#and the staff at the job centre were SO NASTY

[legendary-guest]

High school sucks, from puberty to petty relationship drama to navigating the cliques - not to mention the teachers! Some so crabby, so lippy, so unfair, so mean that you could swear they were...evil?

Meet Dr. Drew Lipsky and Ms. Shea Go! Other outfits linked here. Lots of text under the cut.

"Mr. Lipsky is my father. You will address me as Dr. Lipsky."

It is difficult to escape Dr. Lipsky on the learning side of the high school ecosystem, he practically runs every class that involves math or science.

Arrogant, grouchy and with a tendency to ramble, Doc runs his classroom with an iron fist and a strict no lip policy. He is seldom seen without his ruler, which he uses to write along the chalkboard with his terrible handwriting, draw diagrams, gesture wildly with and slam on sleeping students' desks to rudely wake them. Despite this unpleasant behaviour, he has obvious favourite students - some of them have gone a long way just by sucking up to him - like not being yelled at and being one of the privileged few that haven't been damned to detention for a minor transgression. He's not just mean, he's also weird.

He likes to show-off the fact that he can draw a perfect circle, free-handed. This impresses a lot of the kids, until it becomes dull - he is workshopping drawing a perfect dodecahedron free-handed (it's not going well). School festivities and similar events, not centred around sport, tend to have him actively organising and participating in them. Always decorates the classroom around Christmas time, becomes unbearably cheery. His love for Snowman Hank is infamous.

Students have figured out an effective method to avoid learning - by getting Dr. Lipsky to talk about himself, or anything that vaguely interests him, he isn't difficult to distract. If he realises what's happening, everyone gets extra homework. If he doesn't and class ends, he seethes about it.

Of course, this means that he's always marking, always busy, a vicious feedback loop. He secretly doesn't mind this, as it keeps him occupied, away from depressing thoughts and crushing loneliness. His job is his social life, but even this is difficult as the only real rapport he has with anyone are the students he rambles to. Well, them and now Ms. Go, whom he carpools with - picking him up and dropping him off 5 days a week, just the two of them. His own car was totalled by Ed, and unable to afford another on a teacher's salary, he'd been catching the bus to and from work. His garage has turned into a workshop, where he tinkers with fixing old computers, building robots, lasers, programming microchips, etc. He really doesn't spend time in his own home.

Drew is dyslexic but doesn't know it - he's found ways to manage this. One of these ways is calling on kids who he knows are in Ms. Go's classes - he always knows them - to help him spell something. “How do you spell it?” “What?” “What do you mean ‘what?’ I know you’re in Miss Go’s AP Literature class, so tell me how to spell it!” “Uh…” [spelling ensues] “That wasn’t so difficult now was it?” “Thanks would be nice” “Detention.” “What?” “I heard you talk back. Detention. I’m old, not deaf.” Unlike Drakken, the subject of his blue skin and scar aren't things he's keen to talk about. He addresses it once at the beginning of every semester to the students to quell rumours and that's it. “Before you all start asking, I’ll tell you. This nasty scar? Lab accident. Blue skin? Lab accident. Is it contagious? No. We’re speaking about injuries, not cooties. So, you know I take lab safety very, very seriously. Gloves, closed shoes and glasses in the lab at all times! Last thing I need is a lawsuit from your parents.” No member of staff, including Ms. Go, know why he is blue.

He is still a college drop-out - his doctorate and teaching certifications are fake. He has never been caught. The inciting incident for dropping out (I have yet to cement whether or not it is the Bebes) has defeated him instead of motivating him. Drew Lipsky is still Drakken, but listless, without real focus or ambition, prone to indifference and depression. As Dr. Lipsky, he is a genuinely good, competent teacher, despite all his faults - the need to explain things, repeatedly, helps him in the profession.

Ms. Go is the hot new English teacher at school! Although she is new to teaching on her own, she is not as naïve as some might think. With her experience as Shego, member of Team Go from Go City, dealing with her brothers and various criminals and villains alike, Ms. Go knows her way around people - the Child Development qualification is merely a bonus.

Staff and students don't know of Ms. Go's hero identity and she goes to great lengths to deceive students that point out her strangely tinted skin - by telling them that it's merely the fluorescent lights in the school that make her appear green, and that, maybe, they should be more focused on what's on the board. Several students have started wearing glasses since her employment. Gaslighting the kids is something she enjoys immensely. Dr. Lipsky has noticed, too, but he doesn't bring it up, accepting her reasoning - for now.

Her attractiveness is no secret, with many a boy harbouring a crush on her, some of the bolder ones hitting on her in class or the hallway. Ms. Go effectively destroys the fragile, male teen ego in a single, creatively worded sentence, leaving a path of bitter, broken hearts (and sometimes tears) behind her. Creative put-downs aren't just reserved for boys that hit on her.

Ms. Go's criteria for her hitlist include: disrupting class, poor enunciation/pronunciation, mumbling, using the wrong words, incorrect/poor grammar, and abuse of teen slang in class.

Anything that isn't a school textbook or notebook that is left behind in Ms. Go's classroom goes missing. Pencils, pens, spare change, personal diaries, MP3 players, CD players, gum (which they shouldn't have anyway!) - gone. Ms. Go picks the room CLEAN as soon as all of them leave - finders keepers! She has an impressive collection, and shares the spoils with Dr. Lipsky. Forgot something in Ms. Go's class? FORGET IT! She gives props to those who can clap back in a creative (grammatically correct, well-spoken) way. For this, she is a very divisive figure, fluctuating between cool-hot-mean-bitchy at all times.

The popular, self-absorbed girls try to emulate Ms. Go, from her mannerisms to her style. She doesn't mind this, and even has some fun in seeing how far she can take it.

Ms. Go runs her classes efficiently and she never assigns extra homework - she doesn't want to mark it. She clocks in at 7am and clocks out at 3:30pm, not a minute before or after.

She has an expensive sports car (I'm thinking a Maserati), which she was able to procure from the Mayor of Go City for her service. Hego was, is, very upset over this. Although she has been out of the hero game for a while, something about the unusually hued Dr. Drew Lipsky had her extend the offer to carpool - just him. Especially after she saw him come to work, late, soaking wet from some surprise torrential rain, snarling and growling and snapping at anyone who so much as looked at him funny - only to be berated by the principal on top of it all.

Her degree in Child Development means that she holds the position of school counsellor. Problem is, no one wants to see her! Who does after hearing all the mean things she says? Her small office is rarely visited, to the point where Dr. Lipsky has moved in with all his stuff, mountains of paper that made his corner of the teacher's lounge very unseemly. Anyone who knocks is met with the Doc's intimidating stature and signature frown.

Ms. Go and Dr. Lipsky sit by themselves in the small office, never in the teacher's lounge. Drew will sometimes stay back and work, catching the bus home, whilst Shea goes home. As they get closer, Ms. Go will sometimes just go for a few hours and return to the school to take the Doc home. Although it seems like she's got it all, at the end of the day, she still goes home to her apartment - alone. Used to being surrounded by her family, as annoying as they are, used to the excitement and rush of hero work, and no longer actively using her powers, Shea is not too sure what to make of normal, civilian life. Especially after hers has been anything but. Partying, clubbing and shopping on the weekends are fun, but the prospect of socialising with others, finding interests that aren't focused on her career is daunting, if not a little frightening, if she were honest with herself. Shego, as Ms. Go, still calls him Dr. D (for 'Drew', she says the alliteration makes it fun to say) and Doc. Drew Lipsky for when she really wants to annoy him.

Drew/Drakken having dyslexia, Drew/Drakken taking the bus and the name Shea for Shego's real name are all lifted from Dwelling by @gogofordrakgo. The AU has been stewing for a very long time, almost as long as I have been reviewing. All elements lifted have been credited. I see several paths for it.

A 'Normal' AU where they exist within the KP world but never become villains, and don't teach at Middleton High School.

An Origin Story of how Drakken and Shego met teaching at some high school and then getting into villainy together.

An AU where they are teachers at Middleton High School and Kim and Ron are students there, still saving the world. They still play an antagonistic role, Drakken more than Shego, with Shego empathising with Kim without breaking her Shego-ness and becoming too nice, still distance between them. Ron would also be Shego's one-and-only student that she sees as a counsellor. Their sessions consist of having him accompany her to the mall - retail therapy. In this version of the AU, the recurring villains would be The Seniors. Senior Sr. is a big name supervillain looking to retire and is training his spoiled, sheltered son Senior Jr. to take up the mantle, but all he's interested in is becoming a teen-pop sensation, even though he learns quickly and can take on KP. Senior Sr. finds Kim Possible, not only a worthy adversary, but the ideal match for his son! He is the number one Kim x Junior shipper. (500k slow-burn, enemies to lovers epic fanfic, babies ever after - 7 for all 7 continents - 4 girls and 3 boys - evil-and-in-love - he's planned Junior's entire life for him, he can't wait to retire!). Dr. Lipsky and Ms. Go become villains at the end, becoming Dr. Drakken and Shego, the new villainous couple looking to rule the world and taking the place of Senor Senior Sr. and Senor Senior Jr.

Alternative to the last where it's all the same but they don't become villains. Maybe they try for a bit and after having their fun, they settle down to have a family. I dunno!

Now, is there more to come? YES! MAYBE! We'll see how I am feeling. Why did I do it this way and not write something properly? Because I don't like writing or plotting multi-chapter fanfic. I really wanted to make something that I could write for in this very casual way, and, if anyone else wanted to write or draw for this, that it would be possible.

Teacher AU is such a strong concept for the characters as they are, I wanted to really have it be true to them, as we see and know them in the show. I didn't want huge differences in their backstories, interests, mannerisms or relationships with other characters, because all those things inform who they are. I love that Drakken is a scatter-brained, easily-offended, easily distracted grouch and that Shego is such an annoying, snarky woman, a staunch grammarian and runner-up for professional slacker (Ron takes the number one spot). I wanted to challenge myself with this and I hope that I have been successful with it, at least initially.

[bubblegum-glitch]

The Catalyst: Life working in retail and the moment I finally said "fuck it, I'm doing porn."

I've been working in Customer Service off and on since early 2005, only ever being unemployed for short periods of time between job searches. I've worked in various retail establishments, with shipping companies, call centres, door-to-door sales, and even in kitchens & cafes. The only industry I have ever refused to work in has been fast food, and I'm sure those of you who have worked a drive through or two in your lives can understand my reasoning. I began in my first year of high school working at a Dollar Store that was next to an extremely seedy strip club (it eventually burned down and it was discovered that the owner had done it to try and cash in on the insurance). From customers verbally and physically abusing me, to an elderly man jerking his cock in front of me, my first romp in retail was merely a taste of what was to come for the next 20 years.

Some jobs were certainly better than others. I worked at a bookstore and a Halloween shop, both of which would have been fine if not for the politics of the company bleeding into the staff and making us all miserable. Bad management teams, abusive coworkers, bullying and drama akin to that which we experience in High School - it becomes exhausting after awhile. For minimum wage, which doesn't even come close to a living wage, it's just not worth the headaches. I rarely lasted longer than two years with any of my employers. When you're handed a penny raise after working your ass off for an entire year you tend to lose faith in the company that you've been breaking your back (and sanity) for. I promise, there was no lack of trying on my part to escape the clutches of the customer service industry. I have my BA in English, I have a certificate in photography, and I have some training in IT Web design (which proved to be far too much for my little brain to handle) and Audio Engineering. Unfortunately the job market for all of these industries in my part of the world is pretty much non existent. I'm pretty sure a BA in English is worth less than toilet paper even after the great pandemic shortage of 2020. Unfortunately, to make money in this world you gotta do what you gotta do. So to pay off my crippling debt and be able to afford an occasional package of ramen noodles so I don't starve to death, I have to continue working these soul crushing, mindless jobs.

It was in 2016 when I started working in donation rooms at thrift stores and, I will be completely honest with you - I fucking love it. Granted, it has it's downsides. I've sorted through more than a couple bags with mould, human feces, needles, and used sex toys, but the satisfaction of the treasure hunt it's absolutely worth the nasty shit that you sometimes encounter. But once again, the politics of the industry got in the way of finding my work enjoyable and rewarding. Nasty upper management was the downfall of all three thrift locations I've worked at. The first store the CEO shut us down without warning (I also later learned he was a sexual predator and was being sued by some of his employees for harassment, so that was gross). The second location had a violent customer base (we were robbed repeatedly), a bully assistant manager who would scream in your face when HE made a mistake, and a regional manager who loved to throw her staff under the bus.

So that leads us to my third romp in thrift, my absolute favourite job I've ever had, and the devastation brought upon me when everything came crumbling down.

My husband and I came into a little bit of money in 2021 and I decided to take a break from the world of customer service bullshit and return to school (This was my IT and Audio Engineering training). That summer I got a student job at a thrift store where 100% of the proceeds go into helping rescue animals. It was entirely volunteer based other than the management team and the summer students (who were there on a government grant). I had such an enjoyable experience working there as the volunteer coordinator than I returned the following summer, and they were so impressed with me they ended up hiring me on permanently part time to help with their rapidly growing business. At this point, due to some mental health struggles, I am not currently able to work full time hours, and they were more than happy to work around my disability...

Until the new regional manager was hired.

The store closed for renovations and I was brought in to help rebuild and re-brand the store.

Sure. No problem. It's more hours than I'm available for, but I don't mind just for a couple of weeks. It's also more physical work than my body is really equipped for but, just this once, I'll suffer through with a smile on my face.

Then I'm handed a key and I'm told "You're a staff supervisor now". Oh... okay? No one talked to me or asked me if I wanted the promotion, it's more hours than I can handle, and I don't really want the responsibilities that come with a supervisor position because of my disability, but since my old position has been dissolved I guess I'll have to suck it up. At least it comes with a raise, right?

Nope. Still minimum wage. Which is currently sitting about $15 under a livable wage. Also, we won't be training you and just expect you to know how to do the assistant manager's job.

Okay... Gotta do what you gotta do I guess.

You also have to work more shifts than you're available for.

Oh... yeah, okay. That could start to prove difficult as I'm dealing with a depressive episode right now but... sure?

Then suddenly I'm responsible for everything that goes wrong. A volunteer makes a mistake? Blame Billie - even on days she isn't working. The cash or pricing machines break? Billie. Shoes, purses, dresses, and coats priced to low? Blame Billie and make sure she's the only person who prices these things from now on. Need 30 things done at once right this second, tell Billie and don't let her delegate the tasks to anyone else. If she does, yell at her! Have Billie open and close the store for the next two weekends, but don't train her how to do it and expect her not to make any mistakes. Customer has an issue? That's right, it's also somehow Billie's fault! Even when she's at home sleeping!

Blame, blame, blame, blame, blame, blame, blame.

Yeah. This was the breaking point for me.

In July of 2023 I had started up an OnlyFans account to bring in a couple extra dollars. I'll discuss why this was a challenging decision for me in a future post, but originally I was just planning to post some tasteful nudes to earn myself a little spending money. By May of 2024, as all this bullshit had begun happening at work, that mindset had officially gone from a couple tasteful nudes to "Fuck it, I'm quitting retail and making porn." By August I had amassed enough of a following to put in my notice.

I am finished with retail as of October 15th, 2024 and turning to creating adult content full time.

Honestly, this is a terrifying leap of faith as I know content creation can be a fickle beast. Some months will be more lucrative than others, while an inability to keep people invested could have everything all come crashing down on top of me.

But I'm done with working for people who take advantage of me and pay me pennies. I know my value and I'm worth more than what I'm being given. I'm not a number who is easily replaceable, I am a strong capable woman who is in charge of her own destiny.

So fuck you workforce,

I quit!

Now. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to live life how it's meant to be lived,

Enjoyed!

[jackie-and-gecko]

Slightly more serious post than usual:

Please keep your local library staff dear to your hearts because boy howdy, they put up with so much strange shit every day. Inner city libraries are particularly crazy, violence is not uncommon, and abuse is ridiculously regular.

I had lots of antisocial behaviour at my library today (UK based), mostly by white teenage boys, I also got assaulted (minor assault but still). We’re a pretty big main city library, we can’t afford security, and we’re often short staffed.

Only ONE library member stood up for us. Out of about 60 people on the top floor where the problems were, an aging, white, academic man was the only person to assist in calling out the behaviour taking place. Nobody in the shopping centre outside said anything when the trouble moved out the doors. Nobody going in or out of the library said anything as my colleague, myself, and the one shopping centre security guard got numerous, horrible curse words and homophobic slurs thrown at us. Nobody said anything when one of the nasty little boys laid hands on me. And nobody checked on me afterwards, except for that one library member and the other staff/security guy.

Guys, you live in a community, I really can’t stress this enough. Your library is YOURS. It’s your privilege, it’s your right to information, and it’s YOUR responsibility to help take care of it. That includes the staff and your fellow library goers. I’m sure most folk would leap to the defence of a librarian or retail worker who was being harassed, but today I got absolutely zip from a huge number of potential allies.

Public libraries are moving stories, grand stage plays, with different players and parts every single day. They succeed or fail depending on how well the fluid players work with the permanent actors (library staff), but more importantly how well they work with each other. We are all responsible for safety and kindness in our communities. Sure, I choose to be paid minimum wage and go to my job. I choose to work in an environment with volatile, vulnerable people every day. I choose, despite having many qualifications that would net me higher paying private jobs, to be a public servant. But I don’t deserve or choose to be treated like garbage, and I really expect better from my fellow humans.

Nobody will see this but I need to vent and there’s a library tag so 🙃

[symphonic-scream]

🃏

Something for Joker... Lemme see what I got

Uh. The unposted Cat au?? I've had this for so long I'll screenshot it with the dates to show

Nearly a year! Alt text available for anyone who needs it

Morgana is the only human. He works at a cat shelter, and cares for the cats with some others (Caroline, Justine, and Lavenza) but. He can talk to the cats. He tries to be normal about it so he doesn't weird people out but this one group of cats, well...

