#but all the healthcare workers kept looking at me like i was about to drop

[ainawgsd]

Nurse: *checks blood pressure. Checks BP again* I'm going to go get someone to double check me *leaves room*

Me: well that can't be good

[tteokdoroki]

assistance please! | e.kirishima.

♡ pairing: eijirou kirishima x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 6.6K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: workplace!au, internship!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: eijirou kirishima loved being an intern, he had great co-workers, had a shot at his dream job, his boss had taken quite liking to him and of course, being the favourite intern had many, many perks.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut,  ( kirishima is in his twenties ), power dynamics, sub top!kirishima + power bottom!reader,   heavy!praise kink, heavy!miss + mommy kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), oral ( female receiving ), squirting, tummy bulges, cumplay, creampie.

♡ author’s note(s): hihi everyone!! today i present to you my contribution to the bnharem on the job collab! i had a lot of fun playing with different dyanimics in this fic, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! make sure you chek out the other works from the other amazing creators!! <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“oi! ‘shima! you’re needed in the boss’ office right away, she’s got important business for ya!, wants t’have a word. now.”

eijirou ducks his head politely in a sign of gratitude, thanking his co-worker and superior, keigo— for the heads up. keigo, or better known as hawks around the office ( for his fast speeds in completing work and luring lonely interns into his bed ), was a nice guy— second to the lady in charge and way too chatty. he was a bit of an air head, got the job done when it needed to be but that’s what kirishima was for, the replacement while keigo took his vacation time in the middle of the year like an idiot.

he wasn’t too sure why you kept the blonde around, he supposed it was because he was pretty but eijirou wouldn’t dare question you— he needed this internship if he was going to make it big in the sports news reporting scene. he’d been majoring in sports and healthcare at college, two years away from graduating when the opportunity to work for yn ln, one of the biggest sports journalists in japan had landed right in his lap. of course he was going to take it, of course he was going to do everything he could not to fuck it up.

in the cubicles beside him, the other interns try to muffle their giggles and titters of curious laughter as the red head gathers himself for the meeting.

“oooo, i wonder what you did this time,” kaminari teases from the right, leaning over his side of the cubicle to fiddle with the odd bits on kirishima’s desk. denki kaminari was another person kirishima wondered how the hell he got into the programme, but then again he was pretty to look at and brought a lighter air to boring office days.

“nothing! i’m innocent!” eijirou defends, hands releasing his files to fly up in defence.

the other interns, going by the names of mina ashido, kyouka jirou and hanta sero snicker amongst themselves at the interaction.

“don’t believe it, s’obviously more than nothin’ if you’re always getting called down’ta the boss lady’s office.” bakugou, another intern, grunts out with his nose deep buried in files for upcoming reports. he was a little too rough for the journalism lifestyle but got the job done. his attitude wasn’t for everyone. “they’re probably fuckin’.”

mina giggles and kirishima steps out into the paths between desks. “don’t be such a sourpuss ‘suki, just ‘cause you’re not her favourite.”

a lose ‘shut up’ is huffed, before katsuki turns to face his taller, buffer companion. “just don’t be late, bunch of us are goin’ for lunch later.” he adds and turns back to his paperwork.

“affirmative, catch ya later!”

the group waves the red head off as he heads to the elevator directing him to the main floor— this is where all the higher ups worked. the journey wasn’t unfamiliar to the intern, he wasn’t like the others and had the steps to your office memorised by heart. sometimes it was like walking home, to his comfort and sanctuary away from the stressors of work and the outside world— he knew that was bad, but you were so kind, such a sweet and understanding boss he couldn’t help but develop some level of comfort towards you.

to most, it seemed like eijirou kirishima was just unbelievably close to his boss, that you’d taken him under your wing.

he however, knew what you had, meant more.

a fluttering warmth spreads across the intern’s chest as he approaches the door to your main office and he knocks. behind it lay mountains of secrets upon secrets, things that kirishima knows about you that no one else does. the walls have hidden words, written across them in fonts of passion and admiration and it’s all that he can think about. you’re all that he can think about, and it’s still wrong. there’s a shuffling deep in the room and some flitters of paper here and there before your soft, velveteen voice breaks through the barrier between you. the one thing keeping you apart.

“come in,” you call smoothly and kirishima follows your orders swiftly, if not eagerly, entering the four walls of your office. ruby eyes dart across the room to locate your position and his heart skips a beat when he finds you, body leaning over your dark oak desk, papers scattered across it while you frantically sift through numbers and stocks and nonsense way above the level of a journalism intern. but even amongst the chaos, you’re beautiful— eyes sparkling with productivity, lined in little flecks across the colour of your orbs. the way you dress never fails to steal away eijirou’s breath— a tight fitting leather skirt that hugs your mature curves and a white blouse with the bottoms popped open— just enough for him to get a peek at your cleavage.

the poor intern has to hold himself back from blurring the lines of work and pleasure to shove himself deep into your chest, suck and lick at your plush breasts until he was high off the taste of your skin. but he wouldn’t do that, yet. not without your permission. “oh eiji baby, there you are!” you coo to the red head, bright smile stretching across blood diamond painted lips. you cross the room in three short strides, tall black heels clacking against the smooth white marble until you’re standing in front of and looking up at kirishima. “was starting to think keigo had ditzed like a pretty boy and had forgotten to send you my way, darling.”

eijirou’s cheeks flame at the smoothness in your syrupy voice, like sweet honey to his hears, the pet name striking a familiar heat deep within him. you always had a way with your words— enticing, almost like a siren calling out to him despite the taboo aura that surrounded what you had. whatever it was— he just knew it was more than your typical boss-intern relationship.

“even if he had, ‘m more than happy to be of service to you ma’am,” he responds almost a little too quickly, large hand rubbing the back of his neck and tugging at his baby hairs to ground himself.

you cock your head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “always such a helpful, good boy eijirou,” you hum, lips pulling into a devilish red smile and the praise causing a new spark of lustful electricity to crackle through the air. “i could use a little assistance, please, i have this awful meeting with the board today, spent all night preparing and couldn’t go home, i could use some stress relief,”

kirishima’s gaze becomes hooded as he looks down at you, a familiar and bright desire burning in the pits of his stomach. “oh yeah? sucks that the paperwork kept you up all night ma’am…” he trails off, choosing to let his fingers dance up and down your sides— snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him. you couldn’t or you wouldn’t go home. he’s not sure if he cares about the answer right now— not when you tremble in his grip, itching for something, anything from him. “how long do you reckon we have ms. ln?”

“ten to fifteen minutes sweetheart, give or take,”

you grin widens, taking an impossibly closer step to your intern— pressing the swell of your breasts against his hard chest. he can feel your nipples pebbling through your blouse, almost visible behind the white fabric and god the way you look up at him— he can no longer wait, he needs you. right here and right now.

“will you be needing my assistance throughout, ma’am?” kirishima asks, voice dropping a few octaves until it falls into a low growl.

