#*points at Wild* YOU. You have so many problems. Can barely bend 2/4 of the elements hahaha poor guy

[minty-mumbles]

LU Avatar AU

I was planning on writing an Avatar AU with a short snippet about each Link and how they felt about bending each element. (Set in Hyrule, but people can bend the elements and the hero is the avatar, who can bend all four elements.)

I decided I didn't like the idea enough to devote anymore time to it, but you guys can have what I've finished

~~~

To Wild, airbending is as instinctual and effortless as breathing. Even more so, perhaps. Zelda had told him she couldn’t recall what element he had been born into. He was sure that if she did remember, she would tell him that he'd been born under the watchful gaze of the air spirits.

He was constantly airbending, so much so that his feet floated more than they touched the solid ground.

He floats in his sleep sometimes. The other avatars don’t mention it, but he knows they’re baffled by it. Everyone always is, when he sleeps somewhere someone will see him. 

Wild- and everyone else- had assumed it was an avatar thing, to be able to control the elements even when you were unconscious. But none of the other avatars could bend while they were asleep. 

~~~

Wild can barely move pebbles when he tries to earthbend. Zelda says that it’s because he’s a free spirit and doesn’t like to be grounded, but Wild doubts that. Hyrule didn’t seem to have any issue with earth bending, and he was as much of a free spirit as Wild was. 

And it’s not like Wild doesn’t try. He does. He trains daily, even if it’s just for a short while. He knows how important earth bending is. But no matter how hard he tried, the solid rock beneath his feet never wanted to move for him. 

~~~

When Wild firebends, he dances. 

When he woke from the shine, all his bending masters were dead and he had no one to teach him. So he taught himself, using scraps of memories of the champions’ lessons and his own accidental discoveries. That led to some of his bending styles being a bit unique, fire bending most of all. The closest he’s ever seen was the fire dances that the Gerudo did sometimes, in the privacy of their town.

But he’s never seen anyone dance like that during combat, not like he does. 

He supposes it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s as deadly with his flames as anyone else, and he is. 

~~~

Wild has a hard time waterbending too. He’s better at it than earthbending- at least he could move water around. But it’s never fast, and it's never forceful, so his waterbending is all but useless in combat. This, Wild thinks, is mostly his fault. He could force the water to be more deadly if he tried harder. It’s not like earth bending, where he tries but doesn’t succeed. 

Water is a free element. It goes where it wants, when it wants to, and frankly, he’s loath to make it do anything it doesn’t want to. So he never tries very hard to bend it to his will.

~~~

Four had kept the gift quiet, even in his own era. He hadn’t planned on telling the other avatars at all, but he would need something even more precise than his smithing to try and forge an unbreakable sword for the champion.

Metal bending was an extremely rare gift, even for an avatar, and he didn’t like the attention it brought to him when people knew. He was getting that attention now, whether he liked it or not. He could feel the other avatars’ gaze on him. He swore Wind’s star-filled admiring eyes were burning a hole into his back. 

He ignored them, focusing all his attention on the metal floating in front of him, slowly taking the form of a sword. 

~~~

Wind was born a water bender, as most Hylians on the Great Sea were. He’d never felt more at home than he did when he was standing on the seashore, listening to the waves and feeling the water lap at his bare feet.

There was a comfort in it, knowing the sea would never hurt him. Could never hurt him, even if it tried.

[antiloreolympus]

7 Anti LO Asks

1. Do you know what really gets my blood boiling about this comic? Persephone and Demeter's relationship.

In the myths, Demeter and Persephone loved each other more than anything. Their reunion is so important - it marked the coming of spring and growth. A whole cult was dedicated to this for crying out loud. Yes, the myths were far from perfect, but the Persephone and Demeter myth showed the strength of a loving mother-daughter relationship with Demeter searching endlessly to find her child that was ripped away and had her innocence forcibly taken.

Now, RS is not the only author to make Demeter this over-bearing mother type in order to put more positivity onto the Hades-Persephone relationship. However, RS takes this trend to a whole new level - to the point where I would even consider it misogyny.

How is it, she takes this beautiful mother-daughter relationship and makes it out to be an abusive and controlling one, and then takes the Hades-Persephone relationship from a forceful one to a loving, perfect relationship with no problems? How is it ok to ruin one relationship to elevate another?

I understand that many versions of the myth try to downplay Hades' actions, and even make it so Persephone actually falls in love with him and there is no rape. But it doesn't change that this relationship was problematic, and meant to represent the loss of innocence.

Then fans have the gall to claim this comic is feminist and then claim on top of that that Demeter and Persephone's relationship was the same in the myth? These fans clearly don't know the myths, and neither does RS.

Making Hades a good person is fine. Changing it up a bit to make Persephone's loss of innocence something else is also fine. But ruining Demeter and Persephone's relationship? Especially when Persephone has to spend half the year with her? So horrible. 

2. im sorry, but rachel cant introduce KRONOS coming back and then dropping it for several episodes to focus on a stake-less trail and persephone not knowing what lingerie to seduce hades in. like thats too much of an earth shaking development and huge stake plot point to just ignore for months to focus instead on something as minor as hxp's relationship, which only points out a huge flaw: why is hxp's relationship so minor in this? isnt the whole point supposed to be about them?

3. I think LO completely dropped the ball over Hades’ characterization. 

From the first ep I thought ok, this is good, we have some bones to see he’s not that lucky in love and is just tired and lonely, and while ignoring the creepy actions towards Persephone, I thought ok, Artemis hates him, Hestia hates, even Ares hates him, maybe once Persephone finally sees the underworld and probably gets to know him it’ll be a clever twist and they’ll be proven wrong. The underworld will turn out to be fair and just, the citizens will love Hades, he’ll be revealed to be a good leader and king and not like his brothers, it’ll be like everyone saying Hades of myth isn’t actually that bad, and it’ll help reinforce why this sweet and bubbly Persephone wants him, she sees the real him, not the mean rumors and assumptions, this is perfect.

And then it just didn’t happen. The exact opposite happened, actually.

We’re shown the LO underworld is cruel and unjust, where the poor dead are forced into slavery and Hades created a harsh class divide with him and him only on top, the citizens hate him, the underworld gods don’t trust him and openly seem ok if he’s taken out of power, he’s not a good leader and king and doesn’t even want the job yet keeps it for his own ego and grip of power m, and on top of it all he is just like his brothers, if not worse. He loves to get violent over any little slight against him, he hoards wealth and resources to enrich himself while his citizens starve and struggle to survive, he’s corrupt, he controls all the media and laws to bend to his will, sleeps with his brothers wife for centuries behind his back while claiming to be holier than thou, he has sex with his secretaries who are made dependent on him for any way to survive, and now he lusts after his barely legal intern who is also now dependent on him for her way to survive, and that’s only what I remember off the top of my head.

LO perfectly set up to prove Hades isn’t the devil or the false pop culture assumption that he’s evil and to show some actual facts from myth, and yet Rachel only ended up reinforcing exactly that and even making him even worse with her made up ideas, all while thinking having Persephone ignore or excuse it somehow makes it not bad or even a good thing. It’s honestly kind of impressive just how bad of writing that actually is. 

4. Chapter 172 is not that interesting. It’s setup had me excited to see Hephaestus and Hera and learning more about echo, but it’s cut so short. Because again the story can’t leave HXP out for 2 seconds.

I can also see why Zeus is gonna go insane. 

5. i agree w/ other anon. LO should have pulled a PJO or a BoZ and just made up OCs and have them interact with the gods than whatever Rachel thinks shes doing, which is lying she's being accurate and faithful while completely changing all of it, removing what is needed, and adding what isnt so that it lines up with no actual myth besides like, various 50 shades fanfic she read in 2015 and some popular tumblr text posts.

6 . the animation studio behind blood of zeus literally can only draw one face for the men and one face for the women and they were still able to make the gods all look distinct and hot while LO can't even bother to use more than 6 colors and can only have the women look as tiny as possible with the biggest boobs while the men are all just lego men.

7. ////FP SPOILERS////

Okay so like I stopped reading LO way back before season 1 ended, and a majority of my knowledge of the series comes from what I read here on your blog which is enough for me lol and I decided to read the latest 5 chapters just to see what's up (on zahard. I refuse to give the actual series any views)

And I just. Could not take the whole scene with Daphne running from Apollo seriously? The anatomy and art inconsistency was so distracting that i genuinely could not find it serious. Even when Thanatos discovers her hibernated body I couldn't take it seriously because of how she looked?

And when Hades had that call (??? Was it a call? Or his inner dialogue? I couldn't really tell ngl) with Zeus and said he's causing Persephone unnecessary distress, and that she didn't pose any threat. B!tch??? She killed a ton of mortals??? She has no control over her powers???? She's literally a fugitive for the aforementioned things??? She apparently woke Kronos up? (Idk if anyone knows about that, again my knowledge only spans to whatever I read here) Hello????

And I have a lot to say about the chapters starting the trial but I'll only mention one thing; Hades saying "I don't think blindly supporting my little brother would be doing him any favours (as a ruler)" had me cackling. This is coming from a guy blindly supporting a girl he's literally only known for a few weeks, who's like what, only recently turned 20? Sit tf down Hades you're not cool, you creepy ass overgrown smurf.

Overall I still hate this series lmao. Regarding art though I feel like I wouldn't be so miffed about the anatomy much if the character designs were consistent and the story was compelling. They literally change hairstyles and body types frame by frame, and it's distracting.

The timeline from what I read here is laughable. 4 years in publication with almost 200 chapters and you're telling me only like a month has passed canonically. That's wild and such poor writing.

And as someone who literally will sympathise with any lead character pretty quickly, the story makes me hate them. It makes me want to root against them. I also hate the fact this trash is somehow top ranked on webtoons when so many other stories are far better then it.

Anyway, many thanks to this blog for existing and allowing me to dump so much text here to vent out my hate for this series lmao. You the mvp fam, hope you're having a good day 🥂🥂🥂

[echo-bleu]

Come Home

This was originally written for the Whumptober prompt “Embrace”, that I posted on AO3 but never here. @spaceskam reminded me it exists the other day... It’s not new, but I didn’t have time to create anything new, so it’s my entry for day 3 of the Missing Alex Manes Weekend ( @alexmanesappreciation).

MAJOR tissue warning. This is not a major character death, but...it comes really close.

[brain cancer, discussions of death, grief/mourning]

1.

“Genocide is the alien's intent for us during a systematic invasion. They're perfectly designed to kill!” Flint exclaims. “One of them can give you a brain tumor just by touching you!”

“Jim Valenti,” Alex blinks in shock. “Did Dad do that?”

“Subject N38 did,” Flint spits out. “They're coming. The question is whether or not we'll be ready.”

Alex shakes his head. “You're just as committed to the cause as our old man.”

“Dad didn't send you, did he,” Flint realizes. “No, Dad would never send you.”

Alex shifts. He sees Flint's hand move toward his holster, to the gun Alex just gave him back, and he prepares to move. It lasts exactly two seconds, until he hears the clicks of more guns cocking. A quick look around him tells him he's surrounded.

How did he miss them coming in?

“I'm sorry, Alex,” Flint says. He truly looks sorry. “We can't let you leave this place with what you know.”

They were here the whole time, Alex realizes. Flint's presence destabilized him and he was careless.

Alex slowly raises his hands, gun held loosely in his right. He's outnumbered one to seven. There's nothing he can do. He just hopes Michael and Kyle will make it out. Oh God, Michael. If they catch him−

He bends down to put the gun on the floor. One of the men−military, all of them, though Flint is in the Army and Alex can spot at least one Marine uniform−comes up to him with handcuffs. Alex doesn't resist.

“Come on,” Flint says.

He leads them to another room, filled with more weapons and equipment. Alex looks almost hungrily at the computers, knowing that he could get all he information he needs right there. But the bulky airman holding his cuffed arm makes him stumble, and he almost falls, barely catching himself. The pain that shoots up Alex's leg brings him straight back to his present situation.

Flint doesn't seem to be aware that Alex is not alone, and things need to stay that way. He needs to keep them away from the surveillance monitors he can see on one side of the room. The only thing Alex can do is give Michael and Kyle time to run, and hope they're not going to play heroes.

He has his doubts about that. There are dozens of aliens kept in cages downstairs, if he's interpreting what he's seeing on the surveillance videos correctly. Michael is never going to leave them here.

Flint is on the phone. Alex can't hear what the other person is saying, but he recognizes the unmistakable patterns of their father's voice. And even if he hadn't, Flint's tone would have told him.

“We captured him breaking into the facility,” Flint explains. “Yes, sir.”

Alex strains to hear his father, but he can't make out the words. Flint suddenly looks hesitant.

“But it's Alex, sir,” he says. “Are you sure?”