Akira: *Morgana, give us more wet food*

Ryuji: *OR YOURE GAY*

Morgana, glaring:

Futaba: *HES GAY HE DIDNT FEED US*

Makoto: *thank you for trusting us enough to come out to us, Morgana*

Morgana, whispered hiss: I'm not gay!

Lavenza: ...what?

Morgana: I can talk to cats

Lavenza: ...hey is there a history of mental illness in your family?

Ryuji has a chunk out of one of his ears, and a limp cause his leg grew in wrong.

Haru is the biggest, and fluffiest. Her and Ann have to have weekly grooming visits with the shelter, as the long haired ones in the crew

Makoto's file has a mark that says "must sedate for check ups". One of their vet techs got some nasty scratches.

Like. The rest of the shelter is normal cats and then there's this Gang that tortures the staff that let them know he can understand them

Sae and Tae being an older bonded pair that are like, the shelter mascots at that point

Makoto: Sis, can I sleep with you two tonight? I heard a noise ...

Sae: ...

Tae: get in here kid

Sae has the same flipped up ears but she's a grey tabby, and Tae is a classic shorthair tuxedo

Lavenza, who helped bottle feed the little brown cat from the moment of the rescue of the sisters, watching all confused as usually shy Makoto jumps down from the big cat tree to bonk her head against the shoulder of the (shaved, she had matts) fluffy Ragdoll that was just introduced from a week in the quarantine room: that's odd...

Morgana, tired, hearing the gayest most pathetic attempt at Cat Rizz ever: I think Makoto's gay.

Lavenza: Morgana-

Makoto: hey, welcome to the main room. They had you in quarantine, huh?

Haru: yes! But it was lovely, though I am excited to get to know everyone here

Makoto: well, I'm Makoto, and I'll gladly help you get accustomed?

Morgana: god. What is my life.

Tae: ...where's the kid?

Sae: with her girlfriend, in one of the cubby holes. Now I have you to myself again

Tae: you miss her don't you

Sae: ...

Ryuji and Ann were both born in the shelter, different moms but they were both during Kitten Season so. They grew up together, play together a lot. They tend to curl up with the odd blue cat. He was returned after adoption as a kitten for being "weird". He gets along with the others just fine

Futaba was found in the alley of a coffee shop. The owner can't have pets, but he stops by often with freshly baked treats for them all

Haru was a garden centre cat. The shop went under, and the owners didn't want a cat, so they left her in the closed wreck. The shelter picks her up after two weeks

Sae and Makoto were scooped up from a colony. Sae was from a previous litter with the same mother, and Makoto was the sole survivor of this last litter. Sae was feral for so long, and it's rubbed off on Makoto, who only likes 2 people, and is defensive and wary of other cats

Haru: you're very warm

Makoto: THANK YOU. Yes. They took your fur so I shall lie here and keep you warm in your sleep. Yes.

Morgana: ...smooth.

Morgana: I hate my job.

Akira: *TREATS!*

Ann: *GIVE US THEM*

Ryuji: woah, the mean one is being nice...

Akira: she has a name

Ann: ...I forgot it

Akira: me too. Let's go ask her

Ryuji: DUDE I DONT WANNA DIE

Akira: hello ladies-

Makoto: *glaring* why do you approach?

Akira: ...wanted to welcome the new cat?

Haru: thats sweet! Is he a friend of yours, Mako?

Ann: Mako?

Makoto: only Haru gets to call me that! Makoto, that's my name. And, this is Haru. If you harm her, I'll -

Yusuke: you two have lovely matching souls

Makoto: akfhdkfhfk

Haru: thank you! I do feel something special between us, right, Mako?

Makoto: y-yeah,

Ann: woah, she broke her...

Lavenza: we need to edit her papers, I don't think Makoto should be adopted alone

Morgana: she's bonded to Haru already. Mark them as bonded.

Lavenza: really? I don't...

Morgana: trust me.

Haru gently grooming Makoto while she purrs, a little broken at first, but then it's so damn loud

Ryuji: damn,

Ann: I want what they have...

Akira: *eyeing the "not friendly" cat in the corner* hmm

Ryuji: don't.

Futaba: DO NOT

He gets clawed and gets "I told you so"

[grantgoddard]

The invisible manager : 1993 : Bud Stiker, Radio Juventus, Hungary

Nazi soldiers were everywhere. Battalions of Nazis marching down wide boulevards. Nazis standing on convoys of tanks, waving flags. Row upon row of Nazis saluting speeches by their leader. Nazis fighting on battlefields. It was exhausting to watch for too long and nothing like 'Indiana Jones'. In fact, it was a little bit frightening.

I had viewed so many hours of ‘MTV’ that I knew Stina Nordenstam’s song ‘Little Star’ by heart. Seeking alternative entertainment, I manually retuned the hotel room’s television and was shocked to discover a grainy black-and-white channel that was broadcasting Nazi propaganda twenty-four hours a day. I was like Dennis Quaid in the movie ‘Frequency’, pulling signals from the ether transmitted several decades earlier. This bizarre television service must have been a sideshow of the civil war raging on European soil only a hundred miles from my present location, atop a Budapest hill 479 metres above sea level.

My life under ‘hotel arrest’ was proving extremely tedious. To be accurate, I could leave any time I wished but my accommodation was hardly ‘Hotel California���. I was stranded alone, five miles from the city centre in countryside popular for walking holidays in summer but dead as a dodo mid-winter. No buses, no taxis, no shops, no mobile phone, no laptop, no internet access. It felt like sensory deprivation to be cooped up in a hotel room for days with absolutely nothing to do. My sole consolation was that I would be charging the client my daily rate.

My task had been to interview each of the staff of tiny ‘Radio Juventus’ in Siófok to determine their role, their skills and their future potential. The station had been launched in 1989 by a local newspaper to serve German tourists who summered at Lake Balaton. It was about to be acquired by American public corporation Metromedia, owned by billionaire John Kluge, and I had been hired to discover precisely what he was buying and to plan its transformation into Hungary’s first national commercial radio station. I had completed a fortnight’s work when…

Three soldiers in military uniform suddenly burst into the underground bunker where I was installing computer programmes, talking loudly and waving around their guns. I was surprised but not initially alarmed as I knew they guarded the gate of the compound. Every day it took them ten minutes to inspect and approve my passport before they would let me enter. Maybe today they were simply bored. However, events quickly turned nasty when station staff translated the soldiers' demands into basic English:

“They say: 'you must go.' They say: 'go now and no stop.'”

Sorry? They mean me? But I work here! I am just doing my job! The staff were adamant. The soldiers had received orders. All foreigners (which meant only me) had to leave the compound immediately. I asked if I could telephone Metromedia’s office, a one-hour drive away in Budapest. While the soldiers glared at me, seemingly eager to make an arrest, the phone just rang and rang and rang. Where was the office secretary? In her absence, there was usually an answering machine on the end of the line. But now there was nothing.

I collected my belongings and the soldiers escorted me up the narrow stairs and out of the building. The bright sunlight made my eyes squint but the fresh air was invigorating. The bunker housing the radio station received no natural light, no fresh air and was always thick with cigarette smoke. Dust lay everywhere because it had served as an underground coal store during Soviet times. The soldiers stood in a line, holding their guns menacingly, and watched as I searched for my car keys. Above us loomed huge transmitter masts that the Soviets had built during the Cold War to jam broadcasts from West European radio stations. I drove the car slowly out of the compound and gave a friendly wave to the soldiers as I passed their checkpoint. They did not respond. In the rearview mirror, I saw them lock the gates behind me and put down their guns. This must have been the most action they had seen in months.

An hour later, I was sat in the Budapest ‘office’ of Metromedia, in reality a converted bedroom within the Normafa Hotel owned by the Americans’ Hungarian business partner György Wossala. There was no sign of Bud Stiker, imported from Maine to manage this operation. No sign either of his harassed Hungarian secretary. I called Stiker’s mobile phone but it was switched off. The remainder of the afternoon, I stayed in the office but nobody came. The office phone rang regularly, which I had to ignore as I spoke no Hungarian. It had been a baffling day. I returned to my room, watched MTV and fell asleep to the sounds of loud revelry in the hotel grounds.

The next morning, I was eating breakfast in the hotel’s deserted dining room when Wossala appeared, so I asked if he knew what was happening with his American business partner. He was evasive and wanted only to talk about the wedding party that had hired his hotel the previous evening for a huge banquet and, when presented with their invoice, had drawn guns on his staff, then fled in their fleet of Mercedes.

“This is not good business,” he suggested to me.

I sat in the office again. Nothing happened until late afternoon when the secretary finally appeared, looking flustered. She had been trying to find Stiker the last two days, visiting downtown bars he was known to frequent.

“Everybody is looking for him,” she told me, “but he has just – pouf – disappeared.”

Stiker had worked for Metromedia in the 1980’s, managing radio stations in Colorado and Maryland. Prior to his arrival in Budapest, he had been executive vice president of Bonneville Broadcasting System, the US radio network owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I recognised that Stiker would understandably be unfamiliar with the European radio industry, probably the reason I had been hired as consultant. More puzzlingly, he appeared somewhat uninterested in visiting the business Metromedia was acquiring in Hungary, meeting the staff he was nominally managing, or creating a plan to transform the radio station … all of which was delegated to me, leaving him ‘hands off’.

Stiker’s mobile phone remained switched off and we found he had left no information about his whereabouts. The secretary checked with the hotel which confirmed he had not returned to his bedroom for two days. We were both totally confused.

The next day, the secretary arrived for work and told me she was quitting her job. She had checked her bank account and found that her wages had not been paid. Neither had the expenses she had rung up on behalf of Metromedia. I helped her carry the contents of her desk to her car outside. It did not seem to matter anymore whether the office items she was taking really belonged to her or to her former employer. I was on my own now and starting to get a little worried.

The next day, Wossala told me he was repossessing Metromedia’s office to convert back into a hotel room, despite the fact that I had observed no more than five guests staying in his hotel that mid-winter. He insisted I return the keys of the tiny Hungarian car I had been using to drive to the radio station, as he claimed it belonged to the hotel rather than Metromedia. That left me completely stranded.

My anxiety intensified the next morning when I found a hotel bill had been slipped under my door during the night, demanding I pay for my stay immediately, an expense that should have been taken care of by Metromedia. I told Wossala (truthfully) that I did not have sufficient funds to pay his bill, and neither could I change the date of my charter flight back to London, still several weeks away. The situation turned into a stalemate – he grudgingly let me continue my stay in his near-empty hotel, but now refused to serve me further meals.

I had to find food. I walked out of the hotel and turned left. There was nothing but a miniature railway, closed in winter, that would take hikers further into the forest hills. I walked back the opposite direction. About a mile from the hotel was a tiny roadside kiosk where I would point to dry biscuits, cola drinks and imported chocolate bars that I purchased with the limited amount of local currency I had previously changed. I had to eke out this basic diet the rest of the week.

Ten days after his disappearance, Bud Stiker suddenly reemerged at the hotel. Amazingly, he had almost nothing to say about his sudden absence. He barely apologised for the inconvenience he had caused me and explained only that he had been “attending to important business” elsewhere. He said that there had been a “misunderstanding” between Metromedia and its Hungarian partner. I was more shocked by his lack of candour than I was by my treatment at the hands of the Hungarian soldiers ten days earlier. I half-heartedly completed my work and counted off the remaining days longingly until I could fly home.

Back in London, I wrote and submitted my report. Stiker queried my invoice, claiming I was overcharging because he believed the rate we had agreed was 'per month' rather than 'per week.' I found insulting his attempt to cut my fee by 75%, particularly after the experience I had just endured in Budapest. It seemed a bit rich coming from one of Metromedia’s old-timers whom my colleagues later alleged were being offered US$1,000,000 per year to manage one of its newly acquired stations in Europe as a kind of pre-retirement reward for earlier corporate loyalty (Metromedia had sold all of its 27 US radio stations by 1986). I resisted vociferously and was eventually paid in full. I hoped for more consulting work like this, though I wished Metromedia would not assign me to Stiker again … but it did.

That bleak winter month spent in a Budapest hotel room, watching ‘Nazi TV’, was the closest I had come to a war zone and the scary propaganda it produced.

[tearsof-scarlet]

One Way or Another (yandere!Dabi x f!Reader)

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi x f!Reader, Hawks x f!Reader

Synopsis: Being a doctor at the hero hospital is stressful enough. However, what happens when your beloved friend Hawks begins to take a liking to you? And what if he isn’t the only one who has his eye on you? An evil Dabi starts to fall for you immensely after one dark night. Nothing can hold him back from his urge to have you.

Part 1 / ?

Words: 3.5k

Warning: This story will eventually have mentions of stalking, violence, gore, language, and hard smut. Viewer’s discretion is advised.

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The sounds of birds tweeting filled your ears. Today your bed seemed just that more comfortable as the sunlight dripped though your curtains. The sound of the traffic in your city was at a minimum as you sighed into your pillow. Finally, a day off from work. This week had kicked your ass hard. Your job at the Hero hospital was a privilege and a burden. While you were one of a very small group who could treat and aid the top heroes, it was a very stressful job. The hours weren’t exactly nine to five and some nights you were heading home with your head low in complete exhaustion. However, you still loved your job. You had a great sense of pride knowing that you could give back to the heroes who protected you and everyone around you. 

But today is your day off.  You knew how to separate your job and your personal life.  You lay in bed thinking of what you planned to do with your free time.  Your kitchen could do with a cleaning, but the idea of sitting on the couch watching bad reality television sounded more appeasing to you. You smiled into your pillow, finally a day to relax and do absolutely nothing.

Then your phone buzzed.

You opened one eye to see your boss’ caller ID on your screen. You grabbed the phone from your nightstand and reluctantly answered. Before you could even say hello, the sound of your boss yelling over the phone broke the silence in your room.

"_______ get in here now we need you!"

 With your shoelaces undone and a piece of toast in your mouth, you dashed outside of your apartment with your work bag tossed on your back. Your boss informed you of a villain attack in the city centre which caused some heroes to be injured. Fire injuries were your specialty, so you were called immediately. Your legs were running to the train station, hoping not to miss the train to the hospital and having to wait another ten minutes for the next train.

While you were fixing your tie around your neck, your eyes caught sight of a small red object flying across in front of you. After a small moment of confusion, you heard the sound of wings flapping behind you and immediately knew who it was.

"Hey hey hey, didn’t know you were into running these days ______?"

You scoffed, swallowing the last bit of your toast as you dodged hitting into a random person in the street.

"Not now Hawks" You yelled up at him. "I’m running late."

Hawks. Number 2 Hero. You both met each other when he had only just graduated from this hero training. He survived a nasty attack from a villain, resulting in his feathers being pretty damaged. You were the one who took care of him and patched him up.  He was in the hospital for two days straight and most of that time was spent with you monitoring his health. His determination to become a top hero and his snarky charisma allow you two to immediately have a connection. After he was discharged, he still kept in contact with you and now he could consider you one of his closest friends. Till this day, he is forever grateful for you helping him, but these days teasing you seems more fun to him.

The man was now gliding alongside you, clearly mocking your lack of speed.

"Why am I not surprised?" He chuckled, eyeing you.

You sent him a stern glare. Unfortunately, you could not argue with him and run at the same time without losing your breath.

"You know, sweetheart, the train is about to leave in a minute, and unless you just gained a speed quirk, chances are you're not going to make it," he teased.

You held your tongue at his words. When you first told him you didn’t have a quirk, he thought you were joking and laughed in your face. Needless to say, you weren’t too happy about that. So whenever he sees the chance, he always enjoys pointing it out.

Hawks continued to fly beside you, now sighing and crossing his arms behind his head.

"Only if you knew someone who could get you to the hospital in time." He groaned.

He raised his eyebrow at you. You knew what he was trying to imply. Your stomach immediately started to do flips at the thought of it. You hated heights and Hawks knew this about you. But he also knows about how much your work matters to you.

You eyed your watch on your wrist, already you were ten minutes late. You glanced down to see Hawks’ red feathers tying your shoelaces. You finally stopped running and stood trying to catch your breath.  You ignored the rational thoughts in your head and returned back to glare at Hawks.

"I swear Hawks if you do anything funny." You sneered at him.

His face immediately lit up with glee and a smirk spread across his face.

"Trust me _____. It will be like floating on a cloud. " He reassured you by putting his hand on his heart.

"Just don’t throw up on me again." He hushed quickly. 

Before you even had time to swear at him, he whooshed behind you and lifted you up in his arms. You immediately let out a squeak in fear, earning a laugh from Hawks. Your hands gripped his neck and your body tensed up as you both started to rise to the sky. You both were now above the skyscrapers and the whole city seemed so small. It was truly breath taking and you wondered if Hawks ever just spent his days looking down at the city.  

You cast a quick glance down at the people who had turned into ants. Your stomach dropped and you turned your face into hawks’ chest for the rest of the journey to avoid throwing up.

"You can look up now doll."

You cranked your head to see if Hawks was telling the truth. You were relieved to see that his feet were touching the ground. He had landed on the hospital roof, a perfect spot.

"Nice landing" you jerked at him.

"You’re welcome Miss." He said, rolling his eyes.

You hopped out of his arms and stood attempting to fix yourself up before you entered the hospital. You could tell the wind messed up your hair quite a bit.

"You look fine ____."

Now you were the one to roll your eyes. Last time he said that you walked into your meeting with your lipstick smeared across your face.

"Shouldn’t you have been helping save your colleagues from that villain attack?"

"Had to make sure my _____ was safe first." Hawks was always skilled at avoiding questions he didn’t want to answer. You chalked it up to his media training.

