#there are no listed temperature units anywhere that I can find :< so i just said degrees y'all do with it what you will

[dragonsongmakhali]

Send 👑 to see them in something they might wear to impress others.

When you need to dress to impress, look no further than the Ultima Fabrications Mark VI Combat Skin.

A marvel of engineering, Makhali only wears the full suit for the toughest of battles and the fanciest of tech demonstrations, often choosing to wear just the sollerets and gauntlets for everyday adventuring. Crafted to exacting specifications by U'lani herself, the full skin can withstand temperatures beyond 320 degrees and up to three atmospheres of pressure with no damage to the wearer. There's a helmet that makes the suit airtight, but Makhali generally won't wear it unless she's actively going underwater.

Thank you for the ask! :D

[grillsadvisor]

Best 2-Burner Grills [ Liquid Propane & Flat Top Griddle ]

Looking for the best 2-burner gas grill? You've come to the right place. In this comprehensive guide, we will answer all of your questions and help you find the perfect grill for your needs. We'll start by discussing what makes a good two-burner grill, then move on to reviews of some of the best models on the market. Finally, we'll give you some tips for using and maintaining your new grill! Top-list BBQ 2-burner gas grills Top-list affordable BBQ two-burner gas grills The best two-burner gas grill on 2022 Weber Spirit II E-210 LP BBQ Review https://youtu.be/PGj-amEHhYA Weber Spirit II E-210 2-Burner Liquid Propane Grill, Black FAQ The Weber Spirit II E-210 liquid propane grill is a great choice for the griller who wants top-of-the-line features at an affordable price. With its GS4 grilling system and infinity ignition, this grill is sure to light every time, no matter what you're cooking. Best Char-Broil two-burner gas grill   Char-Broil 463673519 Performance FAQ The Best Flat Top Gas Grill Griddle 2 Burner Best Budget 2 burner gas grill   American Gourmet 467730217 Classic 280 2-Burner Liquid Propane Gas Grill FAQ The best portable two-burner grill   Pit Boss Grills 75275 Stainless Steel Two-Burner Portable Grill FAQ This video on JTgatoring is all about the outdoor products that I use and how they can help you grill like a pro.  So this is just one of the many outdoor products that I use and go over in detail. There's one product, which stands out among all others for its convenience - The Pit Boss Portable Grill. This stainless steel 2 burner grill can be taken anywhere you want with ease thanks to its durable design features like foldable legs & adjustable carrying handle so no matter what activity or occasion arises it'll always have a spot ready on your inventory list. Pit Boss two burner is a portable grill It has a 20,000 BTU capacity and 10k on each side for maximum power when cooking or away from your kitchen island; yet small enough to take just about anywhere - even camping if needed. This grill has an automatic lid, so you can easily latch it down. I don't know if this model comes with batteries or not but there's a manual option as well just in case your power runs out. Turn the propane on. This comes with that cord you saw, which connects to your grill and ultimately creates an amazing meal for all of us. It's meant to go off of a 20-gallon for that type of connection. Make sure your feet are all good. Then turn it on to light it. Once you turned it to the left, carefully press down and watch as gas turns into vapor. And then you'll hit that point where the ignition flips and it lights it.  The grill is heating up. It should be at about 450 degrees after a few minutes of use, but it's better not to touch anything until then. The temperature gauge on this unit normally floats around 500 degrees when both burners are at low, but it will eventually rise to 600 if you leave one burner alone for long enough - or use both of them together. The gauge says that's how much it is, but I don't know for sure if this number actually represents the true temperature. While this grill does a great job at cooking food, one issue that I have with it is how high up on the grate you need to sit in order for your heat source not to be blown away by strong winds. You can create sidewalls or other structures which will help retain more of what's being cooked onto them and keep temperatures even throughout different parts of their surface area. I find myself cooking with the lid down most of the time, just so that heat can stay inside. The top gives you okay grill marks, but it flames up on me. I don't mind too much though because there is a little bit of serum that helps create some pretty amazing flame-cooked flavors in my food. My favorite way to use this grill so far has been cooking a two-pound steak. I am going to have half of it for lunch and then another round at dinner time. On my grill, I like to keep the temperature around 500 degrees. This ensures that it will be hot enough for all of your food without burning or drying out any parts.  This does have a drip pan at the bottom. The bottom is concaved a little bit to help it run down into the drip pan. But if you don't have this level, it'll go off to one of the sides. It's not deep as a cave - pretty flat. So you're gonna have to make sure that it's sitting somewhat level. The main thing I looked for in a two-burner is that it is able to cook both sides of the food at once. This way, you can have your hot and cold sides. The best part about this setup? It's portable. The 20-gallon tank means this thing will never run out of fuel in the middle of nowhere thanks to its large capacity tanks. This grill is not just stainless steel, but it also has a five-year warranty on the burners themselves. You can extend that to one more year with an extra fee. The first thing I do is turn the heat up to its highest setting, 500 degrees. Then after a couple of minutes have passed since turning on I switch over from high-power mode to a low position which lasts for an additional 1-2 minutes. The sturdy metal latches ensure you don't have to worry about accidentally dropping or damaging it while moving it around. The grill is a pretty basic unit I've used it for the last couple of weeks and every day, at least four or five times per week - but not quite enough that you'd notice how much fuel this thing uses. That's right, I'm still on the same propane tank. So it doesn't use as much gas. The grill is in need of some tender loving care. I haven't scraped the grates, I didn’t wash inside or clean burners - nothing at all really. The propane flames are dancing across the surface of this two-burner grill, giving off that perfect sear and smoke. I tried to order a single burner version from here but it didn't feel right so I returned it. Well, this has been sitting for about three minutes at 500. I'm going to put my stake on now and see if it'll take off from there. When it comes to my favorite meal, I like things just right. My medium-rare steaks are the best and nothing less than this! To make sure that every bite has been cooked thoroughly through with no pink left in there anywhere. So I just want to keep the grays hot. I turn this burner to half and then the other one, I keep it on low, just so it keeps the temp in there. If you leave the lid open for too long when cooking on low heat in this fashion - remember not all meat is cooked equally well so watch carefully. However, when I keep the lid closed and cook over high heat for a prolonged period of time, there are no flames. This allows me to get that perfect char on my steak without fear of ruining it with an open flame because nothing can escape into space as well. I like to keep things simple when I'm cooking and so my usual process is a: Turn it 90, flip it, turn it 90, and then the steak’s done. I normally only flip it once.  One of the best ways to get that perfect sear on your steak is by using a ridged grill. This will help create an even distribution for searing, ensuring there's no wasted meat and all those delicious juices stay inside! One thing I found interesting was putting fattier parts over the drip pan - like placing fatty pieces near or above where they'll fall into the fire if set upon it...but don't worry about flare-ups. If you don't want any flare-ups, just put it between the burn plates or on one side where they trip onto their bases. This way there will be more grease which helps keep your bottom from getting too dirty since this grill doesn't allow for much fat to accumulate during cooking time; however, I don’t really see what advantage comes with doing so because all that does is create another clean-up job after use. So I just keep it on over the plate. Now I will put the burner at half power, and then let this get up to 500 degrees. After two or three minutes without anything on there just burn off any grease that may be leftover from when you cooked before; once all propane has been used up flames should go out automatically. That way, the whole system is blood and there's nothing left in it. Then turn off your burners so that everything can be safe. So I did get this from Amazon. You can also go to Pit Boss Portable Grill on their website and order it. And I also believe Low's and maybe even Walmart may have it. So if you enjoyed it, let me know. Thanks for watching. So I did get this from Amazon. You can also go to Pit Boss Portable Grill on their website and order it, but if you're looking in stores beware of the price tag. Hope you're enjoying the video. Thanks for watching! If you are looking for a 2-burner gas grill, here are some things to keep in mind: - Size: Make sure to measure the area where you will be storing and using your grill. You want a grill that is big enough to cook the amount of food you need, but not so big that it is cumbersome. - Weight: Heavier grills tend to be more durable, but they can also be harder to move around. If you think you will be moving your grill often, look for a lighter model. - Price: 2 burner grills can range in price from around $100 to $1000. Do some research to find the features that are important to you and compare prices before making your final decision. The best features of a two-burner gas grill When choosing a 2 burner gas grill, there are several features to consider. Here are some of the most important: - BTUs: BTUs (or British Thermal Units) measure the amount of heat a grill can produce. The higher the BTUs, the hotter your grill will be able to get. Most 2 burner grills have between 24,000 and 30,000 BTUs. - Cooking surface: The cooking surface is the area of the grill where you will actually be cooking your food. Look for a grill with a good-sized cooking surface that is easy to clean. - Ignition system: The ignition system is what starts your grill. Many 2 burner grills have an electronic ignition system, which is easy to use and reliable. - Warranty: A good warranty is important for any grill, but especially a 2 burner grill which you will be using more frequently. Look for a model with at least a 2-year warranty. The benefits of using a 2-burner gas grill over other types of grills There are many benefits to using a 2 burner gas grill over other types of grills, such as charcoal grills or electric grills. Here are some of the most important benefits: - Gas grills cook food more evenly than charcoal grills. - Gas grills are easier to control than charcoal grills. - Gas grills do not require as much maintenance as charcoal grills. - Electric grills do not produce as much heat as gas grills, so they cannot achieve the same cooking results. Clearly, there are many advantages to using a 2 burner gas grill. If you are looking for a new grill, be sure to consider one of these models! You won't be disappointed with the results.   Final Verdict Editor’s Choice: Top-list grills - Best 3-Burner Gas Grills - Best 4-Burner Gas Grills - Top-list five-burner gas grills - Top rated for 6 burner grill - The best small pellet grill on the market Read the full article

[scorpio-hotch]

FBI Hotch: 6. Taking care of him after he gets hurt

Thank you so much for the request!! I had a lot of fun with this one :))

Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Talk of injury, injury care, showering together

My 100 follower milestone prompt list

Taken Care Of

It was about midnight when you pull into the parking space outside your and Aaron’s apartment building. As you put the car in park and take out the key you hear Aaron unclick his seatbelt and start to try to get out of the car. “Wait,” you say and place your hand on his shoulder.

He had gotten hurt on the last case when a stray bullet fragment hit him in the left leg. Luckily the case had been local so you could go straight to the hospital with him and take him home. He hadn’t been hurt too badly but he would have to use crutches for the next few weeks and would be out of the field for at least a month. He was grumpy about it. He hated getting injured. He hated even more having to be taken care of. But tough luck for him because you would be taking care of him until he was all better.

You get out of the car, going around to his side to help him out. First you get his crutches out of the back seat and grab his bag so you could carry it inside for him. Next you open his door and help him get out and situated with his crutches. He whispers a small “thank you,” to you as he begins moving towards the building.

Once you get inside he starts to go towards the stairwell. He always preferred using the stairs to the elevator. “Aaron, honey,” you call out to him, reminding him he couldn’t use the stairs.

He turns to see you standing in front of the elevator. He grumbles to himself as he maneuvers his way besides you. You look up at his pouty face while you wait for the doors to open. His brows furrowed making him have a very serious, almost angry looking expression.

You take a moment to think about how when you got to the hospital he had been insitiant that you hold his hand while they stitched him up. He’s never been a big fan of needles. So of course you stood holding the big bad BAU unit chief’s hand and running your fingers through his hair while he got a few stitches. He was cute. He liked to pretend he was stoic and felt no emotions, but on the inside he was a big softie.

The elevator door opens and you both step inside When you get to your floor you had to slow down a bit so Aaron could keep up. When you get inside the apartment Aaron dramatically throws himself down on the couch. “I wanna take a shower and go to bed,” he groans out.

After putting your stuff down you take a seat next to Aaron’s head on the couch, your fingers finding their way into his hair knowing that would always soothe him.

“Okay baby,” you say, as you continue to scratch his head, “let me go get everything ready for you.”

You help Aaron move to the bedroom so he can sit on the bed while you start the shower and get everything in order for him. Making your way to the en suite bathroom you start the shower, letting it get heated up checking the temperature with your hand. With that handled you pull out a couple of towels for you and him to use when you are done. Leaving the bathroom you walk past Aaron who is laying on the bed with his arm slung over his face. Poor boy. Quickly you make your way to the kitchen and grab some plastic wrap, making a stop at the closet to grab some medical tape before making your way back to the bedroom.

Standing in front of Aaron you rub your hand over his chest lovingly before you start to unbutton his shirt. He stops you for a moment. “I can do it,” he says.

“I know,” you say, running your hand over his tight shoulder, “But I want to help you.”

He lets you finish unbuttoning his shirt before you kneel down in front of him and help him out of his pants, making sure to be careful of his injured leg. After you get those off you grab the plastic wrap to wrap around his bandages so they wouldn’t get wet in the shower. After taping it in place, making sure that it was water tight. He pulls off his white undershirt while you strip your clothes off, getting ready to get in the shower. After you help him out of his boxers, he stands up on his crutches and makes his way into the bathroom with you.

You get into the shower first, helping Aaron step in after he rests his crutches against the wall. He supports much of his weight on you, not wanting to put too much pressure on his hurt leg.

You can feel him relax a bit under the warm water. You’re sure it helps a bit with the tension and pain. It’s always good to be in the shower together with your body pressed up against his. Even under these more unfortunate circumstances there was something nice about the intimacy of it. After a moment you reach down and grab the shampoo and squeeze some of it into your hand. Your hands make their way to Aaron’s head washing his hair for him. He lets out a sigh of contentment and rests a little bit more weight against you as he relaxes even more. You wash out the shampoo and add some conditioner to his hair. Next you get his body wash and get it nice and lathered up in your hands. You know after the day he’s had, Aaron just wants to feel clean. You start scrubbing his body, starting with his chest, making your way down to everywhere else. You avoid his left thigh knowing you were gonna clean the wound there in a little while. After he was all clean he leaned down to reach for your body wash. You stop him. “It’s okay honey,” you say, knowing he was about to start trying to clean you up, “I’m taking care of you tonight, not the other way around.”

You clean yourself up the best you can while helping hold Aaron up. You both stand under the water for a little bit longer before it starts feeling cold. You shut off the water and step out of the shower, helping Aaron out as well. You dry him off a bit before he uses his crutches to go back into the bedroom. You dry yourself off before following him. You see that he pulled on a pair of boxers and a soft grey t-shirt. You get some pjs on as well, before settling in front of him similar as you did before. You pull off the plastic wrap, putting it aside to dispose of later. “I’m just gonna change the bandage and then we can go to bed, okay.”

He nods, “okay.”

You take off the bandage that was covering the wound, remove the gauze as well, putting them with the plastic to be thrown away. His leg was definitely a bit swollen and you could tell that it was tender and painful. You flush out the stitches with saline before dabbing on a bit of antibiotic ointment. You put some more gauze over the injured areas before wrapping the whole area up in some bandages. The only bandages you had in the house were bright green, but you don’t think he minded too much. After he was all wrapped up you pressed a light kiss to his leg above his knee, right below the bandage, whispering, “All better,” into his skin.

That made him smile. You helped him pull on a pair of pajama pants and lay back in bed before you got him some ibuprofen to help with the swelling and pain a bit. You handed it to him with a glass of water and got settled on your side of the bed. You saw Aaron shifting around trying to get comfortable. You opened your arms up so he could cuddle with you, telling him, “c’mere baby.”

He got settled with his head resting on your chest and his arms wrapped around your middle. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he mutters into your chest.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him as your hand rubs circles on his back, “I love taking care of you, whether you're injured or not. ”

He looks up at you with so much affection in his eyes, leaning up just enough to press a kiss to your lips. “I love you so much,” he says.

“I love you too. Get some rest now, okay.”

He settles back down against your chest. You keep your hand on his back rubbing soothing circles until you feel his breath even out and you know he’s asleep. You look down at his beautiful sleeping face and all you can think about is how you wouldn’t want to be anywhere in the world but here, taking care of him.

[looneysguidetolife]

apartment stuff from howtogrowthefuckup

not all of it, but stuff i find particularly useful/want to remember. RIP this blog. the gimmick wears off after a while but it was genuinely useful information.

BUDGETING

suggested monthly budget for groceries for a two-person household is $553. estimated weekly budget is around $100. 

find a pad of paper and a pen and keep it with you for the next 24 hours. Write down every single fucking thing you use or even touch in your house. Tomorrow I want you to look at that list and figure out the cost of everything.

keep track of how much you spend on gas monthly.

add in your estimated utilities. You can fucking google that on your own, because it’s going to be different for wherever you want to live. Absolutely do this if you plan on moving to a different town or state.

divide your total monthly income by three. Hey, look at that, it’s my good friend Math again. Funny how he keeps showing up. Make sure the number of your expenses is less than the other 2/3rds, if it is, you can continue.

FINDING APARTMENTS

apartments.com

Focus on your top 10. Then your top 5. Then your top 3. Don’t go any farther than that (and don’t get rid of the research for the other 7 just yet). Create crazy complicated rating systems. Make an excel sheet or start putting stuff on your wall and connecting them with strings. Go full-on serial killer. Dedicate yourself.

You should also make note of how big the room is so you know if you can even fit what little you own. The same goes for the hallways or stairs or whatever exists outside the apartment on the way from your car. Could you get your mattress through all that shit?

PACKING

Figure out what you want to donate and what you want to put in the trash before you start packing.

Do not go grocery shopping right before moving... Just wait til you’re in the new place to make that trip.

Change your address. Like a week before you move. While you’re doing this, make a list of everywhere you’ve entered your address and need to change. Keep that list. Your future self will thank you someday.

Start in one room and pack all that before moving to a different part of the house. This is a good way to keep all your stuff together and it’s also a good way to find out that you own five decks of cards or one too many furbys.

Put everything into piles: keep, donate, and ditch.

Label the boxes with what room they belong to so you know exactly where it needs to go. Some people like to also mark this with a color coded sticker. 

Also label what’s in the boxes. For example: Kitchen - silverware; cooking utensils; hot pads; magnet collection. You don’t need to label every item individually, but have some idea of what’s in there. Label it on more than one side. Don’t label it on the top, because you’ll just end up stacking boxes on top of each other.

Distribute the weight of your stuff. Mix heavy books with stuffed animals.

Alternately, pack by weight. Heavy stuff goes in small boxes, light stuff goes in big boxes. Basically what I’m saying is don’t pack a massive box with too much weight that it’s too heavy to carry or will break the box.

Use all of your suitcases and bags for packing!

For toiletries - take off the top, place plastic wrap over the opening, replace the top. This way you don’t end up with lotion all over your towels or something.

Know what you’ll need immediately and make sure those boxes are the last thing on the truck, first thing unloaded at the new place. Maybe keep those things in a clear container so you can see exactly what’s in there. Hint: three of the things you’ll need immediately are your toolbox, cleaning supplies, and toilet paper.

note to self: get toolbox and first aid kit.

Take pictures of the new apartment. Before anything goes in it. This way if there are any scratches on the wall or stains on the carpet, the new landlord can’t say it happened during the move.

ASKING QUESTIONS

Apartments.com and My First Apartment both have lists of questions to ask.

questions directly from the blog:

Is the apartment available and is it still listed at the same price or are they trying to swindle you/are they completely incompetent at updating their listings?

Will it be ready when you need it? It’s gonna totally suck if you find the right place and find out it’s not available when you’re ready to move

Are there appliances? Are they included? Do they even work? 

How old is the apartment? This is important to ask because it will tell you how much trouble you’re going to have. Like, if it’s Civil War era, you might have issues with foundation cracks or old wiring or ghosts of soldiers waking you up in the middle of the night.

Have there been any issues with insects, rodents, mold, or mildew? You have to ask this. No good self-respecting property manager would tell you this of their own free will.

What kind of security is there? Did you have to go through a gate when you came in? Do you need a key to get into your building before you get into your door? Or does your door face out cheap motel style? Are there electronic pass codes? Is there any kind of security force on site?

If you ever find someone willing to hang out with you, is there a special place they need to park? Do you need to let the office know if they plan on staying the night?

Where do you park? Is parking included? Is in indoor or outdoor?

Do you need a city sticker to park on the street? [Note: I asked this when I moved to Missouri and everyone thought I was batshit crazy. This is normal in places like Chicago, not so normal elsewhere. See if you can determine that before you ask a crazy question.]

Can you paint the walls? Can you put holes in the walls? Can you do whatever it is you do to walls, so long as they look the same when you move out?

What exactly is the maintenance policy, beyond walls? What is covered, what’s not? And who do you contact when there’s an issue? Is there a maintenance person on staff, or do they call out to someone in the area? Do they have a 24-hour emergency maintenance line

Is there heat and air conditioning? What kind? If it’s a window unit, will it be included in the apartment? Are the costs of heating and cooling included

Do you have control over the temperature or is it a building thing?Are any utilities included?

Who are the cable and internet providers in the area? What are their rates? Does the apartment complex have an exclusive contract with one of the companies?

What kind of people live here? Do they have children? Are they all ancient? Do they have, as I suspect my last neighbors did, a bowling alley in their apartment?

Just how much are you going to hear from your neighbors? On a scale of Ernest Hemingway to Les Mis, how thick are the walls?

When is rent due and how do they want it? Are checks required? Can you pay with a credit card? Do they want it all in cash? Also, how is rent submitted? Can you pay electronically or do you drop it in a mailbox?

Do you need renter’s insurance? About how much does it cost? Are there any weird things that need to be included that might not be everywhere? Like, are earthquakes an issue?

What is the process for applying to the apartment, should you choose to rent it? Are there credit checks?

What’s the pet policy? Is there pet rent?

Are there quiet hours or other weird rules about volume or people or places or things?

Are there public areas like pools or parks or gyms? What are the rules regarding those?

If you have a roommate, will both of your names be on the lease, or will one person be designated as the responsible party (you better pray it isn’t you)?

What about trash? Is there pick up or dumpsters? Recycling?

Is there a storage unit included? Where is it? What kind of security does it have?

What happens with deliveries? Do they all go through the front office or are they left on your doorstep? Are you able to pick stuff up at any time? Do you need certain ID for it?

Is there a dishwasher? Is it louder than the bowling alley next door?

If you’re in an area that gets snow, do they plow or shovel? Will they totally bury your car if you don’t move it when the plow comes by?Is there public transportation anywhere?

not questions, but things to pay attention to:

Where are the outlets? Take note of prongs.

Are there permanent light sources or do you need to go to Ikea?

How big are the rooms? What shape are they? Are you going to be able to fit all your shit in here? [Note: you should already have a floor plan online, but ask for a paper copy if they have one.]

Do the people in the office seem at all competent? Are they going to make your life a living hell?

Can you get your stuff up/down the stairs or through the doors when you move in?

Are the appliances/apartment gas or electric?

Bathtub or shower?

Can you open the oven and fridge and still walk through the room? Will opening any doors block off other areas or hit something else?

Can you get a cell signal in the apartment? Seriously.

EDIT: waybackmachine links:

1 • 2 • 3 • 4

[emma-nation]

The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU) - Chapter 9

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x f!OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning: for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Castle Dimitrescu, Lady Dimitrescu's Bedroom - Present Days

What did dying feels like? Bela couldn't remember the day she died, before she was turned. For many and many years, she wondered how it even happened. Maybe she was incurably ill. That would be the only plausible explanation on why Lady Dimitrescu decided to transform her into a vampire. Having an illness herself, she must've felt sorry for Bela being so young and already losing her life.