“i expect it. you are my intern after all.”

the words laced with deep huskiness, the proximity of your bodies and the rising heat in the room is what leads you both to tumble into the next series of events. before he can’t register it, your mouths are slotted together in a fast paced and sloppy kiss, kirishima’s body manoeuvres you around the office, marking out a familiar pathway to your desk—his tongue remains sliding over yours in rapid movements as he commits your taste to memory, refreshing those from the last time he had you like this. yet every time you kiss and his tongue glides over yours, you taste sweeter than before; like peaches and morning coffee— you feel softer in his grip, every dip and curve to your body like it was built for him.

eijirou can't stop thinking of that last time, tucked away in your office after dark when your dainty hands pawed desperately at his hips to bring him closer or scratched at his back from sheer pleasure— kirishima wants to see you like that against, using his own hands to tear through your shirt and send buttons flying across the room. something in him just wants to do good for you, have you ache for him and earn himself some of your sweet praise. even as you step and stumble towards your work desk, the red-head lets his lips break away from yours, connected by a string of your own saliva before he drops to your neck, lapping tracks over your skin with the temptation to bite down and paint it shades of deep purple and blue.

but there are rules that you both have in place; ways to keep what you have a secret and hidden away from the public eye so that you don’t lose all that you’ve worked for and so kirishima can keep being your precious little intern.

“jump for me, please ma’am,” he whispers heavily into the junction between your neck and your shoulders, breath laboured and warm against your skin that begins to shine with light perspiration. mindlessly, you follow his orders, jumping up while your fingers curl into the mass of red on kirishima’s head and ankles lock around his waist—his hands meet the backs of your doughy thighs, squeezing the flesh between calloused digits while you toe off your heels.

“eiji, you’re so good,” you manage between feather light breaths as they clatter to the floor as the pair of you somehow make your way to the desk chair, pushing and tearing the clothes from one another’s bodies— including your crisp shirt. now seated and left in nothing but your bra, you tug harshly at your intern’s locks and bring his mouth down to yours, allowing them to move together in a dirty, messy kiss. there’s barely any time for you both to mess around, for him to tease you until your limit and you’re crying out for any type of touch from him, so eijirou quickly

flips down your bra, exposing your chest to cool, air conditioned air—not even bothering to unclip the material as his fingers descend on your nipple, pulling and twisting them until your back arches from the stimulation. “hurry, please eijirou,”

obedient as ever, your favourite boy drops to his knees in front of the chair you stay slumped in and with his height, he still manages to tower over you, practically at eye level with hunger framing the ruby of his own. large hands knead at your plush thighs, hiking your skirt up and up to give you room to spread your thighs, cunt growing sticky from anticipation— all from a few measly touches in familiar places. but this is kirishima, and he knows how your body works from countless hours spent after the office closes up— using one another to blow off extra steam. he knows just what makes you tick and moan his name.

logically, eijirou knows that your meeting could start at any minute and even though you’re both in a stickler for time, he still wants to get a taste at your skin before devouring your most intimate parts. he’ll make time to explore every part of you, to assist you in your stress relief. “‘m sorry miss, yn,” he whines needily, watching your chest rise and fall with want, feeling your body heat up and twitch from the ghost of his fingertips across your blemished skin. “gotta have a taste of you before the real deal, hope’ya don’t mind…”

latching onto the left mound of flesh at your exposed chest, kirishima sinks the point of his teeth into the area around your nipple— just enough to graze your skin and pull a sweet mewl from your mouth. you’re both lucky for the soundproof walls, your head thrown back in a lewd moan he lets his pink tongue roll over your bud in vicious circles. heavy, fat globs of saliva pool over the pink muscle, pouring down kirishima’s chin and painting your skin with a slick shine. “h-how...how could i mind angel, not when you treat me s’good,” you heave, vision fading in and out due to the overwhelming amount of pleasure flashing through your body in waves of hotness. “always doin’ so well for me eiji, aren’t you such a good boy?”

“yes ma’am,” the intern confirms with a erogenous slur, pacified and content on his knees for you— sucking, licking and biting at your chest to his heart’s content. “‘m your good boy,” he corrects you, however. eijirou feels most happy when grazing his tongue over the swell of your breasts, watching your face carefully for any twitches of delirium, it lets him know how hot aroused he makes you feel— that knowledge shoots straight to his cock, rock hard in his slacks while the redhead watches his boss writhe in her seat all for his eyes only.

such a dazzling view, and it’s all for fucking him.

your perfectly manicured nails run through red hair, scratching deliciously at his scalp until you’re forcing his head back and pulling kirishima off of your breast with a pop. “as much as i love seeing a pretty boy suck on my tits like a baby, we’re pressed for time angel, gonna need you to speed it up a little,” despite the softness to your face and the sudden evenness to the tone of your voice, the words that you speak to eijirou are vulgar, nasty, and turn him on to his wits end. “want you to eat me out eiji, can you do that for me?”

shaking his head, yes, beautiful claret eyes shining with acquiescence, kirishima wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand— like the tainted, dirty intern he is. you sigh down at him salaciously, ready to tear his innocence apart all over again. eijirou was always so willing to please, both in his work and behind closed doors— you would be a fool to not take advantage of that. with brute force, your intern forces your legs apart, eyes rolling back in his skull from the scent of your sex, dripping with your juices right through your underwear and stockings. overexcited, he rips through the flimsy material at your cunt, exposing your panties for him to see.

“you’re so...so wet ms.ln,” kirishima comments observantly, not even bothering to pull your stockings the rest of the way down your legs, instead opting to pull on the whole until it’s wide enough for his mouth to fit. “smell s’good, bet you taste even better,” there’s a patch on the crotch of your panties, darker than the rest of the material from where you leak and without a second thought, the red head instantly surges forward to lick a stripe over it, letting out a choked gripe as the taste of your cream from over the fabric invades his tongue.

you let out a shrill cry, hips jumping up at the first brush of his tongue against your untouched, clothed pussy. you wriggle even as kirishima holds you down, needing the heat of his mouth against you before your meeting starts. but he’s so good, so well trained, reaching up to your hips to yank your panties down in one fluid motion. leaning forward, kirishima savagely buries his face between your doughy thighs, hiking them over his shoulders from beneath the desk. his nose bumps against your clit, swollen from the lack of touch as he greedily inhales your scent once more— without warning, the intern kicks a stripe up the length of your pussy, sucking your juices into his mouth and smiling against your heat.

“d-don’t tease baby, be good for me,” you remind kirishima, your body trembles with anticipation, craving an orgasm to expel the stress of your work days out. the boy between your legs only hums, the sound running straight though cunt and vibrating against it, causing you to gush and spill your arousal out onto the leather seat beneath your cheeks. eijirou feasts on the slick that seeps from your fluttering hole, gliding his tongue up and down your sex, allowing the occasional pressure from his nose to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

the pads of his thighs burn marks into your legs, using them as leverage to pull your heated core further into his mouth, “can’t help it ma’am, y’got such a pretty pussy...s’only right that i worship you…” eijirou breaths right against your puffy folds, eyes trained on the way your hole clenches around nothing. a primal urge flares in his chest, a desire— no, a need— to see you filled with something, any part of him that can make you see stars and fuck you dumb. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry you jus look s’fucking pretty miss…”

attaching his lips to your clit, the redhead pushes the spit gathered on his tongue right over your sloppy sit, hazy ruby stare watching as his saliva mixes with your juices and slides over your empty hole. he follows the oozing trail with his tongue, lapping it up and spewing it back into your sex until the pink muscle slips past your entrance— slipping inside of you with no prior warnings. your knuckles that grasp the arms of the chair as you’re spoiled between your legs by your top intern, his hands snaking their way around the tops of your thighs to spread your sticky pussy lips apart in order to bring more of you to the cool air of the office.

