#because this is far from the only garish ass face mug that i have

[yfantis]

Cringetober - Day 3

Oversized Prop

I was a little baffled by this prompt. I hope my choice to illustrate a real life Bacchus mug that I own in real life baffles as well.

[aziraamane]

Human AU - Part 6

This fic now has a name! I’ll be calling it “All the Better Part of Me” when it finally goes up onto AO3 - because I spent far too much time reading Shakespeare’s sonnets to call it anything else.

(Previous) - (First) 

"Is Warlock coming today?" Adam asked, again.

"Yup," Crowley said, popping the 'p.' He tightened his knees around Adam, holding him in place as he dragged a brush through the squirming boy's hair. "Hold still, you little devil."

"'Nath'ma does it nicer!"

"Do you?" Crowley glowered up at Anathema, comfortable on the sofa; she winked at him from behind her coffee mug.

"Maybe."

"You do it, then," Crowley muttered, Adam still wriggling on the carpet.

"Sorry, can't. I'm off the clock for another, oh, two minutes seventeen seconds."

"I hate you."

"Aww, if I weren't being paid extra tonight, I'd hate you, too, Mr Grumpy." 

The doorbell rang at that point, and Adam shot up from Crowley's grip to answer it. With the sudden loss of nephew, Crowley looked at the brush in his hand, shrugged, and began to neaten his own hair. 

No dirt smudged his cheeks today. He’d prepared for guests this time, scrubbed clean and sporting his casual ensemble of tight-fitting, black v-neck tee and even tighter-fitting black jeans. His sunglasses were off, but Anathema was already handing them to him as he contemplated slipping them back on, and he went with the safer option of wearing them.

Warlock came running into the room, all smiles, Adam trailing behind. "Hello!" he announced. 

"Hey, kiddo," Crowley grinned, chucking the hairbrush over his shoulder.

"I gots, uh, cookies in my bag. They got chocolate in them."

"Oh, dear. The womens' mags get mad at me if I don't watch my waistline." Crowley patted his belly with a wink, sticking out his tongue at Warlock, who laughed.

"Come off it, my dear. If anything you could afford to put on a few pounds." Ezra appeared in the doorway, holding Warlock's jacket. 

A flood of warmth suffused Crowley's face at his arrival, along with a starburst of a smile. "Hey, angel."

"Hello, Anthony. Thank you so much for agreeing to take Warlock for the night."

"What are friends for, eh?" He slithered to his feet, joints cracking. "Got time for a drink?"

Ezra shook his head. "I'm afraid not, I must dash off again - do keep in touch, though, won't you? I haven't actually left Warlock with anybody before…"

"Don't worry, he's in good hands with Ana."

For seemingly the first time since he walked in, Ezra noticed Anathema. "Ah! Miss Device! I didn't see you down there. How are you?"

"Good, thanks, Ezra." She flashed a look at Crowley that could only speak of triumph before addressing Ezra again, "I promise I'll contact you if anything comes up, okay? Relax a little."

"Thank you." A little weight seemed to leave Ezra's shoulders. "Well...must go, then." He gestured to Warlock, roughhousing with Adam, and the boy wobbled over, beaming. They came together in a long embrace, Ezra pressing kisses over Warlock's rosy cheeks. "Be on your best behaviour, darling," Crowley heard him whisper, "but if you feel lonely or - or sad - or just need to talk, then-"

"Ezra~" Crowley sing-songed, tapping his watch.

"U-Um. Yes. Quite." Ezra's eyes were overly shiny when he pulled back, though Warlock just giggled and skipped off to play with Adam again. Ezra got to his feet, brushed down his already perfectly smooth trousers. "Well, then. I...I'll be going."

It was clear the man was utterly miserable. He didn't at all want to go to dinner with his siblings. He didn't want to leave his son behind. He didn't like being out of his comfort zone. 

Dammit, he was so cute. 

"Come on, angel." Crowley threw an arm round Ezra's shoulders and steered him firmly, but not unkindly, towards the front door. "S’only a few hours, it'll fly by before you know it." He'd been at enough parties to know that that was a complete lie, but at that moment he'd do anything to wipe the despair off of Ezra's rapidly paling face. "Won't be long before the kids are asleep, anyway, and they won't be getting up to much mischief when they're out for the count. So relax. I reckon you've earned some time off from being dad."

Ezra blinked his big, watery eyes up at Crowley, and his bottom lip finally stopped trembling. "Oh, thank you," he whispered. "I've just been fretting so much about all this. It's terrifying, Anthony."

"Only as terrifying as you make it, angel. Now go, go on, put on a few pounds in my place, you deserve it!" With a final comforting pat on the back, Crowley urged Ezra through the front door and closed it with a snap. 