But that night, after being drugged by Mother Miranda, the memory from that tragic event returned to her memory stronger like never.

It was a cold night in the 1950's. Alcina threw a special dinner and invited her three favorite and most loyal servants. Three young girls. They felt honored sitting at the same table as their mistress. They were chatting and giggling but then... something started to feel strange. Starting by the fact none of the servants were around.

It began as a burning sensation in Bela's stomach. She tried to ignore it but it'd only grow stronger. She dropped the silverware she was holding. She attempted to swallow another sip of tea. By her side, she noticed one of the other two girls, the brunette one, starting to show signs of discomfort too.

"What's wrong, my dear?" Lady Dimitrescu asked when the red haired girl, the youngest of the three, started coughing.

"I can't..." she tried to answer, but the words got lost in her throat as she began to suffocate, "b-breathe..."

Bela tried to stand up and help her, but her surroundings started to spin. She held on the table for support. At this point, the brunette girl was already lying on the floor, having some kind of seizure. She looked at Lady Dimitrescu again, but she didn't seem to be worried. She seemed abnormally calm.

"W-What have you..." before she could finish the question, her lungs could no longer fill with oxygen. Her throat and her airways started to burn. She tried and tried to breathe, but it seemed impossible. The weakness started on her legs and spread to the rest of her body really quickly. In fact, she barely felt when she collapsed on the floor. When the seizures started, she was barely conscious. Her vision was already going black, but she still had time to see the Countess staring at her body, almost lifeless, as she said:

"Don't worry, daughter. Everything will be alright."

Poisoned. She was poisoned.

When Bela woke up it was already morning. She could tell by the rays of sunlight entering through the windows. She hadn't died this time, but the sensations she experienced were quite similar. Her head was aching intensely and her vision was still blurred. Whatever Miranda had injected in her blood had affected her senses very badly.

"Aleena," she finally remembered. She tried to get up but her legs were still weak. "I need to find her."

She kept moving slowly, using the walls and furniture for support. If only she could transform into flies, it would be a lot easier, but it hurt to even try.

"Fuck!" Bela cursed, frustrated. She threw herself on a couch for a moment. She needed to rest.

Her eyes analyzed her surroundings. Although Bela was in her mother's chambers, Lady Dimitrescu was nowhere to be seen.

Hours had passed since she was drugged. Anything could've happened during this time. She wondered if Aleena was still there and if she was okay. She had to be. But what if she slept for days? What if the ritual had already happened? Aleena could be dead in that exact moment and she wasn't there to protect her. That thought made her stomach feel sick. And rare were the occasions she felt sick after being turned.

"Bela!" Daniela opened the door, she seemed so confused and scared as she was. "There you are, sister! Oh my god, I was starting to think you were dead."

"You wish..." Bela moaned sarcastically. She couldn't miss the opportunity. "What the fuck happened, Dani? Where's that bitch?"

"Who? Cassandra?"

Daniela handed her a cup full of human blood. Bela drank it all in one sip. That was the only thing able to restore her body from the damage Miranda caused.

Cassandra. She remembered her middle sister being the one who told her to go to her mother's office. Traitor! She should've known when she appeared to be so supportive of her relationship with Aleena in the previous day.

"No, Mother Miranda."

"Mother Miranda was here?"

Before she could answer, the door opened with a slam. It was Cassandra, looking completely fine. She had blood around her mouth and all over her dress. In a blink of an eye, Bela lunged forward, pinning her against the wall.

"How could you?!" She yelled. "You sent me directly to a trap!"

"What are you talking about?" Cassandra argued. "Somebody caught me on a corridor and stabbed my neck with a needle, then I passed out."

"Come on, don't lie to us," Daniela shouted. "You entered my room last night and drugged me."

"And why I would even do this to both of you?"

Realizing what happened, Bela immediately let her go.

"Mother Miranda," she huffed. "She must have shapeshifted into you and attacked us all."

It was time to tell her sisters what she learned from Heisenberg. Miranda had already started to proceed with her plans and it was a matter of time before she attempted to kill them.

"This bitch is going to die!" Cassandra punched the wall. "Nobody pretends to be me and lives."

"This is the least of our problems," Bela said. "She can be anywhere right now, pretending to be someone we trust and ready to kill us all."

"Where's mom?" Daniela asked. "I couldn't find her anywhere."

Lady Dimitrescu was the last person Bela wanted to see. She lied and betrayed her, besides helping Mother Miranda to drug her.

"I don't know, I searched for her everywhere," Cassandra told. "On the bright side, there's fresh breakfast spread all around the castle."

"What do you mean, Cassandra?" Bela wanted to know.

"The servants. They're all dead."

"What about Aleena? Have you seen her?"

"No, I thought she was with you."

Bela transformed into flies and went straight to Aleena's bedroom. It was completely empty. The bed was still made as in the previous night. She went to her own bedroom next. The diary was opened on the bed, right on the pages where her father confirmed what Miranda told her in the office, Aleena was indeed the vessel.

Mrs. Volkov corpse was lying on the corridor and not so far away, there was a trail of blood, Aleena's blood. She froze in place, too terrified to even think.

"It doesn't mean anything," Daniela placed a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe she managed to escape."

"She probably did, that girl is fierce," Cassandra added, noticing how disturbed her older sister looked. "I mean, she's not one of the Lords or a servant. There's no reason for that crazy bitch to murder her."

"There is," Bela sighed deeply. "She's the vessel. Miranda was playing us like puppets. The goblet thing was already intentional, to bring Aleena to the castle where she'd be safe until she prepared the ritual."

"Oh fuck, this is bad."

"I... I'm going to the village. Maybe she's hiding in her house."

----------

Eastern Europe, Village - Present Days

When Bela left, she didn't even bother to check the temperature or to mount one of her horses. She transformed into flies and started to fly to the village as fast as she could. Everything that mattered was finding Aleena. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead. They were going to California together and they'd start a brand new life.

She stopped by her house first. The door was locked and the extra key hidden in a vase at the entrance, just where Aleena placed it before they returned to the castle.

"It doesn't mean she's not here," Bela tried to convince herself. "She must have found another way in, to not make it obvious she's hiding here."

She used the key to open the front door. The house was dark and silent. There weren't any signs of somebody's recent presence. She checked every room, the basement, the secret weapon storage... Aleena definitely wasn't there.

"Maybe she's at the pub or at one of her friends' houses," Bela concluded.

There was no way. She had to do that. She took a deep breath, gathering enough courage to enter the pub. There were only three people in there, a middle aged woman behind the counter, a blonde young male cleaning the tables and a girl, who was strangely similar to Cassandra, chatting to both of them. Bela recognized them from the pictures Aleena showed her. They were Olga, Gustav and Elena.

"Hello," she announced her presence. They all stopped to stare at her, but none of them had freaked out yet. Maybe they hadn't noticed the tattoo.

"How can we help you, darling?" The older woman asked. "Are you a foreigner?"

"I... uhh... I'm looking for Aleena Novak."

"She isn't here," it was the boy who answered this time. He had a lot of anger in his voice. "She was taken to Castle Dimitrescu a few weeks ago. We don't even know if she's still alive."

"She is," Bela told. "I've been taking care of her."

They finally understood. Their expressions all changed to pure terror and panic. The two younger adults hid behind the counter, together with the woman. The male grabbed a shotgun.

"Get the hell out of here!" He ordered. "And if Aleena escaped, don't you even dare to touch her again or I'll kill you. I'll find her and bring her home."

"Trust me, manthing. This is exactly what I'm planning to do. Mother Miranda has kidnapped her. She has been planning to sacrifice her in some kind of sick ritual tonight."

"Liar!" Cassandra's doppelgänger shouted. "Mother Miranda wouldn't do such a thing! She's always guiding and protecting us. Everything she does is for the best of all of us."

"Listen, little one," Bela exhaled deeply. She had no patience for humans. That was the reason why she avoided them. They'd usually annoy her to the point they became her prey. "I have proof. Aleena's father has left this diary, reporting everything."

"That man was insane. Most of the villagers hated him."

"But he never lied," Gustav spoke. "Adrian had some crazy theories nobody ever believed but... I've never seen him lying before. He was a man of his word."

"This is true," Olga added. "We grew up together. He was absolutely nasty, a real bastard, but not a liar. He wouldn't invent such a thing, especially when it came to protecting Aleena."

Olga locked the door and the group reunited in one of the tables, analyzing the notes Adrian Novak left.

"Fuck," Gustav cursed, while trying to speak on his phone. "Auryk must've gone after this contacts. I can't reach him."

"Do you have any ideas of where Aleena could've gone to, if she was trying to hide?" Bela asked.

"Other than our houses and the pub? Well... we had this fort in the woods when we were children. Maybe she's hiding there."

"Show me the way, little man."

But Gustav wasn't the one who was most familiar with the path to Aleena's childhood fort, it was Elena. The young woman followed them, complaining about literally everything and praising Mother Miranda.

"Mother Miranda would never do that!" Elena protested. "I'd trust her with my life."

"I was about your age when she did this to me, without my consent," Bela took off the hat she was wearing, exposing her scar. "And do you think immortality is a blessing? Try spending your life locked inside a castle, without being able to go outside most of the time."

"Why are we even trusting her, Gustav? She feeds on human blood and now we're alone with her in the middle of nowhere."

"If that makes you feel more comfortable, I've already had breakfast. Besides, I prefer drinking men's blood."

"Can we just focus on Aleena?" Gustav scolded both of them. Bela had finally found a man she respected. That boy was completely loyal and protective of her girlfriend, so he deserved some credit. "God knows why Bela is searching for her but... we have the same goal here."

"We're dating," Bela informed them of the latest news. "I love her. For real."

Both of the young humans stared at her in shock.

"It seems like we'll have a lot to catch up when I see Aleena again," the boy shook his head in disbelief. "I thought the vampire thing was just a phase."

They finally found the small wooden fortress in the middle of the woods. It was mostly destroyed, but it still could fit one adult person inside it.

"Aleena!" Gustav called. There was no answer. Still, Aleena was hurt. Maybe she was unconscious.

"Go," Bela poked Elena and ordered. "You're the shortest of us. Check if she's in there."

The girl rolled her eyes, but obeyed, ducking and entering the small fort. But there wasn't even a sign Aleena was there recently.

"Where do we search now?" Elena asked.

"I'll go to the other Lords," Bela told. "Maybe one of them is keeping her for Miranda. Thank you for your help, little humans. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Bela walked away from them. Maybe in another life, they could've been friends. The priority now was to find Aleena. She wondered if the girl went to Heisenberg seeking for protection or if Miranda had captured and taken her to that creepy cave. There wasn't much time to think, she needed to act.

She followed to Heisenberg's factory. As usual the man was swearing and torturing human beings on his basement.

"What brings you here, kid?" He asked. "Did you find the diaries?"

"Yes, but too late unfortunately," she answered. "The information we were searching for: all the women in Aleena's family have some kind of immunity against the creatures and their mutations. They healed after getting bitten by Lycans, Aleena healed when you attacked her... she's the vessel."

"We have to kill her immediately. Before Miranda puts her hands on her. If that happens, we're fucked."

"She already did. She showed up in the castle last night, drugged me and my sisters, killed the servants and now... I can't find Aleena anywhere."

"Girl, you had the opportunity in your hands," he clenched his fists. "If you had killed her, like you freaks do to every single human that steps into that castle, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"Shut up, Heisenberg!" Bela grabbed a piece of metallic scrap from the floor and threw in the man's direction. "I had no idea. Even if I did, she's my girlfriend and I have to save her before she's sacrificed on Miranda's ritual."

"Good luck with that. The crazy bitch is very good hiding things."

And Bela knew that. Next, she went to Moreau's, Miranda's most loyal follower. She didn't reveal any information, she simply tricked him by inventing an excuse, that stupid freak was easy to fool. But Aleena certainly wasn't there either. Using her flies, she checked the entire place. She did the same at Donna's house. While she entertained the woman and her creepy doll having a tea party with them, her flies inspected every corner of her eerie house.

She was about to follow to Miranda's cave when she ran into Cassandra, in the middle of the way.

"What are you doing, Bela?" She asked. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?

"I'm searching for Aleena. She's gotta be somewhere and the last place I must check is the cave."

"Mother is home," her sister announced. "She wants to talk to you."

----------

Castle Dimitrescu, Living Room - Present Days

In Bela's imagination, Lady Dimitrescu would apologize. Admit she had made a huge mistake and promise her they'd find Aleena together. That was who her adoptive mother was, she'd always do anything to make her daughters happy. But at the same time, she was also that same woman from her memory. The selfish Countess who killed three young girls to have them as her adoptive daughters. She killed, violated and turned them into monsters. What kind of mother was that?

The three sisters were sitting on the couch, waiting as their mother brought a tray with tea and some other treats. That would probably be their only food for days, as Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda had killed all the servants.

Lady Dimitrescu sat on an armchair in front of them, looking at Bela mostly.

"I understand you're confused, daughters. But I'll explain everything."

"Where's Aleena?" Bela quickly asked. That was the only thing that mattered. Who cared about Mother Miranda's child who died ages ago? "What have you two done to her?"

"Bela, daughter... I understand you're upset and frustrated. However, Mother Miranda has been searching for the perfect vessel to bring her daughter back to life for many and many years. This vessel happens to be Aleena. It's her fate, her purpose."

Bela eyes were burning in pure rage. How could Alcina be so blind? Even Heisenberg, that scumbag of man, was smarter than her mother was.

"Her fate is to live her own life, to go to California and achieve her dreams. Her fate is to be with me!"

"I apologize for having to get rid of all of our servants," she clearly ignored her daughter's objections. "They wouldn't understand what's to come. Once Eva is back to life, things will change. I'd like to ask you girls to behave and treat her well, like if she's a new sister of yours. We'll be throwing a party to welcome Eva to our family and I'll need your help to organize it."

"Party?!" Bela let out a sarcastic laugh. "Are you naive or only stupid? Miranda is going to kill you before this ritual is even finished! It has been her plan all along."

"Bela!" Lady Dimitrescu's eyes narrowed and she raised her voice. "I'm your mother! You owe me some respect, little lady."

"I don't! Not when you drugged me and let Miranda kidnap my girlfriend. I want to know where she is."

"Daughter..." Alcina grabbed her by the shoulders and lowered her voice. An useless attempt to help her to calm down. "Aleena is gone. She's dead."

The world seemed to stop. As well as the clock. The voices. Everything. Not even Bela's brain was capable of working and processing the words she had just listened. Dead. Aleena was dead. Her Aleena. Her girlfriend. The woman she loved. She stopped breathing. Her stomach ached as much as in the night she was poisoned. She felt she was about to collapse and die again. Her heart was beating in a strange manner. It was out of control. She was out of control.

Bela raised her golden yellow eyes, filled with hateful tears and stared directly into Lady Dimitrescu's eyes.

"You..." she clenched her fists. "You lied to me... You betrayed me..."

"I was willing to let her live, daughter," the woman tried to excuse herself. "Until the last meeting. Mother Miranda told me the truth and asked me to give her the vessel."

"HER NAME WAS ALEENA," using her strength, Bela grabbed the heavy coffee table and threw it across the room, shocking her mother and sisters. "She had a name! She was NOT a vessel."

Very rare were the times Bela actually cried after being turned. She cried when she first woke up in excruciating pain, with that huge wound on the side of her head. She cried later, when she felt lost, without knowing who or what she was. And she was crying now. Without Aleena, she felt lost again. She had nothing left. She no longer wished to live. A life without that girl's contagious joy, optimism and bravery was meaningless.

"Bela..." Lady Dimitrescu tried to touch her, comfort her somehow, but the blonde girl slapped her hand away.

"I always did everything you asked me... I always tried to be the perfect daughter for you... AND FOR WHAT?" Bela sobbed. "The only thing I ever ask you, you denied me. You took Aleena from me. You chose Miranda over your own daughter!"

"I had no choice, daughter! She'd turn against us if I refused to give her Aleena. Who knows what she'd be capable of doing?"

"She's doing it anyways. She's going to kill us all now she's gotten what she wanted."

She started to walk away. She had to be alone. As far away as possible from that woman, from that family, from that stupid castle. That small bed & breakfast at the village seemed like a good option.

"Daughter, wait," Alcina went after her, as she entered her bedroom.

"Don't you ever call me daughter again, Lady Dimitrescu," Bela angered. "I'm not your daughter. You kidnapped, killed me and turned me into a monster. Who knows what you've done to my real parents. We're not your daughters, we're only your toys, your dolls. You're not that different from your sister, Donna, after all."

She slammed the door and locked it. The bedroom was still the same way they left in the previous night. The candles, the flowers, the discs... Aleena's perfume was still on her pillows. Bela threw herself on the bed, holding the pillow against her body as she cried uncontrollably.

This was all her fault. They should've finished reading the diaries earlier and found out the truth before Miranda's visit, but she distracted Aleena, wishing to spend as much time with her as possible before she left to California. She should've been there to protect her, she promised it. She shouldn't have trusted the woman she used to call 'mother'. She was an idiot and now, Aleena was gone. Forever.

----------

Castle Dimitrescu, Guest Room - Present Days

Memories. Only a few days earlier Bela was afraid memories would be everything she'd have left from Aleena and now, it really was. Without anybody noticing, she went to the guest room the girl had been staying during those weeks in the castle. She obviously wasn't there, but traits of her presence were still all around.

Her clothes were still in the closet. Some where lying on the armchair or even around the floor. Bela grabbed one of her t-shirts, one from Aleena's favorite TV show. It still had her perfume on it.

"I miss you, love," she inhaled deeply the sweet fragrance. "So much it's killing me."

Then, she took the sketch book from the desk. Aleena was the most talented artist Bela had ever met. Her sister, Daniela, was a good artist, but she wasn't so creative, so expressive and precise on her traces. Bela had many classes with Lady Dimitrescu, and though she could paint decently, it wasn't her strong suit.

The drawing was still there. The one Aleena where was drawing her face. The reason why they kissed that night in the library, when she said Bela was worth being remembered.

"And now I'm the one who have nothing to remind me of you, Aleena. Remind me of every detail of your perfect green eyes, your smooth brown hair and those sweet freckles all over your body."

Her cell phone was still inside the bedside table's drawer. Bela turned it on. Aleena had set a picture of them together as her lockscreen. She smiled. In the gallery, she found many and many pictures of all the days they spent together, since the lunch Bela threw on her birthday when she arrived.

There were videos too and as soon Bela heard Aleena's voice, she couldn't help but start crying again. Why did her mother betrayed her like that? She could've helped her to save Aleena. She could've helped them to take down Miranda. That was what a real mother was supposed to do!

"Hey," she rolled her eyes, noticing she had forgotten to lock the door again. Cassandra was standing right behind her. "I'm came here to check on you."

"Leave me alone, Cassandra," Bela angered. "You didn't even like her."

"This isn't true. Aleena wasn't my favorite person in the world, not that I have one by the way, but still... I didn't want her to die."

Bela ignored her. Cassandra didn't have maturity enough to understand how she was feeling. Sometimes she wondered if her sister was even able to feel empathy for another being. But then, she was surprised by her next move.

"I'm sorry," her middle sister touched her shoulder slightly, tenderly. "I know she made you happy. Deep down, I was rooting for you both."

She forced a small smile before pulling her sister for an embrace. It was probably the first time they exchanged such a genuine moment of affection.

"We'll make her pay," Cassandra stroked her hair. "Let's kill Bitch Miranda."

The three sisters gathered together in the library. Lady Dimitrescu couldn't be aware of their plans. Daniela revealed her sisters she once heard about a dagger their mother possessed, one that was able to kill any monsters and demons.

"Are you sure about this?" Bela asked to confirm. Daniela had a creative and delusional mind after all.

"Yes," her youngest sister said. "I stole one of her diaries once. She was reporting everything about this dagger, except for its location."

"Then I'll keep her distracted while you search for it," Cassandra suggested. "I'll pretend to help her with her party for Miranda's daughter rebirth."

"What about me?" Bela wanted to know.

"You're not okay, sister. Let us handle this. Save your strength for when we stab the bitch and end her for good."

"As long as you let me do the honors, it's fine by me."

That was it. Bela would pretend to be alright. She would pretend to forgive her mother. And when the time came, she'd get her revenge against Miranda.

But then... there was nothing left for her in this world. With Aleena gone, she lost her only chance of living a new and normal life. She lost the only thing that made her feel happy and human. And if the dagger could kill any monsters and demons, well... it would be able to kill her too.

Still holding Aleena's shirt against her body, Bela lay on the bed and fell asleep, thinking of the moment they'd be reunited again in death. However, she had a terrible nightmare. Aleena was dying in her arms and there was nothing she could do.

She got up and drank some water. It had been hours since Daniela left the room to search for the dagger. She wondered if something had gone wrong. Lady Dimitrescu would never agree with that plan. She was about to leave the bedroom when the red haired girl entered the room so excited she could barely breathe.

"Bela..." she panted, "I found her!"

"The dagger?!" Bela asked. "Where is it?"

"No! Aleena. She's alive in the dungeons!"

----------

Castle Dimitrescu, Dungeons - Present Days

I opened my eyes, but I couldn't see anything. The environment around me was different from everywhere I had been in the last few weeks, the air was humid but still suffocating. It also smelled terribly, like rotting flesh and blood. I tried to stand up but my leg was still badly injured. I wondered how long it'd take for the amulet to heal my body again. Maybe it only worked once. Or maybe it had to do with the fluid Cassandra injected on me before she threw me inside that nasty cell.

Speaking of Bela's sister, I was pissed. Truly pissed. It was no secret she never liked me, but I never thought she'd be able to betray her own sister like that. Telling Bela to go to their mother's office only to bring me to the dungeons was a low blow, even for her. And there was Mrs. Volkov too. I couldn't believe she was dead.

"H-Help... somebody help me..."

I tried to scream but the blood loss and the drug made me too weak. I had to find a way out. A way to regain my forces and escape that place.

It didn't take long for me to lose my conscience again. As much as I attempted to stay awake and hear any signals someone could be around, I just couldn't. I was trapped in that endless cycle of waking up for a few minutes, moan in pain and passing out again. That was it. The Mother Miranda bitch was certainly behind it. When the right moment came, she'd come and take me for the ritual. Drugged as I was, I wouldn't be able to fight it.

"Aleena!" I heard Bela's voice, approaching. Maybe it was just another hallucination. "Oh my god!"

The cell's door opened, allowing some light to enter. I was able to distinguish my girlfriend's beautiful face among all that darkness.

"It's okay, love. You'll be okay, I promise you."

I forced a small smile as she placed my head on her lap. Using a blade, she opened a small gash on her wrist and forced it into my mouth.

"Drink it," Bela ordered. "My blood is going to heal your wounds and the drug effects."

I felt my stomach twisting from the metallic taste of blood going down my throat. I definitely wasn't born to be a vampire. For a second, I thought I was going to throw up.

"Shhhh," she held me still as the nausea struck. "Just breathe. Hold it down and you'll be okay."

I did as she told. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, the nausea was slowly going away. Bela started to caress my face and I felt as some warm tears dropped on my forehead.

"Hey, I'm just a little beaten up," I assured her. "But I'm starting to feel better."