“you like this don’cha? dirty little boy,” you tease the poor boy, watching as his cheeks flame with embarrassment. “being a naughty little intern between your boss’ thighs all to keep on pleasing  her, keep your position at her company, huh? fuck eiji, you just love miss riding your naughty tongue—ohmygod—“

the way you sound, voice smooth like chocolate over the obscene slurping that fills the thats air heavy with the scent of sex and, makes eijirou’s cock jump up, precum oozing from his tip as he begins to rut against the hard floor beneath your desk. he makes an attempt to respond, but your thighs lock his head in place and his words come out muffled against your core. “mph, luh it, you’re s’sexy, please ma’am—“ he mumbles sordidly against you, practically humping the ground at your feet as you pick on him.

for a brief moment, kirishima pulls away to watch you roll your hips into nothing, hot tears beginning to brew into our hooded eyes from the satisfaction he brings you with every flick and flit of his tongue against where you need him most. written in your eyes is the command to keep going, your hands twistingly sharply in red roots to bring the intern back to your sluice, spasming cunt. so he does as he’s told, shoving his tongue deep inside your ribbed, iron hot walls and dragging tip along them to collect and taste strings of your viscous juices.

biting your lip, you do your best to hold back a voracious howl, bucking your hips feverishly into your intern’s face and staining his cheeks with everything that you have— he thrusts his tongue into you to the pace of your own hips, moaning against your slippery slit until your eyes are rolling. “gonna cum from this eiji, from you eatin’ me out like this...jus need a little more— need your fingers pretty boy,” you can feel the twist of the knot in your lower tummy starting to unravel, signifying your oncoming high, and the room starts to spin while kirishima eats you out with new vigour.

“yeah? miss? you’re gonna cum for me?” the intern practically whines and pulls his tongue from your hear, almost crying as his hips thump against the floor desperate for friction. “wanna see you come undone s’bad, please cum for me, please, please—“ eijirou chants, replacing his tongue with two of his thick digits, watching as your slick cunt stretches around them accommodatingly. he jackhammers them inside of you, grunting lowly underneath the slaps of his palm against the meat of your ass, as he returns to your clit to suckle on it hungrily. his fingers curl instantly in search for the spongy spot inside of you— bearing down hard against it once it’s located.

“oh—hah, right there baby— right fuckin’ there—!” you squeal, only egging him on as white starts to cloud your vision, everything sounds so nasty and wet, while eijirou stimulates both of your pleasure spots. it becomes hard to breath, legs wobbling around his broad shoulders, but your intern doesn’t let up, determined to bring you to cloud nine.

“that’s it ma’am, right there—you’re almost there, can feel you clenching around my fingers...please cum, fuck i want your cum, wanna taste you so bad, cum. cum. cum!” and that’s all it takes, eijirou’s pleading voice between your thick thighs to make the coil inside you snap and for your orgasm to wash over you. you convulse in your chair, nectar gushing freely from your raw and overstimulated cunt, spewing all over the redheads face as he continued to lap at your clit to ride out your high.

but he doesn’t stop there, scissoring his fingers deep within your velvet walls as you continue to cum, making you shake your head and wail from the high levels of ecstasy.

“please eiji—n’more, can’t, no—“

“you can miss, i know you can—fuck you look so pretty when you’re about to squirt for me, please…”

as quickly as your first high ended, another one comes crashing over you in harsh waves— rocking your world as clear liquid floods from your pussy— the sheer force of you squirting, pushing kirishima’s fingers out from your tight, sappy hole. your release hits the floor with a crude slap, both of you moaning loudly almost for the whole world to hear. he doesn’t stop sucking, clearing up your pretty cunt even as you fade in and out of consciousness from pleasure— he stays lapping at you with burning, languid strokes of his tongue between your folds even as you weakly attempt to answer the phone now ringing from your desk.

clearing your throat, you muster up the strength to sound professional over the line before picking up the phone and bringing it towards your ear. “good afternoon, this is yn ln of shinku sports reports, bringing you the latest sporting news, how may i help you?”

‘this is the board, we need to discuss this month's stocks and reports.’

from the corner of your eye, you can see kirishima rise from his place underneath your desk— standing tall over you once more while you converse with the directors on the other end of the phone. as quietly as he can, the redhead tears through the buttons on his shirt in a similar way to you, prior to you fucking and unbuckles his slacks. he pulls down his boxers and pants in one go, revealing his thick, hard girth that stands tall and slaps against his stomach— tip an angry shade of red as precum smears across his lower belly.

you nod into the phone, forgetting that the board can’t see you as kirishima lifts you from the chair and lays you on your back across the desk littered with unread papers. “ah yes, i’ve been expecting a call from you…” you whisper so quietly instead, not caring if they’ve missed what you said. you’re hardly paying attention, choosing to wrap a fist around eijirou’s cock, slickly pumping him to prepare him to take you— he parts your thighs, eyes closing and body shuddering above you while you continue to converse with the board.

spreading the droplets of precum across his slit and iron hot tip, kirishima takes his cock from your grasp— heavily slapping it against your sensitive and swollen clit to see you jolt up the desk. “gonna fuck you so good miss, jus’ be good ‘n stay quiet for me okay?” he says, a whimper catching in the tail end of his words. you nod to him, rushed and way too eager, laying your head back on the hard wood your swimming gaze settles on kirishima as he taps the head of his cock against your hole, teasingly pushing it just past your entrance before withdrawing again.

‘ms. ln, are you still there? we really are pressed for time so we would love to start by discussing interviews for the next issue—‘

you forget that you’re still connected on the line, settling for wriggling impatiently underneath your intern, who’s caramel tinted skin glistens with sweat and his cheeks begin to flush with unadulterated desire— all from watching the way your puffy folds lube up his shaft with every push through them. you can see him losing his resolve, just as sensitive as you since he’s been holding back an orgasm and without the hint of a warning, eijirou’s hips jump forward and drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex— brushing against your cervix. you gasp out in surprise, finally losing focus and barely manage a more comprehensive response to the board you have waiting on the line. “y-yes!— yes, yes, i’m still here… you may proceed with the meeting.”

he’s big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had— and you’d seen a lot being a woman of your caliber this high up in the industry...but no one could compare to the way your sweet, doe eyed gentlemanly little intern filled you up, fat cock stretching your walls even with the shallow thrusts into your cunt he gives you to adjust. the weight of his girth sits heavily inside you, twitching as kirishima slides into you easily due to the stickiness lining your gummy walls, breath shaky and uneven as he holds out for you during this time. you can tell the poor boy isn’t going to last long, fingers sinking into your thighs with a harsh grip while he tries to hold himself back.

such a good boy, always waiting for your every command.

‘so we’d like to talk about the main feature for next month’s issue, do you have anyone in mind?’

the monotone voice of the board member is drowned about by kirishima’s shaky breaths above you, his pleading puppy dog eyes while he stills himself inside your spasming, puckered hole— he waits for permission, following orders like a trained pet even though he can hardly stand it, overwhelmed by the flutter of your sex around him and heat from your body despite thrown over the desk. “y-you’re s’warm...god ma’am...need to—need to move,” the redhead huffs weakly in order to keep himself quiet, a line of sweat dotting his brow. “please,”

you sit up on the desk, legs locking around his slender waist to draw him closer, sheathing more of the poor boy inside of you until he’s completely bottomed out and balls deep inside your pretty cunt. he drops his neck to your shoulder, tongue lolling over your salt licked skin before biting down to pacify himself, sharp teeth almost drawing blood while you adjust the cord of the phone. “i was thinking…thinking that we got the hockey player— the oylmpic champion…” your eyes drift to kirishima’s complacent face, giving him a nod to start moving while he sucks another bruise further down his onto your collarbone. “t-touya...touya todoroki—!”

you hiccup but play it off with a cough when kirishima pulls back his hips, so far that his girth completely leaves you, before he drives himself forward with one powerful thrust and fills you right up again. looking down, you see him bulge in your tummy, the line of his girth prominent against your body— slightly dwarfed in kirishima’s arms. you rock your hips, coaxing your intern into your warmth to help him build up a momentum of thrusts.

