag, “actually, you hang onto this, I’ll be right back” she hands me the tiny cup containing our med, and before I can even argue the out of place protocol, she’s gone.  Now I’m completely alone at the nursing station and the only two nurses on our side of the ward are indisposed.  I really honest to god thought that would be the end of it.  I one hundred percent believed that it would end there, that life was not so dramatic as to wait for this exact moment to hit the fan.

    That’s when a new alarm went off.  This one on the computer screen before me, showing one room beeping in red.  I couldn’t understand what it was supposed to be reporting, it wasn’t even that close to us.  But on and off it beeped, quiet at first but then getting louder and louder.  It was such an odd tone too, making me lean close to the monitor to try and hear it.  That’s when I realized, it wasn’t from the computer, it was ringing through the hallway.  It was getting louder before it quickly took over the alarms on our side, accompanied by a harsh electronic screech that came from all the elevators.

    The phone rang and I wanted to vomit.  Letting it ring three times before working up the courage to touch it, I answered with the most useless student voice possible,

    “Hello?”

    “GET…..ELEVATOR CODES… SOUTH…. FIRST FLOOR… CODES” the static cut through the voice of a woman yelling into her phone, huffing and seemingly out of breath.

    “Uh, who is this?”

    “MELISSA” who the fuck is Melissa?  Why did I even ask? “GET ME THE ELEVATOR CODE”

    “I’m sorry, I don’t know the code”

    “ALARM… CODES” I drew a blank and did the only thing I could think of.  I slammed the phone down hard on the receiver.  My best plan ever?  No, not in the slightest.

    Custodians and volunteers gave me weird glances as they walked by, a couple of them asking what was going on and why the elevators were all shut down.  I told them that we were working on getting the codes and they’d stop screaming soon.  The screaming was getting louder.

    Like a fool, I felt a wave of relief hit me as Becky came rushing back into the station.

    “Oh thank god, I don’t know what this is doing” pushing myself away from the console I let her lean in and inspect it.

    “It looks like a baby alarm was set off” she said squinting and clicking uselessly at the mouse.

    “What kind of an alarm?”

    “It’s for child abductions.  Looks like it’s shut down all the elevators and send out the code for this”

    “What do we do?” she pursed her lips, clicking every which way and retreating every time something popped up, asking for a passcode, effectively putting us back at square one every time with the map of the floor showing all the points that were automatically locking themselves down.

    “Hey you wanna do me a favor?  Can you go to this room and see if the baby’s there?” I looked at this woman like she just peed on my face.  She wanted me, someone with the physical prowess of an angry wet kitten, to go fight off a possible child abduction.  The last time I was in any kind of altercation was when my black belt cousin beat me up for fun.  The last time I was given any kind of combat training was when my paramedic teacher made us practice stabbing each other with fake knives in the parking lot.  I wasn’t going to stop anybody from taking anything.  Hell I’d probably pack them a bag to get themselves started with their new life as a fugitive family.

    “Sure” I smiled, slightly shaking my head ‘no’.  Like the compliant idiot I am, I hurried myself down into the maze of the ward and found my room without much ado.  Awkwardly I stood outside the door, wondering what to do.  What do you even say?  “Hey are you guys kidnapping a baby? Okay no, awesome!”  I knocked once and then pushed the door open, deciding that if I was abducting a child I wasn’t going to open the door, and I didn’t have time to waste.

    Inside the room, hunched over an infant in a little tub, was the most pissed off nurse I’d ever seen, surrounded by two weirded out parents, and one of my classmates who gave me a little wave.  I didn’t know what to do as they all stared at me.

    “Is that a baby?” of all the things I could have said, that really wasn’t so bad.  But it was still pretty bad.

    “What do you need?” the nurse snapped, still cradling the dripping newborn who sat next to the alarm bracelet that was causing all my trouble.

    “Uh, alarms are going off”

    “Just give me an adjust”

    “Okay great!” and I slammed that door shut and got the hell out.

    Feeling rather accomplished, even in the face of raw embarrassment, I marched myself up to the nurses station where Becky sat.

    “Did you find it?” she asked, having made no progress in turning off any of the alarms.

    “Yeah, the nurse said to ‘give her an adjust’” Becky blinked at me as we shared a weighted moment of silence.

    “...What does that mean?”

    “I THOUGHT YOU KNEW!” before I can inappropriately yell at my nurse once more, the emergency exit stairwell bursts open and in stomps the most out of breath and out of patience nurse I’d ever seen in my life.  I took a fast guess and figured this was Melissa.

    “Out” she snapped at Becky who was already up and away from the console like it had caught fire.  I came around the other side of the station to see my clinical instructor come around and B line for me, a group of nurses all looking extremely pissed off following close behind and hovering around Melissa who furiously started typing all the passcodes into the computer, turning off each individual elevator alarm one by one.

    Deep southern nurse came over to Becky and I, not looking as guilty as I felt like she should have been.

    “Where were you all?” Becky’s voice full of stress.