"I... I thought you were dead. My mother told me you were dead."

Why would Lady Dimitrescu do such a thing? Of course, she needed to make sure Bela wouldn't ruin Miranda's plans. She needed to convince her to not search for me.

I was already strong enough to sit. I hugged Bela very very tightly. She was sobbing desperately. Her heart was beating so fast inside her chest, it seemed like it'd explode at any moment.

"I'm so sorry," I kissed her forehead. "I'm here and I'm not leaving you ever again. I promise."

"You're the vessel, Aleena," Bela told me. "Your body is immune to the attacks of any creatures in the village. And now Miranda wants to use you to bring her daughter back to life. She believes your body is going to accept the mutation."

She also told me about my amulet. Miranda was the one to sell it to Auryk. I immediately ripped it off from my neck.

"I knew about being the vessel. I discovered it right after you left the bedroom. My father knew it and Auryk did too, this is why he wanted to get me out of the country so badly."

Bela wasn't listening to me. She was still staring at my face in disbelief, her eyes glistening with tears from the relief of finding out I was still alive. She cupped my face between her hands and pressed her lips on mine multiple times.

"I'm going to fix this," she was still crying. "I promise you. We have a plan to kill Miranda. There's a dagger hidden here in the castle, it can kill any monsters or demons. Daniela is searching for it, while Cassandra is distracting my m-," she hesitated to say that word, "my mother."

"Okay, but Cassandra was the one to kill Mrs. Volkov to capture me. We can't trust her at all!"

Of course. The bitch had more tricks I wasn't even aware of. She could shapeshift. Now I finally knew how my father was probably killed or how Auryk obtained that amulet from her. It was also obvious who attacked the castle that morning, Miranda was willing to test my healing properties again.

"She didn't. Mother Miranda can shapeshift into any person, this is why we need to be careful. We have this safe word, to know we're the actual Dimitrescu sisters. It's 'blowfly'."

I sighed and attempted to break the tension.

"And how do you know I'm the real Aleena?" I smiled.

"Trust me, love. I know," Bela kissed me, slowly and passionate. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be doing this. Imagine how disgusting it would be to kiss that crazy bitch."

We both broke into laughs. Then, she took my hand and helped me to stand up.

"We need to get you out of here. My mother can't know I've found you. Miranda is coming to pick you up at midnight for the ritual."

Through the secret passages we made to the stables, where Bela had already left my bags and a horse prepared to take me to the village.

"Once you get there," she told me. "Just drive as far as you can. Go to the city, find your brother and fly to United States."

And then I realized.

"But Bela... what about you?"

"I'm staying here, love. I'm going to kill Miranda, together with my sisters and Heisenberg."

"And then you'll meet me there, right?!" I raised my voice, fighting hard against the tears that insisted falling down. "You'll go to California."

She was in silence for a moment, trying to find the right words, but I already knew what she wanted to say. First, she handed me my cell phone.

"You said you wanted something to remember. Now you have plenty of pictures of me in this device of yours."

"Bela... what are you saying?"

"Let's be honest, Aleena," she looked down. "It was never a possibility and you knew it. We'd have to stop at the first temperature drop we came across. We probably wouldn't even make it to the airport."

"I said I'm going to find a way! It's Summer, dammit. It's not so cold away from the mountains and once we arrive in California, it'll be even hotter."

"You know your world would never accept me, love. Look at me, I have this nasty scar, this weird tattoo, I need to drink human blood to live..."

"STOP MAKING EXCUSES TO BREAK UP WITH ME! I'LL FIND A WAY! FOR ALL OF THIS. IF THEY CAN'T ACCEPT YOU, THEN FUCK THEM! I LOVE YOU AND IT'S ALL THAT MATTERS."

"I love you too," Bela kissed my forehead. "And this is why I'm letting you go."

"Even if I go, Bela," I argued, punching her shoulder slightly, "it doesn't have to end! I'm going to call you. I'm going to write you. And I'll come here to visit you too."

"In the first few weeks, love. Then, you'll become too busy to write. Our phone calls will become shorter because you'll be too tired. You'll disappear for a few days. We'll start to fade, little by little. And finally someday, you'll meet somebody new. Somebody who can make you laugh and distract you from your tragic past. Somebody who can take you to an actual date. Somebody you can introduce to your family and friends. Somebody who actually deserves you. Who can give you a future with marriage and children. Because she isn't dead. Because she isn't... me."

"I don't want any of this! I want you and only you. This future? We can have it! Here in this fucking castle or in my old small house. I don't care if I have to serve tables for the rest of my life, as long as I have you."

"You deserve a lot more than that."

"And so do you. What are you going to do, huh? To keep playing house with the woman who killed and turned you into a vampire? Serving her every wish and pretending you love this life? Or sleep with a different servant every week to hide the fact you're completely lonely and miserable?"

"Yes, Aleena. It has been this way for six decades now and it's not going to change. I have no choice, I'm sorry."

She vanished into a swarm of flies and disappeared, leaving me completely alone in the stables. I fell on my knees again, sobbing and screaming my lungs out.

"Bela, come back here!" I cried. "I love you! Please... come back..."

I still waited for a few minutes, but as I knew and as Mrs. Volkov always warned me, when Bela made a decision nothing would change her mind. Not even her mother or her sisters. Not even me.

----------

Castle Dimitrescu, Bela's Room - Present Days

"I'm hungry," Cassandra complained from the couch. "Pretty please... I'm helping you with the secret mission. A scrambled egg is enough."

"Tell Lady Dimitrescu to cook," Bela remained unmoved on her bed, staring at the ceiling while wearing Aleena's jacket. The one she borrowed her when the castle was attacked. It was the only memory she'd have from the woman she loved. "She was the one to kill all the servants."

Bela was listening to an old love song from the 60's. It was the one thing she was actually capable of doing in that moment. She couldn't even manage to create different scenarios about how she could kill Miranda inside her mind, or even wander around the castle searching for the cursed knife.

She knew Aleena had safely arrived in her house at the village. She sent one of her flies to follow her and observe her for how long it was possible. The girl was completely devastated, heartbroken and it killed her to see that. She could she glimpses of the moments where she sobbed while packing her bags and taking them to her old truck. But it was the best for both of them. She'd never be safe by Bela's side. Especially while Miranda was still around.

"This music is making me nauseous," Cassandra went to the disc player and turned it off. "You should've gone with her then."

"It was the safest for her. Mother would come after me immediately and take her back to Miranda's claws."

The brunette sister went to her own bedroom and returned with a book in hands, what surprised Bela because Cassandra wasn't much of a reader.

"Check this out. I asked the Duke to get you the sequel," and she started to read, adopting the same dramatic tone as usual. "As much as I struggled not to think of him, I did not struggle to forget. I worried — late in the night, when the exhaustion of sleep deprivation broke down my defenses — that it was all slipping away. That my mind was a sieve, and I would someday not be able to remember the precise color of his eyes, the feel of his cool skin, or the texture of his voice. I could not think of them, but I must remember them. Because there was just one thing that I had to believe to be able to live — I had to know that he existed. That was all. Everything else I could endure. So long as he existed."

"Ha ha, very funny," Bela rolled her eyes. Deep down she absorbed those words. She feared someday she'd forget all those small details about Aleena too, but knowing she existed someday, and that she loved her back, was enough for her to be able to live for the rest of her immortal days. "Next time, get us something useful. Like that fucking dagger."

The door opened and Daniela walked inside, pushing a food cart.

"I brought us dinner," she announced.

"Did you kidnap a villager to cook for us?" Cassandra asked, immediately grabbing a plate.

"Of course not! I cooked it myself. If Bela can do it, I can too."

The two eldest sisters exchanged a suspicious glance, before deciding they were not so hungry after all.

"And here is the main dish..." Daniela said, lifting the lid and revealing the content inside the silver pan. "A poisonous dagger."

"You did it!" Bela exclaimed, surprised and proud.

"Yes! Let's chop that bitch to pieces."

Daniela hugged her eldest sister again. It was happening too often lately, for Bela's discomfort. But this time, she accepted the hug.

"Where's mom?" Cassandra interrupted the moment. "I haven't heard from her since I left her alone in her bedroom."

The castle was way too quiet. It wasn't the first time the servants had to be gotten rid of and they were completely by themselves. Or maybe sometimes, Lady Dimitrescu would lock herself in the Opera House to play the piano or even read a book alone in her bedroom, but that wasn't the case this time. That was a different kind of silence. A silence that indicated danger, a threat.

"Mother?!" Cassandra called, followed by her two sisters. "Where are you?"

There was no answer. They were about to reach the library when the power went out, as well as the heating system. A wave of panic instantly spread over Bela's body. She feared the cold, more than anything.

"What the hell?!" Daniela yelled. "Who's there? I'm starving and angry, so don't mess with me!"

"Shhhh," Bela silenced her. She had a feeling, a hunch about who could it be. As they approached the office, her suspicions were confirmed by the argument coming from inside the room.

"Where is she, Alcina?!" They heard Miranda yelling. "You promised me to keep her safe!"

"Mother, I swear... she was in the dungeons! There was no way she could escape. The drug was supposed to keep her down until now."

"Your daughters... they must've helped her to escape. Decades trying to find the perfect vessel and they ruined it all. They'll deal with the consequences!"

"Mother, no! Don't hurt them, I'm begging you."

In that moment, the sisters witnessed as a powerful flock of birds started to fly around the caste, shattering all the windows. As the cold air of the night in the mountains filled the entire place, the three sisters knew their ending was imminent.

----------

Eastern Europe, Aleena's House - Present Days

The tears blurred my vision as I followed my way back to the village. Sometimes, I'd stop for a minute, hoping Bela would change her mind and come after me. Why would she assume I was safer without her? If there was someone who could protect me, that was she.

As soon as I arrived, I went straight to the garage, getting my old truck to come back to life. Then, I followed to my bedroom to pack my bags. There wasn't much I actually needed to take, mostly my clothes, my laptop and a few other important belongings. I didn't plan to sell the house anyways. I could come back and take the rest later, if I had to.

My books. I would definitely take at least my favorites. Most of them were gifts from my mom. I couldn't leave those precious treasures behind. As I grabbed one of them to place it inside of my luggage, a small piece of paper fell on the floor:

'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. Love alters not with time's brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom'.

I recognized it. It was an excerpt of William Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. Bela should've left it there when she was alone in my bedroom. In the end, she wrote: 'Please, think of me sometimes. I love you, forever'.

Of course I would. There was no way I'd ever stop loving that girl, or even forgetting about her at all. I could never forget about the girl who threw me the sweetest birthday party or made me the best pancakes in the world. And especially, the first girl I ever loved. I pressed the note against my chest, letting out a few tears. I placed it among my belongings, those I was going to take with me to California.

I heard the front door opening and I immediately grabbed my rifle and my blades too. Something had to at least cause some harm to that bitch. I was slowly going down the stairs in an attack position, when I heard a voice.

"Leena? Are you home?" That was my twin brother, Auryk. "I'm back."

"Auryk," I finally revealed myself. My first impulse was running to his arms, before I remembered all the lies and the betrayal. "You knew it. You fucking knew it and you hid it from me!"

"I'm sorry, okay? I was trying to keep you safe from Miranda. I planned to get you out of here before it all came to surface, but that bitch was already one step ahead."

"We have to go, right now. She's coming after me. I just escaped Castle Dimitrescu."

"Leena, no..." he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought I was clear when I asked you to stay in the castle until I returned."

"Auryk, she drugged me and locked me in the dungeons!" I yelled. "She was going to sacrifice me in a sick ritual tonight. Which part haven't you understand yet?"

"This was the plan, Aleena. When she was vulnerable, during the ritual, the agency would take the opportunity to explode this place and all these freaks."

"WHAT?! What about the village... and the people, their houses? What about ME?! What if I got killed in this process?"

"They're going to evacuate the village in a couple of hours," he explained. "And then, they'll help them to rebuild their lives or something... I don't know for sure. But they would protect us."

"Stop them!" I ordered. I couldn't let them hurt Bela or her sisters. Or even put the villagers in danger. Some of them, such as Olga, Elena and her father would never abandon that place and its traditions. "Right now! You're not going to hurt them. You won't!"

"Aleena, what the fuck? They're monsters! They're going to kill you!"

And then, I did the first thing that came to my mind. It was stupid, unplanned and completely reckless. I knocked my brother's head with the rifle. As soon as he fell unconscious on the floor, I tied him up and locked him inside Adrian's secret storage.

"I'm sorry, Auryk. But I must save my girlfriend."

[rmtndew]

Begin Again

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff) 

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

I also made a Spotify playlist for this story, if anyone is interested - Begin Again Playlist 

 Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @alyxkbrl, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0​, @gearhead66,  @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents,  @xxxkatxo

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

The last Wednesday in October was a gray, misty, windy day. It was cold, the kind you felt more in your bones than anywhere else, with the sky occasionally spitting out sleet. I spent the entire twenty-minute drive to my job at Waverly Catering clutching the steering wheel so tightly that my hands were cramping by the time I arrived from white-knuckling it the whole way there. Usually, I would get to work early enough to enjoy the silence and finish off my coffee before officially starting my workday. That day, however, I spent the very little extra time I had trying to get my hands to stop hurting, then chugged down my coffee that had cooled dramatically to a gross lukewarm temperature. 

Before going in, I checked my phone. I always kept it on silent while I drove. My mom had a tendency to text me, make a dozen spelling mistakes because of auto-correct, then correct them one by one, leaving me with about thirteen separate texts to read. It didn’t use to bother me, I thought it was charming and very distinctly Mom. But when she’d gotten sick at the beginning of the year, every text she sent that I couldn’t read immediately made me panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to her, even when I’d just seen her at home a few minutes before. So for my sanity - and hers - I started putting my phone on silent until I got to work, or wherever else I was going. It was a habit I’d kept even after she’d gone into remission because her cancer may have been gone, but my anxiety over her wasn’t. 

That morning when I checked my phone, I saw that I had two texts, but they weren’t from Mom. 

Marshall:  Good morning, Fi. I hope that I get to see you today. I’ll be chained to  my desk with paperwork for a while. This is the first time I’ve not dreaded it. You’re my silver lining.

That was cheesy. I’m sorry. I’m bad at this.

And just like that, all of my stress melted away. The weather didn’t matter, my disappointing coffee didn’t matter, even the cramping in my hands didn’t matter. All that did matter was that Walter Marshall thought of me as his silver lining. Yes it was early days, yes we’d barely known each other a month, yes we’d only gone on two dates, but he made me happier than I’d been in a long time. I felt like I’d been holding my breath for two years, starting when my dad had died in a car crash, followed by my boyfriend Ezra breaking up with me, then losing my job as an interior designer, and capping off with my mom’s cancer diagnoses. Then Walter came along and it was like I could finally breathe again. 

Me:  Please don’t apologize. You have no idea how much I needed to read that this morning. Feel free to be as  cheesy as you want. And I hope I get to see you today, too, even if it  means you’re chained to your desk.

Marshall:  If I don’t see you for some reason,  can I call you tonight? I miss your  voice and you make me want to get better at this talking thing. 

I could feel myself blushing. Even over the phone he made me feel like a teenager with a crush. I had no idea that anyone could make me feel that way as an adult, but he did every time he texted me. 

Me:  Of course you can. Even if we do see  each other, you can still call, if you want? Practice makes perfect, and all that.

Marshall: I’d like that. Talk to you soon.

I sat back in my seat with a sigh as I looked out at the sleet falling from the gray sky, spattering my windshield, blurring out the image of the trees in the park across from me blowing and bending in the wind. 

It was going to be a good day. 

“You look...dare I say it? Happy?” Darcy said as I walked into her office.

I smiled. “You may dare to say it because yes, I am quite happy.”

“And what brings you to such an extreme emotion so early on such a disgusting day?”

I went to her desk and sat in the chair opposite her. “Well, for one, I know that you’re about to do me a big favor that I will forever be grateful for.”

“Fiona Sparks asking for a favor? I’ll mark the day in my calendar,” she joked. “What kind of favor do you need?”

“I need a copy of the peanut butter cookie recipe.”

“For what purpose?” 

“See, that’s where the happiness part comes into play and you, being one of my dearest friends, would love to see me happy.” 

“I would but I’m unsure how a cookie recipe is going to do that.”

“It’s not for me,” I said, smiling wide. “I met this guy -” 

“What? Who?” she asked enthusiastically, her eyes wide with excitement.

“His name is Walter Marshall. He’s our detective who never changes his lunch order.”

“You’re dating one of the homicide detectives? You can feel free to thank me later for giving you that order, by the way. But right now I want details: How long have you been dating and why am I just now finding out about it?”

“We’re not technically dating. I met him a few weeks ago for the first time and we went on two dates last week.” 

“You haven’t dated anyone in over two years, and then you go on two dates in one week?”

“Well, the first was just a coffee date. Saturday we tried having a proper one.” 

“Tried?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. 

“He wanted to take me to dinner, so we went to an Italian place, but before we could order, his daughter called. She was supposed to be at a Halloween party, but some of her friends had lied to her, I guess, and it ended up being a basement party with slightly older boys and she felt uncomfortable, so we went and picked her up. Then we all went for pizza together.”

“He has a daughter, which is some heavy baggage to begin with, but you met her on your second date? That’s a lot, Fiona.” 

“I know it seems like it, but it’s really not. She’s a good kid. And he’s an amazing father, which, oddly, just makes him more attractive,” I said. “But that’s not the point. The point is that his daughter was, understandably, a little iffy about me being with him when he picked her up until she found out that I’m the one who brings the cookies. She apparently loves them and I told her that I might be able to get her a copy of the recipe and that seemed to pave the way for her not hating me instantly. And she’s thirteen, so that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I have so many questions right now but I can’t sort them all out so I’m going to be annoying you with them all day, just be prepared for that. All I want to know right now is if you want the recipe laminated or not?” 

I let out a relieved breath. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind. And thank you so much, Darcy. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I do know. You never ask for anything, even simple things, so the fact that you’re willing to ask me for a favor means this is a pretty big deal,” she said. “He must be a good guy.”

I nodded. “He really is.” 

I arrived at the police station that morning a little before eleven. I’d left the shop early, worried the weather might get bad again and didn’t want to be late for my delivery. Thankfully the sleeting had stopped, allowing me to get there a few minutes early. A few minutes that I used up trying to pull my dolly through the parking lot. The lot had been salted, which was good in that at least it wasn’t icy, but the wheels on my dolly didn’t seem to like the brine mixture. They kept locking up on me. Between that and having to fight against the roaring wind, it took me an embarrassingly long time to reach the station door. Before I could push it open, someone opened it from the inside for me. I looked up, expecting to see Officer Bates. He was the security officer that was posted downstairs and always went through the containers full of lunches that I brought to the homicide unit every week. Instead, I saw Marshall.

“Hello,” he said with a smile. 

I immediately felt like giggling. The last time I’d seen him, we’d kissed. And seeing him right then, seeing his beautiful, handsome face, I wanted so badly to kiss him again. Instead, I felt myself grow shy as I blushed so fiercely that my cheeks stung with the new heat that rushed to them. 

“Hi,” I said. He pulled the door open all the way, then stepped back, allowing me to walk in. My stomach fluttered as I looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He closed the door behind me. “May I help you with your cart?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Would you let me help you take it back to your car when you leave, at least?”

I fought every instinct inside of me that insisted I say no. Darcy was right: I hated asking for even simple things. I never wanted to burden anyone. But since I’d met Marshall, I’d learned that his way of showing interest or affection was to do things for me. But he always asked first, wanting my permission. It challenged me, but in a good way. I didn’t need to always go it alone if I didn’t have to. 

“Um, yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” I said. “The wheels didn’t seem to agree with the salted parking lot. You could probably pull it a lot easier than me.” 

Marshall stayed with me as Officer Bates went through the containers I’d brought in. He wasn’t close enough to make anyone passing by question it, but it was close enough that my hand hanging at my side could feel the heat coming from his hand and forearm, that was visible from the blue henley that was pushed up to his elbows in a way that I found incredibly attractive. My fingers itched to seek out his, but I fought it. Keeping them obediently beside me. Once Officer Bates was done and gave me the all clear to take the food up, Walter walked me to the elevator and pressed the button to call it down. Then he held the door back, letting me in first before following me. After the door slid closed, he fell back half a step, putting him right beside me. His hand bumped mine, his fingers snaking through, gently holding mine. I smiled, knowing I wasn’t the only one itching for contact. 

I turned without a thought and placed a kiss on his shoulder. Then I paused, a moment of panic rising in me that maybe we weren’t at that level yet. But before I could move or feel too worried, he placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“I keep thinking about Saturday,” he whispered. 

“Me, too,” I said. I looked up at him. “It was...pretty amazing.”

He smiled. I could see his sharp canine teeth. They were oddly charming. “Yes, it was.” He laced his fingers with mine more securely, properly holding it. “I know I mentioned calling you tonight, but I hoped that we might have dinner again instead. If you’re not busy?”

“I’m exceptionally not busy tonight.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before turning his head back to face the elevator door. “I won’t be able to finish all my paperwork today, there’s too much and it keeps multiplying like rabbits, so since I have to do it tomorrow anyway, I’m going to knock off here around five. Could I pick you up after that? Around five-thirty, perhaps?” 

I nodded, smiling. “That sounds great.”

The elevator dinged as we reached the homicide unit floor. He gave my hand a couple of gentle squeezes before letting it go as the door slid open. He stepped out, then held the door for me like he had before, letting me pull my cart out. He walked with me almost all the way to the break room before a shorter man with glasses stopped him. 

“Lieutenant Marshall, can I speak with you in your office for a moment?” he asked. 

“Of course.” Walter touched my shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said to me quietly before leaving for his office. 

I continued on and was met by most of the detectives waiting for me. Like usual, they didn’t talk to me much, just thanking me for the food before taking their box and going. I took my time, hoping that by the time that I was done, the man speaking with Walter would be gone before I brought him his lunch. When I was done, I packed up my cart before taking Marshall’s boxed lunch and walked down the hall, finding the door to his office open. I could hear him talking still and wasn’t sure what to do. I’d made a deal with him a few weeks back to always bring his lunch to his office whenever I delivered - the first time was because a uniformed officer looked like he was going to swipe it, after that, it was to thank him for rescuing me from a pushy creep while I was with my ‘friends’. We’d never discussed if I should interrupt while he was working. I chewed my lip, debating what to do for several seconds before deciding to just take a chance and knock on the door frame. The worst case scenario was that I looked like a very dedicated delivery woman making sure that all of my orders reached their proper owners. 

“Yep. Come in,” Walter called out in response to my knocking.

I entered his office only far enough to be seen and not a step further. I didn’t know if Marshall wanted people to know about us, so I was prepared to make a quick exit if I needed to. “I have a delivery for Detective Marshall,” I said. 

He looked at me and smiled, then waved me in further. “Harper, this is Fiona Sparks. Fiona, this is Commissioner Harper.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I said. 

“You, too.” He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “You don’t happen to be related to Rodger Sparks, by any chance?” 

I felt speechless for a moment. I hadn’t heard anyone other than Mom say Dad’s name in months. Finally, I forced myself to nod. “Yes. He was my dad. How - how did you know?” 