‘sounds like a good choice, do we have anyone who could interview him? i believe we can have PR set up an interview this week.’

the desk creaks below you, hard wood groaning along with the red head who hides himself in your neck, squeaking pathetically as he moves inside of you— precum smearing along your gummy walls that welcome his hardened shaft. your pussy opens up for eijirou like it’s welcoming him home, still growing used to the pleasure-filled burn and stretch of him pushing in and out of you. the nerves on his head catch amongst your inner ridges, making his toned body shake in ecstasy.

“m-ma’am, feel s’fucking good, so fucking good...” your intern hums against your salty skin mawkishly, large palms dropping to the flesh of your ass— kneading it to bring you closer to his body— cock barely leaving you due to your proximity. with slow strokes, eijirou fills you up, painting you with what leaks from his tip— prodding at your cervix and brushing up against your sweet spot in ways that make sweet nectar dribble from your hole.

your digits curl in his hair once more, the phone slipping from between your neck and creating rustling on your end. “eijirou,” you sigh breathily, humping back his cock while you squeeze around him selfishly, keeping your intern inside of you. “i-i mean eijirou kirishima, he’s an intern— such a… a good one at that…”

a immodest whimper brews in the base of eijirou’s throat, bubbling against his bruised lips  while you shower him with praise, indirect to him, hand snaking up to the back of your neck— tangling in your baby hairs as he pulls you up to a sloppy kiss, slotting your mouths together and running his tongue over yours. “f-fuck mommy, ‘m i your good boy? please tell me yes, fuck, yn— ma’am,”

kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does devoir and pathos, vulnerability stays written across his handsome features as he succumbs to the mind break the heat of your damp, creamy core as he fucks into you. you throb at his use of mommy, shakily pulling the phone away from your ear to reach up to his own, nipping the earlobe and tugging on it gently. “you’re my good boy baby, keep being good eiji, be quiet...you gotta stay quiet if you want to keep fucking mommy okay? you wanna cum inside me right?” you say, words aberrant and low toned  on your tongue, your intern hisses and whines in response— nodding his head again and letting out a barely coherent ‘yes’. “then shh, baby, let mommy talk yeah?”

“hm’kay,” he babbles, dropping his ruby framed gaze to where your bodies meet, hiking your skirt further up your thighs to get a better view of your cunt staining his heavy balls with a layer of your slick.

‘ms. ln, are you sure that you want an intern to cover this case—’ the board begins to ask you, muffled from the distance away from you both.

picking up the phone again, you pull the line towards you again— mindful of capturing eijirou’s weak little mewls over the device as he languidly pumps himself in and out of you. “i know what i—fuck, what i want. eijirou, will be—oh— on the case. that's final.” you huff, watching your intern fall into a pussyhaze, his precious mind fogging with thoughts of only painting you white inside and out as a reward for helping relieve you of stress. the slow roll of his hips into yours are accompanied by the soft slaps of his skin against your own, wet and sticky— determination to make you feel good crackling across his mind.

‘there’s no need to curse, ma’am, do you need a moment to recollect yourself before we proceed with discussing the other features.’

“i’m fucking fine,” you growl, in anger or need you don’t know. but kirishima frowns, you can feel it as he start nosing up your cheek— swiping his tongue over areas of skin he hasn’t touched just yet— he grunts possessively , unhappy with the use of your title coming from anyone other than him. to prove his point, he pushes your thighs wider apart, letting you drip all over the documents sitting below your ass and ruining the ink— important or not he starts a brutal pace into your cunt and presses down on your tummy so you can feel exactly where eijirou is inside you and know that only he can make you feel this way.

‘ms.ln—‘

“i’m fine. keep going.” you grit your teeth, biting your lip to hold down your panting— again you don’t know who you’re speaking to. your intern who slows the movement of his hips, postponing in and out of your tightened hole, clamping down on him eagerly or the stupid board member giving you grief on the phone.

they proceed to talk, barking out suggestions to your sports magazine, that you hate— even considering bringing in good for nothing athletes who’d treated you like shit in the past, and you’d sworn to never work for them again.

but it’s almost silly, how kirishima lets out small moans of mommy and ma’am, trying to keep your attention on him like you would give up grinding down on your intern’s dick for some prissy member of the board over the phone— but you love the slight possession eijirou has over you, moulding your iron hot walls into the shape of his fat dick that presses up against your pleasure spots, makes you convulse and drawl and become addicted to everything that is him. eijirou kirishima.

“takin’ me so good, so well ma’am...don’t think i can hold on anymore…please,” eijirou warns you, losing control of his body as he takes you for his own like he’s done many times before after hours— your gazes lock, you can see his desperation to ruin you, moan for you despite the people on the phone and the people outside your office.

if he grows too loud, he could give you away— they could be listening in to your poor needy little intern humping you like a feral dog and whining your name. and as much as that thought makes your hole spasm around his fat cock, make his thrusts stutter and eyes screw shut while you moan in sweet, almost silent harmony, you love your job and so weakly, you take two of your fingers, shoving them deep into eijirou’s mouth as it hangs open in heavy pants of warm air. you press down on his wet tongue, fucking into his mouth in tune with the pace of his hips plunging deep within your walls, churning up your syrupy and sticky insides.

“keep quiet, baby,”  you hiss to the redhead, who’s eyes start to brim with fresh hot tears from the overwhelming pleasure. “let mommy take care of this, yeah? finish up so you can let it all out on me.”

he sucks on your fingers to calm himself down, shallow breathing while he paws at the flesh on your sides and circles his hips into yours— letting his leaky tip bare down on your sweet spot and forcing the air out of your body. white hot pleasure flashes through your bloodstream, replacing any air of professionalism flooding through them. you can’t, you physically cannot hold back either of your orgasms— you can’t concentrate as your mind starts to fall away with the world and your gaze hones in on the way kirishima takes your fingers in his hot mouth so deep in an attempt to hush himself.

the coil in your tummy begins to unwind and the room swims once more. ‘ms.ln is everything okay over there— we need to progress with his meeting if we’re—‘ the annoying board member sounds underneath kirishima’s sloppy groans, saliva dribbling down the sides of his mouth. your dirty, good boy.

“i’m going to need to take a rain—hah— a rain check on this meeting. you’ll hear from me when my interns and i are ready—“ you huff, cutting the staff off and quickly throwing the phone onto the hook, you’ll have keigo deal with the consequences later but for now you focus on kirishima who picks you up by the ass, lifting you up and down on his cock in frantic movements as he finally loses all connections to his control. “ohmygod—eiji baby, slow—fuck, down—“

he shakes his head, latching onto your collar bone as he revels in the way you leak down his shaft and drip between his balls, lewd squelching sounds fluttering through the air hot, sex scented air at full volume. “‘m sorry ma’am— i can’t… i’m really close, i really need’ta cum...please ma’am...mommy, i’ve been good—please let me cum...“ eijirou groans heartily, from deep in his chest as if he’s finally releasing what he’s been holding back— arms flexing and the sweat from his body slicking up your own.

limbs shaking you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your foreheads against one another, while you nod. he worked so hard to make you feel good, all day long to do the best job that he can— pressing small kisses to his lips encouragingly. “you can do it baby, one last thing for me— fill me up eiji, cum for me.” you whisper between bites and sucks on his lower lip, lined with a vibrant shade of red.