A long, low huff of breath whooshed from his lungs as he turned, leaning his back against the cool wood. Eyes trained on the ceiling, he sighed. Poor guy's got a lot on his shoulders.

Anathema was staring at him from the living room doorway when he looked back, her expression a picture of utter glee. "What?" snapped Crowley.

She giggled. "You called him angel! Oh, Anthony! How didn't I twig beforehand? You fancy him!" 

Crowley folded his arms. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Ana."

"You're blushing."

"I'm walking away now."

"You're a soppy git!"

"I will fire your ass, I swear to fucking-"

From somewhere in the living room, Warlock gasped, "Your uncle said a swear!"

~*~

The meal was a sumptuous affair. If anything good could be said about the collective Fells, it was that they were marvellous cooks, and Michaela in particular had an excellent eye for wine pairings. Ezra sat on Uriel's left, Sandy to his right, and together they laughed and joked as they feasted. Wine flowed like water, and his stomach was full, his head pleasantly buzzing, and he wondered whatever had he been so worried about?

Until Gabriel cleared his throat, suddenly business-like.

"I told Ezra about the lecturer's position opening," he told Sandy. 

"Ah." The youngest Fell brother, Sandalphon - Sandy for short - was chaplain at King’s; a short, balding man with garish gold fillings in his teeth and a tendency to speak with a slight sneer. He turned now to Ezra, looking expectant. "And?"

Ezra coughed, reaching for his wine. "I have no plans to alter my career at present, Sandy. I'm quite content where I am." 

The looks of pity they all gave him was enough to make his food sit heavy in his stomach, and no longer pleasantly at that.

"What a shame," Sandy sighed. "And you were doing so well for yourself."

"It was my choice, and my choice alone, to leave the teaching profession."

"And we were all very sad for you when you left," Uriel chipped in. She was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, deceptively sweet-looking, and at twenty-four years old, the youngest of them all. Beside her, Michaela, with her rigid pose and coif of short brown curls, steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned in slightly, listening but remaining silent. 

The ever-present familial frustration that simmered in Ezra's blood began heating. "I appreciate everybody's concern," he said, stiff and mechanical, "but I wish you would trust me a little more to make my life decisions by myself."

"Ezra, you graduated from school and started out as a gardener, for Heaven's sake," Sandy retorted. 

"And that profession led to my eventually being allowed to adopt Warlock, may his birth parents rest in peace. You of all people, Sandalphon, ought to have more respect." 

“Oy vey…” Sandy pressed a hand to his brow.

Uriel patted Ezra’s hand. "We just can't help but worry about you," she said, sickly sweet.

"Why?" he snapped. "Because I am not intent on following our parents into their overworked graves, the way you are all doing?" Angrily, he swiped his mouth with a napkin, dropped it to his plate, and pushed himself to standing. "Every time we come together I hope that something will have changed. Every time, I am disappointed. So pray excuse my rudeness, but I will take my leave now - I have family more deserving of my time waiting for me." 

He made for the door, stopped, strode back to the table and grabbed an unopened bottle of wine. "I'm taking this,” he told Gabriel. “I can happily suggest where to shove it if you object." 

He thought he saw Michaela smirk behind her hands, the rest seemingly stunned into silence. 

"Thank you for the meal, but as for the rest, thanks for nothing. Toodle-pip!"

[mischevious-pixie]

1:27 a.m.

Mark’s eyes sting as he rubs them for the ninth time in the last ten minutes, half-heartedly trying to make sense of the messy bits of Hangul and English scrawled across the stained pages of his notebook. Despite the exhausted slope of his broad shoulders and the light quivering of his thin, ink-marked fingers, he breathes evenly, a determined furrow in his brow as he concentrates. Through the irritating haze clouding his mind, he’s distinctly aware of the pleasant gurgle and drip drip drip of his salvation.

If someone asked him to spell the name of Jesus Christ right now, he would respond “C-o-f-f-e-e,” without hesitation.

Absentmindedly, he taps his foot against the front of the stove, adjusts his glasses further up his nose, and takes up his pen to tuck even messier notes into the margins of the paper. He tries not to question if he’ll be able to read this in the morning; that’s a problem for Future Mark.

The seconds tick past -which is mildly unsettling because there’s only a digital clock nearby, but he decides not to dwell on that either-, and not a moment too soon he hears the merciful chime of the coffee maker. Relief swells up in him.

His chair clangs against the stove in his haste to retrieve a mug from the cupboard. He cringes at the ruckus, but doesn’t bother checking the stainless steel appliance for a dent.  In a dorm with seven boys under the age of twenty, everything in this house is doomed (including Mark).