“We went to college together. You’re the spitting image of him,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about him passing away. I lost my wife around two years ago as well. A brain aneurysm.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t get any easier.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

He looked at me for a moment longer, then back to Marshall, who was standing patiently with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked back at me briefly before taking the folder he was holding and tapped it against Marshall’s shoulder. “You know what? This can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring it by in the morning.” He left Walter and stopped beside me before leaving the office. “I’m very sorry about your father. Rodger was a horrible sport when he lost at cards, but other than that, he was a great guy. And probably the smartest man I ever met.”

I smiled slightly. “He was a horrible sport at cards.” 

He smiled back. “The worst.” He gave me a wink. “It was a pleasure seeing you.” 

“You, too.”

When he left, he closed the door behind him. I looked at Marshall as he walked towards me. “Did I interrupt something important?” I asked. 

“No. He was just asking about a cold case.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come in since he was here. Next time, if you’re talking to someone, would you rather I left your lunch in the break room?”

He stopped in front of me. He was so close. He smelled like coffee and Old Spice. I swallowed thickly, trying to meet his gaze as he looked down at me. He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. I’d still like you to bring it to me, please. If that’s alright?” 

“Yeah, of course. I just don’t want to get in the way of your job.”

“You won’t,” he said. “But I’ve let my job get in the way of other things for too long, so maybe it’s time someone got in the way of it for a bit.” 

“You have an important job, though. If you were a boat salesman, I might feel a little differently about disrupting your work.” 

His smile grew as he tilted his head at me. “A boat salesman?” 

“I mean a job where it wouldn’t really matter all that much if you were distracted every once in a while. If someone doesn’t sell a boat, it’s not that big of a deal. But if you don’t solve a murder case...that has very real repercussions. I wouldn’t want to be a reason for something slipping by in a case.” 

He put his hand on my cheek, directing my eyes back to his. “That won’t happen,” he said. “I take my job seriously. That’s never been a problem for me. My problem has always been figuring out how to balance it with the rest of my life, which I never could, and I neglected a lot of people because of it. Especially Faye.” He shook his head. “I’m still not good at it. But I had a case back in the winter that...put Faye’s safety in jeopardy, among other things, and it made me realize that I need to put more of an effort in my life outside of this job. Despite how hard that is for me.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You motivate me to slow down a bit. And that’s a good thing.”

I took my free hand and placed it over his, then turned my face slightly and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “I would be happy to slow down with you,” I whispered. 

Marshall had a smile that somehow showed in his eyes more than his mouth, and that’s how he was looking at me right then. “I’d like that.” 

A knock on the door startled me. I took a step back, his hand falling from my cheek. He then ran it over his face, almost like he was trying to scrub the irritation of being interrupted off it. Then he folded his arms across his chest before calling out for whoever it was to come in.

The door opened and a man stepped up to the doorway. He was wearing plain clothes like Walter, so I assumed he was a detective, too. He all but ignored me as he and Walter spoke. Half of what they said was in a jargon I didn’t understand, so I just stood there, head down, waiting. After a few minutes, the guy left, only halfway closing the door as he did. When Marshall finally turned back to me, I could see that he was frustrated. I knew he wouldn’t admit it, but me being at his work right then was only going to cause more irritation with every interruption we had. 

“As much as I hate it, I should probably get back to the shop. We have a big order going out tomorrow, so there’s quite a lot to do today to prepare for it,” I said. “Plus, I have a date with a very handsome detective tonight that I want to get ready for.”

The frustration on his face seemed to melt away as he looked at me with a smirk. “Is it anyone I know?”

“Possibly. He does work in your unit.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, if I see him around, I might have to have a talk with him.”

“And what would you say?” 

“I’d tell him that he better be good to you because you deserve to be treated well.” 

My stomach fluttered. “You can rest assured that he treats me very well. Better than any man ever has.”

“All those other men were idiots.”

I smiled. “Maybe so.” 

He shook his head. “Definitely so.” He reached out and took his lunch from my hand, then turned and placed it on a filing cabinet behind him. “Will you let me help you to your car now?” 

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

He put on his coat and followed me to the break room. He pulled my dolly for me, moving it like it was as light as a child’s toy. Even when we made it to the parking lot, he didn’t seem to have any issue with the wheels fighting against him. Then he picked it up and placed it in my trunk with ease, despite how I very often fought to get it back in. I thought about telling him that he was welcome to help me anytime he wanted, but I was afraid it wouldn’t come across as a joke and he would feel obligated to actually help. 

“Thank you. You made my morning a lot easier,” I said after I closed the trunk. I looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you around five-thirty?”

He nodded. “I’ll call you when I leave here, but yeah, I should be there by then,” he said. “And I promise it’ll only be the two of us and no cheap pizza.” 

“To be honest, I quite liked the pizza. It didn’t taste cheap. And I really, truly didn’t mind Faye joining us, but it'll be nice to have dinner with just you tonight,” I said. “But that reminds me - I put a copy of our cookie recipe for Faye in your lunch box.” 

He smiled. “Thank you. She’ll be very excited about that.”

“You’re welcome. And let her know if she has any issues with it, she can call or text me.” 

The crease between his eyebrows appeared as he looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I’ve made them enough times over the last year and a half to make every mistake you can with them. If she has a problem, I can probably diagnose it over the phone.” 

“You don’t mind her having your number?”

I felt my facial expressions mirroring his, but from confusion. “Of course I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay with it,” I said. “Unless you think your ex-wife would mind? I don’t want to step on her toes or anything.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think Angie would mind for that purpose, and I don’t have a problem with it. But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t but I’ll leave it up to you. If you’d feel more comfortable being the middleman you can always call me for her.” I gave him a big smile. “And I can help you practice the whole talking thing. Then it’s a two birds with one stone kind of deal.” 

He smiled back, nodding his head. “And if she doesn’t need help?” 

“You can still call.” I shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to have a reason for calling. If I’m not at work, I’m usually pretty free. I may be cooking, or watching ‘The Golden Girls’ with Mom, but that’s about it,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re courting quite a socially boring person.”

He laughed. “I’m not sure if you’ve caught on, but I’m not exactly a sociable person, either,” he said. “So perhaps we make a good fit for each other.”

“Perhaps so,” I agreed. “We can be selectively social together.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

I let out a sigh and watched my breath turn to steam in front of me. “I better let you get back to your paperwork and I need to go help Darcy at the store. We have over fifty loaves of bread to bake before the end of the day, so depending on when I get home, you may have to deal with your date smelling like freshly baked bread.” 

He squinted slightly. “I’m not really opposed to that,” he joked with a smile that showed off the sharp ends of his canine teeth. 

I laughed. “Good to know.” 

He gave me a short hug, kissing my cheek as he pulled back. “I’ll see you this evening.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.

[americas-golden-boy]

Operation Merry and Bright

Summary: Sam Wilson is many things.

Highly trained former United States Air Force pararescue airman, Avenger, and above all else:

Expert matchmaker.

AKA the power of Christmas traditions bringing together Bucky and the girl from down the hall.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Word Count:  2,161

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Bucky.  It’s uh...” he trailed off, pushing a hand through his hair before dropping it to rest on his hip, head hanging slightly as if it’ll hide the wave of embarrassment that he’s feeling from the A.I., “It’s November, right?”

“Yes, sir.  It is November 13, 2017, your name is James Buchanan Barnes, you were born on March 10, 1917, you are in the Avengers Tower—“

“I’m okay, F.R.I.D.A.Y., thank you,” he cut her off, the corners of his lips curling at her reassurance.

Even with the trigger words safely removed from his consciousness along with the rest of HYDRA’s programming, it was still a long road to recovery dealing with the aftermath of his time as the Winter Soldier.  Nightmares were a regular occurrence, his training was always pushing at the back of his mind, and on rare occasions his memories would lapse, leaving him confused and disoriented.

At times like these, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s programmed response to his mounting distress, if he was alone, was to recite facts, beginning with grounding him in the present and becoming more detailed as she progressed.  The last time he had snapped back into his mind was to her reciting a recipe for plum cobbler, something he had built up the courage to ask her for in preparation for the team dinner around Thanksgiving.

He found it almost sweet that on more than one occasion, such as just now, she did it even when he spoke to her directly, despite the realistic probability that he would recognize her in that state being close to zero.

Even for an A.I., she had enough sass and sarcastic wit to stand on par with her creator, and she still met every random question and whim he had with seemingly unlimited amounts of patience and understanding.  

Which, he supposed, she could really have.

He hadn’t forgotten the date, though.  Or at least he was relatively sure he hadn’t.  He figured it couldn’t hurt to check, but with that simple piece of information, he just found himself terribly, incredibly confused.

Because hanging from the ceiling, right in the middle of the hallway leading from the common area to his suite, was a mistletoe bunch.

Even with Stark’s eccentric party planning at every opportunity, not a single Christmas decoration had made its way to the residential floors yet.  Not on any of the floors, probably, but he hadn’t made any recent visits to the S.I. or R&D sections of the building, both out of a lack of necessity and a personal mission to avoid social interaction when at all possible.

As he shifts his weight to his other leg, arms coming to cross over his chest with a soft huff, he sifts through his recent memories, trying to determine the most likely culprits with a motive to hang up the offending piece of greenery.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, where did they find this thing?” He questions aloud, thankful that no one else is around to see how ridiculous the whole situation is, even before he started talking to empty space, and even more so that F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t answer his rhetorical question.

I should take this down, she's in this hall too, it might make her uncomfortable, he thinks idly, moving under the bundle to inspect how it was suspended from the ceiling, muscles stiffening as soon as he fully processes the thought.

Could it be for you?  There’s really no evidence that it’s for him at all when he thinks about it objectively, and he really wouldn’t put it past a few of the other people on the team to hang it up as an excuse to see you flustered, or some setup to an elaborate prank, something he knew you’d been victim to more than once.

Almost all of which were headed by the same person.

“Fucking Wilson,” he grumbles under his breath, spinning on his heel to head to the training room and confront the man in question, before promptly rocking back on his other foot to prevent himself from knocking straight into you.

“Sorry!” You squeaked in surprise at the sudden movement and proximity, hand shooting out to grab his arm in an attempt to steady him if he needed it.

He didn’t, but he wobbled a bit longer than necessary to enjoy the feeling of your hand on the plates of his arm.

While Stark and Banner had made some improvements to the limb that HYDRA gave him until a new, upgraded prosthetic could be completed, he was still limited to the basic sensations of pressure and temperature along the surface.  

It made his heart swell every time you touched his left arm, knowing that you weren’t afraid of it and embraced it as just another part of him.  Despite this, he really wished you had grabbed his right, just so he could enjoy the contact of your skin on his.

“That was my fault, I should have heard you coming,” he managed to get out, the slight lift of your brows and the hint of blush spreading across your cheeks equal parts humorous and sweet, as your wide eyes flitted across his form to make sure he was securely planted before slowly releasing your grip.

Would it be too obvious if I just tipped forward?

“Didn’t know I had what it takes to sneak up on a super-soldier.  What did Sam do?” You questioned, slipping back into your easy banter with a small smile.

“Oh, right. I’m actually not sure if it was him yet but um...” he trailed off, foregoing completing his statement in favor of simply pointing above them.

She quirked a brow at him before tilting her head back and shifting her gaze to the ceiling.  

If her expression before had been humorous, this one was simply priceless.  

The blush erupted with renewed force across her cheeks with all the grace of paint splashed across a canvas, lips parting at the sudden drop of her jaw, eyes blinking owlishly before they shifted to focus on him again.

This time he couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter that came out of him, smacking his left hand over his mouth, the slight sting of the impact a punishment for possibly offending her.

“Is that...mistletoe?” She asked slowly, looking back and forth between him and the bundle.

“Yes.”

“In November?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you think Sam put it there because...?” She trailed off.

“Well, uh, this hallway is just you, me, and him.  I highly doubt it was put there because of me, and he pranks you all the time.  He just seemed like a logical option,” he explains lamely, realizing how weak his logic is when forced to voice it out loud.

“That makes sense, and it probably was Sam, but it’s uh—“ she starts, peering over her shoulder at the end of the hallway— “it’s not for the reason you think,” she finishes, her voice lowering a bit as she fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist, a habit he noticed she had a tendency to do when she was nervous.

“Okay, well, what do you think is the reason he has to hang it up?” He decides on asking, the direct approach seeming like the quickest and most effective way to find answers to the question literally hanging above his head.

“He— Well we—“ she attempts to answer, eyes darting to look anywhere but his face, “We were talking about the holidays a few days ago, right?  And I really love Christmas, it’s probably my favorite holiday.  So we were exchanging stories, things we like about the season.  At some point I, um, I mentioned that I had never been kissed under the mistletoe, and that it was on my bucket list.  He’s the only person that knows that, I think, so, yeah.  It’s probably because of me.”

By the end of her rant the words are coming out in a rush, and she finally manages to meet his eyes again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, the soft jingle of her charm bracelet drifting in the space between them.

His brain stops functioning.

Not really, he knows what that feels like, but it’s his turn to look dumbly between her and the bunch as he processes her confession.

It’s probably the most endearing thing he’s ever heard her say, and the warm feeling blooming in his chest creeps up the back of his neck in a way that is in no way unpleasant.

What she told him was also in no way an invitation, and he doesn’t even think he’s worthy of taking away an opportunity like that from her, but it doesn’t stop the image of her body pressed against his from pushing to the front of his mind, and the tingle in his neck turns into a burning electric current, shooting straight down his spine to rest in a roiling boil in his belly.

He realizes he’s still staring at her.

“Bucky?” She asks quietly, looking like she wants to melt right through the floor and he could kick himself for putting that doubt in her head.

“Yes, yeah, right.  I would say that’s sweet of him but uh, I doubt he did it with pure intentions.”

She huffs out a laugh and he feels a bit better for relieving at least a bit of her tension.

“Yeah, well, he’s probably making fun of me for being one of the only people that hasn’t done it.  He thinks it’s mostly for kids,” she concedes with another self-deprecating laugh.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he reassures her quickly, stepping closer to place a hand on her upper arm, startling himself with his own sudden movement, smile growing when she relaxes into the contact, “I haven’t either,” he adds on.

Her head snaps up to look at him so fast that he’s momentarily concerned about her neck.

“Really?” She asks incredulously, searching his face like she’ll be able to spot the lie.

“As far as I can remember.  I always spent the Christmas season with Steve and his Ma or my sisters, eating more popcorn than stringing it,” he confirms, chuckling at the memory.

“I thought you were a player in your day,” she teases, gently pulling her lip between her teeth as she grins at him.

“I might’a been,” he concedes, deciding to take the risk and trail his hand down her arm to grab her own, carefully holding it and checking her expression for any sign of discomfort, “but I spent the most wonderful time of the year with the most important people in my life, and if I had a girl I think I really would’a enjoyed the sweet and simple things.”

The smile she gave him nearly took his breath away.  It crinkled the corner of her eyes and shone brightly enough to compete with the star on the top of the Rockefeller Tree.

And in that moment it was just for him.

She slowly reaches up with her free hand and brushes the loose hair behind his ear, palm resting on his cheek with a tender swipe of her thumb.

“Bucky?”

“Mm?” He hums lightly, almost scared to break the moment as he leans into her touch.

“It’s a bit early but, will you kiss me under the mistletoe?”

The warmth in his chest explodes with the strength of a supernova, pulsing heat licking across every inch of him so hot he’s worried he’ll burn her where they’re connected.

He brings her hand to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss on her knuckles before guiding it to caress his other cheek, resting his own hands on her waist and the small of her back, closing the last bit of space between them with a gentle tug.

“Nothing would make me happier, doll.”

He watches the way her eyes flutter shut, wanting to memorize every second of this moment before letting his own close.

There is no rush, the press of their lips is languid and soft and even better than he could have ever hoped for.  It’s not a kiss of desire, the embrace isn’t hurried and needy, it’s an acknowledgment and acceptance between them and says all of the words they haven’t gotten a chance to express yet.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when they pull apart, but it feels like no time at all and he already wants to sweep her away and continue for as long as she’ll indulge him.

With one last peck on her lips, he presses his forehead to hers, maintaining the contact that he had been yearning for so long.

“We might need to get Sam a fruit basket or something,” she says.

“Maybe. But he can wait till Christmas.”

[weaselle]

Sims 4 Build

OK. So. I started a new play through a while back and I wanted my sims to go out to eat and if you aren’t familiar with the Sims there are only bar/lounges and of course that ridiculous place in the faux Hollywood world. So I went to the Gallery and downloaded a couple of restaurants and...

Because I have worked for 25 years in the F&B service industry, I immediately became salty about a number of things.

And that’s why I built this restaurant, full of all the things people leave out of their restaurant builds.

See, it’s not a house. Stop building house shaped restaurants. And, nobody includes parking lots, but since I did, I made sure the handicap spots are the two closest to an entrance and have a loading zone adjacent.

I’m detail oriented in my sims builds.

If you’ve worked in restaurants, you’ll identify with all the commonalities I’ve found missing in most gallery builds that I’ve applied to this restaurant, even if you don’t play Sims.

If you haven’t worked in restaurants but you do build them in Sims 4, you could view this as a tutorial

FOH - The Floor

First of all, idk what people are looking at when they go out to eat, but evidently it isn’t the seating arrangements -- I kept finding restaurant after restaurant that seemed to have no ideal how to set up a dining area with tables. Like, the tables would be so crammed together the sims couldn’t actually walk between them, or they’d have a white cloth establishment with almost all 6 and/or 8 tops (a six-top is a table with six chairs) and almost no 2 or 4 tops; sometimes there would be like, mostly 10 or 12 tops!

Or they’d put chairs on every side of every table even though this makes everything cramped, or they’d jigsaw a bunch of different table sizes into a giant crowded square filling most of the restaurant. But mostly I saw people... doing all of these things at once they were all just doing all of this all the time omg. 

(Though I did see a couple builds where they had a huuge restaurant and then like, five small tables) Nobody seemed to know how many people a space should comfortably seat, or how many tables/seats a restaurant might need, or how to set them up

look

some things to notice: 

This seats 46. That’s good. When we move into the bar the bar tables and seating at the bar are going to bring it up to 63. Depending on your restaurant you’ll usually have between 40 and 80 seats, so I’m hitting my target perfectly. 

more than half the tables are 2 tops, but more than half the chairs are at larger tables; this isn’t like, a rule, but does mean there is probably close to the right mix of table sizes, especially for a white table cloth kinda place. There are only two “large” tables, which is about right.

The layout is easy to comprehend and section out. This floor easily lends itself to a two-server or four-server shift, and three servers isn’t hard to figure out. Like, I know exactly which tables each server would have as a four-server shift transitioned down to the closer over the evening.

It’s nearly symmetrical but not quite 100% which is what you usually see in a restaurant.

The lights are not placed randomly. You might think this doesn’t need to be pointed out. You’d be surprised.

There is plenty of room to move between the tables and have guests feel like they have their own area, with like, lanes to walk down, but there is no wasted space. It’s very full, but not at all crowded.

There’s a defined entrance, with a waiting area. The game tells you that you have to include this host station

which, yeah, some places just have a simple podium, but I built it out to help define the entrance, which has a menu stand and some seating for a wait list and the host stand has clutter like extra table tent menus and a condiment caddy. 

Similarly, the game says you need this server station

but I turned it into this

Now THAT’s a server station, with a drinks fridge, extra menus, plates, condiment shelves, and a coffee pot, which is orange for decaf because theres a regular coffee station that includes an espresso machine behind the bar. See?

Lastly, you can’t really tell from the pics so far, but the dining room and bar seating is only about half of the total space in the building, which is about right.

Here’s the bar tops

and the bar, which has a pass window right to the kitchen line, under the TV (don’t worry, there’s a proper pass for the servers and an expeditor through that door to the right) 

But once I addressed these issues with the Front of House, I realized: there is so much more missing from most restaurants on the gallery.

Like the back office.

BOH - Office

I didn’t find a single restaurant on the gallery that included one, but just about every restaurant has a shitty little back office crammed into what should be, like, a small closet. They all tend to look a little something like this

I had to hunt through debug for most of this clutter - it’s hard to tell in this pic, but that’s a couple stacks of money just sitting out on the desk to the right of the computer. That’s, shall we say, not super unusual to see in one of these crappy little paperwork prisons. And of course the mess of files and mail and shit.

You know what else every restaurant has but I never saw in any on the gallery?

Dish Pit

The game is not set up to allow you to make a proper dish pit. Like, there isn’t an industrial dishwasher or anything. Bu tI made one anyway. From the floor sinks, to the dish racks, to the horrible, heavy-ass red rubber mat that’s such a pain to clean at the end of the shift, I think you’ll recognize this room right away

I really had to fiddle to get this one -- those dish racks? they’re actually overlapped home counter racks that look like this

they were super hard to line up right. The “floor sinks” are actually a drain that’s supposed to go on the bottom of a pool, the dishwasher is actually three floor models raised to the right hight and overlapped facing different directions, and I added the little drain panels on either side by shrinking and raising floor vents to the height of the counters, which are actually overlapping tables. The floor I lucked out on, the Sims 4 has a tile floor pattern that comes in both grungy and clean, so I placed the clean ones on the outside edge of the dish pit floor in half-tiles along an irregular pattern with the edges matched to the lines of grout and added a couple of my own floor smudges so there wouldn’t be a straight line of dirty versus clean tile. Then I put some water stains over the whole thing to mask it better, overlapping some of the water stains to create the illusion of a flow of water going down the floor drain. 

Speaking of the dish pit, most restaurants have this cousin to the dish pit, that I don’t know what to call except maybe a 

Mop Closet

The Sims doesn’t have one of the yellow industrial mop buckets with the squeezy thing attachment, but I did pretty good here. Wish I could have erased the shower head, but I for sure needed the wall spigot handles and the hose. Managed to size up a bucket with water to the right dimensions and trick the game into letting me stick in a mop that’s supposed to hang on a wall. Added some cleaning supplies and stuff to the shelves.

Speaking of shelves, nobody ever includes dry storage when they do a Sims 4 restaurant. You know, with the empty beer kegs and those metal rack shelves full of, like, rows of little bottles and the restock items like six packs of soda and sacks of dry ingredients and way up on the top is the shit that never ever gets used but somehow you have to get up there every other week anyway?

See that door, the one with a light over it and a light next to it and a little temperature gauge? Yeah, you know what else I never see in gallery restaurants builds? 

Walk In

this was a pain, not only did I have to meticulously place every bottle on top of that fridge unit, but those kegs are actually tiny soda cans with no labels that I had to pull out of the vast un-tagged and un organized debug menu. I don’t even think they got placed by the devs anywhere in game, I think they are some kind of frame that gets a label/skin before it gets placed, usually. And see that fan up top in the middle of the wall? That’s actually two separate pieces of nonsense -- like, the center part isn’t a fan at all, its a stone wall decoration. But the design looks like a fan, so I shrank it and shoved it most of the way back into the wall til it was nearly flat and found that other thing that had a circle the right size in the middle. and viola. Oh, and it and those other vents next to it don’t just go to nothing, oh no, they match up perfectly on the outside to these

Okay, now, everybody building restaurants in the Sims DOES include a

Kitchen

And they often do a fine job, so I’m not going to spend much time here, but they do tend to skimp on prep space

(hey, see those shelves on the top right? Those are shelves full of dishes. I never see shelves full of dishes in gallery restaurant builds, but like, you need a bunch of shelves full of dishes. And off in the corner to the far left of the top wall? Prep sink tucked away back there.) 