Hesitant turns to conflicted. “I would rather not.” Then to resigned. “Very well, sir.”

Flint motions to one of the Airmen to approach, and gives him the phone.

“Master Sergeant?” the man asks. He listens for a moment. “Yes, I will take care of the prisoner, sir. Right away.”

Flint's look at Alex is sorry and sad, but he looks away when Alex makes eye contact. Just from that, Alex knows his fate.

The Airman takes his arm again, roughly, and forces him to walk too fast, too hard. Alex knows there's no point in fighting, but he still struggles against the restraints all the way down to the cells' level, almost falling down the stairs several times.

They stop in front of one of the glass door, and Alex feels his spine go cold at the sight of the old man in it, and the sign on the side of the door. Subject N38.

“Open the door,” the Airman order the guard.

Flint looks away, as they push Alex inside.

2.

Kyle waits until Alex has almost reached his house to drop him off to ask. “What happened back there? Before the explosion, I mean. They got you?”

Alex keeps looking straight in front of him at the road. “For a while, yes,” he answers, forcing the words out. “I'm going to need you to book me an MRI.”

“What?” Kyle asks, confused. “Why?”

“I got confirmation that my father was probably the one who killed yours. By way of an alien. Subject N38,” Alex says. “I'm sorry.”

Kyle opens his mouth, even more confused. “We saw him,” he says. He starts saying something else, but Alex can feel the moment he understands.

“No,” Kyle gasps. “They didn't.”

Alex briefly closes his eyes against the tears threatening to fall. “Flint−” he starts, but his throat knots up. He's going to die by his brother's hand, on his father's order. What a family.

“What didn't you say anything?”

“We had more urgent things to take care of. And you and I both know there's nothing to be done.”

Kyle punches the dashboard. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. We're going to find some way. Maybe Liz and I can−”

“No,” Alex says. “We are not telling anyone about this.”

“But why? If we can cure you−”

“But we can't. Project Shepard needs to be shut off, and the alien serial killer, whoever it is, needs to be stopped. It's far more important.”

“More important than your life?” Kyle asks.

“Be realistic, Kyle. Even if you find something, it's going to do what, slow it down a little? You're not going to cure an alien brain tumor in a few weeks. I'd rather spend those weeks destroying my father's work.”

“So you're gonna make me watch you die like my father, and do nothing about it? And keep it to myself? The fuck I'm gonna do that, Alex.”

“You will,” Alex says, looking at his hands now that he has pulled over and doesn't have the excuse of the road to look away. “You know why I need you to. Look, I know it's not fair, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't have told you at all, but I'm going to need someone who can help me get my affairs in order, and take over when I can't keep going.”

“Alex...” The pure anguish of Kyle's voice almost makes Alex break.

“Please, Kyle.”

“Fuck!” Kyle punches the dashboard again.

“Will you do it?”

Kyle sighs. “Yeah. I'll do it. But I will try to find a cure, and I want it on the record that I don't agree with this.”

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, relieved. At least one thing he doesn't need to worry about. Kyle will respect his wishes. It's his job, the one he swore to do.

Now he has work to do, before he can let himself collapse.

3.

The first few days, Alex feels fine. Physically, at least. Psychologically...it's another matter. He almost goes to Michael, to tell him everything. In a moment's weakness, he thinks he wants to give them a chance, before it's too late.

Then he thinks of what he would feel if it was Michael in his place, and remembers that Michael just lost his mom. He doesn't go. He spends his time at the base and down in the bunker instead, looking through the data they got at Caulfield.

There's a video of Jim Valenti being pushed into Subject N38's cell, and Alex throws up when he watches it. He doesn't know if it's because it's his father's face on the screen, of if the tumor that's already visible on the MRI is starting to affect him.

It's growing inside his head. His own death.

He can't feel it yet.

Alex and Kyle catch up with the Noah problem after the fact, when Liz calls them in panic and they find her hugging Max's dead body, and a very alive Rosa looking on, confused.

Max doesn't stay dead long. The storm is going strong again outside, and Isobel is the one who figures out how to channel the lightning into Max's body. He's been dead longer than a human could have gone pumping blood, but then he's not human. He gets off lightly, just weak and sore for a few weeks.

Hugging Rosa, Alex reminds himself that he's not going to get the same chance, and he wants to cry. He thought he could handle it, die in dignity like he always hoped he would, but this isn't combat. This isn't one gunshot and−gone.

It's weeks, months of waiting for the inevitable end.

It's going to be ugly.

He looks at Kyle across the room, who is looking back at him sadly. Kyle always looks at him sadly, now.

Alex is glad none of the others know.

4.

Five days after Rosa is resurrected, Alex walks into the Wild Pony, hoping to drown his sorrows for a while, and he finds Michael kissing Maria behind the counter. It's a punch to the gut.

Only as he backs out of the door, deciding he'll do his drinking at home, Alex realizes that it doesn't feel like he thought he would. Michael is lost to him anyway. He's planning to leave the planet, and Alex won't even live long enough to see him go. He thought his heart would break. But his heart is already in too many pieces to break more.

He can't help the jealousy, but it's a relief too, somehow. If Michael has moved on, if he's happy with Maria, then Alex's death won't destroy him.

He hopes Michael will forget him, once he's gone.

He gets drunk enough that he doesn't remember the rest of the night.

He wakes up to Kyle's knock at his door. Kyle has come like clockwork every morning before his shift, making the two-hour round trip to check on Alex. Alex keeps telling him it's not necessary, but he won't budge on this.

Alex tries to clear his head of the hangover, going to open the door on crutches.

“How long did it take, for your father?” he asks, before he even realizes how insensitive it is. But he needs some kind of time frame. He's avoided thinking about it so far, about how many months or weeks he has−how many days.

Kyle runs a hand down his face. “Alex...” he mutters. “I can't do this right now. Come sit down.”

Alex obeys, but he still pushes. “Please.”

Kyle sighs. “He died March 9th, and the worst of the symptoms started in late February.”

“Time stamp on the video said February 15th,” Alex mutters. “Less than a month.”

“You said yourself that he was in the cell a lot longer than you,” Kyle says. “You may have more time.”

Alex looks up at him. A month. He has a month left to live, maybe two if he's lucky. It's been six days already.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “This has to be so hard on you.”

Kyle laughs humorlessly. “I'm not the one−” who's dying, Alex can fill in, but Kyle's voice breaks as his laugh turns into a sob.

Alex's eyes are dry as he hugs his friend. He feels cold.

5.

“Where is he?” Michael almost barrels into Kyle. “Where is Alex?”

Kyle sighs. “I don't think he wants to see anyone,” he says.

“Why? Is it bad? What is wrong with him?” Michael asks, panicking.

Kyle bites his lip. He promised, but he's pretty sure the cat is already out of the bag. Instead of answering, he nods to the door of Alex's hospital room behind them. Michael doesn't even hesitate before he knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Alex says, his stomach feeling like lead. Him collapsing in the middle of the Crashdown Café was bound to come back to his friends' ears, but he'd hoped for more time. It's been twenty one days since Caulfield, and he's been hiding the bouts of nausea and dizziness, the blinding headaches, for over a week now. He's running out of time.

He fiddles with his IV as Michael comes in. The truth is, he'd hoped he'd be able to hide it until the end, to avoid making his friends go through this. But it's unfair to Kyle to ask him to carry this on his own any longer, and the choice has been made for him by his traitorous body anyway.

“Alex! What happened?” Michael asks, coming closer.

Alex sighs. He wants so hard to say it's nothing−he wants it to be true. He doesn't know how to announce it.

“Alex, please. You're scaring me.”

“I had a frontal lobe seizure,” Alex explains. He chokes up on the rest.

“What does that mean?”

“The seizure itself is nothing bad, but it happened because...I have a brain tumor.”

“What?” Michael gapes. He drops into the chair beside Alex's bed. Alex bring his good leg up to his chin and wraps his arms around it, trying to distance himself. He thought this would hurt less if Michael was with Maria, but he heard they broke up a week ago.

“In Caulfield...my brother Flint got to me. He...my father ordered him to take me to Subject N38.”

“No,” Michael shakes his head. “No.”

Alex looks away.

“The tumor's already grown enough for symptoms to appear, so I don't have a lot of time left,” he says, as matter-of-factly as he can.

The look on Michael's face in unbearable. Raw pain, purer that anything Alex has ever felt. He closes his eyes, unable to stand it.

“No, it's not right,” Michael mutters. “You can't−” He chokes.

“I'm sorry,” Alex says.

Michael swallows several times. “How long have you known?”

“Since the day it happened,” Alex answers quietly. “You had so much on your plate.”

“Who else knows?”

“Kyle. Liz found out today, and now you.”

Telling Liz was painful and hard and sad, but it doesn't even start to compare to this. Alex dreaded this moment for a reason.

It takes Michael almost five whole minutes to break down. Alex leans in to allow him to bury his head in his shoulder. He hoped for anger, almost. Rage. He wants Michael to scream at him for not telling him sooner, he wants…

Anything but this.

Because he can't stand Michael's pain. Because this is what drives it home.

He's going to die. Not someday, not maybe, not even probably.

He's going to die, and he'll spend the little time he has left watching his body give out on him.

Feeling cold and numb, he waits until Michael's heart-wrenching sobs start to abate to speak again.

“When I was injured in Iraq, I was certain that I was going to die. The whole building collapsed on me, and I was trapped and pinned down. The whole time, I was thinking about you, and I regretted that we never got to make things right. It feels a bit like...like I was given a little more time, somehow, to get back to you.”

Michael pulls back to look at him, his face streaked with tears.

“Alex−”

“But it also means that I've been living on borrowed time, for almost a year,” Alex continues. “I'm so glad I got the chance to see you again. To learn who you really are, even. That we got a little time together.”

Michael lets out another sob.

“But I'm running out of time,” Alex continues. “And you've moved on. It's a good thing. It will be easier for me to go, if I know that you're going to be okay.”

Michael shakes his head vigorously in denial.

“I haven't moved on,” he says. “I went to Maria because it was easier. It didn't hurt.”

“Loving me hurts?” Alex asks, but he already knows the answer. Of course it does. What has he brought to Michael but pain?

“Not loving you. But being with you. Being without you. We just kept hurting each other. I was running. I wanted to get away from the pain.”

“I know,” Alex murmurs. “It hurt, to see you with Maria, but I understand.”

“You're...knowing that you're dying, it feels like...” Michael makes a gesture when words fail him. “The end of the world. But I've also realized how wrong I was.”

“About what?”

“Loving you is worth all the pain in the world. I didn't realize it sooner, and I'm so sorry.”

Alex chokes up. “No, Michael, I am sorry. For leaving, every time. And I'm sorry that I'm going to leave you again.” Because this time I would have stayed, Alex doesn't add. There's no point in making this even more painful for Michael.

Michael makes a wounded animal sound, hugging Alex again.

“You know what?” he says after a bit. “We're gonna make the most of the time we've got, okay?”

“I'm going to be very sick,” Alex bites his lip.

“And I'm going to take care of you. Starting right now.”

Michael stands up, untangling his hands from Alex, who lies back into his pillow, exhausted. Michael dries his face with his sleeve, then gives Alex one more look, heartbreakingly gentle.

“Valenti!” he calls, going to open the door.

“What?” Kyle responds from where Alex assumes he's still sitting with Liz.

“Does he need to be in the hospital?”

Kyle comes over to the door where Alex can see him. “In here we can at least check on his vitals−”

“Is there anything you can actually do?” Michael asks, his voice rising in irritation.

Kyle makes a grimace, like he hates what he's going to say. “Keep him comfortable?”

“I doubt he'll ever be comfortable in a hospital bed,” Michael shakes his head. “Can I take him home?”

Kyle looks between him and Alex for a moment before he makes a decision. “Yes. I'll come check on you as much as I can. Just let me get you the discharge papers.”

“I'm going to be with you until the end,” Michael says when he's gone. “I promise.”

Alex doesn't know whether to be heartbroken or relieved. He shivers, and Michael snuggles up against him on the bed, warming him up.

6.

“Kyle and I looked over your scans,” Liz says a couple of days later, when she and Kyle visit Alex at the cabin. They've been working non-stop since everyone found out. “We're going by the progression of the tumor, and Jim Valenti's medical file to try and predict what will happen.”

“I already know what will happen,” Alex shrugs.

“We wanted to have a more precise time scale. Look, Alex, I still don't get why you didn't tell me earlier, but what Kyle found shows some promise.”

“There's no time to test it, or implement it,” Alex says. He and Kyle have spoken about it many times. “Even with your genius, Liz, I'll be dead long before you manage to make it into a cure.”

“Maybe not,” Liz says. “We have the pods. We can keep you in stasis for a while, long enough enough to figure it out.”

“It could be years. And we don't know that it would even work.”