An attempt to pour coffee when he can barely feel his hands is bound to be messy, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when the liquid, brewed dark and bitter enough to kick his ass in gear before reality can flat out kick his ass, sloshes over the side of his mug.

Except, it is.

At first he doesn’t register bright red blooming across his still-shaky hand, or the oh, shit, hey, that hurts, until…

“Oh, shit! Hey- gah, ouch!” His hand whips back so hard that more coffee spills, and his fist crashes into the steel of the fridge, which is far too cold and hard for the delicate skin of his knuckles. Heat carves into his nerves, cleaves through each to set them alight with white-hot pain, effectively banishing his fatigue. Muddy tones discolor his arm in streaks, a simmering warmth much more bearable than that which scalded him, yet still unpleasant. “Fuck!” He whisper-yells, understanding that it’s 1:27 in the damn morning and his friends are going to kill him if they find him awake.

He pads quickly over to the sink, sock-clad feet a garish orange against the soothing pale tile, his heart pounding in his chest to the rhythm of his throbbing hand. He doesn’t wiggle around when the icy water douses his hand, and he most certainly doesn’t whimper at the uncomfortable frigidity of it.

Definitely not.

What is he even supposed to do for a burn? Bandaids? Ointment? He doubts the ‘kiss it better’ approach would work here.

“Why are you still up?”

Mark stills; his heart drops to his stomach as the undercurrent of sleepiness slurs Haechan’s already lisped words, his dulcet tone causing a tightness in Mark’s chest; he can’t tell if it’s fondness or stress. He turns, and his heart bungees right back up into his throat.

The light in the hallway flicks on, silhouettes Haechan and highlights his tanned skin. Even in the dimness, Mark can still make out his features. The slight boy’s eyes are still puffy with sleep, there’s some drool crusted on the corner of his pout, and half of his inky hair falls fairly across his stupidly pretty cheekbones, while the rest sticks out at odd angles. Combined with the sweet concern lacing his voice, it all makes him far, far cuter than he has any right to be.

Suddenly, the kiss-it-better approach doesn’t sound so bad, after all.

“...Mark?” The smaller boy repeats quietly.

“Huh? … Oh, oh yeah, uhm- I was just working on a, uh, thing,” is what he ends up responding, but only after he clamps down around the, “You’re really cute and I wanted to write about how much I love you because I literally cannot even with how cute you are, who gave you the right?” He knew exactly where that conversation would go- where it always does. As much as he can’t handle Haechan wearing only an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sleepy and sweet due to the early hour and his doting nature, he absolutely cannot deal with him when he’s filled with confidence. That pretty pout turned into a sly, knowing smile, those soft thighs pressed against him, the innocent facade in his doe eyes as his hands trace feather-light touches up and down Mark’s sides, completely aware of what he’s doing but still having the audacity to ask Mark why he’s breathing funny- God help him, Mark would burn alive if that Haechan made an appearance tonight.

This Haechan is almost as troublesome, though; especially when he’s dressed in Mark’s clothes.  

Wait, he’s what?

“Is that my shirt?” His voice is not as shaky as he expected, and he mentally pats himself on the back for it. Achievement unlocked: ‘Try Not To Seem Like a Panicked Gay’. Skill: ‘Don’t Cry Over Pretty Boys,’ partially mastered.

“Not anymore,” Haechan sniffs, fiddling with the bottom hem, before he gestures to Mark. “You hurt yourself…”

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing.” The taller boy curls into himself slightly, belying his words with a muffled wince as he hides his hand behind a dish towel.

Haechan snorts, rolling his eyes. “It’s the same shade your face turned when you first saw me naked,” he snarks. Mark splutters, choking on his own saliva and biting his tongue. The shorter boy slips closer, “Shh, you’re going to wake up the whole house at this rate. My God, Mark, you’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” He murmurs without thinking.

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

Haechan just hums, whirling swiftly through the kitchen to prepare an ice pack for him- only because Mark’s hurt, not because he’s trying to hide a sickeningly fond smile-, also grabbing some aloe gel. “Sit,” he commands, patting the stool. Mark complies without hesitation, plunks down, and inhales a stuttered breath.

The cool aloe mixed with the heat of Haechan’s hands is an interesting sensation to say the least, but the love of his life is kneading his hand in smoothe, calculated strokes, so he’s not about to complain.

His boyfriend is so beautiful it’s not fair. At this angle, he can count every tiny freckle dusted across his petite nose, sloped gently with the cutest button tip that Mark boops 24/7, and his eyes- God, Mark wants to curl up and die in their warmth. Haechan has schooled his expression to stay blank, unaffected, as he tends to Mark’s hand, but the latter can see it.