You made your way to the door leading down to the hospital as soon as you felt you had put yourself together decently. Hawks' mouth dropped at your actions. He flew to block the door to prevent you from leaving.

"Nothing else you want to say?" He pestered at you. "No thank you, hawks or hawks; you are my hero; you are incredible?"

He really made a poor impression of you.

"Thank you, Hawks. Now shove it. " You snapped thinking of the time you are wasting with him up here. Your words, however, did not convince the young hero.

"How about takeaway and a movie at your place?" He questioned.

"Did you just invite yourself over to my place?" You sneered at him; your arms now crossed.

"Is it a deal?" He spoke. You were beginning to realise that there was no way hawks was going to let you though unless you said yes. You both haven’t done anything together in a while, you thought to yourself.

"Deal." You nodded.

Hawks’ feathers fluttered and he busted into a sing-song voice.

"Perfect! I’ll buy the food and you can pick the movie. Bye _____! " He yelled, tossing himself over the building as he flew away into the clouds.

Your mouth dropped at how he was able to make you agree to invite him over to your house within a minute. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you pushed the door open to enter the hospital.

As you entered your unit of the hospital, your boss was stood there waiting for you and your co-workers busily hurrying around.

"Look who finally decided to turn up."

You did your best not to glare at him.  You apologised profusely about being late to him and how it wouldn’t happen again.

"I heard she was seen with her boyfriend Hawks" A staff member piped up with a sneer.

You cringed at her words and her attempt to cause drama in front of your boss. Hawks is many things, but your boyfriend is definitely not one of them. 

"He is not my boyfriend. He was helping me to work. " You defended yourself. 

"I don’t want to hear anymore of the bird boy. Get working now _____. " Your boss yelled. 

You gave a low nod and immediately jumped into work, making your way over to your first patient.

 _______________________________________________________________

When you actually finished with the last patient, you had no idea what time it was. You gathered your belongings and exited the building, only to find the city engulfed in darkness. You sighed, your shoulders heavy from fatigue. The thought of a relaxing bath and a comfortable bed appealed to you. You checked your phone to find that the train station had closed long ago. Your eyes darted across the street for a taxi, but you had no luck. Walking it was, you thought.

You tried your best to stick to bright lit areas of the city. It was one of the disadvantages of being quirkless, you were practically defenceless. If a villain wanted to kill you, they would have no problem with doing it. That is why you prefer to work behind the scenes helping the heroes rather than being at the front of the violence.

Your walking stopped as you reached an alleyway. You debated or not if you should enter it. If you stuck to the bright areas, you wouldn’t reach your apartment for another fifteen minutes. However, if you went down this dark alleyway it would only take you five minutes. You stood listening for any noise to indicate if there was anyone down the dark path. After standing in silence, you made the decision to chance it. You took a breath and made your way down the narrow street.

All was well and you finally started to calm down as you walked. You thought of what leftovers you had in your fridge to eat when you heard the noise of glass breaking behind you. Your blood turned to ice as your body froze into place. When you looked to the source of the racket, a single drop of sweat ran down your brow.

A man with his head hanging low sat beside one of the big trash bins. You quickly realised the man wasn't all there when he didn't acknowledge you as you walked by. Your brain was screaming at you to keep walking. Your heart and morals, on the other hand, told you to check on the man's safety. You bit your lower lip, carefully weighing your options. Your morals came out on top.

"Sir?" you asked.

You were met with silence since the man did not respond. As you got closer, it became clear that the man was in pain. When you were within arm’s reach, you cautiously put your hand on the individual's neck to check for a pulse. Fortunately, it was at a consistent rate. You now knelt beside him. You tapped his shoulder lightly. Finally, the man let out a groan. You breathed a sigh of relief.

You gently pushed his head back, allowing you to see his face in the moonlight. You immediately noticed the faulty stitching and staples all around his face and body. The damaged deep purpled skin contrasted sharply with his pale skin. His eyelids hung low, but the brightness of the moon resulted in the stranger opening his eyes halfway. You were almost in shock at his bright blue eyes as they stared into yours.

"Am I dreaming?" He mumbled painfully.

You shook your head as you examined his body.

"What is the problem sir?" You questioned.

He sent a sly grin at you. Your concern was able to amuse the man. His finger weakly pointed at his opposite arm. One of the stitches on his arm had obviously ripped open and blood was steadily pouring out and onto the dirty ground.

You stared at the wound for a moment and considered if he needed to be taken to the hospital.

Almost as if he were reading your mind, he said, "No hospitals."

You chose not to question him and began to act on your feet. You removed your bag from your back and pulled out your first aid kit and some tools you used at work. You began to place a thread into your incision needle and prepared the medical stapler for use.

You could sense his apprehensiveness as he eyed your needle.

"Trust me sir, I’m a doctor." You explained to him.

"You'd better cut the sir crap; you're making me feel like an old man." He laughed lightly,

Feeling like you were getting somewhere with him, you continued the conversation. 

"Do you have a name?" You asked, hoping to distract him from the pain about to happen.

The man had a slight hesitation as his name fell from his mouth.

"Dabi."

You placed some hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball as you continued to talk to him.

"You have a lovely name, Dabi."

"I bet you say that to all your patients."

You smiled at his words and you placed the cotton on his wound. He immediately tensed up and hissed in pain as the alcohol did its job.

"I can promise you I don’t, Dabi." His name fell off your lips with such ease.

After you felt the wound was disinfected, you grabbed the needle and began to stitch his skin together. Dabi was now sat up straight admiring your concentration with the needle. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for him like this.

"Did you get caught up in that villain attack this morning? “You asked him.

Dabi's mouth turned into a smirk, "I guess you can say I was."

"I bet it was scary," you said.

Dabi raised his eyebrow at you. "Do I look like the sort of person who gets scared?"

You took your attention from his wound and looked at his unamused face. You giggled slightly at his expression.

"You can tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone. " You teased him.

He chuckled at your humour. You really did do a good job at distracting him from the pain.

"Those villains are pieces of shit, aren’t they?" He said, hoping for your opinion.

As you took the stapler in your hand, you moved on to the staples of the wound.

"Hmm, I don’t know if I would say that." You mentioned focusing on placing the stapler in the right position on his skin.

"What? You side with the League of Villains? " Dabi pried at you, staring at you with interest.

"Not exactly." You explained, "I believe a lot of the villains didn’t exactly have a choice of which side they wanted to be on. Also, working with Heroes, you begin to see that quirks determine what society thinks of you. If you don’t have a quirk, then you must be useless. If you have a dangerous quirk, then you are destined to be a villain. I find it all very frustrating if I am honest. "

Dabi listened intently to your rambling. It was nice to see someone agree with some of his opinions. You were obviously very intelligent. As you continued to work on his arm, he made note of your face and its beauty.

As you had just finished the last staple, you asked him, "Did you patch your skin up yourself?"

"Yeah, I did. I prefer to do it my own way because the majority of my skin is brunt to a crisp.” He explained.

"You have a fire quirk?"

He nodded as your eyes moved across his body to look at his skin. Your eyes finally meet his face. Without even thinking, you reached your hand out to cup in check and brushed your thumb along the staples in his face.

Dabi let out a small gasp. It had been a while since someone had touched him. You finally realised what you did and immediately yanked your hand away from him and stood up, hoping he wouldn’t see you blush in embarrassment.

"I’m really sorry Dabi" you said, putting your face in your hand, "I’ve just never seen anyone with a fire quirk like this."

He smiled at your embarrassment.

"Don’t worry. There is no need to be sorry. I didn’t mind it. " He reassured you.

You sighed and reached a hand out to help him up off the ground.

As he towered over your frame, you suddenly realised how tall he was in comparison to you. As soon as you realised your work was done, you let his hand out of yours.

"Well Dabi" you said, "I guess I better be heading home."

"Thank you" was all he said.

While your arms hugged you around your stomach, his deep blue gaze on you made you feel even more insecure.

"Are you going to be okay?" You asked him.

A small smile was on his face.

"Don’t worry about me."

You nodded to let him know you understood.

"Then I better go." You said, turning away from him.

Before Dabi could open his mouth to say anything to you, a black car drove into the alleyway with a large honk of its horn.  The tinted window rolled down the slightest bit and a voice called out Dabi’s name.

"That’s my ride," Dabi explained.

He didn't want to abandon you in the dark, but he also knew that you getting into the car would be impossible.

"Well take care Dabi", You said your last words and turned the corner away from him and the car.

You knew that it wouldn’t have been a good idea if you stayed any longer. You did your duty and left without anything else occurring. You had visions of the man’s blue eyes and face. You could tell from his body and face he was probably conventionally attractive before his burn scars. You ignored the flutters you had in your stomach as you took the stairs up to your apartment floor.

After entering the code to your apartment, you quickly tossed your bag to the floor and threw your jacket off. You sighed with relief to finally be home alone. Peace and quiet was the thing you needed after your long day.

"Finally home sweetheart?"

When you saw the man behind you holding a plate of takeaway sushi, you shrieked and nearly fell to the floor in shock.

"Hawks you little-!"

________________________________________________________________

Dabi threw up his hands in frustration as he approached the LOV's hideout. He completely forgot to ask for your name. After you had taken care of his injuries, the very least he could do was ask for your name.

He sighed and sat on the grimy couch. His thoughts returned to the events of your and his meeting. He was still bewildered that you chose to help a random stranger in the dark. Dabi knew that if it hadn't been for you, he would have bled out until he passed out and died. His fingertips traced the stitching on his arm that you had done. It was noticeably better done than his own work.

"What are you smiling about?" Toga spoke up, breaking Dabi of his thoughts.

His face immediately dropped, and he muttered a nothing. Toga shrugged off his reply and reached for the TV remote. The sound of the TV made Dabi’s head throb, so he stood up and headed out of the room to find somewhere more peaceful to rest for the night.

"What was the situation like in the hospital tonight Doctor?" the interviewer asked.

"Well, I would personally like to thank the heroes who were able to transport the citizens and other heroes who were harmed in the attack to the hospital so quickly."

The sound of your voice echoing throughout the room made Dabi freeze in place. He turned around to face the TV and ordered Toga to turn up the volume.

Dabi barely heard your voice as he continued to stare in a trance at your lovely face.

"We would like to thank you and your unit for all your help today. We are all grateful. " The interview told you.

You nodded and smiled at the camera as you wished everyone well.

Your name suddenly appeared at the bottom of the screen.

"Doctor _____ ______"

Dabi's face lit up with a big grin, and he couldn't help but laugh. He figured it wouldn't be that difficult to find you after all.

[trans-p03g]

I HAD A NEAT AS HELL INSCRYPTIOM DREAM WITH SOME BACKGROOMS THEMS THAT I MIGHT TURN INTO AN AU, HOLD ON

It was with the Lost Souls gang, at least with the same designs as them. And also Peaches, but they were a human.

So it was a very backrooms-like place, though instead of just the monotone yellow hallways stretching on for forever it sometimes gave way to different places like an entire store or a warehouse or a hospital,

I think an accurate description could be backrooms combined with that one Ikea SCP

So the place was gigantic but it wasn't that hard to find supplies with a bit of rationing things and luck

There were entire societies/cities built by the people that ended up there, there was a hospital made filled with people and worked in by actual medical staff that ended up in that dimension. A warehouse/shop section that was turned into an entire trading centre. The trick was just to find them, which obviously wasn't easy. If I remember right, they were right around the centre of the entire place, and the people made maps to find the cities easier. There were also monsters and fucked up things living there, some neutral or hostile, or even helpful, but they don't really show up until much later on in my dream, with one exception.

So it was a group that met after falling into this alternate dimension, it was Luke, the scrybes and that one kid Peaches, I think there were also some subordinates there but they were mostly in the bg? I think I remember Lonely Wizard being there

They were all freshly dropped into this dimension and had to figure out how to survive while also having to take care of that orphaned little kid who doesn't quite grasp the gravity of the situation on the account of being, well, a kid. Peaches was very nonchalant about the whole thing and was basically like "ok, I guess this is happening now" to anything.

Well, most of them were new to this dimension. Poe was actually born here alongside their twin sister Golly after their heavily pregnant mother ended up here years ago and was thankfully quickly found and taken in by one of the groups of people living there so she could actually safely give birth and raise her children. If I remember correctly she died when the twins were very young so the two sparsely remember their mother and were mostly raised by the community. I think one of their main caretakers was Dredger (wasn't mentioned at all, just showed up in Poe's memories, but I'm assuming it was him bc he looked like my design for him in the humanity's Edge AU. Inspector and Melter also make an appearance in Poe's memories as people that often took care of them).

The twins grew up and became travellers, their job was scavenging, exploring and mapping out the dimension, they kept the different cities connected by sending messages between them and some were specialised in finding new and stranded people and assisting them to safety, basically think errand boy but Xtreme. They were highly trained, knew how to deal with monsters, were equipped with a lot of survival shit and some could actually spend months if not years outside the settlements.

Which is exactly how the twins haven't seen each other for years, perhaps a decade at this point. They separated after a particularly nasty argument and Golly decided to leave the settlement and just. Never return. She still did her job, she mapped out the dimension, kept the settlements connected, helped the survivors, and came to be regarded as one of the best in her field, she just chose to live outside the settlements by herself. Poe meantime spent at most a few months outside the settlements, but always came back to rest and live on them for a while before setting off again.

It was during one of these times outside when they bumped into the group of new survivors and decided to help them, though for whatever reason decided not to tell them that they've been living there for their whole life and pretended to be a new guy too? Idk why, maybe they were worried the others wouldn't trust them or something. Though I don't know how the hell they didn't question why Poe was already equipped, maybe they were just stupid, maybe before finding them Poe got into some shit and had to drop most of their gear or lost it somehow, maybe both.

Either way, Poe decides to help the poor bastards and subtly guides them toward the nearest settlement and tried to teach them how to live off the land in that place without seeming suspicious. Though because of the size of the damn place, the nearest city is weeks if not months away on foot and they definitely steer off course because Poe doesn't have their maps, they just have to hope they're going in the right direction and try to look for the landmarks (which is hard when it's just hallways with little to no open space)

They spend weeks there and the dream started when Leshy was making dinner for everybody and they were planning to pack up and move right after (after all it's dangerous to spend too much time in one place)

So they're going, and Poe always opts to stay in the back to keep an eye on everybody. When Peaches decides to steer off-course. They find some sort of hole in the ground and go into it, finding a creature hunched up in there and drawing on its canvas, it likes to draw people it met. It tells so to Peaches and asks if they want to draw too and hand them the charcoal. Thankfully Poe found Peaches, and wasn't too worried about the thing because like I said they were taught how to identify the creatures living there and how to deal with them, and they knew that thing was neutral towards humans and safe to be around as long as you didn't piss them off. What actually worried them was the fact that Peaches doodled somebody who looked like their sister.

Knowing they shouldn't overstate their welcome, Poe picked up Peaches, apologised to the thing for bothering them and thanked it for looking after the kid briefly, then said goodbye and booked it out of there (even if the thing was friendly, I can't imagine being in the presence of an elongated pitch-black humanoid in a tiny dark and dusty hole was a very pleasant experience). As they are catching up with the group, Poe asks Peaches about the girl they doodled and they reply that they met her before meeting up with the group. Poe now becomes even more worried, as their sister would never leave a survivor, let alone a kid, behind unless something happened, but they don't bring that up or press the matter for now.

Skip forward a few weeks, the group are now in the store-like section of the place and are picking supplies. Poe is talking to who I think is either Prospector or Trapper? When they hear a crash and glass being shattered on the tile floor.

They go to look and Poe freezes on the spot when he sees Leshy arguing with their sister of all people. She was also there picking up supplies and stumbled onto them by complete chance, which lead to an argument when she tried to approach them and they didn't trust her. She was trained in this though so she backed away but accidentally knocked some shelf down which caused the crash.

Leshy is about ready to beat this stranger's ass when she sees Poe, freezes too and just. Fucking books it. Just says nothing else to Leshy and just turns around and runs.

Which is a funny as hell reaction to seeing your twin sibling that you haven't been in contact with for like 12 years.

Poe immediately drops everything and runs after her, yelling at her to stop. They eventually manage to catch up with her and corner her in some aisle, and she's fully ready for a physical confrontation, but Poe instead just. Hugs her. Just tightly wraps their arms around her shoulders and damn near cries as they ask her where she's been and that they've missed her.

The others catch up with the two and are surprised, to say the least. They decide to keep moving, now with Golly, and that the two will just explain themselves when the group settles down for the night.

So, it comes out that Poe lied to them and they're not too happy. The two catch them up on everything and Golly mentions that she found Peaches before but the two of them were ambushed by a monster shortly after, so she told the kid to hide while she lured it away but when she came back for them Peaches was already gone (because why the hell would they listen to her, it's Peaches after all). The others aren't happy about being lied to and don't trust her or even Poe now, but let her join them.

It's actually a good thing she found them because Poe was like blind leading the blind in this case after they lost most of their equipment and maps. She leads them to the nearest settlement and the twins take them to the hospital, where the group is looked over and given vaccines for some bugs specific to this dimension. After they're settled in somewhat the two take them to the trading centre at the warehouse, but their shipping trip was cut short by two monsters attacking the place and they have to book it (one monster was a lanky pale naked humanoid that slowly stalked inside the walls for any humans that tried to hide, and the other was this bulky fucked up mix between a man and a kangaroo with its head being completely covered with fleshy growths, they looked like a wet pile of meat and were called The Wetman and despite being scary at the moment I can no longer take them seriously because of the fucking name)

I woke up in the middle of them running away, Golly was clearing the way while Poe went to grab their things. But I think it's pretty safe to assume that they immediately left and tried to make their way to another settlement and inform the of what happened.

[theloneliestshipper]

I don't always do collaborations but when I do it's an utterly self-indulgent crossover of two Star Wars properties that have absolutely no reason to overlap and a potential audience of about five people. Also I do it with @nyelung.