“Don't you want to try? It may be your only chance.”

“It's a slim one at best. I don't want to give up on what little time I have left for a fool's hope.”

Liz and Kyle exchange a look. Kyle takes a deep breath.

“Listen,” he says. “I watched my father die. I wasn't there the whole time, but I was there at the end, and I watched him suffer. It was...excruciating.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Alex frowns. “I already know that.”

“Because...you're at the end your rope here. From here on, it will be nothing but pain. Your sight will be the first to go, but the tumor has already metastasized all over your body, on your bones, your organs… The other day was just the first symptom.”

“It wasn't,” Alex shakes his head. “I've been feeling ill and sore for a while.”

Kyle closes his eyes. “It's only going to get worse from there.”

“I know.”

“Do you really want to go through this?” Liz asks.

Alex sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “No, Liz, of course I don't. But I don't have a choice, do I? Not a real one.”

“We could−” Liz hesitates. “Maybe there's a middle ground. By our estimation, you have another two weeks, maybe, before the tumor's damage will be permanent, even if we were to find a cure. If we manage to make real progress during that time, would you let us put you in stasis? And just...I don't know, we can promise you to bring you out after a certain length of time if we don't manage to make a cure if you really want. I understand that you don't want to end up in there forever, I mean, with the whole thing with Rosa… But we can't lose you, Alex. Not like that.”

Alex closes his eyes. We can't lose you isn't helpful. They will. They'll lose him, and they need to be ready. He doesn't believe that Liz can make the cure, not really.

He still wants to hold on to that sliver of hope.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “If you have something promising by then, I'll let you put me in a pod. Just...you have a year. Swear that if you don't have a cure by then, you'll get me out and let me go.”

Liz has tears falling down her face as she murmurs, “I promise. One year. I'll figure it out.”

“No, don't promise that. You know you can't. Promise me that you won't leave me in that pod forever.”

“One year,” she says. “Then we take you out. Whatever the outcome.”

Alex turns to Kyle, who nods solemnly, swallowing back his own tears.

He waits until he's alone to break down.

It's better this way.

7.

They have five days of near peace. Alex's pain is managed well enough with strong painkillers, and though he has energy for little else than sleep or rest on the couch, at least he's fairly comfortable.

He discovers that Michael is a pretty good cook, if you give him an actual kitchen. He can't keep much food down anymore, but he tries to eat anyway, just to taste it.

He falls asleep in Michael's arms, or to the sound of Michael's guitar. Alex would love to sing for him, but he doesn't have enough voice left in him. He's glad Michael has his music back. It's something, at least. Maybe Alex will not live to see his father brought to justice, but he'll leave something right.

The fight has gone out of them, and all that's left is tenderness, tinged with grief. Where their relationship was once fireworks and crash landings, it's now soft and bittersweet. They don't argue. They don't need to communicate much even, which is good as Alex progressively loses the energy to speak. They cuddle up together when Alex is cold, which is most of the time.

There's no fear of the future. Not of that future, anyway, the one they both dreamed of so much that they pushed each other away because they were terrified of screwing up. It's gone. They only have a few days, and the best they can do is be together.

They both try their best not to think of after. Alex has handed the Project Shepard work to Kyle entirely, since he can barely get out of bed anymore, and his affairs are in order, so he tries to let go and live in the moment. Actually live each moment he has left.

Michael still can't imagine a world−a universe−that doesn't have Alex in it. The only muddled thought he has is that he'll finish his spaceship and get away from this planet. Permanently.

But for now, he holds Alex in his arms and watches him sleep, and he tries very hard not to think.

For Michael, the worst moments somehow aren't when Alex cries from the pain in his arms. It's sitting in a corner of the room when Maria and Liz visit Alex, who can barely sit up in bed anymore, and they try to laugh and smile through the tears. It's watching Alex's face fall when he opens an invitation to one of his Air Force friends' wedding with trembling hands, and they both know he won't be alive by the wedding date. It's feeling like he's mourning Alex before he's even dead.

Dead. The nausea settles deeper in Michael's stomach every time he thinks about it−he doesn't think about anything else. At this point, as he watches Alex suffer so much, he almost wishes he was safe and painless in a pod. But he also can't imagine living in a world where Alex isn't there.

On the sixth day, Alex wakes up screaming in pain.

Michael immediately jumps up and cups his face in his hands, trying to calm Alex down enough to get pills down him, but nothing helps. Alex feels like his whole body is on fire.

It doesn't start to abate until Alex is hooked to the highest dose of morphine that won't outright kill him, and even then, as he sleeps, his face is lined with pain.

“Either the tumor's reached some nerve center, or the metastases on his spine have gone through the bone and into the nervous system,” Kyle diagnoses. “Either way, there's nothing I can do except try to relieve the pain.”

“Nothing?” Michael asks, desperate.

“No. We may have less time than we thought.”

Alex still won't go into a pod, though. The pain is worth a little more time with Michael. With all of his friends. He's not ready to go.

He doesn't believe, in his heart, that he'll even come out if he does. So he fights for another day.

8.

When he opens his eyes to see a large black spot in the middle of his vision, Alex knows it's the end. This is what Liz and Kyle told him about, the beginning of the permanent damage. If he doesn't go into a pod now, they probably won't be able to fix him even if they find a cure. He has a decision to make.

It's been twelve days since he ended up in the hospital, two days off their mark. Liz and Kyle haven't come up with some amazing cure, or even a good idea about one. And Alex has run out of time.

Weakly, he shakes Michael's arm to wake him up.

“Alex?” Michael asks sleepily.

“It's time,” Alex rasps. He's barely been able to speak for days, and no more than one or two words at a time.

Michael sits up, suddenly wide awake.

“The pod?” he asks.

Alex nods.

They've prepared for this, but it doesn't make it easier. Michael doesn't cry as he gets dressed, and texts everyone. He doesn't cry as he gently removes Alex's IV, hoping the dose of morphine he has in his blood will be enough to tide him over until−

Fuck. He does cry as he picks Alex up, his underweight, frail body limp in his arms. Alex doesn't stop staring at him, his eyes dropping but alert. He cries as he straps Alex in the passenger seat of the car, pulling it back so he's as comfortable as possible.

He can barely see the road, as he drives to the turquoise mines. He steers with one hand, the other squeezing Alex's, and they stay silent.

Michael has already said everything he can say that doesn't make him want to curl up into a little ball.

He carries Alex again, refusing to use his telekinesis, into the pod cave. The others are already here, Liz ready with the melted silver. Michael puts Alex down on the blanket she's prepared and pulls his head into his lap.

One by one, they come to say goodbye, and it feels far too much like a funeral. Isobel and Max, who know Alex the least, stay politely away, Isobel only squeezing both his and Michael's shoulder with teary eyes. Maria and Liz are openly crying as they hug Alex one last time, and he struggles to say his goodbyes.

“We didn't get to spend much time together, mijo” Rosa tells Alex, kissing his brow. “I hope you come back like me and we get to hang out.”

Kyle looks devastated when Alex makes him promise again, but he obeys. “We'll pull you out in a year at the latest. You can trust me.”

Alex nods, relieved, and smiles up at him. “You were...a good friend,” he rasps out.

Kyle lets out a sob. “You're the best friend I've ever had, Alex,” he murmurs.

Alex hugs him weakly, and he falls back down into Michael's lap when Kyle lets him go, his body even limper, letting out a pained moan. The painkillers are running out.

“'s time,” Alex mouths.

Michael moves him as little as possible while undressing him, and Kyle helps him spread the silver over Alex's body. Liz and Maria watch on, crying in each other's arms.

Lying in Michael's embrace, tears running down both of their faces, Alex tries to imprint that moment into his memories. It's not going to matter. In a few minutes, he'll be in stasis for an indefinite amount of time, and almost no chance of ever coming out of the coma it's going to put him in. His memories will scatter away like they never meant anything.

He's glad that he gets to die in Michael's arms, but he wishes he'd gotten the time to live with him.

“I love you,” Michael sobs.

“Love...you too,” Alex forces out. “Be...happy.”

Michael closes his eyes briefly, and kisses him as softly as he can. His hands don't leave Alex skin until he's inside the pod fully, and his eyes drop closed.

Leaning his brow on the membrane of the pod, he lets the sobs wrack his body as Isobel comes to hold him.

9.

One year later.

Liz checks her watch before she enters the Wild Pony. It's late already. She didn't see the time pass in her lab. She'll need to make up for all the time she's spent researching things that have little to do with her actual job, but she can do that later. For now, she's on a mission.

Maria is behind the bar, and she beckons her over, nodding to the place where Michael is sitting, his head in one hand, nursing a glass of what looks like Coke with the other. He stopped drinking alcohol months ago, but now he looks like he's in need of a stiff drink or two.

Or of some good news.

“Michael,” Liz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Liz,” Michael raises his head. The pain in his eyes is nearly unbearable. “We've run out of time. It will be a year tomorrow.”

Liz swallows. “I think I've got it, Michael. I think I've got a cure.”

Michael stares at her for a while, uncomprehendingly. “You−”

“I'm not 100% certain, it doesn't work like that, but...I think so. I can save Alex.”

“Oh thank God,” Maria murmurs, as Michael gapes in shock. He bites down on his finger, hard, tears already falling from his eyes.

Liz gathers him in her arms before he falls off his stool and hugs him hard.

It's been a long, hard year, for all of them.

“The compound I've designed will act as a sort of chemotherapy,” Liz explains later, when they've all gathered in the pod cave. Michael is kneeling in front of Alex's pod−the one that used to be his−his head against the membrane, in the same position he's been in so often, but he's listening. “It's based on the same technology that Flint Manes and his team used to make the biochemical bomb.”

Finding the compound where the bomb was stored was their largest breakthrough in the last six months, as well as the official end of Project Shepard. All three aliens agreed that despite its danger to them, the bomb should not be destroyed if it could help Alex.

“It will take several injections and a few months to get rid of the tumor, but the chances that it will work with minimal damage to Alex are good. Unlike chemotherapy, this will be able to target only the alien cells in his body, so it shouldn't be dangerous for his health, though I can't guarantee there won't be side effects.”

“He will live?” is all Michael asks.

“He will.”

“Then do it.”

Liz looks around the room. Kyle is technically Alex's medical proxy, thought those rules don't really apply here. He nods, too, hope shining in his eyes, finally overpowering the guilt and grief that have never left him. Maria smiles at them, reassuringly.

“Max, I'm going to need you,” Liz says. “I know you can't heal him, but the tumor is technically injuring his brain at this point, and it's a foreign body, so I'm hoping you can keep it at bay long enough for the treatment to start working.”

“I'll do my best,” Max nods.

“We have plenty of acetone,” Isobel adds.

“Kyle?”

“I'll handle the IV,” Kyle says, coming closer. “You do the initial injection.”

Liz nods, checking the syringe in her hands.

“Michael, we're all ready,” she says.

Michael takes a deep breath, and plunges his silver-stained hands into the pod. In seconds, he has a naked, warm, sleeping Alex lying in his lap.

“Hey,” he murmurs as Liz and Max buzz around him. Alex blinks his eyes open. “It's time to come home.”

[dustylovelyrun]

Novel Prep Tag: Viva La Revenge of the Deceased

(The title is still a work in progress)

Tagged by @keen2meecha. Thank you so much, human!

First Look

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch).

Conchobhar Raelyn expected many things from life, most of them unusual, but one of the few things that she hadn’t, one that she considered out of the realm of possibility, impossible, and therefore never happening, was stumbling upon the ghost of her estranged, childhood friend, Thomas Dionisio, in the middle of her living room at five a.m. She also hadn’t expected that, in the face of his untimely death, she would be the number one person on his list of earth-bound mortals to help him enact his revenge, either, but here she was.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Novella, single book, book series, etc.)

It’s going to be more than a single book. I’m not sure if it’ll be a duology or trilogy, but there’s probably not going to be more than three.

3. What’s your novel’s aesthetic?

Large forests filled with towering trees, and encampments hidden deep within. The scent of smoke in the air, and inexplicably cold winds. A city street filled with unmemorable people, a stream of faces that fade away and dissipate in the wind. Warmth, and exasperation, but also the feeling of feet dangling high above roiling seas, and the growing steel of determination.

4. What other stories inspired your novel?

I’m not sure, but. There’s one person on here. They have a burning man in one of their wips? I’ve forgotten who, but my brain might’ve run away with that, a bit. Someone burned up, charred and mangled, and trapped in a ghostly form. And there’s a few touches of BNHA characters in there, too. And a tumblr post about aromantics marrying for tax benefits and convenience. 

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for the novel

Main Characters

6. Who is your protagonist?

Conchobhar Raelyn is the main protagonist. Thomas Dionisio is the secondary one. He’s as important as she is, no doubt, but most of it’s told through her view.