The tenderness in Haechan’s gaze as he gingerly massages the aloe into his lover’s pale skin has Mark’s heart so full in his chest that it hurts. Mark forgets himself, staring openly at the slight furrow in his angel’s brow, and he just wants to reach up and smoothe his finger over the little wrinkles. He wants to sweep back the silken black strands curling loosely over his forehead, maybe kiss it after. He wants to trace over the constellations on his skin, to press delicately against his squishy cheeks, and watch that button nose he adores so much scrunch at the sappiness of the motion.

So, he does, because he feels brave and stupid and very, very in love.

Haechan is so focused on his task, on making sure he doesn’t hurt Mark more, that he doesn’t see him move, doesn’t expect to be caressed so carefully- like he’d break if there was too much pressure. There’s a long, silent moment where neither of them move, Mark’s hand cradling the side of his face. Instead of shifting away like Mark expects him to, he leans further into the embrace.

To the surprise of them both, Mark doesn’t recoil, or choke, or spontaneously combust. Instead, his thumb maps over the rises and valleys, merrily dotes on the perfect imperfections that he knows by heart. Warmth and affection unfurl in the limited space between them, lazily filling the air with palpable emotion.

It’s Haechan who breaks away first, unable to withstand Mark looking at him like that- fuzzy and sleepy and like he knows Haechan would never hurt him.

“Do you know you look like a lovesick puppy right now?” he mumbles, unable to summon any of the intended bite to his words.

Mark blinks slowly. “Yeah.”

Luckily, in the morning Mark won’t remember Haechan staring dumbly at him, his mouth open in a silent squeal. Apparently, the latter’s cheekiness prefers to sleep at ass-o-clock in the morning, abandoning him to Mark’s cuteness. The injured boy yawns like a baby lion, his tongue curling out nose scrunching, ending the moment. Suddenly, he’s all bleary eyes and lolling head. The raven-haired boy coos, and he presses a mushy kiss to his wrist, complete with a sloppy “Mwah!”

A cheery grin dimples his cheeks, as bright as a sunrise in the dusky room. He pats the icepack on Mark’s hand, directs the man’s opposite to clutch it tightly, and pulls him up, his hands anchored underneath the lanky boy’s shoulders. With some effort, and a face red from exertion, they are both standing- rather, one standing and one wobbling precariously. He sidles up under Mark’s arm, steadying him.

He’s not at all distracted by the lean muscle he can feel shifting with every step, or the defined bicep literally right next to his head, hot damn, okay he really needs to breathe. Dying tonight is not the plan. But, then again, neither was waking up in the middle of the night to the pained screech of a sleep-drunk imbecile, i.e. his boyfriend.

And yet, he finds himself under a wet blanket of a man, half-guiding, half-dragging his sleep-deprived, yet nicely toned, ass to bed. If he hits a few doorways and countertops on the way, no one has to know. (Spoiler alert: he doesn’t knock Mark into any hard surfaces, because he could never harm the fluff ball, as much as he threatens to some days.)

It’s not easy, and it takes them minutes instead of seconds to amble through the halls and into Mark’s room. The oaf belly flops unceremoniously onto his bed.

Haechan deems it a six out of ten, since his leg swung a bit wide while still airborne.

The wet noodle wriggles across the shark patterned comforter (they’re adults, they swear- well, for the most part, anyways), and the younger wants nothing more than to plop down right next to him. But, there’s that stupid nagging voice in the back of his head.

The coffee has to be cleaned, or it will stain and Taeyong will see it. He shudders at the thought, remembering the time he got ketchup and glitter stuck in the carpet.

“Where are you going?” Mark slurs, and the underlying whine in his tone tugs at his heart strings; it’s almost enough to keep him there, Taeyong be damned. He pauses at the door.

“I’ll be right back.”

Once he reaches the kitchen, the bed seems even more tempting. This place is a wreck.

After being ignored for so long, the dark liquid has pooled around a familiar red booklet, and trickled down the white cabinets.

The slight human rushes for any towel he can reach; the paper variety ends up strewn haphazardly about his feet to sop up the mess, while he desperately wipes away the muddy hue from the pages. A chorus of “No, no, no, no, no’s” fill the empty room. The paper eventually lightens after an onslaught of furious wipes and cautious dabs, but the scribbles are still barely legible.

Leaning closer, he squints, wondering if it’s just Mark’s crappy handwriting, or the effects of the coffee. Taken aback, he chokes on air once he’s able to discern the squiggles. His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and a llama is murdered somewhere in the room. Oh, wait, no- that’s just him dying.

Painfully.

Haechan clutches his chest, taking deep breaths because his heart is palpitating frantically and he’s pretty sure there’s not supposed to be a stabbing sensation in his ribs.