AO3 Link

And never kick the ball! Rated T

“... Hutts don’t have feet!” The final words of Baroness Deathmark echo through the arena. Having heard the introduction a few dozen times or more in the last year alone, Boba could say it with her if he were in the mood. He’s not.

They’ve changed the arena up for the season. There’s only so many ways that the Nar Shaddaa Huttball arena can be changed but apparently they went all out this time and rearranged a significant portion of the walkways and traps. He can make out something that looks suspiciously like a series of trapdoors surrounding the mag-ball’s centre spot, undoubtedly hiding some nasty surprises. Well, since Fennec managed to draw Djarin in as the team captain he’s not too worried that one of their team will find out what’s beneath those trapdoors the hard way.

Two minutes into the game Boba is scowling inside his helmet - not an unusual occurrence if the Quesh Rotworms were to be asked. He came aboard as a coach last year, when there were children’s teams on Tatooine who could play better so they had seen it a lot.

“It’s nice that for once it’s not our players getting maimed,” Fennec comments. “It was getting hard to find new ones.

Huttball is one of the most brutal semi-legal sports in the galaxy and even though all players are fully armoured - part of the reason why the sport is so popular in the Mandalorian sector - and killing during the game has been forbidden since the Cold War, injuries or even crippledom aren’t uncommon because the players are also armed to the teeth. That’s what the Frogdog wearing the number seven just found out the hard way when Djarin and Aelto perfectly executed a manoeuvre to take the ball from him.

Baroness Deathmark on the other hand should avoid dark alleys tonight since the ban on killing did not apply to the way she verbally tore Frogdog Seven apart with her remarks. The handsigns he throws in the direction of the commentator box are basically a promise to hunt her down and kill her slowly and painfully. At least that’s what they mean in Mandalorian space and that’s what has Boba scowling. Why promise the commentator utterly brutal torture when it was Djarin and Aelto who maimed him?

It’s not his problem, Boba reminds himself and concentrates on giving Djarin reports on the Frogdog team’s movements. If Baroness Deathmark earns another deathmark to her name, it’s nothing he has to worry about.

In the end, Boba doesn’t have to feel too bad about the Rotworm’s performance even though they took quite the beating and lost by two points against the Frogdogs. Baroness Deathmark’s final comment is just as cutting as the spikes Tika fell on in the second half. They’re still stitching all the muscles and tendons back together in the med-area but Tika will probably never play again.

Still, just one player permanently out of commission and eight points scored versus ten lost is much better than the Rotworms have managed in decades. Overall Boba is quite content. “Do you think they serve Spotchka here?”

Fennec raises one brow. “Do you mean: Do they serve affordable Spotchka here that’s not actually engine grease? No idea, let’s find out.”

___

The commentator booth is quiet now. Leia takes a second to let her head fall back and to roll the stiffness out of her neck. When she turns her chair around, the event producer Lando Calrissian is standing in the doorway, his headset still on. “Nice work today,” he says, covering the mic with his hand. “You really live up to your name.”

“Let them try it,” Leia scoffs as she picks up her satchel and jacket. “If I had a credit for every huttballer who threatened to kill me I could retire yesterday. And anyway, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t blatantly obvious to every being in the stands.”

“Still, I’d watch your back while you’re on Nar Shaddaa. And listen, my buddy Han is in town this weekend. Why don’t you let me set you up?”

“I’m busy next weekend.”

“Sure you are. Where are you going now? Home to your tooka and the latest episode of Sith Mansions?”

“For your information I’m going to a cantina. To meet someone.”

The fact that she doesn’t yet know who she’s going to meet doesn’t seem important. She might be a farm girl from Anchorhead, but she’s never had any trouble getting someone to pay for her drinks. Maybe she’ll get really lucky and it’ll even be someone who isn’t a spicer, slicer, smuggler or assassin. That would be a nice change of pace.

The Slippery Slope cantina is crowded with fans. Some of the Frogdog and Rotworm players are there for their contract-mandated mingling. As usual the Mandalorian players keep their distinctive helmets on for the personal holos their fans will want and to protect their privacy.

She passes by a knot of fans in Frogdog colors, several different languages conversing in varying tones of outrage. She hears “the Baroness” and smiles to herself as she finds a seat at the bar. She doesn’t need a helmet to keep people from recognizing her face. It’s her voice they know...and sometimes despise.

There’s a man two seats down wearing Mandalorian armor, but it’s not painted with team colors. He’s a fan, maybe. His helmet is resting out of sight beneath the bar while he nurses a glass of Spotchka. Spotchka sounds pretty good, actually.

He glances in her direction, but there’s no shift in body language, no smile. Shame. He’s a good-looking man and probably has a very nice smile. Leia signals the bartender and nods in his direction. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

That catches his attention, if briefly. He lifts his glass in a silent salute, one eyebrow slightly raised. Still no offer. Maybe he’s partnered. She lets her eyes drift down over his armor, applying what she’s learned from interviews with the Mandalorian huttball players. It looks like beskar to her.

The bartender delivers her Spotchka and her attention strays from the Mandalorian to any other likely candidates at the bar. Everyone is talking about the match.

“She’s dead,” a heated voice rises behind her, but not addressed to her. “Who does she think she is? That play was bullshit. You know it, I know it. There was nothing he could have done.”

Leia doesn’t have to turn around to know that the person speaking is wearing Frogdog yellow. They can whine about it all they want, but their player had at least two opportunities to pass before the Rotworms took him out.

Some players want all the glory. That’s not her fault.

“She had no right to tear into him like that. No wonder everyone hates her.”

“It’s her fucking job.” The unexpected defense comes from the Mandalorian sitting two seats down. He’s turned his chair to face the yellow-clad group, and there’s an unmistakable challenge in his low tone. “If your player did his, you wouldn’t have lost him two minutes in.”

The man who was speaking turned a startling shade of purple. Almost Rotworm purple. “Who asked you?”

“It’s a public place. If you want to have a private conversation I suggest you go home.” It’s not a suggestion. The Mandalorian makes that clear by standing up.

“You can go to hell! You and that fucking bitch-”

“Did someone say my name?” Suddenly there’s a woman standing between them, and Leia recognizes her instantly. Fennec Shand. Her iconic steely gaze is now fixed on the outraged fan. “You want to go home.”

In spite of the clamor around them there’s a silence and stillness that makes the threat implicit. The fan bares his teeth in a snarl before turning to go. Some of his friends leave with him and the rest drift away.

Fennec’s head tips toward the bartender. “Her drink is on me.” She winks at Leia before walking away. Maybe she’s more recognizable than she thought.

“Well. That was exciting,” she says, more to herself, but the Mandalorian nods as he reclaims his seat.

“You know Fennec?”

“Just by reputation.” She takes a quick sip of her paid-for drink. “That’s definitely the first time a huttball coach has bought me a drink.”

“Your lucky night.” The corner of his mouth curves up just enough to make Leia feel validated. A very nice smile indeed.

“And she’s a legend, obviously. It’s a shame she’s stuck holding up the Rotworms by herself.”

His smile hardens, just a little. “Is it?”

“There’s gotta be a dozen better teams who would be delighted to have her. And the Rotworms might be better than they were a year ago, but their offense is still half-awake at best and I heard her defense coach only got the job because his daddy rules Mandalore.”

“You believe everything you hear?”

“No, but I kind of have to keep my ear to the ground. Like you said, it’s my fucking job.”

“You’re Baroness Deathmark.” He says it with disbelief. “That’s why-” He directs a look of annoyance at the place where Fennec Shand vanished into the crowd.

“My friends call me ‘Leia.’” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I don’t think I got your name.”

For a moment the Mandalorian hesitates. Then there’s a shift in his posture, a slight relaxing of his shoulders and Leia’s willing to bet that that twitch in his face could become an actual playful smile. “Why don’t you tell me? Since it’s your job to know everything.”

It’s a challenge that makes her sit up. He’s someone connected, then. A promoter or a staff member. That explains how he knows Fennec. “Okay,” she says, intrigued. This could be fun. “Where did you grow up?”

“Kamino. What about you?”

She’s never heard of it. No help there. “Tatooine. My local team was the Anchorhead Womp Rats.”

“Did you play?”

“I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions,” she reminds him. “Did you play?”

“Yes. For the Skullhunters of Mandalore.”

“Fenn Shysa’s team?”

His head tilts to one side. “How do you know Fenn?”

“Everyone knows Fenn. Are you single?”

“You think that will help you figure it out?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Maybe I just want to know.”

“Yes. I’m single. You?”

“Yes.” She pauses to take a sip of Spotchka. “I wanted to play, but Uncle Owen wouldn’t let me. Too violent. I tried telling him that it wasn’t like the old days where entire teams could be massacred in a match, but for some reason he didn’t find that convincing.”

He nods in agreement. “It used to be a rite of passage in Mando culture. Now it’s just sports.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic for someone hanging out with Fennec Shand.” For a short moment Leia entertains the question whether he resents the no-killing-part or Huttball itself.

He shrugs. “There’s better sports.”

She hates to admit it, but she’s stumped. He knows the game but doesn’t particularly seem to like it. He can handle himself in a confrontation but it’s not as if the legendary Fennec Shand needs a bodyguard. Is it possible that someone actually hired a Mandalorian to take out Baroness Deathmark? But no, his surprise about her identity had been genuine. “Okay, final question. Why are you here?”

“Don’t quote me on this… nah, forget it.”

Oh, so it’s a story. “Come on. Entertain a lady.”

It’s clear that he’s tempted, calculating loss of face versus the chance to win her over for wherever this flirtation is going. Leia’s got a few suggestions already lined up in her mind. With an inaudible sigh he comes to a decision. “Dad kept nagging me to make connections beyond bounty hunting and Huttball is a lucrative enough business. It could be worse.”

Now there’s a hint. “So your father is…?”

“Some might say he rules Mandalore.” He gives her a quick smirk before finishing off his drink.

It all adds up quickly in her head, his history as a player on Mandalore, his knowledge of the game and his connection to Fennec Shand. She sets her glass down hastily in case she needs to make a very quick exit.

“You asked for my name,” he says, drawing it out with the ruthlessness of a professional Huttball defensive coach. “It’s Boba Fett. And for the record, that’s not how I got the job.”

As he speaks he stands and removes his helmet from the shelf under the bar and Leia recognizes it immediately. For one thing, it has the Rotworm logo painted on the side. She couldn’t say a word now even if she tried, but when Boba Fett turns to face her, it’s with a smile.

“I’m sure you have more opinions on what my team did wrong. Maybe you’d like to tell them to me over dinner.”

“I do,” she manages. “Especially about your team’s inability to follow through.” Feeling a little bit daring, Leia leans in to make her intentions perfectly clear. “What about dinner at my place?”

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 1

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

Chapter by @maerynn-blog​

Gabriel Agreste’s death had been sudden, and unexpected.

Only a few months before the premiere of his first-ever women’s apparel collection, the famous fashion mogul had succumbed to a violent stroke at his home office in the early hours of the morning, apparently while busy reviewing the latest designs that had been submitted to him.

Few could state without lying that they would miss their boss. Gabriel had proven on more than one occasion to be solely driven by results and success, with no consideration whatsoever for his employees. Even fewer could say honestly that they would miss the man, for his late years had only cemented the cold and heartless facade he had forged throughout the years, setting the image of an implacable leader in stone despite himself.

Over the years, he had even alienated his very own son, with whom he had fallen out of touch as soon as Adrien had been old enough to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. Persistent rumours throughout the years suggested that Gabriel had disowned his son as a result of his desertion of the company, but seeing as Adrien found himself the sole owner of Gabriel following his father’s sudden passing, either those rumours were wrong or Gabriel had forgiven his only heir somewhere along the way.

Which could have been fine if the company had been left in capable hands, which, unfortunately, wasn’t the case. Gabriel Agreste had never entrusted anyone with his company’s well-being or any important decision regarding his brand. Even his almost lifelong personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur, had been merely blindly obeying orders without ever questioning them for most of her employment with Gabriel, and yet, she probably would’ve been the most qualified person to assure a smooth transition.

Coincidentally, Nathalie had gone into a well-deserved retirement only a few weeks before Gabriel’s ultimate demise, around the same time Gorilla hung up his luxury sedan keys and moved away to the seashore, admittedly to catch up with his growing-too-fast grandkids.

That meant that the week following Gabriel Agreste’s passing was pure chaos as far as Gabriel’s remaining staff and stockholders were concerned.

The artistic team was left without a leader to guide them, ideas and designs going nuts and wild without anyone to organize them and separate the wheat from the chaff.

The accounting team was going crazy dealing with the sudden and massive increase in resignations, the suppliers’ incessant calls wondering if they’d ever get paid, and the stockholders demanding answers about the uncertain future of the company.

The company’s lawyers were for the most part completely unreachable, busy as they were trying to figure out what exactly were the ramifications of their CEO’s sudden death. Who would take over the company if Adrien Agreste chose to surrender his notoriously unwanted position? Would he choose to sell the company to a third-party? And if he did, what would that entail? What would happen to the collections already out? The works-in-progress?

Above all, as the head designer of the upcoming brand new women’s line, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the most sleep-deprived, stressed-out, and overall most exhausted employee amongst the entirety of Gabriel’s staff. The young woman had spent the better part of the past week trying to coax any ideas out of the designers working under her with mixed success, only to discover that by Friday night, all but her and her assistant either quit or transferred to the men’s department, leaving Marinette to work on her collection alone.

The rational part of her brain wanted to leave as well, bury herself beneath a pile of luxury fabric and only come back up once everything had been cleared out and dealt with because as things currently were, everything in her life was going to shambles.

At twenty-five, a rising star yet a dropout from ESMOD due to an unexpected exclusive apprenticeship under Gabriel Agreste himself, she was sharing a pitiful two-bedroom apartment with Alya and Nino, desperately trying to gather enough savings to get a place of her own. Her salary as Gabriel’s head designer of the upcoming women’s department was more than decent, but it still wasn’t enough to live on her own in the centre of Paris close to work. Mostly because the line she was heading was experimental and any salary raises were dependent on its success at Fashion Week at the end of summer that year.

Going back to her parents wasn’t an option Marinette entertained, and so she had no choice but to put up with the ups and downs of living with a very in-love young couple, whereas she had yet to go on a second date, let alone have a boyfriend. Alya was relentlessly picking on her about that, pointing out mercilessly how she was married to her job, and wondering how in the world “fashion” would give her children. Usually, Marinette would shrug and effortlessly shift the conversation to another topic, but lately, the dangerous cocktail of exhaustion and anxiety for her future in the industry brewing up within her, coupled with Alya’s growing irritation toward her friend’s numerous disappearances and secrets, had sparked more than one nasty argument between the pair of best friends.

As a result, Marinette was carefully avoiding going home as much as she could.

She had spent the week running up and down every corridor, making sure the collection would come out without a hitch despite being carried over by a boat without a captain. She worked herself to the bone, overcompensating for the huge loss the team had just suffered. Marinette spent her days putting out fires, avoiding catastrophe after catastrophe, and devoted her evenings to working on designs, bringing them to completion, going home way past any decent hour every single day, making sure every design was on point, that every garment was sewn up to par.

It had truly been a week from hell as far as she was concerned.

Even without her less than ideal housing situation, she still would’ve stayed late every day. Her mentor, her boss, was six-feet-under, but Marinette couldn’t envision letting him down. Even if Gabriel definitely lacked warmth in his social interactions, he had taught her so much over the last few years, she felt that the least she could do was to hold down the fort for him. He had given her an unexpected opportunity by putting her in the head designer’s shoes, had believed in her against all odds, and the very idea of betraying his trust, even if he wasn’t there to witness it anymore, was making her sick to her stomach.

Even if staying instead of leaving the boat meant encountering Adrien Agreste in some corridor sooner or later.

Pushing that idea as far away as she could, Marinette knelt in front of her dress form, carefully hemming one of the designs she and Gabriel had been working on last. They had talked about this dress only a few hours before his unexpected death, and she wanted the final result to live up to his expectations; an homage of some sort.

Refusing to look at the clock, knowing it was already way later than what would be deemed reasonable, Marinette took a step back, admiring her work. The dress was gorgeous, flowing nicely around the dress form, but it was lacking that little playful flair Gabriel had been envisioning for it.

Struck with a sudden idea, she promptly rose from her work station and marched to Gabriel’s office, as she had done countless times before. She knew for a fact that he kept a nice assortment of satin ribbons in there, specifically a pretty pink velvet one that would add just the perfect touch to the garment.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was to find another living being in Gabriel’s office.

A familiar mop of blond hair was sprawled out on her late boss’ desk, broad, muscular shoulders slumped, accompanied by a loud and desperate groan.

Marinette paused on the threshold for a second, her heart caught in her throat, wondering if she could get away with picking up the ribbon she needed without being seen. That brief hesitation was her demise. As if feeling her presence in the room, the man looked up, and green eyes bore into hers, widening in surprise.

Marinette couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight of the man that had haunted her dreams for so many years. Sure enough, he had aged a bit since the last time their paths had crossed, but the years had been kind to him. His face had shed the roundness of his youth, bringing out a sharper, more angular jaw. His hair was a bit darker than it used to be, with a low fade haircut that accentuated his older, more mature appearance.

A single word kept replaying in Marinette’s mind at the handsome sight in front of her: danger.

Realizing she was gaping at him, Marinette mentally slapped herself across the face and promptly slipped back into her professional shoes. “Oh, I’m really sorry, Monsieur Agreste,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as she heard. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone in the building, otherwise I would’ve never barged in like that. I just need some supplies and then I’ll show myself out.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, Adrien silently watched Marinette tiptoeing through the room with the ease of someone who was more than accustomed to her surroundings. She opened a nearby cabinet without hesitating and foraged within, her entire torso disappearing into the apparent mess of fabrics and various sewing furniture. Less than thirty seconds later, she emerged victorious, holding a roll of the needed ribbon.