7. Who is their closest ally?

Declan and Jezebel. Both of them are Conchobhar’s sort-of partners. It’s a little bit more complicated, and it’s honestly more platonic than anything, but. That’s where the post comes in, and what they call each other. There’s an agreement between all of them that it’d literally take Hell tearing apart the Earth before any of them refused to stand by the others. For better or worse.

Thomas doesn’t... really have anybody but Conchobhar, so. He’ll have to make do with them, too.

8. Who is their enemy?

Probably the people that killed Thomas! And then a bunch of others, as both of them delve deeper into the circumstances of his death, and his life before that, and learn a little bit more about why everything happened. And the people that want to stop them from knowing that.

9. What do they want more than anything?

Thomas wants revenge, at first. And then he simply wants it to all end. And then he wants to pull Conchobhar out of it, because that’s when stuff gets bad. Really bad.

Conchobhar wants to help him move on. Or at least feel a little bit of satisfaction that he couldn’t have when he was alive. And then she wants to raze a bunch of stuff to the ground, while simultaneously finding out if you can trap a ghost in a bottle.

10. Why can’t they have it?

Because the truth is always a lot more complicated than it initially seems, and they’ve barely scratched the surface. And for them to have their revenge, they need the truth. To know. Without it, it’s only wild guessing, and inevitably hurting someone that they didn’t intend to.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

Thomas believes that he’ll never be able to move on without any of it happening, (maybe, but turning into a poltergeist is always a thing, and it’s not like he won’t have superiority over them in hell, anyway) and Conchobhar believes that there isn’t much choice, because she owes him this much, at least, after inadvertently abandoning him to this fate.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

So, fun fact. Two of them, actually. I can’t draw people, and I don’t use face claims. And I have prosopagnosia, so I don’t usually pay much attention to that, anyway? Not unless the characters become aliens, or a made up creature, or something. You’ll have to fly in as blind as I am, when it comes to how they look.

Plot Points

13. What is the internal conflict?

Conchobhar has absolutely no idea how to do any of this, and she’s floundering, out of her comfort zone, and lost. But she refuses to call for help from anyone that she knows, in fear that something might happen to them, too.

Thomas really doesn’t want to involve her in this, despite what it looks like, but she was literally the only living person he could latch onto. You need some sort of emotional attachment, and like hell will he do that with his tormentors. But he isn’t sure if he could spend the rest of eternity understanding what’s happened, and knowing that he could’ve retaliated, and then didn’t.

14. What is the external conflict?

To find the person that killed Thomas, they need to follow a trail. One that twists and bends, and curves in all the wrong places. That’s never in a straight forward line, and leaves behind more questions than answers. And the more they look at it, the more confused, the more wary, both of them feel, because it’s all quickly turning into something more than either of them can handle. Together or alone.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?

Thomas already kind of experienced it. He was torn apart, and then died in the flames that were meant to destroy his body. But another thing that could hit him hard is if something happened to his brother, wherever the heck he is, or if he causes Conchobhar to become seriously hurt. Or even dead.

Conchobhar would just. Loose it if something happened to the people that she loves. That’s the worst thing. But it could be made even worse if it was directly because of her, and what’s she’s doing now.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

“I’m sorry, they’re doing what?” For the overall series, but for this specific book, it would be “What the fuck did he do? What did you do?”

17. Do you know how it ends?

Sort of? I have some impressions that are guiding me towards it. One direction. And a possible ending. But I’m not actually sure what that ending is. Just - what it might become, if that makes sense.

18. What is the theme?

There’s some pretty significant themes of loyalty and retribution. Retribution of someone that had literally been discarded, forgotten, and buried in the past. A person that shouldn’t be a problem, but then is, and the people in their life that are determined to make sure there is retribution for what happened, even if it means bringing heaven and hell down onto their knees to do so.

19. What is a recurring symbol?

Probably what’s mentioned above, but if that doesn’t count, then I’m not sure. It’s only nineteen days old, and there’s a lot of stuff to be worked on.

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description)

There’s not one specific setting, the story’s kind of set all over the place. For the sake of their own safety, and to accomplish what they need to, Conchobhar and Thomas need to move around a lot. I’m also not really sure where they are, at this point. 

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

Oh, definitely! It’s mostly some impressions and pictures, right now. A few hints of emotion to shape it, and a vague understanding about the direction that some scenes need to go in.

22. What excited you about this story?

Thomas’ death! The circumstances leading to it, to be specific, and how those circumstances and the people involved will shape the story.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!

It’s pretty messy. Inspiration can come from anywhere, and it’s usually from the character interactions in bigger franchises, or because my brother’s said a thing, and it had me scrambling for the keyboard. I also need music. But not just any music. It has to be the right music. And none of it’s chronological.

~

Legitimately did not expect to be able to say as much as I did. Honestly, this wip is still a baby. I shouldn’t know what I’m doing with this. But, hey. Can’t deny that this was helpful. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to do this, human!

Tagging: @feralsong, @rhiannonleewriting, @rehnwriter, @aelenko, @elemntum, @hellnar, @birdquils, @mariahwritesstuff, @sarahmariaria, @erinisawriter, @quillswithink, @ivonoris, @hazeywrites​, @coralblast​, @mayvinwrites​, @sxnrising​, @delphwrites​, @whorizcn​, @nmcwriting​, @typewrxter​, @rebelwritingwild​, @greenwood-writes​, @paracomas​

It’s a pretty big thing to ask, so don’t worry if you don’t want to / can’t do it. That’s fine, okay? I’d recommend keeping the list around for reference, though. It’s very helpful.

[fairyshuuu]

wild valley pt2 | chanyeol

.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long? .word count. 5.6k .mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au. .pairing. chanyeol x reader .genre. romance, angst (smut in the future)

.warnings. mature language, sexual mentions, drug use

♫ let me set the mood ♫

teaser.  part 1.  part 2.  part 3.   part 4.  part 5.  part 6.  part 7. (m)  part 8. (m)

For it being such a small room, this is probably the most calm place in the whole garage. The front desk is crowded by Baekhyun’s obnoxious presence, and the main room is always packed with the bunch of them, whether work is being done or not. But this room, hanging almost separate from the main room, feels peaceful. The windows are covered by thin, black curtains to keep out some of the heat, instead relying on the sharp brightness from the UV’s lining the ceiling.

It’s a place he’s comfortable with, having gone here enough times to know it inside out and back again. The loud buzzing of the needle is, if anything but that, the rhythm in which his blood pumps and his bones shake. Literally. Jongdae lets out a little breath as his tongue peeks out of his lips, almost finished filling in the big black area of the drawing. Chanyeol lets his eyes go around the room, glancing over the many navy filing cabinets filled with designs and drawings. The door connecting it to the garage is glass, but has blinds to cover it as well.

You can never be too careful, Chanyeol guesses. After all, having tattoos isn’t illegal, but giving them is, and though police are corrupted beyond belief, Jongdae probably doesn’t feel like doing time. Better safe than sorry. The blond moves the tattoo gun with an ease that only comes from many years of practice, on himself and on Chanyeol probably. Some of the smaller tattoos on Yeol’s lower arms are slightly faded or have spread out, proof of the practice his friend has put in to get where he is.

Though he could cover them up, the tattoos have their own memories, and so he chooses to keep them. Chanyeol pulls in a deep breath as he looks over at his bicep, able to imagine the finished piece already. At his little hiss, Jongdae looks over to check if he’s doing good, to which Chanyeol nods out of habit. “Can we take a little break, I want a smoke,” he sighs though, looking at the shine of the white lights on the polished concrete. Jongdae pulls the needle from his skin to wipe some of the blood and excess ink away, before grinning down at his friend.

“I’m ‘this’ close to finishing it, Yeol.” He holds his two index fingers about a hair apart, and shakes his head. “You really can’t sit out the rest? You have a problem.” As if he doesn’t know that himself. Chanyeol rolls his eyes and pushes himself up, before freezing mid-way.

“Ah shit, you’ll have to wrap it up then, right?” Jongdae nods with a knowing grin, the wrapping up process is annoying to say the least. With a groan, Chanyeol drops back down on the chair, running a hand through his white hair in annoyance. “Fine, finish it then. But hurry, I need to take a leak.”

Jongdae glares at him, before pushing his head back down. “I’m not gonna hurry anything, unless you want to mess it all up.” Jongdae brushes his hair out of his face, and turns the machine back on, grabbing a steady hold on his arm. “Now, quit being annoying and stop flexing.” Chanyeol grins, before relaxing into the seat, and looking back at the ceiling. A soft ring announces the new presence before he even opens the door. Chanyeol doesn’t flinch when the needle is pushed back in his skin.

The door is shoved open, revealing the older, dark haired man. “You sure took your time,” Jongdae sighs, but gratefully turning over his shoulder to smile at Junmyeon. The elder has a tray of coffees, and hands them to the others with a little nod. “Thank you.”

Chanyeol grabs onto the cup with his free hand, and immediately takes a big gulp. “If I’m not allowed to feed my one addiction, I’ll feed the other.” The guys smile at him, though Junmyeon looks at him with a little disproving frown. The brunet plops down in the chair of Jongdae’s desk, brushing some of the papers to the side. He takes off his jacket and lays it over the back of the chair, before leaning closer to inspect Yeol’s arm. Said man sighs deeply. “I’ve got something to mention though, Suho.”

“What’s up?” he asks, frown now settling deeper between his brows. Maybe it’s the fact that Yeol speaks so little, that makes both of his friends worried right away. Whatever is important enough to tell, must be important enough to worry about.

“I, uh-” Chanyeol pulls in some air at a particularly painful part, before looking between the two others, “I found someone trying to break in yesterday night. When I came back from the club, while you guys stayed. I came here so I could work some more, right?” Both nod, Jongdae finishing the last few black lines covering his arm. “I didn’t recognize him, so it’s probably nothing to worry about. I scared him away, but the lock to the door needs to be changed.”

Junmyeon bites his bottom lip in thought, before giving a curt nod. “I’ll check for any new gang mentions just in case, but it doesn’t sound too dangerous.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go find Yixing, he’ll know if anything is up. Find me when you’re done here, yeah?” With Chanyeol’s nod as agreement, Junmyeon makes his way to the door, setting off the bell again. “Byun, where’s Lay at?”

Jongdae sighs deeply, and leans back. He wipes the rag over his work again, and smiles. “I think— you’re done, man. Let’s go see it in the mirror, yeah?” Jongdae grabs his hand to pull him up, and wipes his stained hands on his pants, before giving the taller a little poke. “Hey, Yeol?”

“Hm?” Chanyeol looks over to the blond, and raises an eyebrow. Jongdae is probably one of the people least concerned about the gang wars and the politics, but even he has a sharp frown lining his brow.

“You sure it’s nothing? It might not seem like much, but that’s always how it starts. I can’t help but think of Dongkyu whenever new groups of people arrive in town.”

“Don’t tell Junmyeon that,” Chanyeol says, voice lowering slightly.

Jongdae nods. “Why do you think I waited until he left? I know I shouldn’t worry, but— Just rather have you be careful, is all. I’m not planning on losing anyone else.” Chanyeol doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to for Jongdae to understand his response. Chanyeol too- has lost enough people he cared about. “Let’s go look at your newest decoration now, come on,” Jongdae brightens, shoving him towards the full-body mirror next to the desk. “If you like it we can wrap it up. And then you’ll have to come back probably in a few days to check for any patchy parts.”

Chanyeol grins at his excitement, and checks the new tattoo in the mirror, right in the center of his bicep. The skin is still red from the intrusion, but soon it’ll heal and leave another memory on his skin. This one is a deer skull, Jongdae’s design and it fits right in with his others. He gives his friend a small smile, and squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, Chen. It looks great.”

“I’m glad.”

You pull your hair out of it’s messy bun, and breathe out deeply, trying to settle your heartbeat. Your clammy hands are wiped on your pants, before push them to your sides. You’re not the most sporty person by far, but going on a run always makes you feel better. Definitely now you’ve been eating all this ice cream. You sigh and make your way to the door, ignoring the cigarette ends on the sidewalk. It really seems that everyone in this city except you and your sister smoke.

When you ring the bell, there’s no answer. You look around the street with a frown. Your sister’s car is nowhere to be seen, but that isn’t out of the ordinary. There’s barely any space to park, so she chooses to leave it around the corner most times. You huff, before walking over to the window. Your big sister always leaves the key on the top of the windowsill, a place just obvious enough for people not to try it out. The white paint of the windows are chipped, showing the wood under it in multiple places. They’re also impossibly high, and you’re stuck wondering how Yuna ever got it up there in the first place.