Is this what a heart attack feels like? No, he won’t go out like this, he outright refuses. This will not be how the great Haechan Lee bites it.

“Mark you disgusting, sappy, vomit-inducing piece of shit,” he sobs quietly, reading the lyrics again to make sure he’s not imagining things.

“‘I saw an angel when I first saw you, you shone like an angel from heaven, I got curious. Who do you resemble to be that beautiful? I’ll be your morning star, and you are my angel’- bitch, who in the fuck!” he weeps, rereading the lines as his vision blurs.The butterflies in his stomach are stomped to shreds by the angry kangaroos now inhabiting his gut. Mark’s out to kill him, he’s sure of it. Love is a conspiracy and Mark is an assassin plotting to rip out his damn heart.

“Mission accomplished, you rat bastard,” he spits venomously, wiping a fake tear. Yeah, it’s totally fake. Mhm.

He stares at the pages a little longer, the towels beneath his feet completely soaked, and the mess mostly clean. Shaking his head to rid himself of the daze, and any stray tears collected on his lashes, he tidies up the sloppy area, tired and sappy and really wanting to hug his boyfriend. Once everything is taken care of, he carefully grips the book, and checks the time.

If he didn’t cry before (he did), he’s about to. If he didn’t curse his boyfriend’s name before (he did), he is seriously considering it. He huffs on his way back to his boyfriend, “That asshole workaholic, how dare he make cutesy shit at two in the morning!”

As he places the damp journal on his nightstand, he notices the ice-pack laying on the carpet. He kicks it under Mark’s bed. Warily, he regards the lump snoring softly on the bed: his mouth is ajar, and drool collects on his grey pillow while he hugs the sheets to his chest.

Gross.

Despite himself, fondness flourishes in his chest. Mark has been neglecting himself in order to work for as long as Haechan can remember. The cinnamon-haired dork needs this, deserves this.

The oceanic comforter- which he’s pretty sure Mark bought from the kid’s section- is soft under his knees, the fabric wrapping him up in a little hug, and he sighs. He loves Mark’s bed almost more than he loves Mark.

The latter is knocked out, not responding at all to the foreign presence in his bed as Haechan lifts his arm and snuggles up to his side, wriggling until Mark’s leg is tangled between his- holy shit he’s got great calves too, when did this happen?- and his arm is tossed over the smaller’s chest.

“Love you,” he murmurs into the sleeping boy’s shoulder, placing a light peck there.

To his surprise, Mark rolls over, collapses on his chest and slides his hands under Haechan’s back to hug his waist. His lean weight presses against the younger’s tummy and his head rests directly over his unsteadily thumping heart.

Then, Mark smiles. It’s sleepy and soft and sweet, and Haechan can’t bring himself to push him off, despite not being able to breathe. “Love you, too, Angel,” Mark murmurs, and places an affectionate kiss on his chest, the warmth of his breath piercing Haechan’s skin to spread through his body, cozy heat thrumming all the way down to his toes. Those soft-spoken words seep from the air straight into his chest, curling protectively around the beating organ.

Is it beating? Haechan doesn’t think so.

He can’t breathe, but it’s in the best way possible. This shouldn’t be comfortable, and honestly it really isn’t, but he wouldn’t move for the world because Mark’s snoring again, just as quietly as before, his breath even and a peaceful look on his face.

Haechan winds his own arms around his boyfriend, contentedness in his heart and exhaustion in his bones, and tells the part of his brain saying he’s uncomfortable to shut the fuck up because dammit he’s going to sleep like this if it kills him. (Spoiler alert: he lives, but there’s an ache in his spine uncomfortable enough that Mark makes chocolate chip pancakes out of guilt. All in all, Haechan considers it a win.)

[theoddcatlady]

The Devil’s Wives, Part Two

Part One

“So, according to her mother, you were alerted first to Bridget’s pregnancy?”

I had gone into the staff room for coffee and Principal Dudley cornered me in here with a blank face. Being ‘let go’ was looking quite likely at the moment. I was careful to keep my voice level. “Not in the office, I was off hours,” I responded. My only defense.

“Good. I’ll use that as your excuse not to get you in trouble.” Dudley poured himself a cup of the coffee before dumping enough sugar in the cup to turn it into a syrup. He took a sip and seemed content with the sugary mixture. “… Off the record, I would’ve done the same.”

I sighed with relief. “Thank you, sir.” He might’ve been a stickler for the rules, but at least Dudley wasn’t an ass like so many of the other bureaucrats that thought they knew how the education system for teenagers was supposed to work.

That was the end of that. I tried to do more Facebook stalking but Bridget’s posts had come to a sudden halt. Couldn’t figure out if the father had been located but I didn’t want to know. Perhaps the fact that Bridget didn’t remember a thing was for the best. Can’t find someone you didn’t know the face of was the impossible task. And what sort of dick head college boy would step up as the father?