    “The code shut off all the elevators for the floor!  We were all on the ground floor and had to come up the stairs to get to the fourth floor.  It paged all the nurses that there was an abduction so we all came running.  Melissa tried to call but said it failed in the stairwell” I took this as my cue to begin explaining everything to my professor who mostly shrugged and laughed it off, because my school is cool like that.

    Later we would go on to eventually passing that med, and I’d regroup with my classmates that would fill me in on all their versions of the events to transpire.  But ultimately I’d come to realize there’s probably some deeper lesson about being competent in one aspect of life doesn’t mean shit if you can’t be a well rounded person.  Also after two summers of office work apparently I still can’t answer a phone.

[rebeccahpedersen]

Quick Hits!

TorontoRealtyBlog

After a week of serious conversations about foreign buyers, and taxation, I’m mentally drained.

There’s a lot that’s gone down this week that didn’t make the news too, so let me provide you with a few quick hits, a few anecdotes, and a few stories from the real estate trenches.

Did I tell you the one about the condo that found a ladder clogging the garbage chute?  No, seriously.  What’s with people?

Capital Gains Tax Stays At 50%

There was a lot of talk on TRB this week about the foreign buyer’s tax, and that spawned some conversations about other methods of taxation as well.

The federal budget was set to be released this week, and leading up to the budget, there were rumours swirling about the capital gains tax increasing from 50% to 75%.

I’m sure you know how I feel about that; I don’t like it.  Not one bit.

There were no shortage of opinion pieces on how and why this would have a negative effect on the economy as a whole, but I felt it was yet another “tax on the wealthy,” and the increase from 50% to 75%, which itself represents a 50% increase, was absurd.

How about a 5% increase to start?  Maybe take that 50% and bring it up to 52.5%?

No?  We’re going right to 75%?

Well thankfully, the federal Liberals thought better of it, and there was no increase in capital gains, at least in this budget.

But many experts believe we’re off the hook for now, but not for good.

Rob Carrick wrote a great article in the Globe & Mail this week: “Have Capital Gains?  Now Is The Time To Strategize”

Primary Residence Exemption

Somebody brought this up on the blog last week, and it scared the crap out of me.

Not in my wildest dreams, not even with all the disdain I have for Justin Trudeau and his constant taxing of the middle and upper class, did I ever think he and the Liberals would consider removing the primary residence exemption for capital gains.

Never.

Not until I read it in the comments section of my Monday blog.

Can you imagine?

You buy your house for $650,000, you sell it for $900,000.  You keep the $250,000 profit.  All of it.

That’s how it’s always been.

This isn’t an investment; it’s your home.  Is there nothing more sacred?

Is there anything in this world that isn’t taxable?

They say “death is expensive,” as the government comes calling, and looking for their take.  So perhaps it’s not naive to think one day, the government would start taxing the currently tax-free capital gain on your primary residence.

But if they did, I think it would be the biggest change in taxation in the history of Canada.

And it would drive a lot of people to move.

Maintenance Fees Rise 18% At 25 The Esplanade

I have five clients who live at 25 The Esplanade.

It’s one of the best buildings in the city.

It’s probably the best-managed building in the city, and despite the fact that it was built in 1987, they’ve kept their maintenance fees at $0.49/sqft.

That’s not a typo.  That’s $0.49/sqft, and guess what else it is?  It’s all-inclusive.

Their fees were at $0.49/sqft for four years, after they had risen from $0.46/sqft in 2009, to $0.47/sqft, and then $0.48/sqft.

And this year, the fees were raised a whopping 18%.

They now stand at $0.62/sqft, still all inclusive.

There are some people out there that look at “fee increases” as a bad indicator, and I think this is a mistake.

If the fees just went up 18%, I think it’s fair to say you’re safe from yet another fee increase for a while.

18% sounds like a big number, and it is.

But buyers need to put this in perspective: this is a 1987 building that has fees of $0.62/sqft, all inclusive, and the average fees in the city are probably around $0.72-$0.75, with you paying at least one of your own heat and hydro.

Fee increases happen.

They should happen every year, with every condo, unless we’re in a period of deflation.

So if you’re a buyer, put more emphasis on the current fees, and the history of increases – not just the “big number” in front of you today.

“Playing God” With The Front Door

The market is busy, right?

That’s an understatement.

It’s downright crazy, and if you’re a buyer, you know how many people are viewing a home by whether or not the front door opens as it pushes up against thirty pairs of shoes sitting in the foyer.

In this market, it’s very common for there to be 4-5 showings all at the same time, between 5pm and 8pm, when most people are out looking at houses.

For the most part, things run smoothly.

Agents respect each other, even though they’re competing, and they try to accommodate.  I’ll take my clients downstairs first if I know another agent is upstairs.  I’ll see agents I know, and we’ll greet each other, and be cordial.  We’ll try our best to give another buyer some privacy if they’re conversing in one of the rooms, and we know we can wait a couple of minutes to take a look.

But once in a while, you get a buyer agent who decides that he or she is going to change the game, and dictate the rules.

And I’ve found a few agents this year that have decided to “play God with the door.”

Consider an agent that gets to the property at 5:55pm, for a 6pm showing, right before, say, three other agents with showings at 6pm.