No matter how much you reach, you can’t get up there. You glare at the windowsill, before taking a step back. Fine, then you’ll have to resort to other measures. You bend down and kick your shoe off, before tossing it at the windowsill. It makes a loud thump when it hits, but still the stupid key doesn’t fall down. This is why you should always have a key on you. You hop over and pick up the shoe again, now using it to try and reach higher.

“Need help?” a soft voice sounds. You’re so surprised that you physically jump, turning on your heel. The man that stands on the sidewalk is tall, and at least a good five inches taller than you. He has soft features, you first notice, bright, round eyes and a cute button nose. His lips are prettily curled in a natural smile. His dark, orange hair looks surprisingly amazing on him, and is messed casually forward to hide most of his brows. You can’t help but notice the piercing in his nose, and the multiples littering his ears as they catch the sunlight.

He’s wearing a black, leather jacket with a badge on the right side, blue and red, and ripped dark jeans that fit tightly around his thighs. His shoes are worn to the point where you can’t recognize what brand they would be, but the black combat boots still look stylish on him. He’s really handsome, and so you feel immediately embarrassed being caught looking like this, sweaty and gross. He doesn’t seem to care too much though. His warm eyes glint when you don’t respond right away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I was just- uhm—” you panic, putting your shoe back down. What if he thinks you’re trying to do something illegal? Because you’re not, you’re just an idiot.

“Don’t worry,” he smiles, stepping into the dry grass and closer to you, “I know Yuna hides her key there. Let me help.” Before you can move out of the way, he’s reaching up over you for the key. This means your face is level with his chest, only covered in a dark gray shirt. You notice he smells impossibly good, like something fruit, sweet and sugary. He smiles wider when he hands you the key, before taking a few steps out of your space. When you kinda just stare at him for a moment, he flushes. “Oh, I’m— I’m a friend of Yuna’s roommate, I’ve been here quite a lot. I’m Baron.”

He hold his hand out to you, so you slowly take it, shaking just briefly. Though you want to be sceptical about this stranger, he looks genuine. “I’m Y/N, Yuna’s little sister. I moved in a couple of days ago.” He nods in understanding, before you turn to the door. “Uhm- come in.” When you unlock the door, you slip in quickly, kicking off your shoes and looking around the street. Baron follows behind politely. “Is that your car?” you point out, gesturing at the dark blue car parked across the street. You don’t know much about cars, but it’s a pretty one, and looks like it’s been taken great care of.

“Yes, it’s my baby, that one.” He smiles, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. For a second you just stand in silence, before Baron speaks up. “Oh, I came to get some of the stuff Maria left behind. She was gonna come get it herself but she had to work today. You don’t have an idea where it is, by any chance?” As you close the door, you push out your lips and shake your head.

“I don’t know, sorry. Yuna cleared everything out before I came, so I don’t know where she would have put everything. But I’m sure she didn’t just toss it out!” You squeeze past him to walk over to the door at the end of the hall and open it. “Take a seat, you can wait here for her. I don’t know where she ran off to so quickly, but I think she’ll be home soon enough.”

You open the curtains to let some of the light in, and take a deep breath. Inside, the temperature is just great. The coldness sticks to your skin, a grateful change from the suffocating warmth outside. “You’ve been here for a while, right? Is it always this hot?”

Baron laughs as he takes a seat in the sofa, and looks over at you. “Pretty much. A lot of my friends are new in town too, they’re struggling with the heat. It’s pretty much the only thing they can talk about, if I’m being honest. That it’s too warm to do anything during the day.” He gestures his face at you though. “But if you can go for a run in this weather, you must be pretty heat resistant.”

“I just forced myself to,” you giggle, “because if I keep eating ice cream like I’ve been doing, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up becoming one myself.” As he laughs, you hear the familiar sound of a car making it’s way down the street, and you press your face to the glass. Yuna’s old white car passes the window, slowing down. “Ah, there she is. I’m gonna go take a cold shower, upstairs.” You turn to him again, and give him a little wave. “It was nice meeting you, Baron.”

The young man blinks his wide eyes a few times, before nodding. “Yeah, it was nice meeting you too. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“If you come buy some ice cream of mine, sure,” you wink, before slipping through the door to open it for your sister.

It’s late, though he’s lost track of how late exactly. All he knows is that good people are asleep right now, and he’s not. Chanyeol blows out all the smoke in his lungs, and looks around his living room. There’s too much people gathered here, but for once he doesn’t mind. Tonight feels like a night he’ll call his, having modded the car Jongin won with, and though the King of the streets drives the best, it’s the teamwork that did it. Well, that’s what he thinks, at least. Junmyeon sits next to him, tossing back the amber liquid in his glass like it’s water.

Chanyeol hasn’t drank much yet, not tonight. Tonight, he hungers for something stronger. He aches for something to make his world float, and this sends him to sit up from the couch to make his way through the people. The good thing about partying in your own house, is that no one can tell you what to do, and what not to. He pulls the end of his smoke out of his lips to put it out on the stone counters as he passes them, entering into the room connected to his living room. 

The kitchen has significantly less people, but has a clearer purpose. The pillows tossed in the corner are occupied by people making out, some sprawled out over the cold tiles without a care. His coffee table has been dragged over to the middle of the room, and is surrounded by people sitting on the floor. White powder is spread on the table, as someone drags clear lines to separate it. Some people are pouring new drinks, way too much vodka being poured into the glasses, not that anyone would care.

He makes his way over to the corner to search for his friend, as music blares through his speakers. But sadly, he can see only a tuft of Baekhyun’s brown hair, where he sits with a body on top of his and their faces connected. If he would try to get in there now, Byun would definitely connect his fist with Chanyeol’s nose. Fuck. He doesn’t feel like drinking so much that his head feels like it’s being squashed by gravity in the morning. He looks over at the small table, watching as a girl parts the clean lines. As he stares, the girl looks up to catch his eyes, and cocks her head to ask him over.

But Chanyeol shakes his head and pushes past some people to go for the drinks instead. Coke is only for very special days, and this isn’t one. Before he can make it there, a strong hand wraps around his shoulder and pulls him back. Jongin. His purple hair is brushed sleek back, eyes free but equally as dark. He smiles at the taller, and then points through the people at what Chanyeol can only assume is where Baekhyun is making out. “I saw you try to find him, but he’s a little preoccupied right now. I thought business came before sex, but not for him, it seems.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s hard to shake habits,” Chanyeol nods, low voice barely reaching over the music. “I don’t want to disturb him when he’s like that. I’ll just get whined at, or worse.” Jongin nods and laughs, lifting his shoulders.

When Chanyeol turns to go find his spot in the couch again, Jongin pulls him back though. “Oh, Yeol. I have—” he reaches in his inner jacket pocket, and pulls something out. “I got them from Byun earlier tonight, and was gonna do them with Kyungsoo. But he’s gone off wherever the the fuck, so if you want.” The round pills in his hand are half red, half blue, small enough to loose if you’re not careful. Chanyeol takes a breath, before taking one of them and knocking his fist with the younger’s.

“Cheers. To another victory, ey.” He pops the pill in his mouth to feel in slowly dissolve, watching as Jongin does the same. “I’m gonna go join the mess in the main room, you coming?” Jongin opens and closes his eyes a few times, before nodding. As they push back through the people, Chanyeol takes off his jacket. It’s already too warm and he’ll surely get even more sweaty in half an hour. He tosses the jacket on the dining table, and makes his way over to the couch to crash down next to Chen and Suho.

Jongdae looks over at him with slightly hazy eyes when he does, lifting a brow. “You don’t look very drunk for the host of the party. You need some help there? If you mix whiskey and a shot of vodka—”

“I’m good, Dae. Don’t worry about me.” He holds his tongue out then, showing the last of the dissolving pill on his tongue. Jongdae’s eyes widen a little, most likely since Chanyeol doesn’t do this a lot. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it any less than his friends do. He lets his head fall back into the couch, and takes a deep breath. The air smells like alcohol, like smoke and weed and strangely— like memories. Maybe this is why he chooses not to throw parties in his own house anymore. When Jongdae’s hand comes around his wrist in concern, Chanyeol just smirks slightly. “What’s up? You want a kiss?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes before breaking out laughing. “Every time I’m genuinely concerned about you, you have to do something to make yourself seem like even more of an asshole, huh?” Chanyeol just smiles, and looks across the crowd of people gathered in front of his eyes. Bodies move together, swaying limply to the beat like they can’t control their limbs anymore. They most likely can’t, since he knows that no one here is sober. As he watches, tracks of magenta seem to follow the movements, his eyes heavy and light at the same time. He can vaguely make out Jongin’s face in the mix, grinding against some girl with fiery red hair.

When he looks over to his side, Jongdae’s gone. His head swirls, and when he looks up again it’s to realize that he has no idea how much time has passed since taking the pill. It could be a few seconds or an hour if him laying here, he has no idea. His body is hot, clothes clinging tightly to him. The alcohol he had earlier feels burning in his stomach, the good kind of heat. And then someone is stepping in front of his view, and before he can get annoyed she puts his hands on her hips.

Chanyeol looks up from under his lashes, and takes the girl in. It’s the girl who was pulling lines on the coffee table earlier, her hair how tied up and her eyes dark, pupils wide. She leans forward to put her hand on his shoulder as Chanyeol rights himself a bit, hovering her lips over his ear. “We don’t know each other yet.” She pulls back to brush some of his hair out of his face, and then leans in again. Her lips burn against the cold of his piercings along the shell of his ear. “I’m Hana.”

Chanyeol slides his hands down her hips to pull her on top of him on the couch, body to body on fire. “That’s easily fixed then, Hana. I’m Yeol.” The girl tilts her head back a little to smile at him with red lips and bleached hair, her eyes black. She mouths something he can’t make out, before their lips meet in a rough pull of desire. His fingers tangle in her hair, her boobs pressed against his chest and her thighs slotted over his easily.

“Take me home, Yeol,” she whispers in his ear, tugging on the soft hair at his neck. Chanyeol smiles when her lips come back over his, her moan going lost in the sea of music and people. He breathes out deeply, before standing up and holding her body up in his arms. Hana squeaks and wraps her arms around his neck.

“We won’t have to go very far, baby.” He pushes through some people he can’t really make out, and licks a strip up from her chest to her neck. At her moan, Chanyeol smiles against her skin. “Bet you’ll look so pretty spread out on my bed.”

Today has been a slow day. It’s Saturday, which you would think would bring tons of customers, but nope. Yuna warned you that everyone in this burning city goes out on fridays, or, well— that they go out all the time but most on fridays. So everyone is probably in bed with a big, fat hangover. You’d call it unfortunate, but it doesn’t change much. You peek out of the shop to look both sides of the street, but everything is empty. It’s coming up on lunch time soon, so a bit of peace is appreciated.

It’s not that you don’t want to go out or anything, but you still don’t have friends to go with. You’d feel horrible making your sister go with you, Yuna’s really not a party animal. She could be, if she wanted to, but your sister has grown out of the party fase when she was forced to move out by your parents and figure out a way to make money all on her own. You sigh, and wave some cool air in your face with a paper flyer.

Since Yuna has left you to take over the shop, she’s been looking at opening another shop, and you couldn’t be more proud. You’re really lucky having her. You turn when the machine beeps, indicating that your caramel and clove ice cream is ready. That’s probably the most fun part of working here. You get to experiment with flavours and create your own kinds. As you ungracefully plonk the heavy bowl beside the others and slot it into the free hole, a person makes their way up the street.

White hair, dark clothes— and immediately a smile makes it’s way up to your lips. The stranger from before is wearing a black t-shirt today, his overalls only half on and tied around his waist. This way you get a view of the tens of tattoos adorning his arms, too far to make out in detail but impressive to say the least. He has his signature frown on his face, looking appropriately pissed after what you guess must be a hangover.

You’d be pissed too if you had to work with the pounding between your ears. The white haired man makes his way across the street much like you remember him doing, feet dragging and cigarette between his fingers. As soon as he gets close enough, you put your paper flyer down and brush some of the strands of hair behind your ear. “Hey, you. I knew I’d see you again some day.”

He looks up from the road when you talk, and stops in his tracks. He’s still standing in the street, but doesn’t seem to care much. He just lifts an eyebrow at you, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You work on Saturdays too? Really?” Though he looks standoffish, you swear that you can see some kind of intrigue sparkle in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

“I don’t know why you say it like that, when I’m clearly not the only one.” When you cock your head at his outfit, he shakes his head and walks off the street onto the sidewalk, only a few feet away from you now. You can see the dark circles under his eyes, dark purple against his soft skin. You don’t know this man, so you shouldn’t care, but some worry settles in your stomach while you look. “Maybe you should take a day off, though, get some sleep? I’m not trying to tell you what to do but you look tired. And if I know anything, it’s that you always work better after a nap!”