It was a quiet month. The most shattering thing was a boy coming in with a ‘twisted’ ankle where I immediately sent him to a more complete doctor’s office as I knew a broken ankle when I saw it. He’d tripped during dodgeball and snap. Kid didn’t even know how bad it was.

 Bridget’s and Alice’s pregnancies drifted to the back of my brain when gossip in the staff room caught my attention.

 “So Jacklyn is pregnant.”

 That sentence nearly made me drop my #1 Nurse Mug. Thankfully the gossipers, Miss Foster who was the art teacher and Ms. Kline who taught Biology for the freshman, didn’t seem to notice.

 Ms. Kline leaned in a bit and started counting off on her fingers while she talked. “That makes… letsee, Alice, Brooke, Carmela, Kelsey...”

 “Don’t forget Bridget, her parents pulled her out!” Miss Foster reminded.

 Ms. Kline nodded. “Right, right. Think that’s it. So far. I haven’t seen this many knocked up teenage girls since I worked at Brickstone. And they had three times over the students we have right now.”

 Miss Foster tutted her tongue and shook her head. “Like I told you! We need to push a new sex ed program, otherwise every girl in school is going to be shopping for maternity prom dresses!”

 I left the room as discreetly as I could. I needed to use the restroom. And I didn’t want to hear the mindless gossip of the other teachers anymore.

 However, when I got to the girl’s bathroom, I ran right from the pan to the fire.

 “Oh! Nurse Bradley!”

 Girls went to the bathroom together. It was a trained instinct, partially for protection and partially for socialization.

 However, the entire cheerleading squad plus the mathematics club all in one bathroom? It wasn’t the most likely match up.

 Georgia, the vice president of the Mathematics Club, pushed up her glasses and bounced from foot to foot nervously. “I, uh, this bathroom’s sorta… full right now.”

 “I can see,” I replied. The two working stalls were occupied, the remaining one with an orange ‘out of order’ sign taped to the door.

 Helena placed a hand on her hip, her flashy yellow and maroon cheerleading uniform looking garish under the harsh light of the bathroom. “Listen, we’re kinda in the middle of something in here, so if you could, like, ya know, go…”

 Both bathroom doors opened at the same time.

 Veronica, the captain of the cheerleading squad and Lori, the president of the mathematics club walked out.

 Both had a pregnancy test.

 And both were positive.

 Lori was shaking her head, trapped in denial. “This can’t be happening. I use protection! I’m on the pill!” The tears started coming then.

 Veronica ran to the sink and vomited. The girls split into two groups to surround the new ‘mothers’, typically separate cliques now intermingling as they comforted their fellow students. Veronica looked up at me before a deep breath and dragging a hand down her face. “Nurse Bradley we’d… like a few minutes. Please. I’ll come talk to you after we’re done here, I swear.”

 Nodding, I left and used the bathroom down the hall.

 Veronica came in after the next class, after I’d already given out the remainder of my pregnancy tests. Each girl insisted they couldn’t be pregnant but ‘wanted to be sure’. I didn’t hear back from any of them. I don’t know if I wanted to.

 Without a word she dumped an armful of pregnancy tests on my table. “I think you’re going to need these,” She said.

 Surprised, I picked up one of the boxes. “When did you get these?” I asked.

 “I’m going home for the day, I already called my mom and dad. But I decided to give you a hand and help you restock your stores,” Veronica explained. She seemed calm. A little red eyed from crying, but calm.

 I started placing them in the drawer. “Thanks. Really. I… don’t know what to say. What are you-”

 “I’m gonna keep her.” Veronica crossed her arms over her belly, bringing back to mind Alice when she’d told me the same thing. “I want a family. I didn’t want one so soon, but if this is what fate throws my way, I can take it. I mean I wasn’t into cheerleading that much anyway.”

 It was shocking how calm she was about this. But all I could respond with was, “What makes you think it’s a girl?”

 Veronica blinked before she wrinkled her nose. “Huh, I didn’t even realize I said her. Oh well, I’ll trust my instinct. Sides,” She smiled and hugged her stomach. “A lil ‘V Two’ wouldn’t be so bad. I’d like your help though… can you help me find all the other girls who are keeping their babies? I wanna set up a support network.”

 And that is what she did. It was needed. Within a week there were fifteen confirmed pregnancies in this school. Fifteen.

 I’d worked at that school for seven years and in all my years I’d seen a maximum of three teenage pregnancies. Faulty birth control was a common suspect for this epidemic, tied in with poor education and just plain dumb luck. Something in the water, perhaps.