She looked at him again. His face was glazed over with a mix of sleepy confusion and disorientation.

“I—Sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur,” Marinette whispered. “Goodnight.”

Turning her back on him, she walked toward the door, failing to escape before he called.

“Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

With a sharp intake of breath, she spun on her heels, facing him again with widening eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Adrien rose from his seat, rounding the heavy desk promptly to close the distance between them. “You’re Marinette, aren’t you? We went to school together, back in Mlle Bustier’s class, with Nino and Al-”

“I remember you perfectly well, Monsieur Agreste.”

He stared at her in silence, matching her guarded expression. “So you ended up here after all?”

She sustained his gaze, her voice cold and professional, “Yes. Despite you, Monsieur Agreste, being a major ass toward me. Can I, please, get back to work now?”

His whole expression tensed as he carefully eyed her. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but then he deflated, sighing pitifully. “Very well. I still have these fabrics to pick anyway, and not a single clue about what I’m doing. Have a nice evening, Marinette.”

Marinette froze, her heart stilling in her chest.

Deep down, she knew she shouldn’t care.

Adrien’s problems weren’t in any way her own, and if someone had seen fit to put a physics teacher in charge of an entire fashion house, well, so be it. She had no say in the matter. Someone probably had decided to give him that menial task to keep his sheer incompetence away from what really mattered, an initiative she could only applaud.

But on the other hand, Gabriel had always been a man she admired greatly despite his cold facade, and the years she had spent working by his side hadn’t changed that. He was a brilliant designer and had literally dedicated up to his very last day to his art. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting Adrien ruin his father’s hard work—even if it was only ordering lousy fabric—not if she could help it. She had worked too hard to let him get in the way, and if she had to help him to earn herself the freedom of running her line like she wanted to, then she’d do it.

She glanced at the papers scattered on the desk behind him and frowned. “Don’t buy anything from Cosetti; he holds the weirdest grudge against your father for refusing to incorporate chiffon in the 2015 winter line. There’s a good chance he’ll try to scam you. Berkley’s might be more expensive, but I’ve seen swatches of the silk and it's severely lacking in quality. Zinya’s cheaper, better, and their seller is a real sweetheart.”

Adrien stared at her, dumbfounded, and it took him almost a full minute to find his voice again. “But—but, why would you help me? After—”

Marinette walked past him, shoulders tensed and a determined spark in her eyes. “Believe it or not, some of us actually rely on this company for a living, and I’m not letting it sink without putting up a fight. What else do you need to make a decision on?”

The young man blinked, and his professional persona kicked in. He joined her on the other side of the desk to show her the supplier submissions, tentatively pointing out what little progress he had made. Her tone toward him was cold yet polite as she effortlessly picked up where he had left off, giving him cues on their current relationships with various suppliers and broadly showing him the ropes of managing a fashion empire. Soon enough, Marinette pushed the last submission toward Adrien for a signature, got up, and grabbed her spool of ribbon.

“Marinette?” A little awkward but he looked at her as if she’d just saved him from a sinking boat in the middle of an ocean. “Thanks, I wouldn’t have made it without you, and—”

“Don’t,” Marinette cut him off. “I helped you only because my job is on the line. Good evening, Monsieur.”

She left Gabriel’s office in tense, stubborn silence, neither of them willing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

***

Later that night, Ladybug landed atop the Eiffel Tower, sitting beside her partner on one of the higher beams with a soft sigh.

He peered at her, surprised. “I thought you said you were going to lay off on the patrols for a bit?”

She stared at the horizon for a minute, a comfortable silence falling between them. His question still hovered, unanswered, but he knew her well enough to figure she was trying to organize her thoughts. Nearly a decade of knowing each other meant that most things could go unsaid between the pair.

Eventually, she scooted closer to him on the beam, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a comforting gesture that had become customary between them. She lay her head on his shoulder, sighing again.

“What’s wrong, Bug? Won’t your roommate be mad at you for disappearing again?”

She scoffed, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. “I’ll get an earful once I get home for sure, but I needed this. I need a breather with my best friend, my safe haven.”

He tensed a bit, hearing those words, “That bad?”

“This last week has truly been hell, and I missed you like crazy.” Ladybug sighed softly.

Chat Noir groaned inwardly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “This boss of yours is some special kind of a jerk if he left you guys with so much trouble upon quitting.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she was insulting Gabriel Agreste’s memory by letting her partner tarnish his reputation freely like this, but with news of his sudden passing all over Paris, and the fact that Chat Noir knew fairly well that his partner was working in fashion, there was no way she could set the record straight without giving away some compromising clues.

Instead, she settled on answering quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss on his cheek, “It’s not like he had a choice. He had urgent personal matters to attend to, and we’ll be alright… eventually.” She trailed off, her eyes following his to their very own private view of Paris. “How’s your relative?”

Chat Noir squirmed uncomfortably beside her, and she instantly regretted asking the question that had been burning on her lips for the past week. But ever since he had shown up unfashionably late to a patrol because of a mandatory trip to a hospital, she had been worried about that relative of his who was close enough to the superhero to warrant an immediate visit at the hospital, but in the meantime far enough that he was barely fazed by the whole ordeal.

“He…” Chat Noir began slowly, carefully avoiding her gaze, and in a sudden flash of clarity, she understood. The sick/injured relative wasn’t part of their world anymore, and her dear kitty was grieving in his own very personal way.

“I’m so sorry, Chaton. Can I do anything for you?” she cried, twisting in his embrace, so she sat in his lap instead of beside him.

He gave her a forlorn smile that looked every bit a fake on his handsome face. “Don’t worry about me, my Lady. I’ll manage. Get back to your roommate, things are bad enough between you two as it is. I’d like for you to survive the week, you know.”

She hated to admit it, but Ladybug knew he was right. If last week was any indication, they would probably get in an awful fight as soon as she set foot in their apartment.

But this?

Chat Noir’s unwavering support, his kind words, and reassuring presence over the last decade? The familiar warmth of his arms wrapped around her?

It was worth it, and a thousand times more.

Smiling softly, she eyed him playfully, “And when did you become the voice of reason between us two?”

“Ever since you started to believe working eighty hours a week was healthy. Go home, and get some sleep. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open.”

She leaned on him for a second, taking in his warmth. “Alright, silly cat. See you around?”

“Of course, my Lady. Now, go before she snaps at you again.”

Ladybug quickly pressed her lips against Chat’s cheek, and with one last small smile and an all-too-brief hug, she took off into the night, leaving her counterpart to his silent musings on the tower.

Next >

[athenas-atlas]

First pic is in the centre of town. The equine division of Cape Towns police force. We visited with a couple of the cops there including the chief. He introduced us to all the horses they had there, told us the basics of how their job works. It was very cool. He was the one who told us about the aquarium and tipped us off that their local McDonald’s has some pretty good drinks.

Second pic is from when we rappelled or abseiled down Table Mountain. Absolutely terrified. It was a couple hundred metres, then we climbed back up. On the walk I licked the side of the mountain where some water was coming down. Hindsight? Probably wasn’t wise but how many people can say they did that? Went back up and had some pizza, explored, bought a bottle of wine to take with to find out I couldn’t leave the mountain top with it. So had to chug a bottle of wine because they wouldn’t make exceptions, my brother can’t drink on his medication, they closed in 15 minutes, wouldn’t refund me or let me stay. Good thing I ate before. Good wine too.

Third, fourth, fifth pics are from the promenade down the street from our hostel. Fun fact, they have opposite seasons from North America. The day we landed it was 17C, rainy and the last day of their winter even though it was September. It was fine though because we just came from Spain where it got DOWN to 29C at night and we were in Dubai where it was 51C at 7:30am. It’s what I think an oven would feel like. So 17C was perfect! I burned so bad I blistered and bled in Spain. I loved all the freezing ocean water.

Last three were taken inside the hostel. We had a late supper after check in. The guy in the bottom pic was a worker there and served us very often. Nice guy. The whole staff was incredible. They are temp workers and live in the hostel in their own quarters so they have a high turn over but it makes for meeting a lot of different people. I still have a couple of the workers on my personal Facebook friend list.

Ps:hostels aren’t scary, dangerous or nasty. They can be but not in general. Get out of your comfort zone and try it! I’ve used hostels in over 10 countries. Not one issue with literally anything. Not other guests, not workers. Besides loud, drunken sex in the top bunk. Just gave me a dab on a hostel bingo card. If you know, you know.

[anony-mony-moose]

Let’s Stay Together - Izzy Stradlin x Reader (Part 2)

Y/N starts her new job, agrees that Izzy’s water is hot, and narrowly dodges an interrogation from Duff

warnings for swearing, mentions of drug use, and very mild Duff abuse (specifically his toe)

also on ao3 :)

------------------------------------------------

“First off, you gotta be able to clean dishes.”

“Oh don’t worry about that.” I delivered my most charming smile. “I’m a dab hand when it comes to soap and water, Angus.”

Izzy huffed quietly in amusement as he set down a chopping board, and I had to work to keep the pleasant expression on my face.

“I don’t doubt it, Y/N/N.” Angus replied jovially, eyes twinkling under his undulating brow. “Only other condition is I have to like you enough to be around you five days a week.”

I bit my lip and sighed dramatically. “Shit, well if it’s not meant to be... Where’s my coat?”

He belted out a laugh and strode further into the kitchen, slapping my back (and politely ignoring the way I jumped about a foot in the air).

“Come on, we gotta get you set up before the orders start. It’ll get real busy soon. You wouldn’t think so, on a Thursday afternoon...” He continued as he led me to the sinks at the back, marching past Izzy who shot me a wink and laughed silently at the mock-bewildered face I pulled.

There isn’t much you can explain about washing up, further than pointing to a sink and then some dishes, but Angus gave it a shot anyway, doling out helpful tips like, “This one’s the cold tap, that one’s hot. Be careful, alright? The hot water is pretty damn hot.” Eventually, mercifully, his commentary ran dry and he bustled over to dice veg with Izzy at one of the counters. A few hours passed with me scrubbing my way through various pots and pans, occasionally enjoying Angus’ happy chatter about this and that whenever service calmed down. He had something to say about just about everything, that man.

Although you wouldn’t know it from the way he spoke, Angus Walker was only in his early thirties. Smoking one too many packs a day for about ten too many years had reduced his voice to a low scratchy rumble, and it matched perfectly with the strange little rambling tales he liked to share. His funniest kitchen war stories usually centred around his time starting out in Chicago. They were also evidently his favourites to tell - he’d get properly invested, slipping into thickly accented voices for each character. The way he reminisced, you’d think he was referring to things that took place fifty years ago.

Although not especially close, we’d been familiar since I first arrived in LA. Of course, since Izzy got the job doing food prep for him at Andrea’s, we bumped into quite regularly - it was usually Angus who answered the back door, and he was very generous with Izzy’s smoke breaks whenever I came calling. Weirdly enough though, Duff had also previously worked for him at a bakery, which was conveniently only ten minutes up the road from the call centre I was temping at at the time (another job which bit the dust pretty fast). I used to pop by everyday over my lunch hour to chat with all the staff in the break room. Duff made a habit of stuffing my pockets on my way out with all the goods that didn’t survive the ovens, constantly trying to feed me up, and even back then Angus would always turn a blind eye.

All round, he was just a really nice bloke. Didn’t half harp on though, I mused, tuning in to follow the end of a lengthy discussion about the guy I’d replaced.

“Damn sight better to have you on the team, anyway.” He concluded, pottering away to rummage around for something in the walk-in. I turned and caught a knowing smirk from Izzy.

“Comin’ out for a smoke?” He asked, jerking his head towards the door.

I nodded and swivelled round to check with Angus.

“Sure honey, take all the time you need! I’ll hold down the fort over here!” He hollered in reply and I stifled a small laugh. I had a feeling he was just grateful for a new, even marginally more responsive ear to chew off as he worked - Izzy could be an absolute brick wall when he set his mind to it.

We stepped outside into a light drizzle and the man in question burst into laughter, ducking with a delighted grin as I clouted him round the back of the head.

“You are a such a fuckin’ flirt!” He wheezed, only spurred on by my unsuccessful attempts to look unamused. His shoulders shook as he plucked a crumpled pack of Marlboro’s from his back pocket, still chuckling as he passed one to me.

“Angus doesn’t mind.” I mumbled, glancing away to hide my smirk. 

He cackled again. “No, he fuckin’ doesn’t.”

Our elbows knocked together, a short fit of giggles escaped me before I could properly stamp it down. My voice trembled when I replied, “My skills really are wasted on this shit, huh?”

All it took was a glance and we both devolved into hysterics again.

You could probably forgive us for feeling a bit crazed that afternoon. Neither of us had got even a glimpse of sleep, having been kept up all night by Slash and a steady supply of pills from his various pockets; the man really did have everything stashed away in there. The day had broken and morning was well on it’s way to noon when Slash finally left to restock, Izzy and I tagging along just for something to do. I didn’t have much memory of our bleary walk around town to find a dealer, apart from a single clear image of the cold, grey sunlight dancing over Izzy’s face. A little weird, granted, but I figured that could be easily blamed on the pills.

It was a bit of a miracle that we actually to made it to Andrea’s on time. It was even more of a miracle that we weren’t just turned away in our bedraggled state. Getting a good look now we were outside, Izzy still looked objectively awful, with big red rings shadowing his eyes and a slightly twitchy quality to all his movements. An unruly part of my brain helpfully reminded me that despite this, he was still extremely attractive. Another, more unruly part suggested that, yes, I definitely still wanted to shag him like this, and hey presto, now I was imagining him pinning me against that metal door and fucking those hangover jitters out of me. Christ.

No sleep, an ever-intensifying comedown, and an incorrigible imagination – the real miracle would be surviving to the end of this shift.

*****

“Sheena is-“ The words garbled as I dunked my head back under the showerhead to rinse. “A punk rocker, no-o-o-o-ow!” My feet slipped a little, stumbling over an empty beer can which floated above the drain, and I splashed my face to wash off the soapy water, still singing cheerily. “She’s a punk, punk,” I climbed out of the tub to snatch up the towel from the floor, (“A punk rocker!”) giving myself a quick once over  (“Punk, punk-“) before hitching it up around me. (“A punk rocker-er!”) I shook my hair out enthusiastically and immediately winced as that stubborn hungover headache clattered around my skull again like an enraged bull, battering away at my temples. I could hardly wait to meet the guys and get a drink inside me, if only to get rid of the incessant pounding in my head.

I plugged on determinedly with the song, neatly bringing the chorus to an end as I left the bathroom (spoiler: she is still definitely a punk rocker). A wry grin was leering at me from the other side of the door.

“Is she now?”

I hid a smile and squeezed some more water out of my hair as I pushed past to search out some clothes.

“Yeah, weren’t you listenin’? I thought me and Joey made it pretty clear.”

A loud thunk sounded from the window. He brushed behind me to answer it, hand flitting over my bare shoulder briefly, and I swallowed as I sifted haphazardly through the accumulated rubbish on the floor for my skirt. I sighed, standing up to ask Izzy if he remembered where we’d lobbed it before, and the unkempt stranger outside jeered suddenly. How he had the energy, I had no idea. The sheen of sweat on his forehead hinted at a pretty nasty case of dopesickness – after all, that was why he’d come knocking.

“Shit, Stradlin, what else you got hidin’ in there?” My nose scrunched up in irritation, any sympathy vanishing instantly, but Izzy beat me to it.

“Fuck off.” He hissed and reached out to give him a harsh shove, and the man stumbled backwards, startled.

“Jeez, man, I was j-“ The window slammed shut in his face and he gawked through the dirty glass for a second before dashing off into the alley, probably remembering the fresh dose of smack in his hand. Izzy lingered, glowering at his retreating back. On second thoughts, maybe it was the glower that sent him running.

“Um, have you seen-“ I began as he turned and said, “I should’ve beat his fuckin’ ass for that. Sorry.”

I blinked, taken aback by the ferocity in his tone. “It’s fine, Iz.” He eyed me dubiously. “Really. I would’ve said the same thing, I mean-“ I flounced a hand across my body, adopting a terrible imitation of a Californian drawl, “Have you seen this bod?”

He snorted and produced my lost mini-skirt from somewhere in his unmade bed, offering it to me as he changed the subject abruptly.

“How was my shower?”

“Uh... Functional?” That was… An oddly pointed question. “I’m clean as a whistle now, so…” I yanked a pair of tights up over my arse and stepped into the skirt.

“Hot enough for you?”

So that was what he was getting at. I smirked drily and rolled my eyes as I clipped up my bra. “Put Nicky’s to shame.”

“Good to hear.” He handed me a dark blue shirt and watched me slip it on with a smirk to match mine. “You ready to head out?”

I glanced up, pausing my buttoning, to raise an eyebrow. “Feelin’ impatient, Izzy?”

His hands covered mine to fasten the last few buttons up to my chest, surely feeling the way my heartbeat revved up a little in anticipation. He dipped his head, just enough to lock eyes with me, that wicked smirk still firmly in place, and practically purred, “Always.”

*****

“Y/L/N!”

Duff waved me down as he left his apartment block, leaping out into the road and racing over to meet me outside Izzy’s building, barely avoiding a motorbike as it whizzed past.

“Hey, man.” His grin was infectious, bright even in the persistent spitting rain, and it managed to take some of the bite from my grumbling reply.

“You’re a bit chipper for this time in the afternoon, aren’t you?”

“You left very early last night.” No time to waste on small talk, apparently.

I started walking purposefully in the direction of the Strip, not sparing him a glance as he plodded along beside me. I didn’t have to see his face to know that there was still a teasing grin plastered all over it.

“You weren’t the only one.”

“I wasn’t?”

He raised his eyebrows, almost managing to keep a serious expression.