“cummin’, cummin’...miss yn, mommy—!” and then his hips come to a halt, his dick pulsing as waves of his cream line your insides with an opaque white, thick and seeping down your thighs. his fingers drop to your sensitive cunt, slipping quick circles over your swollen clit to bring you to your high. his cock never stops pumping in and out of you, pushing his seed further into your sex while you writhe and fall over the edge into your orgasm— gushing so hard you force him out of plugged and full hole.

losing his strength, kirishima collapses on top of you, pressing out both to the hard wood seat which you’re surprised  is still standing, his lips pressing fleeting kisses across your face and neck while you both come back down to earth.

and then he looks up at you with a weak smile, “did i do good?” he asks you lazily and almost sleepily— refusing to budge from laying atop you and almost crushing you with his weight.

pushing back his hair to soothe him. “always eiji, you’re not my favourite intern for nothing,” you coo at him, pulling him up to press your lips to him in a soft kiss.

“i sure hope you don’t have any other favourites, i want to be the only one who assists you like this,” kirishima says, remaining tangled with you for a moment more in your office, content with snuggling into your exposed and bruised side.

you share a sleepy giggle, intending to clean up later— eijirou completely forgetting about the lunch he’d promised the other interns after your meeting.

oh well, assisting you was a much better treat than spending time with any one else.

[sincerelyella]

Always Remember Us This Way Part 3

Book: The Royal Romance/Heir (AU)

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella); Drake x OC (Alyssa Devereaux Walker)

Song Inspiration: Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga

Characters belong to Pixelberry; MC Queen Ella Rys and Malia Rys belong to me; Alyssa Walker was created by the brilliant mind of @burnsoslow and used with permission.

Catch up here

A/N: In celebration of King Liam and Queen Ella’s baby girl being born in TRH2 I wanted to write something to commemorate it (kinda). Some things are canon, but don’t expect it to follow the book much.

Big thank you to @burnsoslow for reading over this and editing and making suggestions so I don’t sound (too much) like a crazy person.

Warnings: Adult language; some fluff in there; TW: Angst: TW: blood; TW: childbirth complications; TW: possible major character death. Also, I do not work in a maternity unit at my hospital so please excuse any inaccuracies.

Words: 1455

“Wh-where is she, Liam?” Alyssa looked up at the young king with watery eyes.

He gestured for her and Drake to follow him; Liam led them to another hallway and pushed open a door that led them to a private waiting area.

“Tell us what happened; is Ella okay?” Drake prodded.

Liam let out a breath. “We had the baby … a baby girl, a couple of hours ago.”

Drake and Alyssa were excited and happy for him, but had no idea how to react at that moment; Liam’s expressionless face confused them.

“Oh okay, that’s … great, Li.” Drake said cautiously with furrowed brows.

“Her name is … Malia …” his voice hitched. “Afterwards, Ella became … unresponsive …” he trailed off before his voice cracked. He was trying so hard to keep up that stoic facade he was so good at. His fist was up against his mouth as he swallowed down the emotion he was feeling, it was bubbling up to the surface and he couldn’t let the dam unhinge in front of their friends. He looked up at Drake and Alyssa’s shocked faces. Drake looked away and rubbed his hand over his mouth trying to keep his emotions in check; Alyssa’s tears started to fall down her cheeks, her mouth open.

“What do you ... mean unresponsive, Liam? What are you trying to tell us? Is she … did she …” Alyssa choked on the words, not wanting to say them out loud. She grabbed Drake’s hand and squeezed, just to make sure she wasn’t asleep, that this wasn’t some terrible dream.

“She started to … bleed” - he sniffled and audibly swallowed - “and the doctor said she lost … a lot of blood. So much that she went unconscious and her … blood pressure got really low.” Trying to recount the events of the day out loud was mentally exhausting; this emotional rollercoaster he was on was starting to make him feel sick to his stomach. “They finally got her stable … for now. From what they’re saying, they want to keep a close eye on her here in the ICU … just in case … things start up again.”

“I need to see her, Liam” - Lyssa pushed out the words with great difficulty through her sobs - “take me to her. Please!” 

He nodded, opened the door and led them to Ella’s room. The guard standing outside of it moved and allowed them to slip inside the sliding glass into the dark hospital suite. They could hear the steady beeping of the monitor that was hooked up to Ella’s finger. Liam cleared his throat. “She’s still asleep, and they aren’t sure when she’ll ... wake up.”

Alyssa sat next to Ella’s bed and held her hand. “I need you to wake up now, El. We’re going to raise our babies together … all of us are going to watch football and they’re going to be besties … just like us.” The last words she spoke wavered and she sucked in an unsteady breath as more tears fell; Alyssa stared at her closest friend’s face, willing her to open her eyes. “Malia needs you to wake up now. She needs her momma,” she whispered. Alyssa squeezed Ella’s hand and continued to talk, knowing she could probably hear her even though she was asleep.

Drake and Liam looked on as Alyssa had her conversation with Ella, both men not saying a word just yet, but comforted to have the other there with them.

Liam looked at his best friend. “Thank you … both of you for coming.”

Drake nodded. “You should have called, Liam.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I ... my brain wasn’t functioning. All I could think about was Ella and what she said to me before ...”

“What did she say?” Drake turned to face him with an inquiring look on his face.

“A couple of weeks ago, she made me promise” - Liam paused and pulled his lips between his teeth to stop any tears from falling before he continued - “She made me promise that if it came down to saving her or the baby … to save the baby.”

Drake nodded in understanding but couldn’t say anything. Now that Alyssa was pregnant, he couldn’t even fathom promising that to her. In that moment, he felt that crushing weight on his chest that he knew his brother was feeling. “Li, where is Malia?”

“She’s in the maternity unit. Do you want to see her?”

Drake glanced at his wife. “Lyss, did you want to see Malia?”

Alyssa looked up at her husband. “Yes, let’s go. If Ella can’t hold her, I will.” She turned back towards her friend and whispered softly, “I’m going to go and cuddle her for you, Ella. Love you.” She squeezed her hand before letting go.

The three of them made their way towards the elevators and down to the maternity unit. As they approached Malia’s suite, they saw that the guard stood off to the side and the door was wide open. Liam began to panic, his heart rate picked up as he ran inside to see who was in the room with his newborn daughter. There were two nurses and a physician standing over Malia, and Liam’s heart dropped. “What’s going on? What happened to my daughter?” His voice boomed through the large suite and all three healthcare workers turned in surprise.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” the physician spoke as all three women dropped to curtsy. “My name is Dr. Gold; I’m the pediatrician on call, and I came to check on Malia. She’s doing just fine; I was just doing my rounds. These are my nurses, Claire and Nicole.”

Liam breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry. With the day I’ve been having I … panicked.”

Drake patted him on the shoulder as he held Alyssa close to his side. “We’re going to sit over here, Li. I don’t want Lyss standing too long.”

Alyssa quirked her brow up at her husband. “I’m fine, baby, I haven’t even been standing for five minutes.” Drake gave her a look and led her to the other side of the room where there was a small loveseat with a TV was set up.