 But I was honestly thankful as hell that there was a natural leader like Veronica.

 Veronica was always a leader personality. Head cheerleader. Prom Queen material. Was in the debate club her sophomore year and was known for being outspoken but empowering. And with a bunch of half panicked girls wondering what the hell to do next? That was appreciated.

 The girls all met in my living room for the first meeting. All different ages, backgrounds, and social statuses. Even Alice had shown up, and she was the farthest along. She’d switched out her boots with something more comfortable for swollen feet, but she and Veronica sat side by side.

 I just provided tea and snacks as they talked about their situation and offered support for each other. I’d never seen so much female love and companionship in a single room. I enjoyed being a part of it.

 The insanity didn’t go away though. It had only begun. Veronica hadn’t provided enough birth control tests. Hourly I’d have girls coming in. Even ones that weren’t sexually active. It was like a virus. If you had a functioning uterus there was a shot you’d be pregnant.

 There even was a school assembly about it, with Principal Dudley advising students to be ‘safe’ and that the therapist and nurse (thanks, Dudley) were there for advice and comfort. Nothing changed. Girls would turn up pregnant, and Veronica would welcome them under her wing.

 It got to the point where I started to get concerned. So many girls were now keeping their babies because that was what Veronica was doing. I ended up pulling Veronica aside.

 “So… you are telling these girls if they intend on aborting, it needs to be done real soon?” I asked.

 Veronica nodded. Hardly bothered. “Of course! Most of us are planning on working together though. Even if they aren’t sure how they’re pregnant, we have this whole plan about being a family group. We can stick together and no one has to get hurt.”

 Oh boy. I sighed and shook my head. “Is… anyone going to give up their babies? Or have an abortion?”

 “I’m not brainwashing them or anything, Miss Bradley.” Veronica frowned. “And yes, someone is aborting. Lori. She’s decided her education takes priority and after talking with her boyfriend they’re going in tomorrow. We’re all on her side, I even offered to drive.” She crossed her arms and I saw that brief challenge in her eyes. “Is it that bad to want to raise your own child?”

 I was out of luck here. I shook my head. “It’s your choice, Veronica. I just want you to know it’s a serious one.”

 Veronica opened her mouth to respond but the bell ringing cut her off, and with a muttered excuse she took off.

 Being brushed off the way I was was honestly alarming. Babies weren’t new toys. But at this point it was going to be near impossible to convince Veronica otherwise.

 It would have to wait though. I wanted to see Lori before she left.

 Lori was at her car when I caught up.

 “Hey, Lori! So… you’re going to the clinic tomorrow?” What a way to start the conversation.

 Lori nodded, shutting the car door. “Yeah. In the morning. I won’t be at school for a bit, just a heads up, but I think it’s the best choice for me. I’m just worried about the school work I might miss out on.”

 “I’m sure your friends will take notes.” I opened my arms. “Hug?”

 “… Hug.”

 I hugged Lori tightly before she got into her car and drove off.

 The next day started off as normal. Sophomore boy came in with a headache. Principal Dudley came by and asked how my supplies were doing. I didn’t mention that my budget had been practically blown on pregnancy tests and I was now reaching into my paycheck.

 It was around one thirty PM when the girls came in with another possibly pregnant girl when men in suits burst into my office.

 I gasped and got to my feet. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

 One of the men looked over Veronica, her small frame already starting to show. “Are you one of the pregnant girls?”

 Veronica nodded. “Yeah, we all are.”

 “You need to come with us.”

 It’s needless to say I lost my shit when one of the men roughly grabbed her arm. “Excuse me! She is a student-”

 “Ma’am, we’re going to need a list of all the pregnant students currently enrolled here.” The one in charge nudged up his thick rimmed glasses. “This is not a request.”

 I balled up my fists before standing up straight. “I’m sorry, but I don’t keep track of every pregnant student. That information is between them and their doctors,” I responded. I might know most of them by name. But like hell I was going to tell a strange man this.

 The man’s face went cold. He turned to one of the other suited men.

 “Have the principal call every female student and young female staff into the gymnasium. Miss Bradley, you’re going to need to come with us. Cooperate or we’ll have you arrested for obstructing a government investigation.”

 In a single file line, we were marched to the gymnasium. The bleachers were pulled out and girls started flooding in. Whispers filled the air and Veronica was biting her nails. “Miss Bradley, what is going on?” She whispered.

 I had no response, all I could do was shrug and say, “I don’t know. I am going to find out though.” I started digging through my purse and my fingers had just closed around my phone when my purse was roughly snatched away from me.

 The leader of the suited men glared icily at me. “Until we are done here you are not to make any phone calls or tell anyone what we are doing here. Principal Dudley promised your cooperation.”