I bit down a giddy smile (Jesus, where was that coming from?) and dug my hands into the pockets of Izzy’s coat. “Piss off, Duff.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

I narrowed my eyes at him pointedly, (yep, there was the grin) and stopped to help shield him from the wind as he lit a cigarette. He repeated it and passed one to me.

“Cheers.” We strode on, my hair whipping and snapping around me like a whirlwind. I huddled further into the leather, firmly ignoring the unmistakeably Izzy scent that was ingrained in the collar, and the heat it sparked inside me.

“Gee, that’s a nice jacket you’re wearing.” Duff continued gleefully, a generous helping of sarcasm injected into his voice. I sighed and shook my head in exasperation. “Now where have I seen it before?”

I shot him an amused look. “What’s up, McKagan?”

“Who, me? Ohhh, nothin’ at all, zilch. Just makin’ a couple of observations, that’s all.”

“Sure about that?”

“Totally.” He paused as I dodged a frenzied woman in a pantsuit. “So many different things to observe, don’t you think?”

I snorted. “I don’t know, Duff, but I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

“You and Izzy disappear together last night, now you’re wearin’ his clothes this morning,” I checked, a little alarmed to find that I actually was wearing his shirt again today, while Duff threw his hands up in the air. “God, what could it all mean?”

I spluttered, laughing, and ducked under the awning of the liquor store to take one last drag of smoke before heading in. Of course, he followed me.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The change rattled in my hand as I scoured the shelf in front of me, hardly paying attention to Duff swanning around on the side of the aisle.

“I’m just sayin’,” He called, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you two were gettin’ pretty cosy.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed another cheap bottle of rum, sidling past him to deposit everything at the checkout.

“Hey Al, how’s it goin’?” I sighed, counting out the last of my quarters on the tabletop.

“He givin’ you trouble, sweetheart?” He nodded gruffly over my head at the giant blonde softie behind me, currently inspecting the label of a bottle of red wine.

I laughed, trying to imagine what Duff might look like to an untrained eye. He could be pretty scary when he needed to, after all. “No, he’s fine.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Duff’s hands landed on my shoulders and I flinched a little despite myself.

“If you’re sure.” Al muttered under his breath, patiently divvying up my assortment of coins and dollar bills. “You got another fifty cents, honey?”

I winced. That was all the cash I had. Duff’s touch disappeared from my shoulders to delve into his jean pockets, rooting around hastily.

“Sorry man, that’s all I got. I’ll leave the-“

“No, no, don’t be silly. Owe me it, alright?”

“But hey, I have-“ I silenced Duff with a light stomp on his toe.

“Thanks mate, I really appreciate it.” I gathered up the bottles under my arm, promising to be back with the remainder soon.

“Hey, forget it Y/N. Tell you what, keep that fifty. Buy some fuckin’ breakfast next time, okay?”

I snickered and waved as we turned to leave. “Will do! See you later!”

The bell above the door jingled chirpily as we left and Duff paused to spark another couple of cigarettes for us before stepping back out into the street. I frowned as he continued back the way we’d just come. He hadn’t really just left his apartment to follow me to the shop, had he?

“Are you goin’ home?”

“Nah, I’m late for work.” He said, looking remarkably unfazed.

“Shouldn’t you be walkin’ the other way, then?”

“I’ll walk you back first.” I opened my mouth to protest but he forged ahead before I could. “Didn’t get to the bottom of my observations yet.”

I sighed and waited for him to continue, but he stayed quiet instead, even when Izzy’s building came back into sight.

“What do you want me to say?” I said finally. “I thought everybody knew already, we fuck now and then. It’s not exactly big news.”

We stopped outside the door and I puffed away the last few tokes of my cigarette as I waited for him to reply. He was smiling fondly at me, and I found it infuriating for some reason.

“And you’re sure it’s just sex?”

“Uh, yeah.” I frowned. “Is that not what I said?” 

He was still smiling and appearing quite entertained by my confusion, and I shook him off, wrinkling my nose, when he reached down to ruffle my hair. 

“You know, you’re a real dumbass, Y/N/N.”

I scowled. “Yes, thanks, I did know that.”

He rocked back on his heels to fix me with a calculating stare.

“What does Izzy think?” He said carefully. Huh? 

“What the fuck d’you mean, what does-”

“Shit!” Duff blurted, eyes widening comically. “I gotta get to work!” He turned on his heel and started sprinting back into town, shouldering through the midday stragglers and throwing out frantic apologies as he barged past people. In the space of about ten seconds, he was gone, flying out of view round the corner with a final shout of “Come see me when you get your head outta your ass!”

I stood there, dumbfounded. What the hell did he mean by that?

Curiously enough, he wasn’t the only one who’d suggested… Well, whatever it was he’d been trying to suggest. Axl had pulled me aside when we were out the night before last, bellowing in my ear that he was happy for me and Iz, of all things. If that wasn’t unsettling enough, him and Slash had taken to calling Izzy’s apartment ‘the love nest’ since I’d started hanging around there constantly, bedding down with Izzy every single night this week - as if I needed a reminder. I spent more time there than I did anywhere else at the moment, and it was getting a bit ridiculous. I’d been offered a roof to crash under for one night, and here I was, a week later, making myself a permanent fixture. He hadn’t mentioned it yet though, which seemed kind of unusual for someone normally so blunt.

I was still lost in thought as I twisted the cap off one of the bottles and gulped down a bolstering mouthful of whisky, trudging into the hallway to rap on Izzy’s door. The whole thing was very weird, I decided, screwing the cap back on. Very weird, indeed. And here I was, returning again. Bloody hell, what a disaster.

But then the door swung open, and I was greeted with a greedy kiss, emitting a pleased (if a little surprised) moan. Izzy was just as gloriously naked as I’d left him, with keen hands pulling me inside and pushing me up against the back of the door to kiss the breath out of me, already stripping me of his jacket and depositing it in a heap on the floor next to the booze.

“You were gone a long time.” He gasped, somehow still managing an air of nonchalance, even as he tore my (his) shirt up over my head. I wriggled out of it and launched myself back into his embrace, pressing up for another filthy kiss. His hands carded through my damp hair, and he broke away panting, confused. “It’s rainin’?”

I huffed, laughing a little, and dragged him with me towards the bed. “You wanna talk about the weather right now?”

His mouth stretched out to form a grin, and crashed back into mine - and all thoughts of Duff and his oddly foreboding questions swiftly evaporated.

[prorevenge]

How I stopped my co-workers and I being bullied, by outing that awful woman as a serial sexual assaulter. TW mentions of sexual assault.

I think this is a pro-revenge, if not tell me and I will post it elsewhere!

Also, this will be a long one... I am very verbose, and it spills over into text too!

A long time ago I worked for a fast food place that has a very noticeable “golden” (bright yellow usually) symbol.

The People Involved:

Me: a 17-19 year old male living in a medium sized town in the UK. (I am now old, relatively, damn, how does that happen? :) ) Also a giant toker at the time, had dreadlocks and smoked almost everyday.

Bitchqueen: a hostile, but shockingly beautiful, and thoroughly nasty human woman, approx 19-23 ish during all this nonsense.

TheBigMan: a 2nd assistant manager who I got on really well with from day one. He took no shit from bullshitters, had zero tolerance for Bitchqueen (his usual greeting was something like “Hey Bitchqueen, who are you going to pick on today?”) and if he saw her bullying someone he would just walk in between her and the victim and bend down to stare in her face. She would walk off and pretend nothing had happened. More than once he stated if BQ were a man she would have been beaten senseless by him by now. He hated violence, but she was really awful! Also he was a bit of a unit. As in 250lbs of muscle and a gym obsession long before it was cool! Also a fairly big smoker, we used to get high after work a lot with some of the other employees.

AwesomeManager: my stores 1st assistant manager, who was a wonderful women who helped me as a human a lot in a huge number of ways. Protecting me from Bitchqueen was only part of it.

Senior Area Manager: who I will call SAM, since all the actual Sam's I have know have all been good dudes too! Also a great protector from the BS of BQ.

MonsterBitch: the new store manager and the proximate cause of her own, and BQ's downfall. Also a troll faced harridan who oozed hate and bitterness.

So time to tell the tale of how it panned out.

I had been there a year or so before Bitchqueen was promoted to manager. Until then she was obnoxious but powerless, but somehow, after marrying the store manager she got a promotion (jumping the next two steps up at that) to second assistant manager. Surprising eh?

I had been warned by TheBigMan when I was first hired to never be alone with her as she had a number of young men fired for “groping” her by her Store Manager-BF/Fiancé/Husband (even when the video showed that there was no close contact let alone groping in some of those cases . I was super careful in this regard.

Bitchqueen started playing games with the rota against me and a few others she hated. I think she hated me because I got along with most people, and she always hated sociable and non-bitchy people. Her favourites got the best shifts and the people she hated had our hours cut and shifted about without warning. She would pencil in changes a few minutes before a shift started (I caught her doing it but her store manager husband didn't want to deal with it) and then send home the one who turned up for their (now given away) shift with a warning. She would then call up and scream at the one who was off, but now suddenly on shift, for not arriving when they had no idea the shift was changed. It's sort of genius really, getting two workers Bitchqueen hated in one blow! She did try this crap on me but I just called Awesome Manager and she checked the computer records and sorted it out, she also let Bitchqueen know she was going to be checking the rota daily and approving all changes, so Bitchqueen had to find a new tactic.

I was a pretty hard worker (it made the time pass quicker for me) and was friends with the AwesomeManager (and TheBigMan), who protected me from Bitchqueens bullshit almost all of the time, and would fix things when shit happened while AwesomeManager was off work. I also cultivated a good relationship with with our SAM, and he ended up setting up a special store rescue team to sort out failing (franchise usually) stores in the area, placing me in charge of it as the top trainer of the group (Bitchqueen was maybe 7 months into being a manager at this point). This made me more or less untouchable (as long as I kept my nose clean) and so Bitchqueen went mental. She started on my friends, bullying and abusing them in work, and trying to get them all written up. They told me and I told AwesomeManager, she slapped Bitchqueen down again, metaphorically of course. TheBigMan made some complaints about her treatment of the other staff and she calmed down a little. Until her husband got “promoted” to a different store some distance away. Later SAM admitted this was an attempt to calm the drama at our store... But how wrong it all went!

Our new store manager was a MonsterBitch, but good at hiding it to begin with. After a few weeks AwesomeManager noticed that only young women were getting accepted after interviews, and pointed this out to Me and TheBigMan, and asked us to keep out eyes and ears out for anything dodgy going on. It wasn't long until it became clear what was happening.

I had made pretty good friend with one of the new hires (I admit it, I was interested and she was hot ), I will call her ShyNSweet, she was a lovely but very sheltered young lady from a nearby village, living in a house share in the town we worked in. She went out with “the girls” a group centred on MonsterBitch, Bitchqueen and a couple of MonsterBitch's “friends” on a Friday, and the next day in work was really distracted. We finished at the same time so I offered ShyNSweet a lift (that is I gave her a ride home in my car for our American friends) and she said yes since we lived pretty close together. In the car I asked if she had a fun night (just asking to fill the time, I wasn't digging at this point) and she replied in a very non-committal way. I remembered her saying she had a great time to Bitchqueen earlier during our shift so I asked her if she was OK. She burst into tears and told me that she had been the back of a Taxi with MonsterBitch and one of the “friends” (Bitchqueen was upfront) and MB and the friend had been groping ShyNSweet really hard (she showed me some bruises on her sides and thighs later, she said she had more on her boobs) and telling her she had to go back to their house and “experience real sex”. I was livid! But I tried to be outwardly calm. I told her that they should be punished, and I would support her, and I knew that SAM, AwesomeManager and TheBigMan would all have her back. I recommended we go to the police, but she was afraid she would lose her job. I knew she wouldn't, but couldn't convince her quickly and I didn't want to traumatise her further, so I just said what ever she chose I would support, and to call me if she is ever in a similar situation and I will come get her. She hugged me for ages crying and we went and had a cup of tea in her house. Her flatmate knew something was up and I encouraged ShyNSweet to tell her too. She did and I left after making them more tea.

I had to do something, but I couldn't directly involve ShyNSweet, and although I knew SAM, AwesomeManger and TheBigMan would believe me I had no direct evidence of an assault. So what to do? Well the first thing was to check where I stood legally, and it turns out the UK is a one party consent recording jurisdiction. As long as I am in place with no reasonable expectation of privacy I don't have to inform anyone I am recording audio or video, at least according to the lawyer I asked who is a friend of my step-father. Work counted as no expectation of privacy, so I was good to record everything. Of course back then the smallest video cameras were the size of a small shoe box and really expensive, and I was a burger-chucker, so cash was tight (smoking a lot of weed didn't help there either). But you could get some reasonably cheap audio recording stuff, that with an ok microphone could be hidden in my shirt. So I started a log of Bitchqueen and MonsterBitch's antics in the store, it was nearly 8 months of recordings in total before the fan was struck by faeces. While they didn't direct much at me anymore I was able to capture multi-minute rants from both of those awful harpies on almost every shift for about six months, in one recording I got Bitchqueen ranting at a co-worker for about 20 mins and then me for another 30 mins or so after I redirected her towards me. They would call workers (almost always men, but any woman who had turned them down got some shit thrown their way too), stupid, useless and worthless etc, with lots of fun adult words mixed in. They also got into the habit of threatening everyone they dislike with firing.

I also got a lot of audio from young women about how creepy and sexually inappropriate MonsterBitch, Bitchqueen and their little gang of “lesbian” managers (most of them were or had dated men, so Bi I guess, but horrible humans regardless of their orientations) were to the women who worked for us. I got several direct statements about female co-workers being abused and told to keep quiet by the abuse gang members on various girls nights out, and a few of them referred to bad things happening at MonsterBitch's house when they were too drunk to remember everything. Basically we had a blackmail and rape gang operating in our midst!

The final attack on me came when I was called into work by AwesomeManager and told I was being investigated for smoking weed on shift. While I did smoke a lot of weed at the time I never went to work high (food you get fired for eating without permission and the munchies don't mix), and anyway that day in particular the accusation was dated was one where I hadn't had any for a couple of days or been able to sort any out for a smoke after work either. So I was totally truthful when I was asked about it by AwesomeManager, and she said that because of the bullying she was escalating this to SAM, so she “suspended” me on full pay pending an investigation. The next day SAM called me and asked me to come for a formal interview, as the first part of the information finding process. He also said TheBigMan was on shift and would be happy to be my witness. So I went down and sat in the crew room waiting for SAM with TheBigMan. SAM stuck his head around the door and said “Deny everything to do with weed!” and winked. He stepped out again and then opened the door with a serious face and asked myself and TheBigMan to come through to the back office. We went through a few questions and I answered everything truthfully (pretty sure SAM thought I was smoking that day but gave no fucks about weed) and the interview ended with SAM reinstating me, paying me for the previous day and the interview day and giving me another store to fix for two weeks to get me away from Bitchqueen and the pack of harpies.

When I was back from the failing store, but not working that Monday, I got a call from ShyNSweet. MB and BQ had told her she had to come to their “Girls only” house party that Friday (it was going to be a BBQ and probably a lot of raping drunk girls by hostile lesbians). The rape gang had been telling all the attractive girls to go to the party or “think about finding a new job if you can't be a team player”. (MB, BQ and another horror worked at our store, the other 3 worked at a nearby store)

And that was the straw that broke the proverbial camels back! I had those awful bitches!

I had organised the audio files into groups by person and topic, I had over 10 hours of insults and abuse recorded and I had nearly another 10 hours of staff telling me how they had been abused by BQ, MB and their pack of rapists.

I called SAM and told him I had to speak to him that day, he agreed and we met at a competitors store (I think they have a kingdom of burger chuckers ;) ) at lunchtime where I sat him down in front of my awful (at the time super cutting edge lol) laptop and had him listen to bits of the rape allegations first.

He started shaking with rage after about 30 seconds, stopped it and told me to go to the police.

I then started on the abusing rants messages and he listened to bits of a bunch of them and asked for copies of those files. I had already burned them to CD so I handed them over and went to the police station.

I asked for a woman police officer and had her listen to the abuse allegations. She took a CD copy of those and told me to be quiet while the investigated. I said fine, but that this Friday the rape gang would have a number of under 18's at an alcohol fuelled rape party. She asked for and got the address and details. I passed on the names of all the women who I knew for sure had been attacked in the past too, since the police wanted to contact them to confirm things, the police here never give out witness information so I was safe from retaliation.

The next Thursday I was on a late shift, so I arrived around 15:15 and when I got there the store was shut but the staff were inside. I got let in and told what had happened.

MonsterBitch and Bitchqueen had been on day shifts and were apparently non-stop talking about how great their girls only party would be, how any girl who had a boyfriend would dump him after spending the night with them, and how any women who didn't attend were basically traitors to womankind. After about 6 hours of this, and at around 14:00 6 police officers come into the store and arrest MonsterBitch and BitchQueen on suspicion of sexual assault, blackmail, extortion and assault. They were both removed in handcuffs and SAM was there just after the police to shut them out of the computers and officially suspend them. When I arrived they were just getting set to re-open so we got back to work.

Later I got more info on the case, my best friends older brother was in the police force locally and he kept us updated. MB's rape house was raided, the police found lots of videos of what was clearly assaults on drunk and non-consenting women. They got lots of text message evidence for planning sexual assaults and talking about how to control young female employees to get them to have sex with the rapists. They also had lots of threatening messages to victims to be quiet or face revenge/loss of job etc. All their victims were under 20, with most being 16-18. But the deepest fuck up for them came from this evidence, and I had no idea when I got this all in motion.

MonsterBitch had picked up a young woman from a club a few months earlier. This young lady was up for lesbian sex with MB, BQ and another friend, while a fourth on filmed it. But the young lady was 15 and just looked over 18 with makeup etc. So the rape gang had produced child porn inadvertently.