“Your Majesty, I wanted to let you know that Malia’s lungs sound great and she’s eating and going to the bathroom normally. Do you have any questions for me?”

Liam shook his head. “Not that I can think of, thank you for checking on her.”

“Of course, sir. We’ll be over at the nurse’s station if you need anything.” The women curtsied again and left the room.

Liam approached Malia and picked her up in his arms. She sighed happily in her sleep as he lifted her and cradled her little body in the crook of his arm. He walked slowly over to Drake and Alyssa.

“Malia, I want you to meet your Uncle Drake and Aunt Alyssa.”

Alyssa stood quickly and stretched her arms out to take the baby from Liam. He smiled and placed Malia into her auntie's waiting arms. “Oh. My. God. Hiiii, little Malia!” Her eyes welled with happy tears as she cooed at the baby. “You are so beautiful like your momma, yes you are!”

Drake came and stood behind his wife and smiled down at Malia as he cradled her small head in his large hand. “She’s gorgeous, Li. Congrats!” He stepped to the side and hugged Liam; both men patted each other on the back. As they parted, Drake gave Liam a curious look. “What does Malia mean anyway? Is it a family name?

“It’s Hawaiian. It literally translates to ‘Mary’ and it means ‘calm, gentle waters’. Ella loved it when she first heard the name.” Liam smiled at the memory. “We figured the future Queen of Cordonia needed all of the calm, gentle waters she could get.”

Drake chuckled. “You’re right. That’s a really beautiful name too.”

“I, uh, wanted to stay with Ella … I don’t want her waking up alone if she does at all. Do you … guys mind staying with Malia?”

“I was going to do that anyway, Liam.” Alyssa smiled wide as she kept her eyes trained on Malia. “We’ll stay here and practice our parenting skills, right, Malia? You wanna stay with your Auntie Lyss and Uncle Drake, don’t you?”

Liam laughed. It was the first real laugh he let out since before everything happened with Ella. “I don’t know what we’d do without you guys.”

Drake pushed him towards the door. “Go. Let us know when she wakes up.”

Liam smiled and nodded his head. He opened the door and walked towards the elevators, making his way back up to the fourth floor to be with his wife. As he approached the area, he saw the door to her suite was opened with the guard standing just slightly to the side of it. What now? Liam raced into the room and saw Dr. Ramirez sitting on the hospital bed, smiling. His eyes snapped over to Ella, who was now awake, staring at him with those beautiful light brown eyes he loved so much.

“Ella …” he whispered.

[tact-and-impulse]

With These Hands Chapter 11

Look, I say we’re ending 2020 with affection and fluff! Also, now that I know what it’s like working in a hospital, I can write this AU better, and this episode has heavy influence from my first night call shifts. For my fellow healthcare workers, because this was...a year. Here’s to staying safe in 2021!

The rest of this chapter is under the cut or on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 11: Endurance

Admittedly, Kenshin’s stomach dropped when he saw her. She was limp in her chair, arms dangling at her sides and her face turned away.

“Kaoru-dono?!” He rushed to her desk, panic overriding sensibility. But before he could touch her, her eyes snapped open and her right fist lashed out in a glancing blow that brought him to his knees. Acting on instinct, he latched onto the edge of her desk, elbow colliding with the hard surface. “Oro!”

At the contact, she blinked away her drowsiness. “Ken…shin? Oh, no! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She sat up, her fingertips brushing his aching cheekbone. The pain was already fading, and he resisted leaning in.

“This one is fine. It was this one’s fault, surprising you.” He managed to answer. Despite how his skin was buzzing, he was not going to behave like a hormonal teenager.

“I still shouldn’t have punched you.” She withdrew, her voice full of concern. “I hope it won’t bruise.”

“There have been worse hits that this one has taken, so don’t worry.” And on that same side as well, he ruefully thought. “Are you still working?” It was already past seven.

“I’m on night call.” Her explanation contained no small amount of misery. “And I had a meeting in the afternoon, so I only got an hour of sleep before I came here. It’s going to be a long Thursday night; at least, I have the weekend off. What about you?”

“This one is also in the same situation, filling in for a colleague who was supposed to work tonight. There was a family emergency, so this one is here instead.”

“Oh, good. Not that you have to work on short notice,” She hastily added. “But we can keep each other company.”

“That’s true. It will be easier to stay awake.” He would have been content to stay at her desk; he had nothing urgent at the moment. But she did, as signaled by her blaring pager. She mouthed an apology, before taking the call. Leaving her to her responsibilities, he drifted back to his spot across the room, to print his list of patients.

***

He was reading the interim notes on his patients when she commented.

“By the way, I forgot to mention earlier. I like your scrubs.”

“Oro?” The faded magenta met his downward gaze. “These are very old.”

“But you look so cheerful! The other male doctors stick to blue or black.”

“So did this one, in the past. However, brighter colors can be comforting or distracting for the children, so that’s something this one can do for them.”

“You also can pull it off, because you’re an attending.” She pointed out, and he laughed.

“There’s nothing wrong with navy either.”

“It’s not navy, it’s indigo.” Grinning, she tugged the front of her scrub top. “But it’s my favorite color.”

“It suits you very well.” Belatedly, he wondered if that was harassment, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she blushed. At the sight, his own face warmed.

“Thanks.” For a heartbeat, the only sound was the humming of their computers. Abruptly stretching her arms over her head, she declared. “I need coffee. The cafeteria’s closed, but do you want anything from the vending machine?”

“This one can join you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy, and you can just text me.” They had already exchanged numbers, thanks to the group chat Misao had started for the workroom.

“No, it will be a long night and this one prefers not to stay in one spot.” He pocketed his pager and stood from his chair.

Her smile widened. “Yeah, I won’t argue with that. And I’m glad! It’s more fun with you.” Her blush had not faded, and his cheek tingled.

He replied honestly. “This one feels the same way.”

Unfortunately, the closest machine had its interior lights off and the glass front bore a paper sign. ‘Out of Order’ was written in large block letters, punctuated by a frowning face. If he had to guess, it appeared to be the handiwork of either Sano or Misao, perhaps even a joint effort.

“That’s a shame.” He said. “Should we search for another?”

“Sounds like a plan! Let’s hope the others are still functioning.”

Their workroom was at the injunction between the main building and the children’s hospital, so they had options. He allowed her to decide, and she headed for the pediatric side. She swiped her badge to access a corridor that was glass on both sides, from ceiling to floor.

“This part is one of the best, in my opinion. Well, at least during the day.” Outside, it was dark, except for the street lamps. Occasionally, a car zipped past on the road below, illuminating the surrounding greenery. But he understood her. When it was sunny, they were provided with a scenic view of the city beyond.

“Yes, it’s the closest we have to stepping out. It’s important to have something to look at, other than the interior of the building.”

“Right? I always feel more rejuvenated when I go through this way. Although, I do love the murals in the children’s hospital.”

“Which do you like best?”

“Hmm. I think the bamboo forest, on the sixth floor. The animals are cute, the pandas and the tanuki.”

“Also, because that is where shinai come from?” He innocently referred to her love for kenjutsu.

“Okay, a little bit.” But she laughed. “Well, which is your favorite?”

He already had an answer. “The fourth floor, with the countryside motif. It reminds this one of his childhood.”

“You were a country boy?”

“In the Kansai region, yes. However, it has been almost twenty years since this one lived there. This one doesn’t even remember the closest town. We did grow rice and vegetables, and there were some chickens.” He pieced together the fragmented memories. “But it was a very long time ago.”