The man licks both of his fingers and pressed them to the end of his smoke, putting it out that way, before he tosses it further up the sidewalk. Rude. Though he doesn’t say anything, you can see that your words work through into his mind, eyes moving from the floor to you. Eventually he sighs, and shakes his head at you, his low voice sinking even lower. “I don’t need sleep. And I’d suggest you don’t give random people on the street advice, since not everyone will appreciate your opinions as much as I do.”

As he tilts his head back a little to look at the clouds passing by, you get the opportunity to see the bruises lining both sides of his neck. These, though similar in color, are clearly not from tiredness, and suddenly you realize that you might have held him on a completely wrong level. When he looks back down, he raises his both eyebrows at your silence, before reaching into his pocket. Maybe this isn’t a person you’d make friends with, you suddenly think, looking at him more objectively now. Boys like him are the boys parents tell their daughters to stay away from, but you’ve never been one for judging others by their appearance. 

As he takes out the red and white box, you notice how dirty his hands are, covered in a black, grimy oil that leaves black marks on everything he touches. The man doesn’t care, and so that probably means this isn’t a special occurrence to him. “How come you always walk here?” you decide to ask, not willing to let the conversation die down just yet, “Don’t you have a car?” This makes him snort, the sound deep and too short to fully be enjoyed, but enough to make your skin glow.

“I walk here because it’s in walking distance, and because it’s the only moment of my day where I am not surrounded by cars.” He has a small smile on his lips as he looks up at you, but as soon as it came his face smooths back to that same frown you’re getting used to. “What’s it to you?”

Shamelessly, you roll your head to the side and tap a little beat into the glass of the display, smiling. “The more I know about you, the closer I get to your heart.”

“Don’t have one,” he sighs, plopping his unlit cigarette between his lips and putting the box back in his pocket.

“I don’t believe that,” you say, just looking at him for a second. When he looks back, you giggle. He looks about ready to escape this conversation, so you pout slightly. “Knowing you won’t give me your name, I’ll go back to my first method, which is selling you something cold instead. I made new sugar & spice flavor, if you wanna try it—” you lean over the bar, ignoring the feeling of the cold metal digging into your belly.

He sighs and looks over his shoulder once, removing the black stains on his large hands with the flimsy piece of cloth he pulls out of his back pocket. The frown on his face is deep again, like he’s constantly tired of you, and maybe he is. But you decide not to care too much, since he could have walked away by now. He’s still standing here, isn’t he? “I already told you I don’t like ice cream.”

“You also told me you don’t want to talk, but here we are.” At your playful grin, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, lips flattening into a line. Once his fingers are decently clean, he gets rid of the rag and strikes his smoke with his lighter. “Oh, come on! It’s hot and you look tired, and everyone likes ice cream! You can’t just ignore me for the rest of the time I’m here.” This makes him raise one eyebrow, and pull open the door to the neighboring shop.

“Watch me,” he says, and with those deep spoken words he walks into the run-down diner, not looking back. You sigh deeply as you watch his figure disappear into the darkness of the hall, but can’t help the wide smile that comes to your lips.

As your sister chops the bell peppers, you peel the carrots, watching her over your shoulder. She looks tired, hair messily pulled in a ponytail that has chucks spilling out carelessly. Seems the heat is making everyone tired. Or maybe, not everyone has that childlike enthusiasm anymore. Most people have had it harder than you have after all. You sigh softly, before pouting. “Hey, Yun?”

“Yes, Dew,” she calls, voice smiley despite her slight frown as she puts the vegetables in a bowl. You smile a little at your childhood nickname, honeydew. It was the nickname your aunt used to call you after your favorite ice cream flavor, and somehow it stuck.

“You know a lot of the people here, right?”

Your sister hums slightly, and walks across the kitchen to grab a spatula. “Well, I wouldn’t say a lot. I know a decent amount of people, yes. Why?”

“There’s this guy that I keep seeing around. He has white hair and a bunch of tattoos, and is very handsome. And I don’t know his name but—”

Yuna freezes mid-motion at your words, before she turns. Her eyes look wide, mouth opening slightly. “Is he really tall? Kind of broody, doesn’t smile a lot?” You nod, surprised at her ability to describe him so accurately. “That’s Park Chanyeol. He’s—” she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, and frowns, “for lack of a better word, he’s trouble. Him and his friends sort of run this city, when lights go out. I’ve never had to deal with them personally, but I know that they run that car repair shop down in the city. Exo Customs.”

“Park Chanyeol,” you repeat, looking at the floor with a little frown.

“Oh, no.” Yuna points her finger at you, and shakes her head as she wipes her hands. “No, you don't. I know that look you have, it never brings anything good. You can make friends with anyone else in this town, but not the Exo guys. They— I know you see the good in everyone, but they’re not to be messed with.” She looks intently into your eyes, checking for any kind of disagreement, but she won’t find any.

You pout. “You say that as if they’d want to make friends with me anyway. This Chanyeol guy always glares at me whenever I see him.” When you turn away from her, Yuna sighs deeply, and comes over to give you a hug.

“I’ll take you to meet some of my friends tomorrow, okay? I know you’re a social, little butterfly, and all this isolation must be draining you.” When she gives you a little wink, you smile at her gratefully. She knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. “You’ll be able to make all the friends you could ever want, I mean that. Just no Exo, ‘kay?”

“No Exo,” you repeat, smiling down at the cutting board in front of you.

Oof. I hope you liked this chapter!! Having a slow start, it’s nice. For once you’re not just dropped into the shit! But if you know me, you know it won’t stay this easy. So strap in or something, because hopefully we’ll get dramatic soon. Thank you for reading, my little muffins!

If you want to be (un)tagged for this series, you can send me a message!  @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop---scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell--tart @skjdln @strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies  @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @my-spot-at-the-sun

[hillbillyoracle]

Why I haven’t been posting lately...

I’m putting what I wrote for a reddit post warning people away from my landlord beneath a cut. It’s been pretty hellish and I’ve been scared/nervous to talk about it but I want people to know what’s going on isn’t small. 

In addition to what I wrote below, we realized the stairs aren’t well constructed after I fell down half a flight of them on Monday evening - in bare feet (no socks) on hardwood flooring. The ledges bend in different directions and I slipped/tripped on one that wasn’t level. The whole right side of my body is a series of black and purple bruises, my feet and hands got scraped up by baseboards that didn’t seem to get sanded. I’m still recovering. 

More below the cut:

TL;DR: What we’ve dealt with since moving into a [landlord redacted] place:

- They were hard to get a hold of and now they won’t respond at all

- Multiple code violations they either didn’t fix or placed the onus on us to arrange for

- Zip Code is wrong on the lease which made getting our drivers licenses and such a pain

- Charged us for rent we already paid multiple times; put notice on door

- Charged us for HOA fees incurred before we moved in

- Maintenance guy is incredibly incompetent and condescending

- They’ve failed to do anything about the roach infestation

- They started up a construction project next door that’s active 12 hours a day

Other than what we’ve seen personally:

- They have code violations on record with the city

- The owner's twitter features the line “It’s all about whose ox is getting gored” - guess his tenants are the ox.

- He weirdly almost gloats about kicking people out and upcharging the next tenants

More Info:

We had to move very quickly and weren’t able to research places as well as we would have liked. So I’m writing this to make it easier for other folks to know what they’re getting into with them. If you’re okay with all of this, then by all means, I support you renting from them. But it was certainly too much for us and I wanted to spare other folks what I could.

I’m actually afraid to share this as I wouldn’t put it past them to be retaliatory, to make a up a reason to kick us out over being more public about what they’ve done. Tried to put it on a throwaway but alas.

I think the best summary of both [landlord’s] property and their service is what my partner said - “It’s not really living, it’s surviving, and that’s not really what I look for in a home.”

So many things have gone wrong at this place that I’m going to go thematically rather than chronologically. Which is wild given that we’ve only been living in the place for three months.

The workmanship in this place is horrible. There are shelves falling out of the wall. The dishwasher leaked and then the maintenance guy “fixed it” by having it overflow through the sink which leaves a bunch of crud in it. They didn’t even both trying to make the basement floor remotely level so our washer and dryer are on stilts – the best fix we can manage right now. Every now and then they come off them and rock around which I’m sure isn’t great for the machine.

They got the zip code wrong on the lease which has caused problems trying to get identifying documents switched over and other things switched over. Small but important. Since they’re nigh impossible to contact (see further down) we’ve mostly not bothered trying to get this sorted with them but it’s been a real pain.

When we moved in, we paid 6 months ahead. A mistake, yes, we know. But they kept trying to charge us for rent we’d already paid. We contacted them three times about the charges on the account and still they packing taped a failure to pay rent notice on our door.

They’ve continually tried to charge us for things we do not have to pay. They tried to charge us for a fee they incurred before we moved in and when we pointed it out to them they did not apologize. The second time they did it they didn’t contact us at all and we had to repeatedly check to see if it’d been removed.

We figured out this was because the yard crew kept pulling our trash can out and not putting it back so we asked them to stop yard services - which we never signed up for. We had to ask them 4 separate times and even then we only got them stopped when we paid for a lock and put it on the back gate and the mower came to talk with us.

The maintenance guy is not only very incompetent but completely condescending. He was two hours late and gave no heads up. I had to call to get any updates. When I tried talking to him about it when he arrived, he walked in essentially said that he’d done nothing wrong and walked away while I was in the middle of a sentence. He would not tell me what was going on and flat out ignored my questions. Our dog is epileptic and was getting nervous with all the strangers and loud noises so I decided to take him away from the apartment for a while. I tried to find the man and again was ignored. Once he realized I’d left he called to yell at me for leaving.

When we moved in they pointed out that they were aware that the basement electrical outlets were not up to code and gave us a number of an electrician to call. We called him and never heard back. Our basement is still not up to code.

They also pointed out they knew our backyard was a flood risk and said they’d be sending someone to fix that. They never have. It’s basically a pond out there when it rains and it’s filled with mosquitos.

We asked about bugs well before we moved in. We were assured they’d send someone to spray. We contacted them multiple times about it. They eventually sent their maintenance guy who left us with a couple roach traps and some spray that did nothing. Our kitchen, even after a month of keeping everything spotless is still infested. He said that the root of the problem was the abandoned house next door and he couldn’t do anything about it.

We found out two days later that the house was not abandoned and they owned it so they could do something about it. Because they began very very loud construction without any notice, construction that was happening for 11 hours a day. When we contacted them initially, they were very condescending, saying it was just because it’d been unoccupied for a while and we weren’t used to the noise (we’ve both lived in shared housing for almost a decade at this point) but said that they’d limit the hours to business hours Monday – Friday. But then without contacting us further and ignoring all our calls and emails – they continued to work 11-12 hours a day. I still cannot understand why they promised it at all and then turned around and go against it. It’s just spiteful.

They’ve ignored all of our emails for 2 weeks straight. We cannot get in contact with them.

A person we’ve never interacted with from their company called us to ask about our dishwasher, meanwhile they’d ignored 5-6 emails we’d sent trying to get more information about what was happening. What a blatant way to say we don’t care about you, just our property.

I am disabled, I do what work I can out of my home and my partner works from home several days a week. This has forced me to basically live somewhere else in order to sustain any kind of income and has taken a major toll on my health. Even if I did have a 9-5 job, I’d still be dealing with this an hour before and two to three hours afterward. When I am at the house I’m getting up early and staying out late just to not have to deal with the noise.

In trying to find out what I could about them more recently, I found that they have at least one code violation they were found guilty of and had to pay the city.

We also found that the owner of the company has a twitter in which he kind of weirdly gloats about kicking people out of their homes and doing very little work so that he can charge people more money. His bio features the line “It’s all about who’s ox is getting gored” – guess the ox are his tenants. I’m now very very skeptical of his “trouble tenants” as I wonder if they didn’t refuse to pay for a place he wouldn’t fix and he kicked them out, “upgraded” the place, and upcharged the next tenants. He brands himself as an entrepreneur and adding value but I can tell you this house is made to sell, not to sustain actual human life in them.

A warning to women and queer people: I would especially advise women and queer people away from this company. They’ve been really weird about my partner and I living together. We told them when we moved in we were a couple and yet weirdly we just get referred to as roommates or just grouped together under “ladies”. It’s really uncomfortable. With the maintenance guy being as patronizing and horrible as he was, I wouldn’t want another woman to have to go through that but it’s whatever you’re comfortable with in the end I suppose.

So that’s what I’d want people to know about doing business with [landlord]. More power to you if you want to but I would never ever recommend them to anyone.

If you know of anything we can do about this, let me know but I'm not hopeful.