MB, BQ and all the other managers who were involved were fired after the arrests/charges.

They were all charged with a number of things, but the courts back then were even more lenient to female sexual offenders than they are now, so none of them saw prison. But they were all banned from working with children, or in an environment where children will be present, and the ones who were married/in a relationship were all divorced/broken up inside a year. Because of the UK laws at the time they were also not named publicly.

I know Bitchqueen never really recovered or grew past this, I see her now and again if I visit my mother, and she is still beautiful, but so clearly broken its almost sad.

ShyNSweet was my girlfriend for a year or so a few years later, we parted on good terms as she was off to study overseas.

AwesomeManager went on to be a store manager, and then a Pro Dominatrix, which wasn't a real surprise to me ;) She was/is a fun lady

TheBigMan, went on to run an IT dept in a large company, still a top bloke!

And I ended up in a field I love, being paid actual money to more or less mess about all day, and that is doing my job! :)

(source) (story by burgerchucker)

[soniabigcheese]

Precious Moments with Mom - Gordon

Gordon Gordon Gordon. Where do we begin?

He was such a little bundle of energy, always keeping everyone on their toes.

So ... what precious moment should I choose?

Ohhh ... so many.

It was the day they found a distressed little turtle, tied up with a discarded illegal fishing net. It had wound itself around the poor things neck and one of its front feet. So it was unable to walk properly.

Gordon found it first, whilst hunting for seashells and fancy rocks, and immediately picked it up and ran straight to his mother.

She was particularly nervous around turtles and this one was still feisty enough to put up a battle, despite being partially incapacitated. How on earth did Gordon manage to pick it up without it giving him a nasty bite?

But she put her fear aside as she saw his wide brown pleading eyes. He sniffled.

"Please help him?" He asked, a desperate tone in his voice.

She took a deep breath and sighed. At least his three older brothers were visiting the Space Centre with their dad. Gordon was too young and space stuff didn't really interest him.

The last visit, had him causing mayhem with a couple of well placed practical jokes. He had been asked not to return.

Not that it bothered him. He was happiest visiting the nearby aquarium.

Anyways, Lucy looked at her youngest son and the turtle. Who was beginning to weaken. She didn't have her sewing kit handy or she would have cut the netting away and released it there and then.

She sat up and looked around, then had an idea.

“Tell you what,” she said, standing up and brushing the sand from her clothes, “there’s a rehabilitation centre not far from here. If you can manage to hang onto that little fella...”

“Oscar.”

“... Oscar ... okay,” she never question him about naming everything, that was Gordon for you, “if you can hang onto him, we’ll go to the centre and see if there’s anything they can do there.”

He nodded, and they both marched to the car, she had to carry everything, since his little hands were quite full with a squirming, snapping turtle called ... Oscar. He was wisely keeping his little arms outstretched to avoid any bites.

Getting the seatbelt on him was proving a problem, as he wouldn’t let go, and this thing, despite weakening, still had some salt in it’s blood and kept snapping at her hands whenever they got too close.

She managed, buckled herself up and off they drove. It was but a 10 minute drive, but took a little longer due to heavy traffic.

“How’s he doing back there?” “He’s fine mommy.” “Just try not to pull that netting off in case it digs in further and causes more damage.” “No I won’t mommy.”

They finally arrived, and once again she struggled to un-clip the seatbelt but managed as the turtle was starting to lose some of its fight. They both hurried through the doors and were greeted at reception, where a couple of the staff turned their attention to Gordon, asking him all kinds of questions.

He answered most of them, then listened attentively as they explained what type of turtle it was ... what they were going to do ... how long the turtle will be in the centre. And told him what a clever and thoughtful little man he was for finding this sea creature.

They gave him an honorary badge, as well as the rehab centre’s mascot ... a toy squid, before thanking the two of them for their quick thinking and assured Gordon that Oscar would be returning to the sea fairly soon, but if he wanted, he could visit at any time and watch the turtle’s progress. 

He was even invited to the day they would return the turtle to the sea.

They got into the car, and as Lucy was buckling her seatbelt, Gordon piped up ...

“I want to be a sea helper,”

Lucy turned and smiled at him.

"And I think you’ll be a great person for the job.”

And you know what? For a kid of six years old .... he kept that solemn promise and continued visiting the centre, kept tabs on Oscar’s progress ... even volunteered when he got older and studied marine biology.

And now ... as he turned on the engines of Thunderbird Four and felt it rumble into action ... he knew he’d made his mom proud!

[noisykate]

Azores to Falmouth - or nearly

The Azores are lovely, and deserve much more than the few days we gave them.  Another time, perhaps.

Horta is the main port of arrival, the marina full of boats which have had big adventures. The social atmosphere is very relaxed; everybody here has ‘been there, done it’ to a significant degree, and the normal tensions arising from watching new arrivals – do they know what they’re doing, can they handle their boat – simply don’t apply.  It is difficult to explain – the nearest I can get is that when you pull in to a service station on the M1, there are no learner drivers. It’s a bit like that. A bit.

It is truly wonderful to get back to sensibly priced groceries, decent bread and cheese, and restaurants which don’t hustle you out at 9pm and expect huge tips regardless of the food, because the staff don’t get paid.

The Azores are volcanic: the centre of this island (Faial) is a huge caldera, which we drove up to in our little hire car, with John and Sue, and Carl. We circumnavigated the island, stopping to walk around the area of the 1950’s eruption, which inundated the old lighthouse and a small whaling village on the western end. Stopping for a great lunch of mussels, which Carl thought he didn’t like – disguised with prodigious amounts of garlic, they were a huge hit. Surprisingly green and rural, the island is charming, cattle everywhere.  The architecture is Portuguese in style, but mitigated with a more subtle use of the highly patterned tiles we saw in the mainland.

We left Horta on Monday – 17th- after waiting for a predicted blow to pass through. It was a bit of a non-event in Horta, but we weren’t the only ones to play it cautious. Stopping at the fuel dock was a bit of a game, with three boats already in place, and a wind sufficient to pop fenders on the inside boat, a crippled French boat with a broken stay – and, it has to be said, rubbish fenders. Still, the weight of three other boats pressing him into the dock under the influence of 20 knots was a bit much. The marina seemed blithely unconcerned; this is clearly quite normal.

We are now 400 miles out, about 1/3 of the way to Falmouth. The weather has been all over the place, with some flat calm, some fog, and now some windy, rolly conditions, with winds gusting up to 30 knots, and seas up to 4m. The boat is behaving very well, the hydrovane (mechanical wind-driven steering system) coping with most of what gets thrown at it, although you have to be ready to take over for the squalls. Thankfully, these mostly lie in wait for Carl’s watch, to the extent that he is the only one who preps for his watch by putting full oilies on.

Sleep deprivation has taken its toll on tempers - mine particularly. Doing 4 hour shifts nominally gives each person two eight-hour periods off-watch, which should be plenty, but when the boat is rolling hard, it is difficult to get to sleep and then stay asleep long enough to clear the deficit. Fitting in communal eating times also cuts into it.

The food has generally worked out ok, if I say so myself. Homemade bread and cakes (all right, the cake was from just-add-an-egg packets) most days, and cooked-from-scratch dinners most days. The Omnia (stovetop oven) has been brilliant, as has the pressure cooker. The boat oven has hardly been used.

Overall, though, I am done with long passage-making. The magical milky-way star-lit nights with phosphoresce sparkling in the wake as we bob along in a gentle breeze are an absolute delight, but sleep deprivation, uncertainties over the weather, and the physical challenge of cooking and doing the normal stuff of life while being thrown about are the norm – glad I’ve done it, but don’t need to do it again.

Really, really looking forward to getting to Falmouth; family and friends, a long list of jobs, and the prospect of some paid work for both of us; me in acoustics, while Mike will be looking for something boat-related. Berthing master at a handy south-coast marina, with a free berth thrown in, would suit. Not holding our breath, but no chance if you don’t ask!

26 June 2019

We’ve turned towards A Coruna, in the face of persistent north-easterly winds, and the threat of a full gale in the Falmouth area a few days ahead. Now making slow but steady progress, hard on the wind. Winds 20-25 knots, occasionally up to 30, from just north of east.

We were getting advice to divert from Falmouth to either (a) a point south of Ireland, then east, or (b) head direct to Camaret (Brittany, near Brest). In the event, neither option was really tenable – (a) put us in the path of a still unknown quantity, which at times threatened to be quite nasty, and (b) simply did not work – we could not make a course which put us anywhere close. All thoroughly fed up, some more than others; Coruna was the nearest available and attainable land. Carl can fly to London from there, and we will regroup and sort ourselves out before continuing home. So very, very ready to be not on the boat for a while.

27 June 2019

Motoring the last few miles into Coruna. Boring. And a slightly anticlimactic end to our Atlantic odyssey. We expect to arrive in the very early morning, perhaps 4am, and will probably anchor until daylight.

28 June 2019

So we got here, eventually.  Marina Coruna, north-west Spain. Tintin got in first, and were anchored just outside the marina when we arrived at about 6am local time. No dramas, apart from the night of no sleep for Mike, as the 50-mile (=10-hour) band around this corner of Spain is very busy with large shipping, and the alarm kept tripping every few minutes, all night. No danger, plenty of warning, but little chance of proper sleep. I got off best, lying down at 11pm, getting up for a few short-lived non-events, then up properly at about 5am to help get in to the marina.

We crawled into the first appropriate berth, had breakfast, and bodged around, all very grumpy and sleep-deprived, until it was time to check in, which -as usual- took ages.

Carl and I set about sorting the inside of the boat; laundry, damp cushions and mattresses, grime everywhere.  Mike got back eventually, and bodged about some more, in a foul mood, before conceding that the problem was lack of sleep. Carl went off on his own to explore, his one-and-only chance to check out this part of Spain, and, with luck, pick up some of the special fids (rope-splicing tools) he had been coveting since Mike showed him ours.

Partly revived by about 3-hours on the saloon sofa, Mike and I had a beer and a light lunch in the marina bar, while the first of several loads of washing did its thing. We bumped into Carl, on his way back to the boat for his passport so he could check in to his flight – he looks pretty dreadful – almost as if he’d had no sleep.

We were delighted to find Barbara and Simon (Cartagena friends) in situ in the marina, and I was able to have a coffee and a catch-up of sorts, promising to make a better go of it sometime in the UK – their boat is destined for a mooring off West Mersea! They fly home tomorrow, having decided that the current (wrong for sailing north) weather is set to last for at least a week. We shall see.

And phoning home, of course – got hold of everybody to some degree or another, only to find that Rachel and David had planned a big surprise arrival party in Falmouth, which we have utterly harpooned by not going there at the appointed hour. So very disappointing, but deeply touched that they wanted to make the effort.

So – we’ve been stuck in the Bahamas, stuck in Puerto Rico, St Thomas, the Azores, and now Spain. So far, Spain is by far and away the most amenable.

1 July 2019

Weather here is cloudy, and it has been quite cold today, with blustery winds from the north. Still no sign of any change in the conditions which would allow us to head out.

Have wasted most of the day watching films on TV, disheartened after finding all my stored-away warm clothes damp and covered in mildew. Some may be revived by a wash, but some are clearly trashed. Nothing valuable, just really, really annoying.

We had a lovely evening with Jacquie and Kevin off Tintin last night; good food, good company, lively conversation.

Intensely frustrated to be here, and not back in the UK – things to do, people to see… spending time each day on weather sites, but still failing to find anything useful.

[picardonhealth]

We've left our seniors vulnerable to coronavirus -- again

Authorities vowed to fix the system that led to thousands of deaths in long-term care homes, but we're back where we started

ANDRÉ PICARD, The Globe and Mail 

Saturday, November 28, 2020

ANDRÉ PICARD is the health columnist for The Globe and Mail. His new book, Neglected No More: The Urgent Need to Improve the Lives of Canada's Elders in the Wake of a Pandemic, will be published in March.

'A bit, but clearly not enough."

That is Miranda Ferrier's pithy, but all-too-accurate answer to the question: Have we learned anything from the devastation that happened in longterm care during the first wave of COVID-19?

"When this virus came along we literally had no plan to protect residents and workers during a pandemic and I'm not sure we have one now," says the president of the Canadian Support Workers Association. "In some ways, we're right back where we started."

The pandemic claimed the lives of at least 7,000 elders living in nursing and retirement homes between March and August. More than 600 homes recorded COVID-19 deaths, almost all of them in Quebec and Ontario. One in every seven elders who was infected died. Those living in these group settings were 77 times more likely to die than their counterparts still living in homes and apartments.

Since September, there have been at least 2,000 more deaths in congregate settings such as nursing and retirement homes, and long-term wards in hospitals.

Hundreds of facilities have been affected - some of them for a second time. The pandemic has also spread its tentacles more broadly; Manitoba, which was largely unscathed by the first wave, is now struggling with outbreaks in dozens of the province's nursing homes, and the most deadly ones in the country, during the second wave. Alberta is not faring much better.

This second wave of death in facilities that house elders was not inevitable, but it was largely predictable. The underlying factors that helped fuel the deadly spread of coronavirus in congregate settings earlier this year - overcrowding, chronic staffing shortages, outdated infrastructure, lack of testing, lax oversight and more - have not fundamentally changed.

Months of lockdown have also taken a huge toll on residents. Being isolated has left them depressed, inactive and deconditioned - losing muscle mass and cognitive functions from lack of stimulation - and more vulnerable to illness and death. Their caregivers, tormented at being left outside looking in, are angst-ridden and struggling, too.

Worse yet, the pace of infection is accelerating as coronavirus cases soar in the community.

Given the way the virus kills slowly, deaths will likely keep climbing even when (or if) the epidemic curve flattens. If the pace of infections continues at its current rate, there could be another 2,000 deaths in long-term care by the new year.

It didn't have to be this way.

But little has been done to change the underlying conditions of workers and residents in these homes, and alternatives such as home care and subsidized housing still aren't available to those who don't want to be institutionalized, so a second round of pandemic ravages was cruelly predictable.

Frail elders, those living with dementia, heart failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and other chronic conditions, are easy prey for pathogens at the best of times. When infectiousdisease experts started uttering the dread p-word - pandemic - way back in January, alarm bells should have gone off for those responsible for the care of the vulnerable, from operators of the homes to government regulators and public-health officials.

Yet, in Canada, the ramparts went up around hospitals, while facilities that house nearly 400,000 elders were largely left to their own devices.

Even more perversely, hospitals discharged non-urgent patients to make room for a feared onslaught of pandemic patients, and some ended up in care homes.

More than 7,500 people live in hospitals in this country, most of them frail elders with dementia who are awaiting a spot in a suitable long-term care home. They are known as "alternate level of care" patients, an Orwellian term meaning they pretty well don't get any care. When COVID-19 arrived, many ALC patients were dispatched to long-term care homes. The timing couldn't have been worse.

There was no evil intent, but there were blinkered policy choices forged by history.

In 2004, Canada was one of the hardest-hit countries in the world by SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome), with 251 probable cases, 187 suspected cases and 44 deaths. In retrospect, those numbers seem almost laughable - but the pandemic was a big deal at the time.

It turned out that SARS, also caused by a coronavirus, was a nosocomial infection, meaning it spread almost exclusively in hospitals. Deadly infections were transmitted to and from patients and health care workers because of inadequate gloving, masking and cleaning.

When pious vows were made that this kind of disaster would never happen again, and pandemic plans were written, hospitals were front-and-centre. So, when another coronavirus, SARS-CoV-2, came along in late 2019, hospitals became a focal point. They had to be protected at all costs, and they have fared tremendously well.

The price for battening the hospital hatches was paid by elders and workers in other institutions. When the first nursing home outbreaks occurred in the spring, staff in many nursing homes had little or no PPE. There were shortages, so protective equipment was reserved for hospitals.

The lack of masks, gloves and gowns made it easy for the virus to spread; combined with staff who worked in multiple homes, homes that had three- and fourbed ward rooms, and an inability to isolate residents who were suspected of being infected, it spread like wildfire.

There were homes where nearly 100 per cent of residents and staff were infected, and where the death rate exceeded 40 per cent.

But there were little pockets of death everywhere, in almost 1,000 facilities from coast to coast.

The novel coronavirus was nasty but the underlying issue was a long-standing one, poor infection control in nursing homes.

Outbreaks of illness such as influenza, norovirus, Norwalk, C. difficile and MRSA, are commonplace in elder care facilities, but deaths in the single and double digits were just accepted as business as usual.

It was only when elders began dying by the hundreds and the thousands that we really started paying attention.

Thankfully, some of these problems have been resolved.

Testing has been stepped up. PPE is now available and no longer taken for granted. Virtually every province has introduced "one facility" rules, meaning staff cannot work in more than one longterm care home; that is significant because 30 per cent to 40 per cent of workers were juggling part-time gigs in various facilities. (Employers resist hiring fulltime as a way to reduce the cost of benefits.) When residents of care homes die, they are now a little less likely to die alone.

There's still room for improvement. The province hardest hit by COVID-19, Quebec, has not banned work in multiple homes.

(The province feels any restriction would exacerbate already grave staff shortages.) Even the provinces that have "banned" staff mobility make exceptions, especially for casual workers, as they struggle to get staff.

Nursing homes have stopped admitting new patients to threeand four-bed rooms but, typical of the half-measures introduced between the first and second waves, they have not eliminated these rooms altogether. (To be fair, getting rid of those wardstyle rooms would eliminate as many as 5,000 beds, and how can you justify that when there are more than 40,000 Canadians waiting for a spot in long-term care?) Ontario has vowed to add 3,000 long-term care beds, as well as increasing staffing. But bolstering institutional living alone, without continuing to offer better options for care at home and independent living is almost the worst thing that can happen. We need better care and more options for elders, not more access to care they don't really want.