 Fucking coward was nowhere to be seen, of course.

 I stared back at him. “And what exactly are we cooperating with, sir?”

 “The wishes of the US government. Here.”

 A pregnancy test was shoved into my hands.

 “Go to the bathroom and take this test. There will be another agent in the bathroom waiting for you to come back. Once it’s done, you may return here.”

 I sputtered angrily and shoved the test back in disgust. “Excuse me?! No disrespect, sir, but I haven’t had sex in almost three years-”

 “I wasn’t asking you to do it.” The test was put more firmly back into my grip. “I’m telling you.”

 There is absolutely no proof that I flipped my middle finger at this ‘agent’, but I’m sure no court would convict me.

 Of course the test came back negative and the agent in the bathroom (male agent at that) ‘requested’ that I return to my office. I didn’t tell him I was going back there.

 But I didn’t tell him I wasn’t either.

 I was staying with the girls and like hell anyone was going to make me leave.

 In groups of five, girls were marched to the bathroom. The ones that came back were sitting in a circle in the middle of the room. I made myself comfortable among them.

 Alice was sitting next to me, and I noticed she was in handcuffs. “Please tell me they didn’t put those on you,” I said.

 “What do you think?” Alice yanked at them with a scowl. “I wouldn’t take the pregnancy test. They handcuffed me and marched me into the bathroom. Would’ve made me actually pee if they could. What is happening, Dawn?”

 Second time I’d been asked this question and I still had no answer. I sighed and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s going to be okay Alice. I promise.” I tried not to look at girls walking back into the room, pale and scared. Some were in handcuffs. And there was no sign of any of the officials taking them off.

 Soon there was around fifty girls, ranging from freshman to seniors, all in this group. The leader had a whispered conversation with the other men before he came up to me.

 “You are excused.”

 I narrowed my eyes and my arms crossed. “What is going to happen to these girls? Who even are you?”

 “I’m afraid that’s not something I can tell you.”

 I’m blaming exhaustion and the lack of answers for my immediate reaction, which was to punch him in the face.

 He went down, probably more from shock, and I was tackled to the floor by two different men.

 The teenage girls who up until that moment were just sitting and crying were moved into action.

 “HEY!”

“FUCK YOU!”

 “LEAVE HER ALONE!”

 “THAT IS OUR NURSE!”

 Have you ever seen a group of pregnant teenage girls start a revolt? It’s not a pretty sight. Girls started pitching their text books and backpacks at the suited men around the room, cussing and screaming. I swear I saw Veronica bite one of them on the arm.

 I was finally let up as many more girls got slapped in handcuffs. I looked over at the man in charge and felt a sharp smugness when I saw where I’d punched him was already starting to bruise. “I go with them. Or they will act like that the whole damn time, I swear to god,” I threatened, my sides aching and bruised.

 He nodded coldly.

 “I suppose that’s what we’ll have to agree on.”

 We were loaded up on buses and taken to a nearby military base.

 And I had a million papers pushed in my face. All of them said the same thing. I wasn’t going to report what happened here, this was top secret… yadda yadda yadda.

 “And… sign here. And we are done.”

 The man sat back at his desk, his finger interlaced.

 “My name is Dr. McCray. Lori Wilder is dead.”

 I felt like I got punched in the stomach. “What? How?”

 Dr. McCray pulled out a report from his desk as if he had to remind himself what happened. Like Lori was just a blip on the radar. “She went in for the abortion this morning. It was standard, until the procedure actually began. She woke up despite being under heavy anesthetics and began to scream. Without cause she bled from her nose and ears while severely internally hemorrhaging. The procedure was halted and she was rushed to the hospital where she became catatonic and shortly afterward passed away.”

 I blinked, hard. No. Not time to cry. I shook my head. “What does this have to do with the other girls?”

 “You don’t think it’s strange that forty eight female students in a school of only five hundred are pregnant?”

 Had to admit, he was the first one to call it strange out loud. I nodded. “I mean… yes? But why do you care?”

 “The fetus wasn’t human.”

 I laughed. I actually laughed. Just a nervous, high pitched laughter that died when Mr. McCray glowered again. “Wait… what?”

 “To be accurate, half of it likely was human. But once the autopsy was conducted, the fetus was… nothing like we’d ever seen before.” Dr. McCray let the first emotion cross his face- fear and worry. “I know it’s harsh to detain dozens of young women who just want to enjoy their adolescence. But if you’d like to offer your presence, I can already see the girls are quite loyal to you.”

 Live in a military base. Nothing but gray walls and pregnant girls who god knows what fathered their babies or go back to the school. I should’ve booked it.

 Instead I said, “Give me a bed and I’ll make myself comfortable. These girls need me.”

Part Three