Editing to Add Some Pictures

We could post a lot more but I feel like these sum it up for right now: https://imgur.com/a/uzXQPzM

[bookmawkish]

An easy day, part 4

@worldoftherandom and Yasssssss

HE HAD IT COMING

HE HAD IT COMING

HE ONLY HAD HIMSELF TO BLAME

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

All the Loki/Heckyl stuff

To be fair to Loki, he’s already kicking ass like it’s going out of fashion: keeping Arcanon busy. Three simulacra Lokis, all acting independently? No problem. Some illusory flame to startle and turn his opponent? Barely a challenge. And that’s even before they get to the melee weapons - Tony has to wonder where the hell it is Loki keeps all those daggers. It just doesn’t seem plausible that there are that many pockets in the leather bodysuit.

But it’s not a one-sided fight, because Arcanon is a bastard of a hitter, and a glancing laser beam catches the real Loki across the face, making him gasp, breaking his concentration. The illusions all vanish, and a follow-up with a massive hand effectively slings Loki upwards and backwards until he crashes unceremoniously through the plate-glass window of the office block behind him.

At this unwelcome development, Heckyl abruptly appears out of nowhere (ha, magical cloaking, Tony totally called it) about a foot to Steve’s left and jumps at Arcanon like a rabid leopard. Straight for the throat. White-hot energy leaps from his hands, channeling straight down into the monster’s neck, lighting him up just as Clint’s arrows did minutes before. Tony can smell the burning, the heat of it. In combination with the oddly spiced-firework smell of Loki’s magic still hanging in the air, it’s overpowering.

“Heckyl,” says Arcanon, seemingly greatly pleased, despite the furious onslaught of power that’s making him stagger. “There you are.” And he brings his big clawed hands up, starts to wrestle, trying to wrench his attacker loose. Heckyl just up and roars right into that mask-like face and doesn’t let go, though he’s being thrown around like a ragdoll. Tony winces. Yeah, that’s the sound of personal right there. This is a grudge match. Heckyl may have the general demeanour of an effete Victorian geek, but he’s evidently just as capable of going primal-crazy as Bruce when someone pushes his buttons. And by the looks of it, he’s just about mad enough right now to forget that he’s horribly outmatched.

Only a matter of time, and he’s gonna get flattened. Oh hell no. And with Loki still out of the game after being thrown into the third floor of the office across the street, there’s no time like the present for the cavalry. Tony takes careful aim, gives Arcanon everything he’s got right in the flank. Steve goes for the legs in a beautiful baseball slide, kicking out at the red swathe of skirt to impact the shins. From above, another four arrows slip perfectly home, finding the shoulder and elbow and beeping cheerfully as they gear up to explode. Every fresh detonation drives Arcanon’s limbs back, pushing him off-balance, until between this and the continual pounding of Steve’s size thirteens on his legs, the monster is driven to his knees with Heckyl dragged along with him, still pouring all the lightning he’s got into Arcanon’s body.

And yet still, still, still it doesn’t seem to be enough: Heckyl’s strength is ebbing. He’s burning through his power too hard and too fast, and it’s not sustainable. The energy flow is starting to stutter and spit despite his obvious and overriding desire to kill his target: he’s plainly and simply running out of juice. The scream of pure, helpless rage he makes when Arcanon manages to get a grip on his throat and yank him away makes Tony grit his teeth. Arcanon is laughing now: he holds Heckyl struggling at arm’s length, with Heckyl writhing and striking at him the whole while like a trapped snake, and shakes him.

“You are weak,” Arcanon says, but Tony notices that although he’s making an obvious show of manhandling Heckyl, Arcanon’s not getting up off the floor. Huh. Maybe they’re not the only weak ones here. He catches Steve’s eye and nods at what he sees there. Yes. About now would be a good time. “You always were weak. Snide was the best part of you.”

This is evidently a very sore point, because Heckyl goes completely wild in Arcanon’s grip, thrashing and kicking and biting like a lunatic, while Arcanon continues to laugh at him.

“In my experience it’s always the bullies who turn out the weakest,” says Steve, in his best proclaiming voice (the one he pulls out specially for elementary school drug talks and when he’s on TV), Arcanon turns his immobile face in Steve’s direction, and then it’s on. Clint goes for a twofer in the monster’s back - he seems to be out of special arrows but hey, the regular kind are still really going to hurt - and Steve seems to have decided that he really hasn’t done enough punching today. Those big all-American fists of vengeance are definitely hitting home. Tony settles for taking to the air and coming down with both feet (did he mention that the repulsors are still fully firing? Ouch) onto Arcanon’s shoulders.

All of this unexpected backup for Heckyl seems to be enough to convince Arcanon to let go, and Heckyl drops to the ground. The alien rolls, snarling out what just have to be curse words in a language that definitely isn’t from this planet, then gets up with Loki’s fallen knives in each hand. Uh-oh. The underdog just got game, thinks Tony, pushing off from Arcanon’s attack and cruising upwards to avoid being lasered. He remembers with clarity the tone of Heckyl’s voice at the mention of Arcanon’s name, and he sees the look in the man’s eyes now: cold and glittering and alight with the growing promise of final satisfaction.

Tony has seen Heckyl look clownish, sarcastic, playful and vindictive before, but this is different to all of the rest. This feels dangerous. Flip the coin, because it’s all games and flirting and silly rainbows on one side - all storms and blood and death on the other.

It’s...well, damn, it’s actually scary.

Arcanon is on the street, struggling to rise, full of arrows.

“Okay,” Tony murmurs to himself, in the privacy of the suit. “Okay. I promised. You get your wish.” He darts down, past Steve, seeing on the readout display the green blip of Loki getting back in the fight. Good. Knew it would take more than blowing backward through a few layers of breezeblocks and glass to keep Ol’ Snake-eyes down, especially with his precious cuddlebunny being in jeopardy and all.  “Time out! Everybody back off, stand down. Except you, Goggles, you got this. Take him out.”

He hears Clint’s agreement almost immediately: Steve looks quickly to Heckyl and evidently sees the same evidence of incoming slaughter that Tony did. Steve is a good person. When Steve kills it’s because there really isn’t any other option, and the other guy will have already doomed himself through his own choices. Steve is uncomfortable with backing off at this point, because it feels too much like endorsing murder. But he doesn’t do anything.

And Heckyl, moving almost like a sleepwalker, bends to Arcanon’s side and plunges both the daggers into his neck. One each side, into the gap just below the two lowest masks. A last flare of reserved power lights the blades up bright blue, conducting through and dealing the final blow right up and into the monster’s brain. Arcanon convulses like a beheaded fish on the griddle, those static mask-faces seeming almost to move, contort into expressions of agony as the flickering play of light across them makes the shadows dance.

It takes an uncomfortably long time for the thrashing to stop. But it eventually does, and once they’re all as sure as they can be that the invader is properly dead, Tony, Clint and Steve move in, up to where Loki is standing at a respectful distance from the little tableau of slayer and slain. Even Loki hadn’t tried to get a shot in, Tony thinks. This was Heckyl’s job to do. And he’s done it in spades.

The man in question looks up when Loki murmurs his name, gently, with love. His expression is quite unreadable: an odd, uncertain mixture of joy and confusion and loss all in one.

“I - I was expecting him to just...disappear,” he manages, eventually, and Loki reaches out, pulls him to his feet, pulling him away from the very-obviously-not-vanished corpse.

“Nah, not around here, buddy,” says Tony, thinking back to that unnervingly perfect suburbia that Heckyl had once lived in. “It’s not nice and neat here. Not ever. No poof of fairy dust and a shower of sparks and then gone. Just a whole load of mess.” He shakes his head. “Always so goddamn messy.”

He clocks the protective set of Loki’s shoulders - hell, why can’t someone look out for him like that? - and feels the aches in his own body starting to tell. Jeez, but he’s getting too old for this. “Come on. Fury’s cleaning ladies will be along any minute and I’d rather not have to answer any awkward questions until I’ve had a shower, a shave and a...shawarma.”

“I’ll do it,” says Steve, unhesitating. “I’ll stay.” He smiles briefly, dazzlingly, in that incredibly reassuring and handsome way that always makes Tony want to puke a little. “Pick up the paperwork.” He turns the full force of the Approving Alpha Male Role Model Look on Heckyl. “Good job out there,” he says, and Tony fancies he sees Heckyl relax, just a little.

[original-twin-blog]

Episode 4 - The Reluctant Birth Story

The perfectionist in me really can’t help but  approach these ramblings chronologically, which leads me once again, to a topic I don’t really enjoy talking about.  I can’t discuss pregnancy in my last episode without detailing the ‘birth story’ next.  

I used to revel in the retelling of the twins’ arrival.  I would go into great detail about the awkward intricacies of each examination and each stage of labour.  Now I can barely recall the name of the hospital without my scarlet cheeks swelling with the memories.  On reflection, I can only assume my ongoing conversations with two unresponsive newborns wasn’t quite stimulating enough and so I bored the pants off anyone who would listen. Or, the zeal with which I threw myself into the retelling was some kind of survival strategy.  Telling the tale somehow made sense of things.  It validated that what happened, actually happened.  I was naked, walking around a room moaning.  I did tell the midwife that we should exchange numbers because we were best friends for life.  Things happened that will only happen in that environment and circumstance;  I had to confirm it did, in fact, happen to me.  I digress, the point is it is not without a few toe curls that I share with you the details of Original Twin-babies’ arrival.  

60% of twin births are carried out via cesarean section.  There are a number of factors which make a section more likely; a low lying or shared placenta can cause problems during delivery.   A quick delivery might be important due to one baby getting most of the nutrients and so the other baby’s growth is slowed or, twin-mums can request a section if they wish for it.  The most common reason is that one of the babies is transverse (lying horizontal across bump) or breech (bum/legs pointing down).  When twins are born, everything takes twice as long for baby#2 (this is what the professionals call the baby that's furthest away from the exit, I irrationally felt bad for our  #2 as it really felt like she was being labelled second best from the start).  So if there are any complications the situation can turn very dangerous very quickly.

Our opinions in all of our consultations was that we would just sheep-follow the advice of the hospital staff shepherds. Their years of experience definitely outweighed our total lack of knowledge on the subject.  I’m pretty active, so I prefered to avoid the recovery of a section but as long as we had two healthy babies, we really didn’t care.  In our last scan before their arrival, the twins were head down and in a good position.  We planned therefore for a vaginal birth and that’s what we got.  

Note the really ugly use of the word ‘vaginal’.  There’s a reason for this. The alternative is to use the phrase ‘natural birth’.  Many women believe this implies that a section is in someway unnatural - a belief I can totally understand.  My experience (and there will be some that disagree) was that having babies torn out of my body didn’t feel very ‘natural’. I’m not sure a section would have been much different.

As it turned out, actually going in to labour was a bit of an anticlimax.  Being so uncomfortable towards the end of my pregnancy; I was in early labour for a day or two without knowing it. I’d been very uncomfortable; the aches and pains had worsened. I scowled at anyone who could get out of a chair unaided.  I just thought the haulage had taken its toll - my body preparing for the ordeal it was to undergo in 6 weeks time. In fact my waters had ‘ruptured’ (there’s something so gross about the pronoun use here.  I feel like an ardent feminist declaring ownership of ‘my’ amniotic fluid - eugh). A quick call to Triage and a journey to Hospital told us that I’d stay the night on the ward for observation, scheduled to return home the following day.  The aim was to keep Original Twin-twin babies in for another couple of weeks.  So, I settled down to an evening of piling my swollen elephant-legs into compression socks and re-positioning my bed approximately every 30 seconds.  At around 01.00,  I heard a massive pop, had a gargantuan wee all over the floor and then experienced the most powerful, consuming, much-worse-than-I-had-ever-imagined contractions. Breathtaking, scary, overwhelming labour officially arrived.  My trembling mass was escorted to the delivery ward, leaving a trail of leaking fluid behind me.  The midwife started to ask “Have you thought about what type of pain relief”... “epidural” was my definitive response.  I have never been so certain of anything in my life.  

Although I successfully forgot some of the early trauma of labour, I will never ever forget the part played by my doting Husband, Original Twin-Dad. Let me set the scene.  He had left me in the ward for home; he had work the next day and we both expected my hospital stay to be brief.  No doubt he enjoyed some mindless television to ease his lonely evening away from the bloated, whinging thing which had recently replaced his wife.   He went to bed early; it had been a long day.  

Switch to original twin, waiting for epidural - unable to stop apologising and exclaiming “I’m one of those women!”  “I can’t do it!”. There was also some mooing and swearing at this point.  I tried to call my husband.  Straight away in fact I was repeat dialling his number. I tried countless times with no reply.

He was asleep.

I was under siege and the Husband was AWOL.  The hospital took over the responsibility of establishing contact. Facial expressions completely wild now, a midwife trying to dress me in my fancy ‘boyfriend shirt’ brought along so I looked good whilst labouring (pah!).  We accepted defeat and I donned the backless gown.  A severe lady entered with the drugs and ordered me on the bed.  I hadn’t been able to bend down to put my shoes on for at least 3 weeks but this absolute chief of a woman got me sat with my head between my legs width ways on a narrow hospital bed.  What a boss.  