“It must have, I couldn’t tell at all.” She was thoughtful, and he realized he might have shared too much. But she didn’t pry, instead asking. “Did you have any baby chicks?”

“Not that this one can remember.”

“That’s too bad.” Disappointment showed on her face.

He smiled. The image of Kaoru, cradling fluffy chicks in her arms, was sweet.

In a corner near an empty waiting area, they finally found a working vending machine. Kaoru cheered at its presence, peering within to decide on her snacks. She was terribly adorable, depositing her change and punching the buttons. Holding her coffee and a package of chocolate-covered biscuits, she beamed. “Alright, your turn!”

As she walked past, he caught the scent of jasmine flowers. Too subtle to be perfume, it must have been her shampoo. He thought it was pleasant.

“Kenshin? Aren’t you going to buy something?”

He jolted, realizing he hadn’t moved. “A-ah, yes.” Breathing deeply to settle his nerves, he chose a bottle of green tea, and the same cookies she picked. She had already opened her drink and sipped it as they walked back.

“Whew, I feel a lot better.”

“That’s good. You need your strength for the hours ahead.”

“Yeah. I still wish I had more sleep, but I just remind myself that at least, I’m not in one of the hospital beds. That was much harder.”

“And now, you’re here. Your patients are extremely fortunate to have you, because you understand what it must be like.”

Her blush had returned in full force. She nodded, before her brows drew together. “Wait-”

Overhead, the loudspeaker crackled, calling for a medical response team. They both stopped, listening attentively. The alert meant that a patient’s condition was deteriorating. He checked his list as the room number was announced. It did not belong to any of his charges, and judging from how Kaoru exhaled, it wasn’t any of hers either. But elsewhere, someone was struggling and their colleagues were doing everything they could to save them.

As they approached familiar walls, it was his pager’s turn to vibrate, and reluctantly, he excused himself.

***

After midnight, he had one emergency surgery, for a patient that had gone into hemorrhagic shock. Two hours later, he emerged from the operating room, the worst outcome kept at bay. He ordered for two units of blood, to be transfused if the patient was anemic, and headed back to the workroom.

Kaoru had her earbuds in, obviously engrossed. Upon his entrance, she removed them and greeted him. “Hey, Kenshin. How’d it go?”

“Well enough. The patient is stable for now, but this one will keep a close eye. Did you have any new admissions?”

“Just one in the emergency room, who’s waiting to be placed in a room, but it seems like a straightforward case. History of glycogen storage disorder, so I’ve been reading up.”

“This one didn’t realize articles were accessible on CD.” He had noticed the small player next to her keyboard, that had appeared in his absence.

“Oh, no, this is an audiobook. It’s an old one, I already know all the twists. I only replay it because of the narrator.” Her expression became very fond.

“Ah.” Inwardly, he was caught off guard, but he maintained a neutral face. “Is he a good actor?”

“I think she was. This book is one of my mother’s recordings, after all. Would you like to hear her?”

Somewhat embarrassed, he agreed, and she transferred the CD to her computer. Momentarily, a woman’s gentle voice filled the air. Her cadence and intonation were similar to Kaoru’s, and she switched between characters with impressive ease. It seemed to be an anthology of short stories.

“You were not wrong; her performance is wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so! She’d be happy to hear that, if she were alive.” Kaoru clarified. “She had lupus, and she passed away from kidney failure when I was young. She couldn’t get a transplant in time. The Mirror Wing in the main hospital is named for her.” The dialysis unit was located there.

“You must miss her.”

“I do, but at least, I have Okaa-san in this way. Not many people can say the same.”

He definitely couldn’t. Then, the staccato beeps of her pager interrupted them again. He was beginning to dislike that particular ring.

By three in the morning, Kaoru was starting to falter. She was continuing to type on her computer, but her head nodded and she occasionally jolted, unconsciously trying to stay awake.

“Kaoru-dono.”

“Hmm?” Her gaze lifted, though not quite focusing.

“Please, get some rest. The work can wait.” He gently said. “This one can turn the lights off, if that would help.”

“Would you? That’d be really nice.” She murmured.

He flipped the switches, leaving the glow of his monitor. “If there was a bed, that would be better.”

“It’s okay. Hospital beds aren’t very comfy.” She certainly spoke from experience. She opened one of her desk drawers, taking out a spare surgical mask. “Please don’t tell anyone else in your department.”  Before he could inquire further, she proceeded to wear it over her face, and it was large enough to cover her eyes.

He had to stifle his laughter. “This one promises.”

It was uneventful afterwards, without beeping pagers or loudspeaker announcements. He lasted another hour and a half, before he felt the familiar pull of exhaustion. He logged off and sat back in his chair. He could never fully sleep while on the job. That was especially true now, with Kamiya Kaoru in the same room, softly breathing.

It was Director Kamiya who had offered him a place at Kamiya Kasshin, while he was still working for Katsura. He had been disillusioned and burnt out, entertaining ideas of quitting medicine. He was too ashamed to talk to Hiko, but he caved to the “fates” as his guardian liked to refer to them. Akane, Kasumi, and Sakura had sat him down, persuading him to take the new job before deciding anything further. Akane was particularly fervent, she had never liked Katsura.

So, he had accepted the position and adjusting to the new work environment occupied him. Then, the accident happened. It was on a night not too different from this one, and he had also been on call. He heard there was a group of people, on the phone with the director at the crash site, trying to obtain details. He had run to that desk, preparing to encourage the man who had helped him so far. It was at the other end of the hospital and he was relatively late, everyone else mobilizing for the victims’ arrival. When he picked up the phone, he was out of breath. “Kamiya-dono?”

Instead of Director Kamiya’s voice, there was a young, feminine one. Choked with tears, but still strong. “Hello? Please, can you hear me?”

One fateful conversation, and she reminded him of what he loved about his profession. But she didn’t seem to remember. That was alright, the memory was wrapped up in tragedy, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Getting to know her was enough. Even after six years, she was very much the same woman he had spoken to. Compassionate, brave, honest.

Hiko, being his usual infuriating self, had accused him of having a crush, although Kenshin was disgruntled. Not that Kaoru wasn’t attractive, but it was not the point. It wasn’t a crush, he was immensely grateful to Kaoru as well as her late father, for his current life. Originally, he was trying to repay their kindness, in what little he could manage on his part. So far, he enjoyed spending time with her, even when on call. Around her, and for that matter, their other workroom colleagues, he felt at ease in a way that he hadn’t experienced in decades.

But if she asked about him…? He hadn’t decided what he would do yet.

***

Kenshin slowly emerged from his trance. The blinds had been opened, the sky pink with dawn. He clicked his mouse and the monitor lit with the time. Just past six. Night call was almost over.

Kaoru’s chair was empty, and he drowsily recalled her rummaging about, before the door closed. She must have gone to pre-round on her patients, to check on them before meeting with the rest of her team. He hoped they would let her go before noon.

He relayed the night’s events to the day shift’s surgeon, who insisted that everything would be taken care of and please get some rest, Dr. Himura. But he went to check on his shock patient, who was thankfully stable. Then, the parents arrived in the waiting area, and he took the opportunity to speak to them. By the time he returned to retrieve his things, it was already ten. Kaoru was also there, greeting him as if she hadn’t spent the night at the hospital.

“Morning, Kenshin!”

“Good morning. How were your rounds?” He inquired, clearing his desk.

“Quick, thank goodness.”

“And how are you?”