Dude, let me just say... that prep counter?I placed every vegetable on that counter individually, AND I had to trick the game into letting me put more than the like, three items each counter space usually has slots for. What a pain. Worth it tho. It’s hard to tell, but there’s a knife next to the cutting board.

And lastly, no restaurant would be complete without 

“out back”

okay this post is long enough, but I just want to point out the stack of empty pallets, the discolored liquid and debris under the dumpsters along with a rat trap, and a little smoke break area with shitty chairs and a garbage table with some kind of bowl or something being used as an ashtray.

There’s more to this restaurant, employee lockers, bathrooms, etc, but this post is long enough, and I covered the most important stuff. 

In conclusion, I’m getting pretty good at sims builds, and other builders should ask me for tips on restaurant builds or read this post, because I swear none of them have ever worked in food service

[experiencenaturetoday]

Are You Ready to Ignite Your Soy Candle Making Desire?

Soy candle making is a lot like making bath bombs. You can fully experiment with scents and colors, unleashing your creativity! Even choosing the containers for candles is a part of the fun.

And just like making bath bombs, you never know exactly how the color or scent will come out until you go through the steps of soy candle making. But, there are a few things you should consider before gathering your candle making supplies.

Why Make Natural Candles?

Basically, anytime we burn poor or cheaply made candles, chemicals can fill and linger in our home – long past blowing out the candle. Which in effect can cause the air in our homes to become fairly unhealthy.

All it all comes down to candle ingredients. You see, many store-bought candles are filled with chemicals such as carcinogens and phthalates (Farley, 2016). Never heard of phthalates? They are hormone-disrupting chemicals that are a health risk to babies, young children, men, and women (Powers, 2007). Phthalates can aggravate asthma and are linked to increased incidences of breast cancer (Stuart, 2016).

Luckily, we can leave these types of candles at the store and make our own with better candle ingredients! So, let’s get started by choosing your candle making supplies. We’ll cover it all from wax to wicks to fragrance and containers before we show how to make your first candles!

Natural Soy Candle Making Supplies:

I can attest that picking up supplies for candle making can be inconvenient. It can take what seems like half a day trying to find the supplies you want and need. So, I’m including a link where possible to order online as we talk about the soy candle making supplies you’ll need.

Candle Wax Types

Natural waxes like soy and beeswax are excellent sources for candles. In fact, you can make a half dozen soy wax candles at home in just an hours’ time all while leaving the yucky stuff out!

And what I really love about soy wax – it’s non-toxic, biodegradable, renewable, and cleans up if spilled with just warm water.

I buy my soy candle wax by the pound in flakes here. It’s really easy to measure out that way. You may also love working with a blend of the two like this natural coconut, soy, beeswax blend for candle making. Unsure of what candle wax you want to use? Start with a sample kit of candle wax types.

Paraffin wax is the most commonly used wax in candles. Unfortunately, it is a byproduct of the petroleum industry. As such paraffin wax releases toxic carcinogens including acrolein, acetaldehyde, and formaldehyde according to the EPA ( Knight & Levin, 2001). Therefore, I don’t recommend it.

Candle Wicks

Have you ever noticed a small wire in the center of cotton candlewick after lighting it?

Well, that wire happens to be a lead core and when burned it emits lead into the air. Yep, that’s pretty crappy, right?

But, did you know is it illegal to manufacture candles in the United States with lead-cored wicks? While that is great news, candles made overseas and sold in the U.S. can still contain lead.

With that in mind, wood wicks make a great alternative to cotton wicks. They are non-toxic, eco-friendly, and can be readily made from organic renewable resources. You’ll also need little metal clips to hold the wood wicks in a place like the ones in the photo above.

And as a bonus wood wicks add to the ambiance of a beautiful flickering flame with a soft crackling sound. It is reminiscent of a cozy night spent by the fireside. What’s not to love?

Another option is natural cotton wicks. And pre-waxed cotton wicks are the easiest to use. Just make sure you buy healthy ones like these, made without paraffin wax or other additives.

However, the downside to using cotton wicks is centering the wick. It is really tricky to center a wick. I’ve tried lots of ideas like tying wicks to pencils and bamboo skewers. But, what works best is a centering device.

You really need the wick to be held in the center during the pouring and setting process.  I got my first centering devices with this candle making kit. They have handy options to set wicks for multiple widths and they can withstand the heat of the wax.

How Do You Fragrance Non-Toxic Candles?

It’s easy to create your favorite candle scents with essential oils, natural extracts, or aromatic isolates. Let’s start with the essential oils. How much essential oil do you use to make candles?

I recommend adding half an ounce to one ounce of essential oils per one pound of wax. If you are combining a few different essential oils like lemon and rosemary make sure to split up the amount.

Another option for soy candle making is all-natural fragrance oils composed of aromatic isolates from nature and essential oils. Did you know like essential oils, this type of fragrance oil has zero additives?

Yep, compared to typical fragrance oils, they do not contain parabens and phthalates.  They can be a more affordable candle making supply than essential oils. Yet, still helpful for creating a candle without synthetic ingredients. You can even start with a sample candle making kit to find your favorite candle fragrances!

What else do you need to make candles?

Candle Containers

You truly can use a variety of options for candle containers. Take stock of your pantry for containers like mason jars. Or visit your local antique shop for teacups and other unique containers. I personally love these 4-ounce amber glass jars with lids and metal candle tins.

Sometimes I find colorful ramekins in the thrifty Spot section at Target. And when I’m feeling very creative I make lemon bowl candles as seen in the top left corner of the photo above.

Candle Pouring Pitcher

– A Must Have!

This one always seems to throw people off. What is a candle pouring pitcher? It’s a big pitcher to safely melt wax in and pour it out. Can you melt wax in a pot on the stove? Sure, but that’s pretty messy and it’s really difficult to pour the wax evenly.

A candle pouring pitcher has a spout and a handle that stays cool. Which makes pouring candles a breeze. This is the candle pouring pitcher I use, it holds up to four pounds of wax. See it in the bottom right corner of the photo above.

Soy Candle Making Tips:

I’ll be honest the first time I made candles was stressful. Worrying about burning the wax, getting the wicks in the center of each container, and adding the scents at the right temperature – is a lot to handle!  

But, you know what? They turned out great! And I was hooked from the start on soy candle making.

So, here’s a few tips to help your soy candle making be less stressful from the get-go.  And once you get the hang of it, you’ll be hooked on making candles too!

What temperature do you pour soy wax?

When making candles the temperature of the wax is one of the most important steps to achieve professional candle results. Therefore you will need a thermometer to measure the temperature often. I recently switched to a new no-touch infrared thermometer. It’s very fast, always accurate, and doesn’t require any clean-up since I don’t have to place it in the wax.

Another option is one with a clip like this, it will clip inside your candle making pitcher, keeping your hands free. If you don’t have one you could use a candy thermometer, but you may not want to make candy with it after.

Overall soy wax should be poured anywhere between 120 to 140 degrees Fahrenheit. Keep in mind, soy wax can be quite sensitive to temperature as it is a softer wax than the typical paraffin. Do not heat it above 200 degrees Fahrenheit to avoid burning and discoloration. I prefer to heat to 185 degrees Fahrenheit.

What’s the best temperature to add essential oils to soy wax?

Fragrance oils for candle making come with flashpoints listed on the labels. Essential oils do not! Which can make it difficult for figuring out what temperature to add essential oils to soy wax.

In my experience, if you add essential oils at a temperature above 125 degrees Fahrenheit the scent does not blend well. I see the best results by adding essential oils at 120 degrees Fahrenheit with a two-minute stir.

How much wax do you need for a candle?

The answer to that requires a bit of math. So get your calculator, just kidding. We’ve got this!

We’ve made candle making easy with a candle wax calculator. No matter what candle vessel you choose our candle wax calculator can tell you exactly how much candle wax you’ll need! It even takes the amount of fragrance or candle dye being added to the wax. This means you can count on a good melt pool and no wasted materials!

Just remember, when measuring soy wax flakes use a digital kitchen scale to get an exact measurement. Otherwise, you’ll be left with too much wax or not enough to fill your containers.

How to Make Candles for Beginners

Now that we covered the most asked questions about candle making and where to find candle making supplies, it’s time to make your first candles!!

To keep things as simple as possible, we’re going to start with a basic candle recipe. It’s one I’ve used time and time again with great success! This beginner candle recipe will make 4 average-sized candles.

Here’s what you’ll need:

4 amber glass 4 oz jars

1 lb soy wax flakes

4 medium wood wicks and clips

4 glue dots or wick tab stickers

candle making pitcher  

kitchen scale

infrared thermometer

1.5-ounces natural fragrance oil or more essential oils (see tips above)

Instructions to make candles:

1. Insert a wood wick into metal clips. For a louder crackling sound, double up the wood wicks. The add a glue dot to the base of the metal clip. Place it in the center base of one glass jar. Repeat for all four until you have 4 jars with wicks inserted and set aside.

2. Next, fill a large saucepan with about 2 inches of water and place it on the stove to heat. Measure 1 pound of soy wax flakes with a digital kitchen scale.

3. Pour measured wax into a candle pitcher and set it inside the large saucepan. Whisk often and heat on low heat, up to a simmer at most, until melted using the double boiler method. Heat up to 185 degrees Fahrenheit and check often with a no-touch infrared thermometer.

4. Remove from heat immediately to avoid wax from becoming too hot. Insert a candle thermometer and allow the wax to cool to 120°F to 125°F before adding essential oils or just below the flashpoint of a natural fragrance oil.

5. Once the wax has cooled to the correct temperature add fragrance and whisk for 2 minutes to thoroughly combine. Carefully pour the scented soy wax into prepared jars. Let cool 1 hour or more until the wax is hard and white before cutting wicks to an inch or so.

Wait for 3 days before burning candles for the best scent throw. Candle Science even recommends 1-2 weeks of preferred curing time, for natural waxes such as soy and coconut. Although, they agree 3 days is the minimum curing time for candles.

[theladyregret]

My Experiences with Covid19

So...I just want to write this out because it feels important to do.

I’ve had Covid19 twice since this pandemic started and I just want to give a rundown of how each time went down because...if you’ve never had it and you try to go off just online lists and descriptions on medical websites it’s might not be very helpful. This disease just does what it wants and it makes no sense. It can effect everyone differently.

The first time was back before there were any Lockdowns in the United States. Back when everything was new and doctors really didn’t know what was happening yet. I couldn’t get a test as they were too limited at that time and only used on those admitted to hospitals or who had recently traveled out of the country. I was tested for the flu and that came back negative though the doctor I saw tried to insist that it was still the Flu regardless of the negative test.

My first symptoms were just a general feeling of malaise (general feeling of being unwell) and a sore throat that anyone who has worked in customer service would immediately assume was the start of a typical cold or bronchitis.

The next day the fever hit. It shot up to 103 and I developed rigors (severe tremors and intense shivering associated with high fevers). If I didn’t take a fever reducer I would be stuck in place, pretty much paralyzed by these rigors while covered in layers of blankets. After taking meds the fever would completely break and I would be able to move around again but was dripping with sweat...only for the fever and rigors to return about four or five hours later.

This went on for the first week. It was pretty much like having your standard shitty flu but where a flu usually abates after about a week of this...this part was actually a walk in the park for what was to come. It’s important to note that I had no idea I was infected with such a potentially deadly disease and while I was out of work because...you don’t work food prep with the Flu, I was in the process of moving and it was winter. I got very little rest, was taking meds to keep myself on my feet to pack, and then spent an entire day in the bitter cold moving into a new home.

After this my symptoms had progressed into my chest. I had no energy as everything was going into just breathing. I couldn’t walk more then a few feet without being so exhausted I had to sit for half an hour just to recover. My heart would be pounding like I had been running marathons any time I got up to move around. At this point I just couldn’t do anything other then lay in bed. I felt like my lungs were full of crud but coughing didn’t do anything. I couldn’t take deep breaths at all. If I tried to force myself to my body would reflexiley start swallowing. Couldn’t yawn...nothing...just sit there and take sips of air like my lungs were already full. Eating was very difficult as well since chewing required me to stop breathing longer then was comfortable so I could only drink things very slowly. This was when I saw the doctor who tested for the Flu and made sure I didn’t have pneumonia then sent me home with cough medicine that specifically said not to be used to treat dry coughs... *rolls eyes* anyway...

I never lost my sense of smell or taste and had no sinus related symptoms at all.

Luckily after another week and a half this subsided and I recovered though the dry cough would linger a month or so.

Now....fast forward a little over a year later and I catch Covid for a second time.

The first symptoms I got was a productive cough and a bit of light headedness while I was at work. By that night I had developed a small fever of 99.3. Nothing to really worry too much about yet but given that we’re still in a pandemic and Michigan was in a drastic upswing of cases I decided to keep an eye on it and took my temperature every hour or so. It climbed steadily until it hit 100 before I went to bed.

The next morning I was woken up by a familiar feverish chill and checked my temperature. 101.4. I was also aching and the cough had gotten worse. I decided to get myself tested and the test came back positive a couple days later. I was cleared from work and spent most of my time resting in bed and avoiding strenuous activities of all kinds.

I was actually pretty surprised by this since my symptoms had not gotten very severe and I kind of thought maybe it really was just a case of bronchitis this time but it’s more likely my first exposure meant my body was better capable of handling the virus resulting in a much more mild case compared to my first time which a doctor categorized as moderate/severe and that had doctors been more aware back then they would have been keeping very close eye on me to make sure I didn’t suddenly go downhill and that I was lucky. Either that or the first time was aggravated by the strenuous activities I was doing.

The most important thing is to not just assume that your fever going away means you aren’t sick as when I tested positive I got to find out some things I never knew before. A big one is that you are not considered cleared unless you are completely fever and symptom free for 72 hours. That’s three days. Why? Because your fever could stay high or it could jump all over the place. Mine would sit most of the time at around 100 but then suddenly go all the way down almost normal, then jump back up, then break...then go back to 101 a couple hours later. I was constantly going from being too cold to overheated.

Also...losing your sense of smell may not be your first sign if it does happen. I didn’t lose mine at first until day 4 and it didn’t happen all at once but gradually...starting with bad smells. Also...ignore any and all symptom checkers that state that sinus symptoms don’t happen, they absolutely can happen. Leading up to my loss of smell I had violent sneezing fits and my sinus’ would burn, particularly right between my eyes. This actually faded after my sense of smell went away completely so I’m assuming it’s related.

Other more minor symptoms I developed was a general lethargy and I became a bit scatter brained.

My second week my cough got a bit worse but it never settled in my chest and wasn’t dry, but productive much like when you have bronchitis.

Something that also happened that I haven’t really seen anywhere is I completely lost my appetite. I don’t mean I got nauseated or didn’t want to eat because of breathing issues or loss of taste which I never lost completely but...I just stopped feeling hungry. Like I just didn’t feel like I needed to eat so I just didn’t want to. I could go all day with nothing and it was like that part of me was just numb. That stuck around for about a week after I recovered.

By day ten my fever and all serious symptoms had subsided and I felt pretty much normal except for a lingering cough which...is still around a month later but not too horrible. It’s pretty normal for the cough to linger regardless of severity. Some of my sense of smell also hasn’t fully returned.

In general I feel my second bout was more neurological then my first one and unfortunately common tests don’t show variants so there’s no way to know if it was the same one or not.

So basically, if you develop a fever, just get tested and don’t depend on symptom checkers to diagnose yourself. Also buy a blood oxygen meter. They’re not too horribly expensive and you can find them at any drug store or walmart. It can help relieve any anxieties while you’re sick. The doctors told me that generally speaking the first 4 days are easy but it’s day 5-10 that people usually crash if they’re going to. Using the blood ox monitor can tell you how much oxygen you’re getting. If it starts getting around 93 or dipping too much below what’s normal for you (97-100 is typical)...go to the hospital as that can mean you’re developing covid pneumonia which is what kills people. Track your symptoms and take your temperature frequently. I usually took my temperature in between taking fever meds so about every four hours or so.

[grillsadvisor]

Best 2-Burner Grills: Tests and Reviews

Looking for the best 2-burner gas grill? You've come to the right place. In this comprehensive guide, we will answer all of your questions and help you find the perfect grill for your needs. We'll start by discussing what makes a good two-burner grill, then move on to reviews of some of the best models on the market. Finally, we'll give you some tips for using and maintaining your new grill!

Top-list BBQ 2-burner gas grills

Top-list affordable BBQ two-burner gas grills

The best two-burner gas grill on 2022

Weber Spirit II E-210 LP BBQ Review https://youtu.be/PGj-amEHhYA Weber Spirit II E-210 2-Burner Liquid Propane Grill, Black FAQ The Weber Spirit II E-210 liquid propane grill is a great choice for the griller who wants top-of-the-line features at an affordable price. With its GS4 grilling system and infinity ignition, this grill is sure to light every time, no matter what you're cooking.

Best Char-Broil two-burner gas grill

  Char-Broil 463673519 Performance FAQ

The Best Flat Top Gas Grill Griddle 2 Burner

  Best Budget 2 burner gas grill

  American Gourmet 467730217 Classic 280 2-Burner Liquid Propane Gas Grill FAQ

The best portable two-burner grill

  Pit Boss Grills 75275 Stainless Steel Two-Burner Portable Grill FAQ This video on JTgatoring is all about the outdoor products that I use and how they can help you grill like a pro.  So this is just one of the many outdoor products that I use and go over in detail. There's one product, which stands out among all others for its convenience - The Pit Boss Portable Grill. This stainless steel 2 burner grill can be taken anywhere you want with ease thanks to its durable design features like foldable legs & adjustable carrying handle so no matter what activity or occasion arises it'll always have a spot ready on your inventory list.

Pit Boss two burner is a portable grill It has a 20,000 BTU capacity and 10k on each side for maximum power when cooking or away from your kitchen island; yet small enough to take just about anywhere - even camping if needed. This grill has an automatic lid, so you can easily latch it down. I don't know if this model comes with batteries or not but there's a manual option as well just in case your power runs out. Turn the propane on. This comes with that cord you saw, which connects to your grill and ultimately creates an amazing meal for all of us. It's meant to go off of a 20-gallon for that type of connection. Make sure your feet are all good. Then turn it on to light it. Once you turned it to the left, carefully press down and watch as gas turns into vapor. And then you'll hit that point where the ignition flips and it lights it.  The grill is heating up. It should be at about 450 degrees after a few minutes of use, but it's better not to touch anything until then. The temperature gauge on this unit normally floats around 500 degrees when both burners are at low, but it will eventually rise to 600 if you leave one burner alone for long enough - or use both of them together. The gauge says that's how much it is, but I don't know for sure if this number actually represents the true temperature.

While this grill does a great job at cooking food, one issue that I have with it is how high up on the grate you need to sit in order for your heat source not to be blown away by strong winds. You can create sidewalls or other structures which will help retain more of what's being cooked onto them and keep temperatures even throughout different parts of their surface area. I find myself cooking with the lid down most of the time, just so that heat can stay inside. The top gives you okay grill marks, but it flames up on me. I don't mind too much though because there is a little bit of serum that helps create some pretty amazing flame-cooked flavors in my food. My favorite way to use this grill so far has been cooking a two-pound steak. I am going to have half of it for lunch and then another round at dinner time. On my grill, I like to keep the temperature around 500 degrees. This ensures that it will be hot enough for all of your food without burning or drying out any parts.  This does have a drip pan at the bottom. The bottom is concaved a little bit to help it run down into the drip pan. But if you don't have this level, it'll go off to one of the sides. It's not deep as a cave - pretty flat. So you're gonna have to make sure that it's sitting somewhat level. The main thing I looked for in a two-burner is that it is able to cook both sides of the food at once. This way, you can have your hot and cold sides. The best part about this setup? It's portable. The 20-gallon tank means this thing will never run out of fuel in the middle of nowhere thanks to its large capacity tanks. This grill is not just stainless steel, but it also has a five-year warranty on the burners themselves. You can extend that to one more year with an extra fee. The first thing I do is turn the heat up to its highest setting, 500 degrees. Then after a couple of minutes have passed since turning on I switch over from high-power mode to a low position which lasts for an additional 1-2 minutes.

The sturdy metal latches ensure you don't have to worry about accidentally dropping or damaging it while moving it around. The grill is a pretty basic unit I've used it for the last couple of weeks and every day, at least four or five times per week - but not quite enough that you'd notice how much fuel this thing uses. That's right, I'm still on the same propane tank. So it doesn't use as much gas. The grill is in need of some tender loving care. I haven't scraped the grates, I didn’t wash inside or clean burners - nothing at all really. The propane flames are dancing across the surface of this two-burner grill, giving off that perfect sear and smoke. I tried to order a single burner version from here but it didn't feel right so I returned it.

Well, this has been sitting for about three minutes at 500. I'm going to put my stake on now and see if it'll take off from there. When it comes to my favorite meal, I like things just right. My medium-rare steaks are the best and nothing less than this! To make sure that every bite has been cooked thoroughly through with no pink left in there anywhere. So I just want to keep the grays hot. I turn this burner to half and then the other one, I keep it on low, just so it keeps the temp in there. If you leave the lid open for too long when cooking on low heat in this fashion - remember not all meat is cooked equally well so watch carefully. However, when I keep the lid closed and cook over high heat for a prolonged period of time, there are no flames. This allows me to get that perfect char on my steak without fear of ruining it with an open flame because nothing can escape into space as well. I like to keep things simple when I'm cooking and so my usual process is a: Turn it 90, flip it, turn it 90, and then the steak’s done. I normally only flip it once. 

One of the best ways to get that perfect sear on your steak is by using a ridged grill. This will help create an even distribution for searing, ensuring there's no wasted meat and all those delicious juices stay inside! One thing I found interesting was putting fattier parts over the drip pan - like placing fatty pieces near or above where they'll fall into the fire if set upon it...but don't worry about flare-ups. If you don't want any flare-ups, just put it between the burn plates or on one side where they trip onto their bases. This way there will be more grease which helps keep your bottom from getting too dirty since this grill doesn't allow for much fat to accumulate during cooking time; however, I don’t really see what advantage comes with doing so because all that does is create another clean-up job after use. So I just keep it on over the plate.

Now I will put the burner at half power, and then let this get up to 500 degrees. After two or three minutes without anything on there just burn off any grease that may be leftover from when you cooked before; once all propane has been used up flames should go out automatically.

That way, the whole system is blood and there's nothing left in it. Then turn off your burners so that everything can be safe. So I did get this from Amazon. You can also go to Pit Boss Portable Grill on their website and order it. And I also believe Low's and maybe even Walmart may have it. So if you enjoyed it, let me know. Thanks for watching. So I did get this from Amazon. You can also go to Pit Boss Portable Grill on their website and order it, but if you're looking in stores beware of the price tag. Hope you're enjoying the video. Thanks for watching! If you are looking for a 2-burner gas grill, here are some things to keep in mind: - Size: Make sure to measure the area where you will be storing and using your grill. You want a grill that is big enough to cook the amount of food you need, but not so big that it is cumbersome. - Weight: Heavier grills tend to be more durable, but they can also be harder to move around. If you think you will be moving your grill often, look for a lighter model. - Price: 2 burner grills can range in price from around $100 to $1000. Do some research to find the features that are important to you and compare prices before making your final decision.