The epidural was delivered and chaos was replaced with calm, and yet there was still no break in the husband radio silence.  I’d relaxed and felt like a human being again so I had the foresight to alert a good friend and neighbour of mine.  She ended up knocking on my front door until original Twin-Dad chose to return from the land of nod.  So an hour after things kicked off and 89 missed calls later, my husband entered the delivery suite ready to provide deeply emotional and spiritual support to the now sedated, sleepy, really pissed off wife.  

Labour from then on was pretty boring. I could feel each contraction but I wasn’t in pain so I was drifting in and out of sleep for the whole time. I have two lasting images: my husband on his phone and the midwives making notes.  Nobody seemed very interested in me really.  Then it all kicked off.  Stage two of labour began - this is where you push.   Things were now very uncomfortable regardless of the pain relief. For an hour it went on until they decided I should push no longer and they would intervene. So off we all went to theatre for some forcep action.

Having twins in theatre is really hilarious.  You’re shimmied through quite quickly, signing forms as you go through.  Thank goodness Original Twin-Dad was there ( I had forgiven him his tardy arrival) I was emotional and confused and giving them permission to cut my body open.  When you get there, you realise there are lots of other people in the room. All focused on your lady-cabbage.  It’s absurd.  Paediatricians, Midwives, Anaesthetists, Assistant Anaesthetists, Trainee Midwives and a gaggle of other trainees just in for the experience.  At one point there was a loud beeping in the room which made us panic… turns out it was all of the pagers in the room going off simultaneously.

So quite quickly after arriving, baby #1 was freed. The baby that had grown inside me all of that time, was now a squidgy little snuglet in my arms, eyes open, tasting its first breaths of outside air.  The feeling at that point, for both of us was astonishment to the point of shut down.  If we were a drawing in a comic, there would simply be a massive exclamation mark over our heads.

Then we had to go again.  Whilst #1 was being checked out, #2 was on its way.  Hilariously, someone has to actually hold the baby in place from the outside, during the time between the two babies being born to stop it from changing position. I couldn’t help thinking there must be a more whizzy way of doing that.  That lady would have been glad of a job though; the rest of us just looked at one another, smiling occasionally, for 13 minutes - like a very messy fag break.  They asked me to let them know when there was a contraction and then #2 was ready to join her sister.  Two little girls, all cherub-like and covered in yuck.  

And that was that.  Two beautiful girls successfully birthed into the world and we were entirely responsible for their happiness, safety and well being for the rest of our lives.  Equal parts ecstasy and terror.  

More importantly though, my reluctant birth story is now told and I never have to use the word ‘Vaginal’ again.  Win.  

[wakehurstmadison]

Don’t Get Scammed By A Bogus Georgia Locksmith

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It's also finest to hire a locksmith who abides with work ethics to help you guarantee that he is effectively committed to his job. Also, you better decide a locksmith who incessantly renders lock repairs in Chelmsford for years. Following this tip is indeed beneficial in case you are desperate to see a proper and satisfying repair. Locksmiths who are capable of staying in the business for too long are nicely qualified and practiced. Ask the property-proprietor about reputed locksmiths London and immediately set up new locks in the house. Also make sure if the keys to those locks are held by solely you. It is also good to change the locks of properties after just a few years although you reside in your own dwelling. It is best to install most superior locks on your residence that can be difficult to pick or break. You'll be able to contact locksmiths London to re-key your locks. Some folks favor re-keying fairly than changing previous locks. 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Subsequently, the two steps mentioned above shouldn't be vital. It's best to do your research and have the title of a reliable locksmith on you always. Look for on-line evaluations and get suggestions from people you know.

If you're in want of excellent high quality security and as a result of lack of time you might get into the fingers of companies which can not live up to the guarantees they make. Publisher: Henry Williams In today’s world locksmith performs a very important function in everyone’s lives and their providers shouldn't be one thing that we take without any consideration. They're specialised and are capable to do varied services such as picking or dismantling locks, replacement keys and lots of others. Publisher: Mike Smith This article explains in detail what exactly a mobile locksmith does, what sort of companies they provide, how they acquire their pricing data, how they handle jobs, and different specifics. Locks range from a stick put by an opening in a tree house door to prevent it from being opened, to tubular locks that provide superior security. There are the pin-and-tumbler locks present in padlocks. A bit simpler to pick are wafer-tumbler locks installed in most filing cabinets, lockers, vehicles, and some padlocks. Some people are fascinated by the workings of locks, as evidenced by the wealth of knowledge obtainable. To pick a lock, knowledgeable locksmith should perceive the workings of assorted kinds of locks. A great locksmith must develop the sense of contact to be delicate to the slightest movements of pins and tumblers. Sensitivity and focus characterize the particular person whose occupation is locksmith.

Put money into a London Bar

You could have locked yourself out of your small business and can't discover spare keys

Interpret and perceive blueprints

Audio and Video Intercoms

Plug spinner operate

You should observe that not all firms are positioned in your native space. In accordance with the nation’s shopper safety agency, Federal Commerce Fee (FTC). The locksmiths will promote their phone numbers on completely different phone books even when they aren't situated close to you. It’s very frustrating while you name a locksmith company, and inform you that they'll take hours to achieve the place you're. It’s much more aggravating if you need the issue solved immediately. Apart from ready for hours for locksmith providers, there are different issues associated with locksmiths. The company could ship you a one that barely is aware of what needs to be finished in order to fix your problems. In some situations, the despatched consultant could arrive with out the required locksmith instruments which outcomes to extra time wastage. Should you loved this informative article and you would love to receive more info relating to van locks dublin - Highly recommended Website - please visit the internet site.

[getfastcasloan]

Don’t Get Scammed By A Bogus Georgia Locksmith

Household charges can easily fluctuate between businesses, subsequently always ensure that to request a service estimate from a number of companies. course (Read Even more) Companies and industrial areas will want professional locksmiths too, and they’re the place the excessive profits lie for any form of certified business with experience. Its extraordinarily important for knowledgeable locksmith to get registered and secured to have a risk at competing for these huge jobs. Plenty of small companies converse to professional locksmiths about anything from changing cylinder locks to putting in entry management systems. Nothing lower than the very best quality firms should actually be considered when choosing an expert locksmith to undertake industrial companies. In today’s world, personal security is a large problem for everyone, particularly in Georgia. Purchaser satisfaction wins in nearly any service, and its not any totally different in the field of locksmiths. Make an attempt to accumulate a worth estimation for services like Atlanta automotive lock repairs over the telephone or message before signing anything. One can find a number of wild women and men at the moment, and a licensed locksmith will supply the secure and security services essential to continue to keep them out.

The opposite potential downside is that your ignition is perhaps failing. The wafers do ultimately bend and break and like with the key sporting out, you will at some point be stranded. No worries though. ACME Locksmith can repair each of those issues. 1. Keep The Little Metal Tag That Got here With The Keys. The tag comprises a code to tell locksmiths the cuts of the key. This manner, the auto locksmith can at all times make a key without having to pull any locks. 2. Get at least Two Key Copies when Shopping for the Automobile, Preferably Extra. First, you’ll have a spare key handy, however second, some autos have a maximum variety of key copies that can be programmed to the car.

This contains the price of replacement elements the locksmith will be utilizing, the amount of work they’ve to place in the job and the period of time they require to complete the job. Be sure you make clear if there are any additional charges that the locksmith could embody like late evening fees and fast response charges to your invoice. Final, however not least, be sure that the Houston locksmith company you rent is an insured one. This is essential as you by no means know when and if the locksmith will trigger any damage to your property or automotive whereas doing his job. If the locksmith is insured, you already know his insurance coverage can pay for any damages the locksmith causes.

Have you ever lost your car keys and need a substitute? Do you want to avoid wasting money on new keys for your automobile? New car keys are not low-cost.However, we have some nice tricks to probably prevent tons of of dollars. Listed here are our prime tips to save you cash on alternative car keys. How Much To Get A Key Reduce? It’s a tough actuality. Automobile keys are extra refined and changing one is now not a quick low cost trip to the hardware store. Whereas it is easy to order replacement keys by way of your automobile dealership, it won’t be cheap. 740 relying on the make and model of your automobile, and the key’s design. These higher prices are as a result of programming and coding needed to activate the alarms or distant control locking. A locksmith who possesses one of the best abilities and abilities is the kind or worker who can immediately repair the problem. Take word that it isn’t proper to hire emergency locksmiths in Chelmsford straight away when you still don’t have the prospect to check their qualities. It certain is nice to find someone who is totally skilled however wouldn’t it be nice to opt for the one which has great qualities at the identical time. It is significant that you could depend on him whatever time you require his assist. Ensure that too that you just go for someone whose reputability is totally not a query. Additionally it is greatest to rent a locksmith who abides with work ethics to help you assure that he’s nicely committed to his job. my company Additionally, you better decide a locksmith who incessantly renders lock repairs in Chelmsford for years. Following this tip is certainly helpful in case you are eager to see a proper and satisfying repair. Locksmiths who’re able to staying within the industry for too long are well qualified and practiced.

Ask the property-proprietor about reputed locksmiths London and instantly arrange new locks within the house. Additionally make sure if the keys to those locks are held by only you. It’s also good to alter the locks of houses after a number of years although you reside in your own residence. You need to install most superior locks in your residence that will probably be difficult to choose or break. You’ll be able to contact locksmiths London to re-key your locks. Some folks choose re-keying quite than changing old locks. To substitute all locks in the house, you might want to spend a lot of money. How can you be certain the Pompano Beach Locksmith you choose meets all the requirements you want? That is the straightforward part. Mr Choose Locksmith Pompano Seashore solely hires certified locksmiths, We have now locksmith on staff around the clock, and supply twenty 4 hour support seven days a week. Our response time is assured to be in minutes and never hours. We’re the only Locksmith in Pompano Seashore that may assure this! Mr Pick Locksmith Pompano Seashore makes sure that each locksmith we rent for Pompano beach is certified and effectively skilled for each locksmith job they do.

You may confirm if the deal with belongs to the company through the use of websites that allow you to match the phone variety of the company with the address. If you find that the two are usually not matching, it is best to keep away from such a company. If you have any thoughts about where by and how to use Association – look here – , you can make contact with us at our own internet site. Though, many reputable companies could have phone numbers and addresses which are matching, this should not the only factor that it is best to look for. There are many reputable and skillful companies with high class locksmith kit but they provide mobile locksmith providers or they function from residence. They are merely attempting to make the most of the state of affairs, and try to be wary. There are a lot of locksmiths in any given space, so don’t feel trapped into using somebody that you simply aren’t comfortable with. If you can’t get into your home, don’t let someone drill into the lock previous to attempting every other ways. As well as, someone that wishes to instantly exchange the lock might be not reliable. A superb locksmith can get into nearly any door. Due to this fact, the 2 steps mentioned above should not be essential. You must do your analysis and have the identify of a reliable locksmith on you always. Look for online opinions and get recommendations from people you already know.

If you are in need of excellent high quality security and as a consequence of lack of time chances are you’ll get into the fingers of companies which cannot live up to the promises they make. Writer: Henry Williams In today’s world locksmith performs a really important position in everyone’s lives and their providers should not be one thing that we take without any consideration. They are specialized and are capable to do various companies comparable to selecting or dismantling locks, alternative keys and lots of others. Writer: Mike Smith This text explains intimately what exactly a cell locksmith does, what sort of companies they supply, how they acquire their pricing information, how they handle jobs, and other specifics. Locks vary from a stick put by means of an opening in a tree house door to forestall it from being opened, to tubular locks that present superior safety. There are the pin-and-tumbler locks found in padlocks. A bit easier to select are wafer-tumbler locks put in in most filing cabinets, lockers, cars, and a few padlocks. Some people are fascinated by the workings of locks, as evidenced by the wealth of data out there. To select a lock, a professional locksmith must perceive the workings of assorted kinds of locks. A good locksmith must develop the sense of contact to be sensitive to the slightest movements of pins and tumblers. Sensitivity and concentration characterize the particular person whose occupation is locksmith.

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You must be aware that not all companies are situated in your native space. According to the nation’s client protection agency, Federal Commerce Commission (FTC). The locksmiths will advertise their telephone numbers on different phone books even when they are not located near you. It’s very frustrating while you call a locksmith firm, and inform you that they are going to take hours to reach the place you might be. It’s much more aggravating if you want the problem solved instantly. Other than ready for hours for locksmith providers, there are different problems associated with locksmiths. The company might ship you a one who barely knows what needs to be performed in order to fix your problems. In some situations, the sent consultant may arrive with out the necessary locksmith instruments which results to extra time wastage.

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