In Canada, institutionalization is the default setting, but lots of elders and their families would prefer care to be delivered at home. But with strict limits on the hours of publicly funded care available and most families unable to care alone for loved ones with high needs, such as those with advanced dementia, that approach is not a viable option.

During the pandemic that Sophie's choice - a move that is dreaded versus no care at all - has not changed. If anything, home care has become less of an option because the sector was pummelled during the pandemic. Most home services were shut down and many of the workers jumped to the long-term care sector when wages were increased and full-time jobs created.

One of the big questions going forward is: Will demand hold up, given the gruesome outcomes during the pandemic? Poll after poll has shown that Canadians do not want to end up in institutional care, and it's hard to imagine that their trust has not eroded further. So how much longer can politicians and policy-makers resist demands for change?

The shockingly low pay of personal support workers - as little as $13 an hour in some provinces - was often cited as one of the causes of staff shortages. The lack of benefits such as paid sick days meant that workers didn't stay home if they felt ill; they couldn't afford to do so. Some provinces provided pandemic pay raises of up to $4 hourly and makeshift sick days. But those programs were temporary.

With unprecedented attention on the state of nursing homes, provinces began making grandiose promises, from building more beds to bolstering staffing.

Quebec, again, was the most noteworthy. At the height of the crisis in CHSLDs (centres d'hébergement de soins de longue durée), the name Quebec gives to longterm care homes, Premier François Legault vowed to hire 10,000 new orderlies on top of the 40,000 already employed in the sprawling system.

Shockingly, the province actually followed through on the pledge, but it proved more difficult than imagined. After Quebec promised full-time jobs paying $49,000 annually, plus benefits, more than 80,000 people applied.

A total of 9,788 applicants were selected and trained over the summer, but only 5,328 graduates are now employed. The work is backbreaking and not for the faint of heart, so there is a lot of attrition. In a normal year, almost one-third of the work force leaves, and that rate of turnover seems headed higher given the pandemic stresses. The province knows this and has put out a call for 3,000 more applicants, but only 700 have answered the call.

There have been numerous media reports that many of the hastily trained orderlies are overwhelmed, unhappy and eager to get out. But, under the terms of their contracts, those who don't work at least one year must repay the $9,000 in training costs.

Other provinces have also acted on staffing woes. B.C. allocated $680-million in additional funding to its 680 long-term care and assisted living facilities that, among other things, will allow each facility to hire three more full-time workers.

What is not known is if, overall, there are actually more staff in facilities. Thousands of orderlies and nurses left their jobs during the first wave of the pandemic and it's not clear how many have returned.

One unfortunate response to shortages has been watering down training. Quebec's new work force is getting 375 hours of education, as opposed to the previous minimum of 870 hours.

There are no national standards so training varies wildly around the country. In Ontario, for example, personal support workers take an intense 32-week college program.

There are also many fly-bynight courses as well, with no one to check credentials. Manitoba has hastily introduced a five-day training program for uncertified care aides, and is even asking for volunteers.

Is that really who you want caring for your grandmother who needs help bathing, toileting and eating?

In July, in the midst of the pandemic, Ontario released a report on long-term care staffing, which was ordered in the wake of the inquiry into the murders of eight long-term care residents committed by former nurse Elizabeth Wettlaufer.

Dr. Merrilee Fullerton, the provincial Minister of Long-Term Care, responded with vague promises to bolster staffing. But, in practice, what the province seems to be doing is hiring lessqualified workers such as residential facility attendants as a stop-gap measure instead of investing in a contingent of PSWs and nurses.

The province has also vowed to create regulations guaranteeing that residents of long-term care facilities get at least four hours of hands-on care daily.

(Now it's roughly three hours.)

The Registered Nurses Association of Ontario, which has long been pushing for a "basic care guarantee" that includes that minimum four-hour threshold, praised the move initially but the RNAO was outraged when no money was allocated in the subsequent provincial budget. Bringing the standard up to safe levels in long-term care would cost about $1.8-billion a year in Ontario alone, according to an analysis by the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives.

This approach is par for the course. Governments have a tendency to make great announcements during periods of crisis, but then they tend to find excuses to not follow through.

The people living in long-term care facilities - mostly frail elders with conditions such as dementia, but also a significant minority of younger people with severe disabilities - are among the most vulnerable in society.

When a pandemic came along, some death was inevitable. The problem in Canada was the sheer magnitude of mortality.

To date, Canada has recorded almost 12,000 COVID-19 deaths.

During the first wave, more than 80 per cent occurred in congregate settings. During the second wave, that number slightly lowered, to almost 70 per cent, but only because more people are dying in the community.

Of the many failings that the pandemic has exposed in Canada's health and social welfare systems, one of the most egregious is the lack of public data.

One of the only reasons we know the grim numbers about infections and deaths in care facilities is because of the tireless work of activists, a mish-mash of family caregivers, researchers, clinicians and more.

One of the most dedicated is Nora Loreto, a Quebec City journalist and podcaster. Back in the spring, she was doing research for her program and could not find basic information such as the number of outbreaks and deaths in nursing homes, so she began compiling a list.

That back-of-the-envelope exercise has morphed into the most detailed database in the country, listing outbreaks at 881 facilities (and counting) and almost 9,000 deaths.

"It kind of grew into a monster," Ms. Loreto says.

But her careful tracking of data has also revealed some notable trends. Not only is there a resurgence of outbreaks, but they are no longer concentrated primarily in major cities such as Montreal and Toronto. In the second wave, there are also more outbreaks in retirement homes, which are far less regulated than nursing homes.

What is much harder to track than the ravages of COVID-19 is the collateral damage, such as the devastating impact of isolation and inactivity.

Family members have largely been locked out of homes - or, at the very least, their interactions severely limited - since March.

This has outraged family caregivers, who normally do a lot of hands-on caring for their loved ones and are often the only source of social interaction.

"My mom never had COVID, but her health deteriorated dramatically during the pandemic," says Brenda Brophy of Victoria.

She walked out of Dot Finnerty's room in mid-May and barely saw her again until the end of September when she took her 100-year-old mom home with her.

"Has it been hard, overwhelming and challenging to care for her? You bet it has. But I couldn't bear to see her [locked] away like that anymore," Ms. Brophy says.

Other family caregivers, most of whom can't realistically bring their loved ones home, have been lobbying furiously to get back into homes, arguing that there is no evidence that family members would infect others if they have access to PPE and regular testing, just like staff.

They worry that if draconian restrictions continue there will be a third wave of deaths owing to the mental and physical effects of loneliness.

Responding to families' pleas for safe access would be a good place to start reform of the system that desperately needs to start focusing on the quality of life of residents.

But will the horrors that befell the residential care system finally prompt a long-overdue shift to patient- and family-centred care?

Ms. Brophy, like many caregivers, isn't sure.

"Let's just say that I don't have confidence, but I do have hope."

[nhlhoser]

On The Rocks- 10

Part 9  Masterlist

Everyone left after Steph and I made the arrangments for her to move in a couple weeks after when her lease is up and Mitch + gang are free to help move what she needs.  I am actually really excited to have Stephanie as my roommate, so far she seems to be a really good person.

My plans for the day weren't much other than laying around my apartment watching T.V. and eating junk food, in the most unflattering sweatpants and hoodie combo in my possession. It was going great too until I remember my job interview tomorrow and I fell off the couch like the memory physically smacked me across the face.

I need to mentally prepare more than anything else, I know I have the ability to do this and get the job, it's just I still feel like I'll mess it up with something i'd say or trip over myself.

"I need to distract myself," I mumbled sitting up, leaning my back again the couch. Scrolling through my phone I have a couple messages from Steph just about moving and stuff but also one from my brother made my grin.

"Perfect,"

"Ah," I grunted throwing my gloved fist at my brother's grinning face, I had put a good amount of weight behind it and I clocked him pretty good. His head flinging back dramatically but raising his fist in time to upper cut my chest making me fall on my ass. I lay on the floor of the boxing ring sweaty and gross but feeling great.

"I tap out," I wheezed dramatically spreading my limbs like a starfish almost in the middle of the ring, where my younger brother Ricky and I were sparring. My brother is just a little bit taller than me and likes boxing because he's a small guy compared to the rest of his lacrosse team. He's never actually been in a fight but he will always say.

"Just in case you know," He'd say with a wink and throwing a couple punches into the air.

"So what's caused you enough stress to agree to come with me? You're usually a solo mission kinda gal,"  Ricky said helping me up, knowing me well enough to know when I'm stressed. Grabbing my water and unstrapping my head gear, making my way out of the ring.

"I have a job interview/ try out tomorrow," I finally said when I had my things gather and Ricky was leaning on ropes staring down at me raised brows. He ducks under and hops down to my level.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, I thought you wanted a new job," His black/brown hair sticking to forehead adding to the confusion in his blue eyes that match mine. I sigh, fiddling with my towel nerves re-entering my body like wildfire.

"It is a good thing! I just feel like I mess it up," I confessed turning away from my brother to head to the change rooms.

"That's just your nerves talking Amelia," Ricky laid his hand on my sweaty shoulder to stop my movement before going on "We both know you're pretty damn great at your job, You have to stop doubting yourself. You'll do great" He pulled me into a hug- a nasty sweaty hug. Pulling away i swat him away.

"I needed that," I smiled at my brother who smiled back before pushing me toward the change room with a 'you stink'.

Waiting for a shower to free up, now feeling a lot better and light hearted I open Snapchat and jokingly take a gym selfies caption 'Better than Marns' referring to Steph at the hotel on the weekend. Sending it off and tossing my phone in the locker I head to the showers.

It was when I was home again that I got the notification.

'SCREENSHOT Stephthechance'

"Oh fuck," I cursed instantly calling the evil blonde I called my friend just hours ago.

"Hello?" Her innocent voice making me scowl.

"Whyyyy???" I whined into phone balancing it on my shoulder as I work my through my apartment dropping my bag in the laundry room and gloves into the closet.

"I had to, girl. I need proof to burst my boyfriend's ego. He's always flexing and being mister manly man," She whined at the end of her statement.  Groaning I readjust my phone so now I can hold it normally.

"Just delete it please," I plead making my way into the kitchen to make something to eat.

" I could, but what's the fun in that" she laughs.

"Me not killing you is fun, Man I don't want the stress of you showing someone on purpose or accidentally. I'm already stressed about a job interview tomorrow," I groaned back to the awkward way of hold my phone against my shoulder assembling my protein shake.

"Oh, where's your interview?" She completely disregarding my threat of her death.

"Some sports team in Etobicoke, Massage therapist," I easily confess as I busily work on my shake and trying to not drop my phone in the sink.

"Going by what Auston told us about you 'Magic hands' You'll do great especially this coming from him." Steph lowered her voice to mimic Auston. My cheeks flare at the thought that they were talking about me.

"Oh god, he told you," My voice cracked. What else did he say? Did he tell them about sharing a bed? Oh god, that's so embarrassing.

" Yeah, He told us how you did some magical voodoo on his back before he fell asleep on the couch,"  Steph oblivious to where he actually slept.

"Oh yeah, That was nothing really," I tried to hold back my sigh of relief, sitting on my couch I relax into the cushions instead a released a tired sigh.

"If that's nothing, You something has to be a thousand times better! Also, Mitch is jealous, he almost made us come back so you'd massage his back," Steph's voice caring a different note at the end.

"Don't work Steph you'll get a massage too" I teased.

"My neck does hurt... and since you offered....." she trails off into a giggle. Shaking my head I finish off my shake.

"Sure thing but you have to delete the photo first," I challenged.

"Well, Will you look at that! My neck doesn't hurt anymore!"

"I hate you so much right now," I groaned over the phone to emphasize my displeasure.

"No, you don't! Well Mitch is coming in the door with food now so I'll let you get to whatever you do,"

"See ya"

Hang up the phone I groan again.

"She's not deleting that photo," I said to no one but my furniture.

~

Sleep came easier than I thought it would of due to my nerves but I was out as soon as my head my pillows. Getting up was a little bit harder than It was going to sleep, My body is that good sore after a great workout but also the hesitation knowing that the sooner I get ready, the sooner I leave for the interview.

I got dressed and ate slowly but by the time I was done it was time I should leave.I got uber and in no time I was the Mastercard Centre. I guess I was so nervous I didn't even notice the logos on the door or on the walls as I made my way to the trainer's room by following signs. I could hear the sound of hockey, hell it even smelt like hockey. When I got to where I need to be I felt the need to vomit I was so nervous but I was greeted by a friendly enough looking man who looks to be in his late 40's maybe.

"HI, I am Todd Bean we talked over the phone. Amelia Ashton if I am correct?" He sticks out his hand for a handshake, I grasp it strongly but not overly strong.

"Yes, That would be me?"

We talked for almost an hour about the job, my job history, and certifications.  He was now reviewing my paperwork with a passive face as if he was deciding something. I just sat for what felt like forever fidging slightly and twirling my thumbs. The longer he went without saying anything only made my nerves worse, the nervous sweat setting in making me feel so gross.

He tilts his head up me and slowly a smile spreads across his face, deepening the slight wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

"I am willing to hire you right here, right now but" My posture starts to slump, there's always a but.

"I need to test you a little bit, just because you passed your certification doesn't mean you're good enough for me." He's eyes teasing but serious. He writes something down on a notepad before he stands and beckons me to follow him. He leads me out the door and down the hall to another trainer's room, this one has a massage table in the middle with all the needed creams, oils and ointments lining the shelves with towels folded perfectly on the lower shelves.

"I am going to get a test dummy, You just make yourself comfortable," He's back out the door before I could say anything. I take this as an opportunity to check out the oils and such, examine each label seeing all the different effects, one cools or heats and another numbs. I was busy exploring bottles that I almost didn't notice when Toad re-enter the room, this time with another person.

"Amelia, this is Connor Brown," Toad motions towards the very familiar hockey player, this would be the time i finally realized my job interview is for the Toronto Maple Leafs. 'Act cool' schooling myself I introduce myself as we shake hands.

"So, to put it simply, The job is to make Connor feel better and so here is the test," Toad grins now pointing to Connor "Make him feel better,"

I nod turning on my profession mode on I started with the questions to better understand his body to know what amount of pressure would be needed and where to lighten up or press harder.

In the end, Connor fell asleep on the table.

"Well, I say you have the job!" Toad clapped me on the back as Connor release a snore. My eyes widen and all my nerves are gone.

"We will finalize everything in person another day, I'll email you when and where You'll be meeting the rest of the staff. To start you'll be mainly working on practice days to get you into things and before long you'll be game ready!" He voices very cheerily making me smile.

We shook hands and discuss the jobs some more before I was out the door of the room, I was walking down the hall when I heard familiar voices.

"Man, Connor gets to test out the new therapist when he knows I volunteered first," A grumpy voice of Mitch Marner sound around the hall  I was passing when Mitch and who was with spotted me.

"Hey, Amelia, What you doing here?" A still sweaty Mitch asked.

"Well, I guess I work here now" I smiled.

"Oh doing what?"

"I am the new Massage therapist,"I confessed like it was some secret. Mitch's eyes widen and his elbows the guy beside him who turns out to be the very tall enforcer Matt Martin, He looks a lot taller than when I met him at the bar.

"She the one I was telling you about, 'Magic hands' so Auston said," Mitch's whole being oozed excitement. My face turns red instantly as my cheeks burn.

"Man, Now I can see for myself, Come you have to meet everyone else!" Mitch starts to lead me to guess where everyone is, Matt in tow shaking his head.

We get to a door with the Leafs logo posted rather brightly in your face, as Mitch tosses open the door he pulls me into what I am guessing is players lounge because there multiple guys around the room on couches or at tables eating.

"Hey! Amelia!" a voice with a Swedish tinge to it call out from across the room, where William is sitting with Morgan Rielly and James Van Riemsdyk. Mitch leads me over to them with a huge grin.

"Hi" I shyly sit across from the blonde and two others with Mitch beside me and Matt leaning on the arm of the chair to Mitch's right. Before anyone can ask or say why I am here, Mitch does it.

"Amelia here is out new Massage therapist," Which gathers some looks from the guys across from us. I sink into the couch as they stare.

"Ah, you did mention that you're a massage therapist!" William nods at the memory of dinner. A look of confusion washed over Morgan and James' faces. They probably wonder how their teammates know me. William also catches his teammates confusions and Mitch starts the story of the boring Gala then the bar, hotel and temporarily stealing his girlfriend.

"Then Auston and I almost killed her," William stated not explain further which left room for some imagination. William caught that his words could be twisted sexually.

"We accidentally made her fall off a treadmill and she hit her head," William defended. Morgan and James nod.

"So she's the one Auston got the meds from me for," Morgan stated.

"Yeah, whatever those were got me pretty damn high," I blurted out making the guys all laugh, as I get redder and sink further.

"Well, they're  for a grown man," Morgan noted, it made sense really how sloppy I got.

we-they kept talking some more when Matt asked me if I was going to be at the Game Tomorrow.

"No, I don't officially start until- I am not even sure but when i do start with you guys it will only be during practices until I get into a routine," I explained.

"I also have never been to a game," I added.

Williams jaw visibly drops and well as Mitch.

"But how?"

"Oh yeah, Steph was texting me about that,"  Will and Mitch started at the same time.

" Well, I've never had the money or the time," I shrugged.

"Well, Looks like you're coming to the game tomorrow," James said and the rest nod with him.

"I can't-" I start.

"Save it, women, you're going," William said staring into my eyes making me want to look always but I felt trapped.

Looks like I am going to my first Leafs game.

"You'll have to wear my jersey of course, as I am your favorite," William said Arrogantly.

"What makes you think she won't be wearing mine, I too am her favorite," A new voice challenges Williams previous statement from behind me.

I don't have to look to know its Auston Matthews.

NEXT