The best features of a two-burner gas grill When choosing a 2 burner gas grill, there are several features to consider. Here are some of the most important: - BTUs: BTUs (or British Thermal Units) measure the amount of heat a grill can produce. The higher the BTUs, the hotter your grill will be able to get. Most 2 burner grills have between 24,000 and 30,000 BTUs. - Cooking surface: The cooking surface is the area of the grill where you will actually be cooking your food. Look for a grill with a good-sized cooking surface that is easy to clean. - Ignition system: The ignition system is what starts your grill. Many 2 burner grills have an electronic ignition system, which is easy to use and reliable. - Warranty: A good warranty is important for any grill, but especially a 2 burner grill which you will be using more frequently. Look for a model with at least a 2-year warranty.

The benefits of using a 2-burner gas grill over other types of grills There are many benefits to using a 2 burner gas grill over other types of grills, such as charcoal grills or electric grills. Here are some of the most important benefits: - Gas grills cook food more evenly than charcoal grills. - Gas grills are easier to control than charcoal grills. - Gas grills do not require as much maintenance as charcoal grills. - Electric grills do not produce as much heat as gas grills, so they cannot achieve the same cooking results. Clearly, there are many advantages to using a 2 burner gas grill. If you are looking for a new grill, be sure to consider one of these models! You won't be disappointed with the results.  

Final Verdict

Editor’s Choice: Top-list grills

- Best 3-Burner Gas Grills - Best 4-Burner Gas Grills - Top-list five-burner gas grills - Top rated for 6 burner grill - The best small pellet grill on the market Read the full article

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Rules of war vary between species

Shortly after humanity obtaining faster than light travel technology the species began a massive colonization drive to the far reaches of the universe.  Their own system was quickly filled to the brim as every habitable planet was settled with dozens of new outposts, cities, and ever growing metropolises; but this was not enough to quench the ever present drive for more within each human.  Once jump points had been established on the outer edges of the Sol system, numerous colonization ships funded by the various nations of the human home world began setting out in every direction in search of new planets to claim.  Lacking more technologically advanced terraforming machines did not inhibit the colonization effort as much as the rest of the wider species had first assumed as the average humans level of endurance was staggeringly high to the point that they could carve out a living on nearly any planet. Planets strewn with volcanoes and rivers of lava were converted into metal refineries, ocean worlds with no landmass saw floating cities coasting the waves and bio-domes nestled deep beneath the waves, even on worlds were the temperature was dangerously low humans established colonies and would often go outside for recreational activities.  Within five years what had once been a backwards species had turned into a intergalactic spanning network of established colonies bringing a new age of prosperity. But this age of exploration did not last long as humanities sudden outburst onto the galactic stage had upset several species who had already obtained galactic power. One of which, was the Havara.  The Havara were a caste based species resembling humans with body type with a few exceptions. Havara head appeared as a large fin turned upwards and arching backwards which had but a single eye placed right where the bridge of a human nose meets between the eyes. Their mouth was another oddity as instead of being on the front of the face it was situated on the neck that connected the head to the body.  The caste system had divided the Havara into soldiers, workers, scientists, leaders, and into another of other classifications that from an outside perspective see little to no difference at all. This system was strictly enforced and ran smoothly enough to the point the Havara had grown a substantial ego that their way of life was how all life should be ordered.  The appearance of humanity, with all its chaotic nature and tendencies came as an unintentional insult to the Havara. Human’s able to choose their own path at will was caused such outrage that upon the first human colony reaching Havara territory they declared war right there and then with the intention to drive back the madness that was humanity. Much like Havara’s culture, the Havara military fought under equally restricted and regulated rules of war. Such rules included fighting only during daylight hours, fighting face to face with the enemy in regimental formations that resembled ranked formations fought between humans with early age firearms,  and announcing intentions for war some thirty bogals before actually attacking. (Bogals the Havara measurement of time that translates roughly to 1 bogal = 1 human day.) The announcement was proclaimed and the Havaran military gathered for a full assault on the closest human colony. While they despised human customs they had no desire for genocide and hoped that by taking this colony it would scare away future human attempts to settle near Havara territory.   ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (30 Days later) The Havaran fleet took orbit above the human colony world New Horizon. They had experienced little to no resistance upon entering the system and the planet itself lacked any orbital defenses or space docks, a side effect of being the farthest human colony, they lack the resources to build let alone maintain such installations. The colony itself was perched on top a mountain range overlooking several grass plains, city streets and blocks already taking shape with more buildings under construction with a total population of roughly 1,000 humans now looking skyward at a fleet of 270,000 Havarans.   From the flagship the Havaran military  leaders opened a communication to the colony below.  “Humans of New Horizon, your thirty bogal has come to an end. Surrender now, or witness as we descend upon you and wipe the stain of your chaotic culture from the face of this world.”  No response came back. An deafening silence filled the war room as the leaders patiently waited when the communications system detected a signal. The translators began working feverishly to decipher if and quickly played it for the commanders to hear.  “Come and get us. We’re not going anywhere.”  With that a thousand drop ships launched and began burning their descent to the lush world below. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I don’t think they liked that sir.” Hogan shrugged. “You know diplomacy has never been my strong suit.”  Lucas looked at his radar display. “We’ve got inbound contacts, hundreds of them all making a b-line straight for us sir.” “I can see that with my own eyes son, I don’t need any radar to tell me that.” Hogan was looking out the command centers window. The bright sunny day would have been perfect were it not for the burning streaks of fire from the Havaran ships descending through atmo. The spectical was something to behold that would have made any man’s blood run cold; but Hogan was a seasoned commander and were others saw doom all he saw were visible targets.  Soon after the declaration of war the government of New Horizon sent communications back to the homeworlds asking for assistance. The governments of humanity accepted that war with the Havara was unavoidable now, some even smiling as they had long desired it, and began mobilizing forces. They would not be able to reach the planet in time before the thirty day limit expired but a small detachment was sent ahead to secure the planet and hold it until reinforcements arrived. This detachment, lead by the nearly retired commander Hogan, made all haste to New Horizon scavenging any military hardware they could from planets they passed. He scratched his chin before turning back to Lucas. “Rather bold move to send in their bombers un-escorted like that.” Lucas shook his head. “From the information we received those do not appear to be bombers sir.” “Large fighters then?” No sir, not fighters either. They are listed as troop transports.”  Hogan just looked at Lucas dumbfounded. “They sent troop transports in the first wave without even softening us up or even basic air protection?” Lucas checked the radar again to confirm. “It appears that way sir. We’re not reading any smaller craft escorting the troop transports and the larger ships do not appear to have weapons that can effectively perform orbital bombardments.”  Hogan shook his head in disbelief and pulled out a cigar, lighting it with a snap of his prosthetic fingers. “They pulled me out of retirement to this backwater world saying it was to be the fight of our life, and now that I get here I find out I could’ve gone to a turkey shoot back in Texas and had the same experience.” He dabbed the cigar into a nearby tray before returning it to his mouth before slouching into a chair. “I feel rightly jipped son. I came out here for a heroic death, like you see in the movies. Now what the hell am I going to do?” Lucas shrugged. “I’m told the local planet life can be brewed into the strongest alcohol known to man.” Hogan perked up at that. “Really now?” His positive demeanor returning. “Well let’s rap this up then and go get a drink.”  Hogan flicked open a com to his forces. “All units deploy, repeat, all units deploy. Enemy is attempting a landing with no fighter screen or protection. Concentrate fire around the ones nearest to the colony and then begin working on any that are close to landing.”  “Roger.” A chorus of acknowledgements came back as the anti aircraft brigades that had been laying in wait in hidden dugouts slowly rolled out, their tracks churning up the streets and grass plains as they deployed. Crews hurried to attach cooling tubes and double check the ammunition feeds to the gatling guns as their turrets already started tracking targets.  “Happy hunting kids.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first signs that the Havarn pilots had that something was wrong was the sudden explosion of one of the leading dropships. At first they assumed that it must have been a technical malfunction until the second leading drop ship exploded, then the third, then the fourth, then the fifth.  Soon there were dropships exploding left and right across the sky sending thousands of Havarn soldiers waiting in the bays falling to their demise.  A wall of anti aircraft fire rose up from the surface to meet the Havarn who had yet to finish passing through the atmosphere. The descent was carefully laid out so the ships would not burn up on reentry but that meant that they could not out maneuver the incoming fire. A few of the pilots panicked and attempted to only for their heat shields to fail and instantly flash burn the ships and all those on board while others lost control and span directly into other dropships setting off a chain explosion.  Watching from their flagship, the Havaran leaders looked on with surprise an anger at the human actions. Attacking their warriors when they couldn’t even fight back was most disgraceful!  Within minutes 3/4 of the landing force had been decimated midair and those that had landed on the surface were quickly surrounded by human forces.      The Havaran demanded a communication link be established with the human commander.  “You humans shame yourselves!” They spat into their communicator. “How dare you attack our soldiers when they are defenseless!”  A long pause came before the reply followed by another pause for translation.  “Your soldiers were defenseless because you left them that way. Do not blame us for exploiting your own incompetence.”  One of the Havaran commanders threw a chair into the wall of the war room at the translation being read aloud.  “You have broken the rules of war! All combatants must touch the surface before the fighting can commence!”  This time the response came sooner as the translators were adapting.  “No such rule exists for our rules of war. Our rules protect individual soldiers from being attacked should they perform an airdrop with a parachute or jetpack, but they do not protect aircraft that are carrying them which are fair game.” “We are not using your rules human! We are using ours!” The translator retreated at the outburst from the Havaran commanders. “Our culture is the pinnacle of existence! Why would you not use our rules!?” “Pinnacle? Now that’s a laugh.”  “You declared war on us for no other reason besides our way of life and then act surprised that when we didn’t lay down and die for you. So listen here you little shit bags. Come at us all you want, you’ll either end up dead or captured like your friends here; doesn’t matter either way to me.” The Havaran commanders stopped their outrage at the last sentence. They had assumed that their soldiers that had landed had all been killed, but if they had been taken alive they could be used again.  “You captured our soldiers?”  “The ones that were still breathing at least.” “We demand that they be returned to us.” “In exchange for what?”  The Havaran paused, they did not understand what the human was saying.  “In exchange for nothing, you must return them to us.” “To be used against us again? How stupid do you think we are? If you’re not giving us anything then these fine strapping doom looking fuckers are going to be kept as our prisoners until this war ends.”  “Have you no honor!?!?”  The link went quiet for a moment before the human continued.  “You attacked a colony of what you expected to be defenseless civilians. Do not speak to me of honor. This discussion is over.” Before the Havaran could reply the link went dead. The battle of New Horizon had just begun, but the war machine of humanity was now turning to full motion and their retribution was forth coming.  

[shon-ha-lock]

Sweater Weather (harry/niall)

It’s that time of year! I had a blast participating in this year’s 1D Secret Santa. @silveredsound i hope you like my gift! 

It was a super cheap flight, in Niall's defense. A real deal. So what if the connection was in a tiny regional airport? In Wisconsin. Three days before Christmas. In the middle of a week of record low temperatures and snowstorms. 

Okay. In retrospect, maybe he should have expected something to go wrong. 

Niall's plane is the last to touch down in Chippewa Valley before it starts rerouting its incoming flights to airports not currently being blasted by the polar vortex. This is also, of course, when it grounds its outgoing flights “indefinitely”, leaving him and around one hundred other travelers stranded.

The whole airport has just two gates, with one shared, cramped waiting area. A line has snaked itself around that entire space, leading up to the customer service desk, where everyone is waiting for a chance to yell at a single beleaguered United Airlines employee about their flights being cancelled. 

Niall contemplates joining the line, but he’s more the type to wait until he can vent his anger by giving the lowest scores possible on a ‘how did we do?’ survey. And besides, just standing near the desk for a few minutes gives him all the information he needs to know, on repeat. 

“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience this is causing our loyal customers,” is the current opener every time someone storms up to the little old lady working the desk. Her reedy voice is placating and increasingly nervous as she assures everyone that United is “currently working with Chippewa to arrange accommodations for anyone whose flight has been delayed by the storm.” 

This is comforting until Niall realizes that this means they don’t currently have hotel rooms set up for travelers with missed connections the way larger airports do. No shuttles, no vouchers, not a goddamn thing. 

They’re only twenty minutes outside of the little city of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, which probably has at least a few hotels with vacancies, but the odds of finding an Uber driver to brave the storm and get him there are slim to none. 

Niall’s not really the type to just stand around in a crisis and twiddle his thumbs, but if he’s being honest with himself, he hasn’t a goddamn clue what to do right now. He flies relatively frequently but he’s never actually had to deal with a flight being cancelled because of the weather, and he’s struck by a childish urge to call home and ask his mother for advice about what to do. 

At the moment, it’s looking like he might actually need to call her anyway, because she’s expecting to pick him up from Albany International in five hours, and that’s definitely not happening now. God, he hopes he’ll make it back to New York at some point within the next three days. He’s never spent a Christmas away from home in his twenty six years of life, and he doesn’t want to start now. 

He’s well on his way to an anxiety spiral when he notices that there’s one other passenger besides him not angrily crowding around the service desk. He looks to be around Niall’s age, and he’s pawing through a backpack with a resigned expression on his face. After a minute, Niall figures that he must be searching for warmer clothes to put on; the man’s short sleeved shirt is well-equipped to show off all the strange tattoos on his arms, but isn’t exactly appropriate for December in Wisconsin. 

Niall, by contrast, is dressed and packed for two weeks of winter in upstate New York. He looks down at his own backpack, aware that it’s stuffed with four different Aran sweaters, and makes a decision. It’s the season for doing good deeds, after all. Making a stranger a little less miserable surely counts. 

“Hey there,” Niall says as he walks over to the man, who’s given up looking through his luggage and is now sitting forlornly on one of the waiting area’s cheap plastic benches. He looks up, and Niall’s breath -- well, it honest to God catches in his throat. This guy must be some kind of model, because he’s got just about the most gorgeous face Niall’s ever seen. Green eyes, red lips, the works. 

“Hi?” the guy ventures after a few seconds of Niall staring down at him like a lunatic. 

Niall can feel himself go red as he hurriedly unzips his backpack, feeling around until he grabs a fistful of wool.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a sweater at random and basically throwing it at the guy’s head. 

“You looked cold, so.” He shrugs. He watches this ridiculously good-looking stranger hold out the sweater to examine it, smiling widely for a second before his expression shifts to concern. 

“Oh, this is hand-knit, isn’t it? I couldn’t possibly take this,” he says, trying to hand it back to Niall, who takes a step backwards and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Really, I insist,” he says. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a favor. My grandma still thinks we live in Ireland and makes one for me every year; I’m drowning in the things.” This seems to make the guy only more determined to hand it back to him, but Niall perseveres. 

“I’d feel guilty just getting rid of them, but if I tell her I passed one on to a chilly traveler I’ll be grandson of the year, so.” 

Niall narrowly avoids pumping a fist in the air in victory when this makes the guy giggle, bite his lip, and finally, reluctantly pull the sweater on over his t-shirt. It’s a sea green that matches his eyes perfectly, which is great, because what Niall really needed was to be even more distracted by a random person’s good looks. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” he says once it’s on, his chin-length hair now attractively rumpled. “I was worried I was going to freeze solid the second I went outside.”

He holds out a hand; Niall takes it. Soft palms, manicured and painted fingernails -- this guy might really be a fashion model. 

“I’m Harry,” he says. He smiles wide enough when he says it that his cheeks dimple. Niall’s heart is in some serious trouble now. 

“I’m Niall,” he replies, letting go of Harry’s hand a second later than is probably appropriate. 

He’s not sure how, but he wants to keep the conversation going somehow, just so he has an excuse to look at Harry’s face for a little longer. Before he can come up with something, an ancient intercom crackles to life and makes them both look around.

“Attention, travelers. In two hours, the storm is expected to dissipate enough to start offering shuttles into Eau Claire. Chippewa will be providing vouchers for the following lodgings.” 

The announcer rattles off a list of local hotels before repeating the entire message over again. This announcement seems to renew the stranded travelers’ agitation, and they start swarming the service desks with complaints about the wait. Harry and Niall both stay where they are, clearly on the same page about not bullying the elderly. Harry doesn’t seem any happier than the people yelling, though.

“I didn’t manage to sleep on the plane because I was so nervous about the weather and the turbulence,” he confesses to Niall. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out before that shuttle actually gets here.” 

“Where are you coming from?” Niall asks. They’re making small talk! Success! 

“Well, I started out in Italy thirteen hours ago,” Harry says ruefully. “Then I had a connecting flight in Boston, and from there, I should have gone all the way out to LA, which is where I’m spending Christmas. But I had to book last minute, and the only flights left had an extra connection. So I took a chance on this one, and of course now I’m stuck here.” He pouts as he says it, and it should make him look immature but instead he just looks like he’s posing artfully for Covergirl or something. 

“So we’re heading in opposite directions,” Niall says. “I’m coming from LA, and I’m on my way to New York.” 

Harry’s eyes light up at this.

“Oh my god, do you live in NYC? I love spending time there, it’s one of my favorite cities in the world.”

Niall sighs and shakes his head in mock-disappointment. 

“Everyone loves NYC so much but they always forget about the actual capital of New York.”

When Harry just stares at him blankly, Niall relents and laughs out, “I’m from Albany. My whole family immigrated there from Ireland when I was six months old." 

Niall feels a bit awkward at first, talking about his life with someone he just met, but he quickly learns that Harry is the type of old soul who loves to make conversation with strangers. And by the time the shuttles start actually arriving he can't say that the two of them are strangers anymore. 

He learns that Harry's lived in LA his whole life, and so traveling anywhere that's cold knocks him off his feet. Niall's only lived in California since he started attending UCLA (at first as an undergrad and now for post-graduate work) but it turns out he and Harry have several mutual acquaintances, which delights Harry to no end, and he seems more interested in Niall's classes last semester than Niall was, asking questions about what he learned and whether the professors were cool or boring. 

He's in the middle of a rant about early morning lectures when the intercom starts announcing that they'll be able to start shuttling people into the city soon. Which of course means that the two of them are going to have to go their separate ways. 

Harry starts fussing with his luggage again, seeming almost shy now, and thanks Niall again for the sweater.

Niall scrambles for something else to say to forestall a goodbye. 

“How did you know it was hand-knit?” is the only question he comes up with, but it's effective.  

"Oh!" Harry exclaims, going all smiley again. 

"The pattern was really detailed, and I could see how tight the stitches were. Didn't seem likely that a machine made it," he says. 

"Wow, you've got a real eye. Do you work in fashion or something?" Niall asks, wondering if his initial impression was right after all. 

"Or something," Harry says, seeming embarrassed for some reason. "I um, do modelling work sometimes. Shoots for Gucci, mainly, but other brands too. It's why I was in Italy, actually." 

Holy shit. There’s an actual Gucci model wearing one of his grandma’s sweaters right now. What a thought. His mom is going to flip when he finally gets to New York and tells her all about this. 

"That's really cool," Niall tells him, scrambling to think of a segue into asking for his number that doesn't come off like he's just trying to hook up with a model.

As luck would have it, Harry provides one for him - by asking for his grandmother’s phone number.

“Or even just her mailing address,” Harry rushes on when Niall bursts out laughing. 

“I’d like to personally thank her for making such a pretty sweater that’s doing such a good job of keeping me warm.”

“Well, I’m going to be seeing her for Christmas in a few days, if the weather calms down. You could call me and I could just hand my phone over to her.” 

It’s not particularly subtle, but luckily Harry doesn’t call him out on it. In fact, his face goes a bit sly, and he looks Niall up and down for a moment.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Harry says, and then whips out an honest-to-god gel pen from nowhere to physically write his phone number on Niall’s hand. 

“Text me when you get a chance, and we’ll have each other’s numbers that way,” he says cheerily. 

A few minutes later, they go their separate ways - Niall with Harry’s phone number written in bright green ink on the back of his hand, and Harry with a signature Grandma Horan sweater to keep him warm. 

As he passes the service area, Niall cheerfully plucks a survey card from the desk. Seems like he’s going to give United a glowing review after all. 

[cannabisrefugee-esq]

(via A "Rational Suicide" Note. Ft. Anne Örtegren.)

November 9, 2019

This is a “suicide” note left by a ME/CFS sufferer who sought and found relief from her suffering via legal, medically assisted suicide.  She says this manifesto took her months to write, which I do not doubt a bit: it is long, detailed and polished and was written when she was feeling terrible.  She wrote it with the intent to describe her almost indescribable pain and experience, and to convince others to take action on behalf of ME/CFS sufferers, both of which are lofty communication goals when anyone is seriously ill.

Describing and convincing have been my most impossible endeavors since I’ve been seriously ill myself and I think I have mostly failed, judging by others’ reactions to everything I’ve managed to gather the physical and emotional grit to attempt to communicate: that I am seriously, hopelessly ill with an incurable, progressive disease, that there is no bottom to how bad this can get, and it matters not what anyone thinks about it.  Some things are just true regardless of whether anyone believes it.

In this note, ME/CFS patient Anne Örtegren describes symptoms and dilemmas I have experienced myself and she foresees logical outcomes to her predicament, something sick people and especially sick women are never allowed to do because catastrophization. For example, she knows that her heightened sensitivity to light and sound will make treatment or recovery in a hospital setting impossible where the standard of care in that environment requires constant activity and interruptions, and provides no privacy and no escape from the harsh industrial lighting, interrogations by (allegedly) well meaning staff and the general hustle and bustle of capitalistic money making on the backs and bodies of sick and dying people.

That is but one example of a sick person making informed prognostications regarding likely outcomes of the things other people want to do to us, and as someone who shares these sensitivities to light and sound (and therefore an aversion to hospital settings) as but one example of our shared experience of being seriously ill, I appreciated her spelling it out.  I also feel extremely sad that she had to, and furious that no one who allegedly cared about her wellbeing including medical professionals who should be fucking sensitive to the actual needs of real patients could make the leap themselves.  There are many such examples in this letter.

See for yourselves, and understand that as illuminating and raw as this letter is, it’s also been edited by the publisher and a so-called suicide prevention expert because the bottom line everywhere appears to be that there is no such thing as rational suicide or euthanasia because well people and people who make money off of the long-term sick and dying say so.  And because living in this capitalistic, patriarchal nightmare is so hideous for so many people that “suicide contagion” exists, where just knowing that someone, somewhere had whatever it took to end themselves is likely to cause untold numbers of happy, healthy consumers with bright futures to do the same damn thing.  Yeah that’s it, let’s keep telling ourselves that.

The letter as published is reprinted below.  The unedited letter supposedly exists online somewhere if anyone cares to look and has the energy to figure out how and where the edited version differs from the original.  Comments are open below.

Farewell – A Last Post from Anne Örtegren

Nobody can say that I didn’t put up enough of a fight.

For 16 years I have battled increasingly severe ME/CFS. My condition has steadily deteriorated and new additional medical problems have regularly appeared, making it ever more difficult to endure and make it through the day (and night).