This agent opens the front door, walks inside with his or her clients, then locks the front door.

The agent then takes a “private tour” through the house with his or her clients, while the three agents are outside, knocking on the door, to no avail.

Last week, an agent tried this with me, and I didn’t like it.

I knocked, and knocked, and knocked, and she took ten minutes to come answer.

When she opened the door, she acted surprised to see another human being, and dripping with condescension, almost proud of her actions, she said, “Oh, hello……..do you have a showing too?”

I said, “No, I’m a f****** girl-guide, selling cookies.  If you ever pull this with me again, I’ll take you to RECO.”

She told me I was rude.

The two other sets of agents I was with thanked me.

Two wrongs don’t make a right, I know that.  We learned that a long, long time ago.

But if you don’t call agents out on their poor practices, why would they be motivated to change?

“Seller Reserves The Right To Review And Accept Pre-Emptive Offers Without Any Notice And Without Notifying Any Agents”

Remember when I wrote about this “new practice” earlier in the year?  If you missed it, read the blog post, HERE.

I’m pleased to say that it’s stopped, for the most part.

To pick up the theme from the point above – if you don’t call agents out on their poor practices, why would they be motivated to change – I’ll tell you that on Monday, I found another one of these listings with this line about accepting pre-emptive offers with no notice, which clearly breaches RECO rules.

I sent the listing to my manager, and he sent it to somebody at RECO, then called him directly.

A day later, the listing had been edited to read: “Seller Reserves The Right To Review Pre-Emptive Offers.”

I know it sometimes seems hopeless, but don’t simply say, “Filing a complaint won’t do anything,” because it can, and it will.

No Pre-Home Inspection

If you’re a seller in 2017, and your agent says, “We don’t need to do a pre-home inspection,” then your agent is cheap, lazy, and a liar.

Get rid of him.

To not provide a pre-home inspection in this market is to cost yourself 4-5 potential buyers on offer night, who would have made an offer, but didn’t have the time, or the wherewithal, to do their own inspection.

Last week, I emailed a listing agent and asked for a copy of the home inspection.

He wrote back:

“No, the Seller did not get a pre-inspection.  The seller has decided to allow buyers to satisfy themselves with their own home inspection, should they wish to have one completed.”

Oh what a load of bullshit!

First of all, it’s not really “the seller” who didn’t get the inspection.  It’s the agent.  Sure, the seller could decide, but it’s the agent, if he or she is worth their salt, who is supposed to push the idea as a marketing tool, or really in this 2017 market, a bare essential.

Secondly, the wording of “allow buyers to satisfy themselves with their own inspection” is such an attempt to turn it back around on the buyer, when 9/10 decent listings out there have a pre home inspection.

And lastly, “…should they wish to have one completed,” is their way of saying, “What, you really feel that’s necessary?  Well, okay, I guess…”

Novice Realtors

I’ve been accused on many occasions as being a “Realtor-basher,” since I routinely blog about “the bad actions of a just few.”

Well, maybe it’s no longer “just a few,” so does that make me any better or worse an agent for continuing to write things like the following?

I had a listing two weeks ago that brought out the worst in agents.

I could write a whole blog post on this, with forty different phone calls that would make your head spin, but that would really be Realtor-bashing.

So let me give you just one example.

Just listen to how this one phone call went.

Agent: “I wanted to ask you a few questions about your property.”

Me: “No problem.”

Agent: “Is there an offer date?”

Me: “It’s on the listing.”

Agent: “Do the sellers have a desired closing date?”

Me: “It’s on the listing.”

Agent: “Does the maintenance fee include utilities?”

Me: “It’s on the listing.”

Agent: “Is there a gym in this building?”

Me: “It’s on the listing.”

Agent: “If we do bring an offer, what address should I email it to?”

Me: “It’s on the listing.”

Call me a jerk if you want; tell me I was being unhelpful.

But come on!  I have no time for this crap.

All that agent had to do was pick up a copy of the MLS listing that’s sitting on his or her desk, and read it!

I’ve never seen such poor worth ethic, and such laziness and sloppiness.

The bar is just so low right now, and more and more people are getting into the business.  My buddy went to get fitted for his wedding suit the other day, and the girl said, “Oh cool, you’re in real estate?  I’m doing my phase-two exam this weekend!”

What I’ve seen so far in 2017 is pathetic, and it’s making the experienced agents band together.  I won in multiple offers a couple weeks ago when the listing agent told me, “It’s so great to see a familiar face,” and told me I wasn’t the highest offer, but to come up in price, as the highest offer was somebody with 18 mistakes in their offer, no cheque, and from a brokerage that’s been operating for nine weeks.

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Well there you have it, folks!

Some random thoughts, from a pretty scattered week.

We’re starting to see inventory pick up in the single-family housing market though, and that’s exciting.  Things should slow down again the week before the Easter long weekend, but then it’s smooth sailing until the end of June.

Any guesses on the average home price increase in March after we saw a 27.7% increase in February?  I’m thinking it’ll top 30%.  We’ll know in about 8-9 days.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

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