Throughout this time, I have invested almost every bit of my tiny energy in the fight for treatment for us ME/CFS patients. Severely ill, I have advocated from my bedroom for research and establishment of biomedical ME/CFS clinics to get us proper health care. All the while, I have worked hard to find something which would improve my own health. I have researched all possible treatment options, got in contact with international experts and methodically tried out every medication, supplement and regimen suggested.

Sadly, for all the work done, we still don’t have adequately sized specialized biomedical care for ME/CFS patients here in Stockholm, Sweden – or hardly anywhere on the planet. We still don’t have in-patient hospital units adapted to the needs of the severely ill ME/CFS patients. Funding levels for biomedical ME/CFS research remain ridiculously low in all countries and the erroneous psychosocial model which has caused me and others so much harm is still making headway.

And sadly, for me personally things have gone from bad to worse to unbearable. I am now mostly bedbound and constantly tortured by ME/CFS symptoms. I also suffer greatly from a number of additional medical problems, the most severe being a systematic hyper-reactivity in the form of burning skin combined with an immunological/allergic reaction. This is triggered by so many things that it has become impossible to create an adapted environment. Some of you have followed my struggle to find clothes and bed linen I can tolerate. Lately, I am simply running out. I no longer have clothes I can wear without my skin “burning up” and my body going into an allergic state.

This means I no longer see a way out from this solitary ME/CFS prison and its constant torture. I can no longer even do damage control, and my body is at the end of its rope. Therefore, I have gone through a long and thorough process involving several medical assessments to be able to choose a peaceful way out: I have received a preliminary green light for accompanied suicide through a clinic in Switzerland.

When you read this I am at rest, free from suffering at last. I have written this post to explain why I had to take this drastic step. Many ME/CFS patients have found it necessary to make the same decision, and I want to speak up for us, as I think my reasons may be similar to those of many others with the same sad destiny.

These reasons can be summed up in three headers: unbearable suffering; no realistic way out of the suffering; and the lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs.

Important note Before I write more about these reasons, I want to stress something important. Depression is not the cause of my choice. Though I have been suffering massively for many years, I am not depressed. I still have all my will and my motivation. I still laugh and see the funny side of things, I still enjoy doing whatever small activities I can manage. I am still hugely interested in the world around me – my loved ones and all that goes on in their lives, the society, the world (what is happening in human rights issues? how can we solve the climate change crisis?) During these 16 years, I have never felt any lack of motivation.

On the contrary, I have consistently fought for solutions with the goal to get myself better and help all ME/CFS patients get better. There are so many things I want to do, I have a lot to live for. If I could only regain some functioning, quieten down the torture a bit and be able to tolerate clothes and a normal environment, I have such a long list of things I would love to do with my life!

Three main reasons So depression is not the reason for my decision to terminate my life. The reasons are the following:

1. Unbearable suffering Many severely ill ME/CFS patients are hovering at the border of unbearable suffering. We are constantly plagued by intense symptoms, we endure high-impact every-minute physical suffering 24 hours a day, year after year. I see it as a prison sentence with torture. I am homebound and mostly bedbound – there is the prison. I constantly suffer from excruciating symptoms: The worst flu you ever had. Sore throat, bronchi hurting with every breath. Complete exhaustion, almost zero energy, a body that weighs a tonne and sometimes won’t even move. Muscle weakness, dizziness, great difficulties standing up. Sensory overload causing severe suffering from the brain and nervous system. Massive pain in muscles, painful inflammations in muscle attachments. Intensely burning skin. A feeling of having been run over by a bus, twice, with every cell screaming. This has got to be called torture.

It would be easier to handle if there were breaks, breathing spaces. But with severe ME/CFS there is no minute during the day when one is comfortable. My body is a war zone with constant firing attacks. There is no rest, no respite. Every move of every day is a mountain-climb. Every night is a challenge, since there is no easy sleep to rescue me from the torture. I always just have to try to get through the night. And then get through the next day.

It would also be easier if there were distractions. Like many patients with severe ME/CFS I am unable to listen to music, radio, podcasts or audio books, or to watch TV. I can only read for short bouts of time, and use the computer for even shorter moments. I am too ill to manage more than rare visits or phone calls from my family and friends, and sadly unable to live with someone. This solitary confinement aspect of ME/CFS is devastating and it is understandable that ME/CFS has been described as the “living death disease”.

For me personally, the situation has turned into an emergency not least due to my horrific symptom of burning skin linked to immunological/allergic reactions. This appeared six years into my ME/CFS, when I was struck by what seemed like a complete collapse of the bodily systems controlling immune system, allergic pathways, temperature control, skin and peripheral nerves. I had long had trouble with urticaria, hyperreactive skin and allergies, but at this point a violent reaction occurred and my skin completely lost tolerance. I started having massively burning skin, severe urticaria and constant cold sweats and shivers (these reactions reminded me of the first stages of the anaphylactic shock I once had, then due to heat allergy).

Since then, for ten long years, my skin has been burning. It is an intense pain. I have been unable to tolerate almost all kinds of clothes and bed linen as well as heat, sun, chemicals and other everyday things. These all trigger the burning skin and the freezing/shivering reaction into a state of extreme pain and suffering. Imagine being badly sunburnt and then being forced to live under a constant scalding sun – no relief in sight.

At first I managed to find a certain textile fabric which I could tolerate, but then this went out of production, and in spite of years of negotiations with the textile industry it has, strangely, proven impossible to recreate that specific weave. This has meant that as my clothes have been wearing out, I have been approaching the point where I will no longer have clothes and bed linen that are tolerable to my skin. It has also become increasingly difficult to adapt the rest of my living environment so as to not trigger the reaction and worsen the symptoms. Now that I am running out of clothes and sheets, ahead of me has lain a situation with constant burning skin and an allergic state of shivering/cold sweats and massive suffering. This would have been absolutely unbearable.

For 16 years I have had to manage an ever-increasing load of suffering and problems. They now add up to a situation which is simply no longer sustainable.

2. No realistic way out of the suffering A very important factor is the lack of realistic hope for relief in the future. It is possible for a person to bear a lot of suffering, as long as it is time-limited. But the combination of massive suffering and a lack of rational hope for remission or recovery is devastating.

Think about the temporary agony of a violent case of gastric flu. Picture how you are feeling those horrible days when you are lying on the bathroom floor between attacks of diarrhoea and vomiting. This is something we all have to live through at times, but we know it will be over in a few days. If someone told you at that point: “you will have to live with this for the rest of your life”, I am sure you would agree that it wouldn’t feel feasible. It is unimaginable to cope with a whole life with the body in that insufferable state every day, year after year. The level of unbearableness in severe ME/CFS is the same.

If I knew there was relief on the horizon, it would be possible to endure severe ME/CFS and all the additional medical problems, even for a long time, I think. The point is that there has to be a limit, the suffering must not feel endless.

One vital aspect here is of course that patients need to feel that the ME/CFS field is being taken forward. Sadly, we haven’t been granted this feeling – see my previous blogs relating to this here and here.

Another imperative issue is the drug intolerance that I and many others with ME/CFS suffer from. I have tried every possible treatment, but most of them have just given me side-effects, many of which have been irreversible. My stomach has become increasingly dysfunctional, so for the past few years any new drugs have caused immediate diarrhoea. One supplement triggered massive inflammation in my entire urinary tract, which has since persisted. The list of such occurrences of major deterioration caused by different drugs/treatments is long, and with time my reactions have become increasingly violent. I now have to conclude that my sensitivity to medication is so severe that realistically it is very hard for me to tolerate drugs or supplements.

This has two crucial meanings for many of us severely ill ME/CFS patients: There is no way of relieving our symptoms. And even if treatments appear in the future, with our sensitivity of medication any drug will carry a great risk of irreversible side-effects producing even more suffering. This means that even in the case of a real effort finally being made to bring biomedical research into ME/CFS up to levels on par with that of other diseases, and possible treatments being made accessible, for some of us it is unlikely that we would be able to benefit. Considering our extreme sensitivity to medication, one could say it’s hard to have realistic hope of recovery or relief for us.

In the past couple of years I, being desperate, have challenged the massive side-effect risk and tried one of the treatments being researched in regards to ME/CFS. But I received it late in the disease process, and it was a gamble. I needed it to have an almost miraculous effect: a quick positive response which eliminated many symptoms – most of all I needed it to stop my skin from burning and reacting, so I could tolerate the clothes and bed linen produced today. I have been quickly running out of clothes and sheets, so I was gambling with high odds for a quick and extensive response. Sadly, I wasn’t a responder. I have also tried medication for Mast Cell Activation Disorder and a low-histamine diet, but my burning skin hasn’t abated. Since I am now running out of clothes and sheets, all that was before me was constant burning hell.

3. The lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs The third factor is the insight that the risk for further deterioration and increased suffering is high.

On top of the nearly unbearable symptoms it is very likely that in the future things will get even worse. An example in my case could be my back and neck pain. I would need to strengthen muscles to prevent them from getting worse. But the characteristic symptom of Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM) when I attempt even small activities, is hugely problematic.

Whenever we try to ignore the PEM issue and push through, we immediately crash and become much sicker. We might go from being able to at least get up and eat, to being completely bedbound, until the PEM has subsided. Sometimes, it doesn’t subside, and we find ourselves irreversibly deteriorated, at a new, even lower baseline level, with no way of improving.

PEM is not something that you can work around.

For me, new medical complications also continue to arise, and I have no way of amending them. I already need surgery for one existing problem, and it is likely that it will be needed for other issues in the future, but surgery or hospital care is not feasible for several reasons:

One is that my body seems to lack repairing mechanisms. Previous biopsies have not healed properly, so my doctor is doubtful about my ability to recover after surgery.

Another, more general and hugely critical, is that with severe ME/CFS it is impossible to tolerate normal hospital care. For ME/CFS patients the sensory overload problem and the extremely low energy levels mean that a normal hospital environment causes major deterioration. The sensory input that comes with shared rooms, people coming and going, bright lights, noise, etc, escalates our disease. We are already in such fragile states that a push in the wrong direction is catastrophic. For me, with my burning skin issue, there is also the issue of not tolerating the mattresses, pillows, textile fabrics, etc used in a hospital.

Just imagine the effects of a hospital stay for me: It would trigger my already severe ME/CFS into new depths – likely I would become completely bedbound and unable to tolerate any light or noise. The skin hyperreactivity would, within a few hours, trigger my body into an insufferable state of burning skin and agonizing immune-allergic reactions, which would then be impossible to reverse. My family, my doctor and I agree: I must never be admitted to a hospital, since there is no end to how much worse that would make me.

Many ME/CFS patients have experienced irreversible deterioration due to hospitalization. We also know that the understanding of ME/CFS is extremely low or non-existent in most hospitals, and we hear about ME/CFS patients being forced into environments or activities which make them much worse. I am aware of only two places in the world with specially adjusted hospital units for severe ME/CFS, Oslo, Norway, and Gold Coast, Australia. We would need such units in every city around the globe.

It is extreme to be this severely ill, have so many medical complications arise continually and know this: There is no feasible access to hospital care for me. There are no tolerable medications to use when things get worse or other medical problems set in. As a severely ill ME/CFS patient I have no safety net at all. There is simply no end to how bad things can get with severe ME/CFS.

Coping skills – important but not enough I realize that when people hear about my decision to terminate my life, they will wonder about my coping skills. I have written about this before and I want to mention the issue here too:

While it was extremely hard at the beginning to accept chronic illness, I have over the years developed a large degree of acceptance and pretty good coping skills. I have learnt to accept tight limits and appreciate small qualities of life. I have learnt to cope with massive amounts of pain and suffering and still find bright spots. With the level of acceptance I have come to now, I would have been content even with relatively small improvements and a very limited life. If, hypothetically, the physical suffering could be taken out of the equation, I would have been able to live contentedly even though my life continued to be restricted to my small apartment and include very little activity. Unlike most people I could find such a tiny life bearable and even happy. But I am not able to cope with these high levels of constant physical suffering.

In short, to sum up my level of acceptance as well as my limit: I can take the prison and the extreme limitations – but I can no longer take the torture. And I cannot live with clothes that constantly trigger my burning skin.

Not alone – and not a rash decision In spite of being unable to see friends or family for more than rare and brief visits, and in spite of having limited capacity for phone conversations, I still have a circle of loved ones. My friends and family all understand my current situation and they accept and support my choice. While they do not want me to leave, they also do not want me to suffer anymore.

This is not a rash decision. It has been processed for many years, in my head, in conversations with family and friends, in discussion with one of my doctors, and a few years ago in the long procedure of requesting accompanied suicide. The clinic in Switzerland requires an extensive process to ensure that the patient is chronically ill, lives with unendurable pain or suffering, and has no realistic hope of relief. They require a number of medical records as well as consultations with specialized doctors.

For me this end is obviously not what I wanted, but it was the best solution to an extremely difficult situation and preferable to even more suffering. It was not hasty choice, but one that matured over a long period of time.

A plea to decision makers – Give ME/CFS patients a future! As you understand, this blog post has taken me many months to put together. It is a long text to read too, I know. But I felt it was important to write it and have it published to explain why I personally had to take this step, and hopefully illuminate why so many ME/CFS patients consider or commit suicide.

And most importantly: to elucidate that this circumstance can be changed! But that will take devoted, resolute, real action from all of those responsible for the state of ME/CFS care, ME/CFS research and dissemination of information about the disease. Sadly, this responsibility has been mishandled for decades. To allow ME/CFS patients some hope on the horizon, key people in all countries must step up and act.

If you are a decision maker, here is what you urgently need to do: You need to bring funding for biomedical ME/CFS research up so it’s on par with comparable diseases (as an example, in the US that would mean $188 million per year). You need to make sure there are dedicated hospital care units for ME/CFS inpatients in every city around the world. You need to establish specialist biomedical care available to all ME/CFS patients; it should be as natural as RA patients having access to a rheumatologist or cancer patients to an oncologist. You need to give ME/CFS patients a future.

Please listen to these words of Jen Brea, which sum up the situation in the US, but are applicable to almost every country:

“The NIH says it won’t fund ME research because no one wants to study it. Yet they reject the applications of the world class scientists who are committed to advancing the field. Meanwhile, HHS has an advisory committee whose sole purpose seems to be making recommendations that are rarely adopted. There are no drugs in the pipeline at the FDA yet the FDA won’t approve the one drug, Ampligen, that can have Lazarus-like effects in some patients. Meanwhile, the CDC continues to educate doctors using information that we (patients) all know is inaccurate or incomplete.”

Like Jen Brea, I want a number of people from these agencies, and equivalent agencies in Sweden and all other countries, to stand up and take responsibility. To say: “ME! I am going to change things because that is my job.”

And lastly Lastly, I would like to end this by linking to this public comment from a US agency meeting (CFSAC). It seems to have been taken off the HHS site, but I found it in the Google Read version of the book “Lighting Up a Hidden World: CFS and ME” by Valerie Free. It includes testimony from two very eloquent ME patients and it says it all. I thank these ME patients for expressing so well what we are experiencing.

My previous blog posts:

From International Traveler to 43 Square Meters: An ME/CFS Story From Sweden

Coping With ME/CFS Will Always Be Hard – But There are Ways of Making It A Little Easier

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt I: The Facts – Plus “What Can We Do?

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt II: Why it Takes 20 Years to Get 1 Year’s Research Done

Take care of each other.

Love, Anne

Comments Open.

[tardis-sapphics]

Ooh you said you were open to Thasmin prompts so may I suggest Thasmin + ice cream?

you guys seem to like your ice cream prompts don’t you

‘I can’t believe you got an ice cream van.’

The three of them are standing outside of Graham’s house, in various states of disbelief. Parked on the curb sits the Doctor’s new… acquisition, a monstrosity on the eyes, the gaudiest type of van to ever roam the streets of Britain.

‘I can,’ Yaz responds to Ryan’s open-mouthed utterance.

The Doctor, it seems, has bought an ice cream van that has intensified its own nature. Gone are the pretty pinks and the calm orange pastels of years before; this van boasts of at least seven different colours, all bold and bright and beautiful, splashed all over its exterior. On its front and rear twirl different cartoons, from iconic Looney Tunes characters to cartoon aliens that Yaz has never seen before in her life. She thinks she glimpsed a Scooby-Doo on the other side, too, but none of the rest of the gang. On the serving side of the van, the ubiquitous ‘Mr. Whippy’ logo takes up most of the room, a typeface copied on the front of the van. On the roof, two ginormous painted metal ice creams spin on an axis in tandem.

Yaz doesn’t even want to consider how obnoxiously loud the ice cream van’s jingle will be.

The Doctor has never looked prouder, of course. Her arms are wider than the sun as she shows off her newest hobby; her grin deep-set and all-encompassing. Her eyes crinkle with delight. She can barely contain herself.

It makes sense, Yaz thinks, that she would take this mission to the next level. Her exasperation is quickly dissipating: it’s easy to forgive the Doctor for her wild plans when they make her smile like that.

‘I…’ Graham stutters. ‘Doc, you’ve genuinely made me speechless. Proper speechless.’

‘Ey, and that don’t happen too much, does it?’ Ryan grins to Yaz.

‘It’s just…’ They wait, curious, as Graham tries in earnest to find the words appropriate for this moment. He constantly has to adjust his crossed arms, his eyebrows getting more and more furrowed. The Doctor has started lowering her arms by the time he reaches the right response. ‘H…How?’

Yaz shrugs. That’s fair.

The Doctor has endeavoured to inspect every inch of her new van, checking, no doubt, for any improvements she could make. ‘If you must know, I have a mate up in Leeds who sells them.’ She disappears behind the back of the van, though her voice still carries. ‘I say mate. I mean acquaintance.’ A pause. ‘I say acquaintance. I mean someone I met.’

Yaz hums. ‘You found it on the internet, didn’t you?’

The Doctor’s head pops up to the side, and she points a finger at Yaz. ‘But she were very lovely, I’ll have you know! She were dead pleased, said she don’t really get customers anymore. Unless, of course, they’re from—’

‘The United Federation of Ice-Cream Creators,’ the three humans echo in unison.

‘See; you’re learning!’ the Doctor crows, and appears only to disappear again, into the van to inspect its contents.

Buying an ice cream from the ice cream van in summer was a highlight of their repeated childhood memories, no matter which generation they belong to. Graham swears up and down that the vans haven’t changed much since he was young, though the ice cream van could park anywhere back then, unlike now with all these cars clogging up the streets. For Ryan, ice cream vans always indicated refreshment after playing out with his mates – he of all of them would appreciate the cool refreshment after all the hard work. Yaz’s prevailing memory is of her local ice cream van man: a walking Italian stereotype who refused to call any of the girls by a name other than Rebecca or Jessica. At several points throughout her childhood, Yaz was called both Rebecca and Jessica during one single purchase.

It’s with these memories in mind that they follow her into the van – not only because they tend to follow, but because, they, too, are curious. Stepping closer to peer inside feels like a betrayal of the childhood mystery, but they’re pulled to it regardless.

It simply looks off-white; functional, extremely claustrophobic, and a little underwhelming. But if the expression on her face is anything to go by, it’s the Doctor’s idea of paradise.

Yaz is the first to step inside. She’s the first to follow; she always has been. In the cramped line the space inside the van allows, Yaz becomes situated against the Doctor, pressed up close and comfy. It’s a happy coincidence that the Doctor’s arm has to reach over her shoulder to point at the whippy dispenser and the empty cardboard boxes waiting to be filled with 99 Flakes.

The Doctor choosing to rest her arm on Yaz’s shoulder afterwards is not such a coincidence. Ryan and Graham are taking the time to do their own preliminary investigations, passing comments to each other in the light tone they’ve both grown to depend on from one another. (This isn’t without difficulty, though. Graham is desperately trying to decode Ryan’s rhetorical question of whether screwball ice creams ‘deserve rights’.) Knowing the other two are distracted, Yaz takes the time to sink into the feeling of the Doctor around her, letting her head rest on the Doctor’s. She smells like honey, and engine oil, and peppermint. They breathe in together and revel in the feeling: the both of them free to display affection like this. Finally, finally.

It evolved slowly, intensifying, like taking a deep breath. First it was the handholding, electrifying when sparse and comforting when established; long looks and good-natured teasing were followed by hugs, and longer hugs, and holding on. Then came the peak, lungs filled with anticipation – clandestine kisses shared in the dark and in the quick moments. Settling into rhythms and understanding each other in ways they wouldn’t have otherwise.

Yaz knows what the Doctor’s lips taste like in the morning, and the exact way she likes her tea. She knows that the Doctor is ticklish on the insides of her elbows and the undersides of her feet. The Doctor has read and reread Yaz’s favourite childhood books, Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, just so she can match Yaz’s pace and fervour whenever it is somehow brought up in conversation. Almost every time the Doctor holds Yaz’s hand, and especially when they’re alone, she’ll make the effort to flip her hand over and kiss Yaz’s palm with a tenderness that makes the other woman tremble.

In other words, Yaz is absolutely head over heels for the Doctor. And she’s pretty sure it’s being reciprocated, too.

Not that they’ve really verbalised what this is. Hand holding and kissing and genuine comfort is one thing; giving the dynamic foundational support is another. It’s the question that’s kept her awake almost every night since, but Yaz doesn’t want to break this. The Doctor tends to be slow on social cues, and Yaz doesn’t want to rush her.

The Doctor might just not be into labels.

‘What d’you think?’ the Doctor murmurs.

Being pulled out of one’s deliberations gets no less jolting – it does, in fact, take Yaz by surprise to a higher degree thanks to the Doctor’s proximity. Her lips are close enough to Yaz’s ears that she’d hear the Doctor whisper even over the din of the van’s engine. It does wonders for a part of her she’s not at all prepared to dwell on in an ice cream van. It’s this reminder – that the Doctor’s talking about a flipping ice cream van – that brings her to her senses.

‘I think you’re an idiot,’ she replies, bring up a hand to hold the Doctor’s hand so leisurely draped over Yaz’s body. The Doctor’s hands are cool, reassuring, where her own burn hot. ‘What happens if we’re still monitoring the Federation for longer than a week? Won’t you have to take it back and lose your cover?’

The Doctor frowns, an expression that moulds her lips into what Yaz and Ryan fondly call a “scronch”. ‘Why would I be taking this back if I bought it?’

Yaz sighs.

‘Doctor, I swear to—’

Quite a lot of Yaz’s life sounds like something out of a conspiracy theorist’s overactive imagination. Thankfully, the Moon landing was not faked; and the world, she can confirm, is overwhelmingly round – but she can personally attest to aliens walking amongst humans on Earth. And more besides.

Sometimes it’s so crazy that she can’t quite believe it herself.

If you told her two years ago that the ice cream van industry was being targeted by an alien species determined to steal the original Mr. Whippy recipe from Earth and claim ownership of the delicacy throughout the known universe – she would’ve laughed you out of the room.

But, well, here she is. Trying to stop ice cream thieves.

Ryan and Graham were assigned the roles of faithful customers, parading the scorching streets of Sheffield in order to build a rapport with the city’s ice cream sellers. All those pound coins being spent (mostly Graham’s) have, eventually, paid off: they’ve compiled an effective list of who they believe to be local Federation colleagues, aliens the four of them should attempt to befriend in order to get inside information.

It’s up to the Doctor and Yaz, then, to sell the alibi – and plenty of ice creams in the meantime. While it’s the Doctor who mans the van first and foremost, Yaz joins her when police work isn’t demanding her attendance. The ice cream selling is much more preferable to patrolling the county in a roasting police uniform.

Summer 2019 has been swinging, temperature-wise, from the boring to the truly worrying. In a week where the weather has alternated between torrential rain and record-breaking heat, the two women have had a wildly varying record of success. Sometimes they’ve sat with the serving window up to see no passers-by in sight. Not that they would be able to glimpse them, anyway, behind the incessant raindrops splattering the serving window. Other times, they’ve had impatient queues consisting of the entire park they’ve visited: harassed and harangued parents struggling to keep their kids happy in the sweltering heat; groups of kids in vital need of sustenance after all their playing; older residents cashing in on the opportunity to indulge in nostalgia. Such is British weather.

The Doctor has taken to selling ice cream like a duck to water. She may not be socially tactful, but her enthusiasm around people more than makes up for it. She makes the process of making ‘Mr. Whippy’ ice creams into a show for the kids to enjoy. She juggles the ice lollies before presenting them to her amused customers, despite the little space the ice cream van provides. She can be heard whistling the ice cream van’s jingle, ‘Greensleeves’, even after her work for the day is done. There’s a knack to ice cream selling, Yaz believes, and the Doctor has it in spades.

Sometimes they even forget they’re meant to be keeping a lookout for the Federation. It’s so easy to slip into this routine, switching between serving the public as a police officer and serving the public their much-needed ice cream. Spending her time with the Doctor, floating around each other in the van guided more by the touch of fingertips on familiar clothes than by sight; it feels like something they could get settled into.

Apparently it shows.

They get looks, the Doctor and Yaz. Very specific looks. Yaz is not often in the back of the ice cream van whilst the Doctor is serving, but whenever she makes her way down, hands on the Doctor’s back as she moves, she’ll sometimes catch a glimpse of recognition from the customers. The ice cream van is a two-way mirror through which society can look at itself – the Doctor and Yaz get a feel for the surrounding community, and the customers, too, get a feel for them.

Sometimes they’re parents, surprised to see such tenderness between two women. (Sometimes their acknowledgement is one of distaste. Not always, but sometimes; Yaz does her best to stare back, to make them uncomfortable.) Sometimes, they are gay couples, and the look passed between them is one of solidarity more than anything else.

Sometimes they’re just curious kids, learning more and more about the world each day.

‘Are you two girlfriends?’

Wearing a football shirt drenched with sweat, the girl stands and waits patiently with her mother for a well-earned 99 Flake.

‘Idha!’ the mother scolds her.

Amongst the recognition of her own mini heart attack, Yaz estimates that the kid must be about 9, no older. There’s no sort of disdain coming from her. She’s just a curious little girl.

Still, that doesn’t make answering her question any easier. Honestly, Yaz was just in the back to pinch a 99 flake. That mission has backfired massively. Her heartbeat picks up.

She knows what she’d like to say. She knows that whatever answer is given now will determine the answer to that question for a while yet.

Yaz presumed the Doctor was too busy concentrating on perfecting the twirl of the ice cream to pay attention.

But the Doctor takes her by surprise. One perfect ice cream is presented, Flake squished in, with an equally made-up smile. As Yaz opens her mouth to speak – to say what, she doesn’t know – the Doctor jumps in.

‘Me and Yaz? We’re partners in crime, we are,’ she responds, with a wink. ‘Not literally. She’s a police officer, you know.’

Partners in crime. Right.

(She can’t help but notice the disappointment fizzling in her body.)

This seems to placate both child and mother long enough for the significance of the question to be forgotten. They pay for the treat – the girl utters a very polite, ‘Thank you, miss!’ – and leave.

Yaz is returning to the driver’s seat to eat her Flake in peace, but the Doctor catches her eye for just a second as they manoeuvre around the small space. The Doctor’s gaze is acquiescent; filled with a longing Yaz can’t quite place.

‘Was that—?’

The Doctor’s words are cut off by the thump of a small child managing to catapult themselves straight into the ice cream van.

 Alone time, when the great British public have not deigned the two women with their presence, is preferable for interests other than sugary cold treats. Especially when the clouds are dumping a month’s worth of rain in about three hours.

She’s been trying her hardest not to be distracted these past few days, but it’s easier said than done when it’s just been the two of them in this van. Their duty to the public comes first, of course, but in the midst of many an explicit look, Yaz has never been happier to forget her promise to serve the public their ice cream.

Besides, making out with the Doctor is so much more fun.

It’s a very middling Friday; after the ridiculous heat of Thursday, the temperatures have comparatively plummeted to around 21 degrees. The clouds overhead have sent kids running indoors, nervous about the deluge to come. A few brave souls have wandered on parched pavements, though; a couple of them have even wanted a cool treat.

Yaz’s shift doesn’t start until 7pm, so she’s free to assist the Doctor in her ice cream escapades for three more hours or so. On this slow day, she’s been the one doing the driving whilst the Doctor busies herself with stock-checking or fiddling with this strange handheld invention the Doctor has brought on board.

She can’t really understand it. There are at least three levers, and a winding gear. It has what Yaz can only conclude is a dog cone fixed hastily onto one of its ends. Whenever she has tried to ask what on Earth the entire contraption may be, the Doctor has been far too preoccupied to answer.

‘What are we even gonna do when we uncover the Federation ice cream sellers?’ she wonders. She has to make her voice loud over the sound of the engine, kept on even when they’re stationary in order to keep the ice creams cool. Getting out of the driver’s seat, she steps into the serving area to find the Doctor bent down, inspecting her rapidly depleted supply of strawberry syrup. The dog coned invention languishes at her feet, bleeping infrequently.

‘I dunno, really,’ is the Doctor’s reply, her voice stretched by her movement as she stands back up. Leaning with one hand on the van’s windowsill, she continues, ‘I’m definitely reporting them to the Shadow Proclamation, though. There are about 300 different laws on the issue of original content being stolen from species who haven’t developed enough to defend their planetary property – the Federation are breaking every single one of them.’

Coatless, with sleeves rolled back, she looks just a little more unkempt than usual, frazzled in the best way by a new hobby keeping her busy. She’s positively glowing – not from the regeneration energy, this time – and Yaz is a little more than attracted to the sight.

Yaz has to swallow it down. ‘But what about in the meantime? Surely the threat of the Shadow Proclamation won’t stop them from continuing their business right now?’

‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’ the Doctor muses. It’s hard, in a small space such as this, getting somewhere with so much energy, but Yaz can only describe her movement as floating – getting closer and closer to Yaz. ‘But no. The Redeto know just how little power they have in the universe. Stealing a soon-to-be popular recipe will pay off big time if successful, but the repercussions are huge. They know the stakes here.’ The Doctor shrugs. ‘Maybe if I promise I won’t rat them out.’

‘That’s if they give you an audience,’ Yaz points out. It’s a strong point, but it peters off into nothingness now the Doctor has moved so close. Their noses are almost touching. Yaz can see hazel green; wide pupils.

Her heartbeat is off the charts.

The Doctor doesn’t bother to attempt a corny line. There’s no need now she knows Yaz is unofficially, but totally, hers. Instead, her indication of intent comes in the form of nervous hands, swooping up to caress Yaz’s face. Everything is still new; with warm touch, Yaz’s skin is set on fire.

She is the one to push forward and press their lips together. It’s such a relief, every time, like breathing out after holding her breath for too long. They gasp for each other in between kisses and Yaz can feel it, that mutuality, that simplest of desires, to hold and be held. Her hands slip down the Doctor’s mustard suspenders, and she thanks her lucky stars that this feeling – this experience – is something she gets to indulge in. She’d be thankful for an only time. She’s lost count of how many times they’ve kissed now, and she grows every day in her gratitude.

She’s lost all sense of the outside world – just pressing herself further into the joy of it, the relief that comes with knowing the Doctor still wants to kiss. She’s quite forgotten that they’re stood at the serving area, kissing slow then fast, hard and tender, with open mouths and roaming hands.

She wishes she could do this all the time.

There comes a point where attention must be paid, however, to something else other than the Doctor. At a slow moment within the kiss, the Doctor stills and stalls in her previously successful endeavour of pushing her hands underneath Yaz’s jacket. Yaz immediately pulls away, regretting the absence of warm hands and confusion starting to crease her brow – until she hears it too.

Another engine. She tries to calm her heartbeat.

‘Is that…?’

‘Probably.’ The Doctor swallows, attempting to compose herself. ‘We’ve got company.’

Peeking through the serving area’s closed window, they can see an idling ice cream van. The décor is much duller than the Doctor’s – practical, toned down and perfect. It’s a perfectly respectable paint job for a perfectly respectable person – and that would be fine, of course, if it weren’t for the fact that the person in the van is very much not a person. Not a human person, anyway.

Yaz recognises the van right away – one of the people on the list. Ryan and Graham have known about this Redeto for a while, and they tasked Yaz and the Doctor to keep an eye on him. Apparently, they weren’t subtle. The stern, dangerous look on his face is indication enough. To his left, another person bends forward and makes himself known.

Two of them.

Knowing your cover might be blown is different to actually having your cover blown. Yaz keeps eye contact with the Doctor as their expressions slacken with dread. Was it their discussion? Was it Ryan and Graham? It doesn’t particularly matter.

The Redeto are not known for being considerate.

‘You alright to start driving the van?’ the Doctor asks politely, a light confidence in her voice that would be reassuring were it not for its total falsity.

Yaz gets to it. Their moment of being together is over, very over. With no small feeling of reluctance, she disentangles herself from the warmth of the Doctor’s body and makes her way to the driver’s seat, nearly tripping over the Doctor’s contraption as she does.

Almost three years of driving has prepared her enough for the small feat of piloting the ice cream van. Thereabouts, anyway. The van lurches into motion as soon as she eases her foot off the clutch and she grimaces, embarrassed. But they’re on their way.

The other ice cream van immediately follows.

Yaz swallows. They’re definitely within the realms of being chased now. This is new to her; she’s usually the one pursuing, checking for escape routes to block and ways to guide the target into stopping. On the flipside, the mounting pressure is starting to get to her.

She would not want to be in the shoes of a criminal, Yaz thinks. It’s bad enough being pursued by an ice cream van.

She takes a deep breath and presses down on the accelerator, hard. The van groans in response but reacts as best it can. It unsettles the Doctor’s balance in the back of the van.

‘Keep going, Yaz!’ she shouts, the bleeping from her invention almost a second rallying cry. ‘We can try to evade him!’

She’s on the flipside – but, Yaz realises, she can use that to her advantage. Her knowledge of Sheffield’s roads is bone-deep; better, she imagines, than an alien following the popular routes where customers would most likely be. She finds an opening and makes a sharp turn, the tyres screeching and the ice cream machines rattling raucously. Terraced houses whizz by; Yaz catches a glimpse of a mother in pyjamas putting out the bins; her eyes wide, her mouth open at the sight before – and then after – her.

This sort of scene would usually be accompanied by a dramatic film score; a heart-raising drumbeat, maybe a few electric guitars. Instead, the street is treated to the shriek of ‘Greensleeves’ as the ice cream van thunders past.

‘Yasmin Khan, you are my hero!’ the Doctor praises. ‘Nice job. Time to head for the TARDIS, don’t you th—’

‘Doctor, he’s back,’ Yaz interrupts, catching sight of him in her wing mirror. Just because she turned so quickly, it didn’t mean he couldn’t catch up. He must have found a shortcut too, she thinks. Damn. She switches gears to accommodate for the upcoming hill. A red light flashes into existence at the top of it, and a three-car-long queue has built up.

‘You’re kidding,’ she whispers. She has to stop. She is, after all, a law-abiding citizen – and a police officer. She’s the last person to defy a red light.

Waiting for the amber light gives the Federation ice cream van enough time to catch up. As they line up in adjacent lanes, the Redeto in the driver’s seat turns to look at Yaz. Yaz looks back, a disapproving frown planted very firmly on her face. And his smile widens into a smug. Weirdo, she thinks.

The green light returns, finally, and they are restricted by the cars in front for a little while. But, once more, as soon as Yaz sees an opening away from the queue, she takes it – tyres screech and the Doctor is thrown into the 99 Flakes box. The Federation van follows suit, and gains steadily as they run through a green, an amber, another green. Their van has more horsepower, the two women come to realise; once again the two ice cream vans line up. Yaz goes into another gear and speeds up, pushing past the speed limit, but it’s not enough to lose them.

The driver smiles at her again as he winds down his window. Yaz grumbles under her breath. Then the passenger leans forward again, this time having procured with a rather gun-like weapon.

She gasps – ducks her head. Just in time. The shot goes over her head, singing a couple of her hairs – and breaking both windows of the van’s driving compartment. It shatters with a high-pitched sound, and Yaz yelps.

The van veers to the left but she rights it. ‘Doctor, do something!’ she shouts over the noise of the engine. ‘He’s shooting at me!’

‘Yes, I saw!’ the Doctor shouts back. Yaz swerves the van onto another street – another residential area. Mercifully, there are no kids playing. The turn upsets the Doctor’s journey to the driving compartment, but with her free hand she holds onto the passenger seat.

The Redeto’s weapon, it seems, needs to power up again. Yaz takes the moment to glimpse at the Doctor – sleeves rolled up past her elbows, blonde hair flyaway, a few strands falling down past her forehead onto her face. There’s an intensity in the way she’s set her jaw. As she winds up the invention tucked under her arm, her right arm’s muscles tense and relax.

Yaz finds it amazing how, in the middle of being shot at, she still finds time to be wholly distracted by how impressive the Doctor looks.

Then they’re shot at again – the Doctor jumps back, Yaz compressing herself into a crouch – and she focuses on the task at hand. Namely, driving. They soar over a speed bump and the shock of the landing is particularly hard. Something in the back of the van breaks open. They return to a wider road. Still, the Federation van keeps up.

‘Now, Doctor!’ Yaz yells.

The buzzing of the Doctor’s contraption gets more and more frequent until it blends into one sound. A whirring starts up, like a whistling kettle, and the Doctor’s grin gets wide.

‘Show time,’ she breathes.

With a couple of steps, the Doctor places her body in the way of Yaz, so neither Redeto can destabilise the womens’ van. Hoisting the contraption onto her shoulder, she points the cone-end forward at the Redeto drivers and yanks down a lever. White hot light surrounds the machinery.

‘Oi!’ the Doctor shouts. ‘Stop shooting at my girlfriend!’ She presses a button, and a stream of white light gets propelled towards the Federation van.

Yaz and the Doctor speed away, but in the wing mirror, Yaz can witness what the contraption has done to their pursuers. The white light envelopes the surfaces of the ice cream van; with the two men stuck inside, they are caught in the consequences. The van completely freezes – momentum dissipating in the afternoon air – and nothing escapes. Not a sound, not a single movement. Hair does not sway. Arms do not collapse. The steering wheel does not turn.

They are simply suspended.

The sight of them in her mirror gets smaller and smaller, until they become inconsequential. Nothingness has never seemed so explicitly still. Yaz turns another corner and eases the van into a more residential-friendly speed. At this pace, the incessant ‘Greensleeves’ blaring through the ice cream van’s speakers feels less frantic.

Yaz huffs out a relieved breath.

‘Aw, mate,’ the Doctor beams from beside her. ‘I was hoping that would work.’

Yaz doesn’t want to entertain the alternative. ‘Wh-what was that?’ she asks. Her eyes are still on the road; even though the Federation van has been… apprehended, she still wants to get them as far away as possible.

The Doctor jumps into the passenger seat, already investigating the state of her contraption. The whirring has stopped, the light disappeared; the beeping, at least, is much more regular now. ‘That was a makeshift Time Stop,’ she explains. ‘Does what it says on the tin. I need this to reverse the effects, so they continue to be exactly how they were in the moment they got stopped, but by that time we’ll be much better prepared for them.’ She winds it up, and it bleeps at her. ‘I know, I know! Look, we’ll charge you when we get inside the TARDIS, alright?’ With that thought, she looks up at Yaz. ‘Can you head there now?’

Yaz nods, and changes direction.

It takes a minute or so of relative quietness – ‘Greensleeves’ is still playing, the twee high pitch fuelling Yaz’s irritation – when her brain catches up fully with the afternoon’s events. The tension of being pursued has melted away to reveal perfect memory.

She jolts in her seat.

‘Doctor,’ she says.

The Doctor jumps. ‘Yeah?’

‘You called me your girlfriend,’ Yaz states, her voice carefully devoid of anything emotional.

‘Yeah,’ the Doctor repeats, and the guilt seeps through. ‘Sorry; wasn’t thinking.’

Yaz keeps quiet, expecting the Doctor to elaborate.

It’s one of the hardest feats she’s ever achieved.

‘Sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Was just caught up in the moment, see. And when they shot at you like that – twice! – it just riled me up. Didn’t think.’ She pauses. ‘Should’ve had the conversation first, shouldn’t we?’

Yaz can’t keep the smile hidden any longer. A quick look to her left secures their eye contact. ‘I liked it,’ she shrugs, and in real time she sees the Doctor swell with delight. ‘You can keep calling me that, if you like.’

‘I will,’ the Doctor beams. She jumps up to attend to the serving area – but not before pressing a kiss to Yaz’s cheek.

The sheer joy of this revelation comes off the both of them in waves. Yaz thinks she may just appreciate ice cream vans a bit more now.

Sometimes her life is so crazy that she can’t quite believe it herself.

[wowheadquarters]

What other race would they recruit for their cause?

For a lovable anon. Ft. a lot of special guests. I would also like to thank @val-entines for the exceptional work they did on colouring the portrait of Prophet-Queen Amarnie.

Anduin: A controversial choice to start this list with but: The Black dragonflight.

Ghost Varin: You just want an excuse to get to see your boyfriend more, we get it. Wrathion: As much as I’d love to have a valid reason to sneak into Anduin’s bedroom every other night, I’d still prefer not to be dragged into all this political mess as someone’s second. I would like to have my opinions, express them, and not just... be on a wild ride whenever Greymane thinks he wants a war.

The Council of Three Hammers: The Frostborn. They are virtually the only “good” dwarves who aren’t a part of the Alliance yet. 

Velog: Yeah, sure, but if we have to travel anywhere hotter than the thawing point, we are just not going.

Tyrande: The Shen’dralar. They had asked us for help anyway.

Mordent: You know, I have been waiting for this sort of audience for quite a couple of years now. I’ve made up my mind: No. Just to spite you, it’s not happening.

Mekkatorque: The mechagnomes, because they are beautiful and also his size.

Mimiron: I don’t know if you remember, but my little creations have... kind of corrupt-defects. Not exactly reliable.

Velen: The Ethereal, namely the Consortium. We need our own all-for-the-business faction to compete the Horde’s Bilgewater cartel.

Haramand: Sure, old man goat. But I am selling you to the highest bidder.

Genn: The Vulpera. For... reasons.

Kiro: Thatr’s nice in theory. But a) I am not willing to be alligned with a guy who is both a furry on main and afraid to say it, and b) we get along with the Horde just nicely, thank you very much.

Aysa: The Saberon. I am a humanoid bear, I have no shame of being a furry on main.

Ashripper: Heh, good luck. Uniting the Saberon for any kind of cause is like herding cats. Aysa: You are cats. Ashripper: Yep. That’s why it’s so fitting!

Alleria: The centaurs. They are basically a cavalry on their own!

Kammah: I am not fighting by the side of... of.... them! Shodo: You dare to show your face here? You... you mule! Alleria: Gentlemen, please! Oh, never mind, they are after each other’s neck again.

Turalyon: Uhhhh... The Tol’vir maybe? I don’t really know, I think we’ve run out of the good races by now.

Phaoris: I think that we give this a gentle yet firm no, just because you’ve disappointed and offended half of azeroth races, the Tol’vir included. Toralyon: Fair.

Jaina: Tuskarr! Sorry, I mean Kalu’ak. I mean, my most fovorite sea-and-fishing people. And they swim on turtles!

Ko’nani: Will there be enough food for all of us? Atuik: And will there be a lower temperature so we wouldn’t boil alive?

Thrall: The Wild Gods. Go big or go home.

Malorne: Go home, Thrall. Go home.

Spirit of Vol’jin: I say dem kobolds, juss’ for da fun.

Ghost Garrosh: Give me one, one good reason why we should keep kobolds around! Spirit of Vol’jin: Well, we’vve kept Gallywix. Ghost Garrosh: Point taken. But what about the horrible smell? Spirit of Vol’jin: Eh, dem kobolds get used to it soon.

Baine: Moonkins! Or wildkins, the correct term is wildkin, right?

Aroom: (Very sadly shakes his head.) Hoot hoot. Baine: Fed up with fighting. No, no, don’t apologize. I understand. We can be friends, thought, right? Aroom: Hoot hoot!

Sylvanas: What about the Botani?

Phylarch: The great cycle of nature does not care for your struggles. When your bodies fall and rot, our roots will feast on you. Eventually, we become all and all becomes us. You shall join us when the time comes. Sylvanas: That was super creepy. I’m having second thoughts.

Lor'themar: What about the Vrykul?

Sigryn: What about us, little thing? Lor’themar: Can we get into an alliance with giant women? Sigryn: You think you are worthy of it? I doubt it.

Gallywix: Gilgoblins. In case we need to move our factories underwater because of... tax evasion? Tax evasion is not evil, right?

Gurboggle: Glub glrlll! Raaaaaaa! Kill!

Ji: Can we, maybe, just maybe, join forces with a dragonflight? My preferences would be the Red one, but any dragons are good dragons.

Alexstrasza: Young man, if you want to screw a dragon, just secure yourself a date. A man with cooking like yours shouldn’t find it all that difficult.

Thalyssra: What about the Netherwing? They indeed are very interesting dragons.

Neltharaku: (Suspiciously eyeing Occuleth’s “scientific devices”) No.

Mayla: I’m thinking about the Mutlocs. They are cute.

Mrgl-Mrgl: I have a list of reasons written on this patch of seaweed of why that is a bad idea for both parties included.

Geya’rah: Ogres. Definitely the Draenor ogres. Where you need power, there it helps to have an ogre or a band of them.

Rexxar: Well, theoretically speaking, I still have the position of the Chifteain of the Stonemaul, I’ve just been vacationing. Rexxar: But You said Draenor orges. I have no idea who is in charge there. Geya’rah: I bet a wolfskin that they haven’t got a clue either.

Talanji: What about de Arakkoa? I be fond of feathers, and I do not find deir culture too different from ours.

Terokk: You guys, one version of me is batshit crazy and has to be summoned from I don’t know what offerings placed at a large pile of skulls, and the other version of me is quite busy and has a crippling depression. Terokk: What I am trying to say is that we haven’t got it together enough to help you get your stuff together too. Terokk: Though... If Talanji is single, I could be persuaded...

Taedal: The Tehal. I am very aware that they aren’t part of the Warcraft universe, but you know, neither am actually I, my Golden Torch demons or my whole fucking expansion. Tehal are a part of my expansion and I would very much like to strike an alliance with them against my sister and the Old Gods. Plus, they are really and literally hot.

Amarnie: I actually think this very possible. If you help my children to put this whole place together and... Hold on, I have a list in here somewhere. Here. I need to have all of these things sorted out before we are able to efficiently help somebody without risking extinction. Taedal: Wow, this is going to be quite a chainquest.