“I feel fine. Well, I know it’s fake, I’ll probably crash once I get home. I’m just going to submit my notes, and then, I’ll go.” She didn’t sit down, her eyes glued to her screen as she logged in. A few clicks, and then, she grabbed her bag. “Done! Geez, I’m ready to leave.”

“Good work, Kaoru-dono.”

“You too.” Despite how little she must have slept, her smile was as radiant as ever. “But you’re still here? I thought you would have been out by now.”

“This one had a few tasks, but this one was just about to leave as well. After you.” He urged her ahead of him. They shared an elevator down, luckily without any stops.

“Have you already eaten breakfast?” She asked.

“This one had a leftover rice ball. The cafeteria is…” His weary mind searched for a word that would be appropriate.

“I know, I really want Tae to expand her hours, but she can’t while she has her regular job. I think I have cup ramen in my pantry.”

“Next time, this one will bring enough onigiri to share.”

“Next time?” She repeated, emphasizing the implication of another call shift in the near future, but she was laughing. “Would they have caffeine in them?”

He smiled at her. “For you, this one will make an exception.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Thank you, I’ll look forward to it.” After a pause, she added. “What would even be inside such onigiri? Instant coffee?”

Matcha powder actually, but he needed to perfect that recipe. “It would be a surprise.”

“Geez!”

They passed the lobby, and bright sunshine filled his vision. After spending so long in the hospital, it was a relief to be out in the open again. The cloudless sky was an immaculate blue, the fresh air crisp. Beside him, Kaoru sighed, her lips curving. The wind tossed her ponytail, and she shoved her hands in her pockets, continuing on. Suddenly aware that he was staring again, he picked up his feet. Then, they were already at the garage and had to part ways. Work had truly ended.

“Drive safe and sleep well! I’ll see you on Monday!” She waved and he did the same.

“Take care.”

There was no traffic, and his empty apartment was cool. It was quiet as he meticulously cleaned his belongings. As he walked to his bedroom, he barely made a sound. The shower seemed too loud, and so did the hair dryer. Slipping between his clean sheets, he noticed the lack of scent. After leaving his glasses on his nightstand, he checked his phone again. Nothing new, which was supposed to be good. He hovered over Kaoru’s name in the group chat. Well…it wouldn’t hurt. His thumb pressed down, and he began to type.

This one hopes you returned home without issue and that you have a relaxing weekend.

With the message sent, he locked the screen. She could reply on her own time.

And at last, he closed his eyes.

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 32: Timmy*

Timmy* gave off a frat-boy kind of vibe with the pictures in his profile, a trope that has become my type. His profile did seem to be half-heartedly filled out; his hometown was just the abbreviation of the state, his employment simply said "cardiac surgery," and a couple typos.

Mostly my reason for wanting to message him, in particular, was that one of his prompts about a travel story was very obviously cut off and he ran out of characters. I messaged him saying the cliffhanger was dramatic and wanted to hear the whole story. It was a very long story, involving being in Ireland and a random person coming into his and his family member’s room. I mentioned I didn’t have anything quite that interesting regarding my travels before. We chatted more and although I wouldn’t say we had a lot of similar hobbies and interests, the conversation did flow well. He was definitely more active than I, going to the gym often and eating pretty healthy and en mass. Very much a gym bro type. I also had assumed he was a surgeon, given his position being cardiac surgery, but then learned later he was more involved in some sort of programming instead for cardiac devices, so not really cardiac surgery per se.

When we moved away from Hinge and onto text messaging, we were both mutually behaving as if we had known each other a while, and better than we did. At one point, he had asked, “are you a guy version of me?” To which, I was very aware of how little we knew about each other, which led me to respond that it was too soon to tell.

I did however confirm my place as forever the more aggressive one; I text him one day "Timmy*, when they fuck are we going out?" Not that it had been too much of a long time talking, but just that he had not yet made a move, and that we were obviously getting along and it would make sense for us to take that next step. We plan for a few days from then, a Tuesday, after work, and that it would have to be more or less played by ear because of our jobs' schedules being semi-unpredictable. My easy place, Armature Works, was chosen as where we would meet up.

Our date got pushed back slightly, as I got off on time, but he was going to be held up at work later than expected. He did however give me ample heads up, so I just relaxed at home a little longer than I would have otherwise, and perfected my outfit and minimal make-up. The day of the date, and leading up to it, I made jokes about being a catfish and that I was actually a middle-aged, fat, Russian man. I continued this while I waited for him when I was describing what outfit I was wearing so he could recognize me better with my mask on, then later added that I was still a middle-aged Russian man, but that I was still wearing a skirt and crop top. I waited for him on a bench for almost 30 minutes. I arrived on time to when he had delayed the date, but still too early apparently. Luckily, I had brought my headphones, so I just listened to some music to pass the time by.

Finally, I received a text message saying that he had parked and then that he could see me. Nothing is more uncomfortable than being seen and not seeing who is looking at you. I looked around and didn't see anyone that looked like him, so I went back to staring at my phone. Eventually, a man looking more like him appeared trotting down the small set of stairs next to me. Although he definitely wasn't short, he seemed shorter than what I was expecting, and his hairline seemed to be just starting to recede.

He was not familiar with the location as much as I am, so I took it upon myself to give him a tour of the location. Despite being indoors, and still pretty amidst a pandemic in late February, Timmy* kept taking his mask off. As a healthcare worker, I was confused and appalled; he should know better. I yelled at him every time to put it back on. Once he said, "you're one of those huh?" I almost rolled my eyes back into my head. Then he also asked me, "well when can I take it off?" to which I responded, "when we are outside and/or we sit down to eat/drink." He got a beer at one of the bars, and it was a beer that had some marijuana in it, which was an interesting choice. After having toured the whole place, it was time to split off to order our respective meals. I got my food, and a drink, and wandered over to the area I had last seen him, as he had said he was going to get a pizza. He was nowhere to be found, so I text him asking where he was. He indicated that he was over by where he had gotten his beer.

I found him and then he told me that he had ordered food from two different restaurants because he couldn't decide and also eats so much due to his athleticism. We found a spot to sit nearby outside, and it is a lovely night, we were comfortable in the fresh air. We both finally did take off our masks and started to eat.

I half-heartedly apologized for being so hard on him regarding the mask-wearing, but emphasized that I am passionate about proper mask-wearing because of my experience with having the virus and wanting to make sure to reduce the spread. He then said, "Oh you had COVID! I'm in a way glad to hear it." He then pauses before saying, "I have COVID too. My doctor said I'm asymptomatic? So I'm totally good." My eyes must have gotten the size of saucers; I leaned away from him and was looking around seeing if anyone had heard him. "Wait what?" Is all I could say. "Uh, no. Please tell me you're joking?" Timmy* stares at me confused, "I'm asymptomatic! So that means like I don't have it."

I am prepared to leave immediately. "So you had a positive test? What? Why are you here right now?" I say. Finally, he drops the rouse and admits he was kidding, but that he got me. "That was not funny. I was legitimately terrified!" So far, this date is bizarre. He mentions that because I joked around so much that I would appreciate it. I did not.

We eat our food and chat. Unfortunately, he also is a person who seems to eat with their mouth open. Another strike. Timmy* has become very comfortable around me, as he also decides to tell me another long story about the time he was "sexually assaulted by a doctor." Which was that he went to a doctor for a physical and that she had grabbed his testicles and had him cough, though the way he told it was extremely drawn out and had many mini-stories leading up to the point that was supposed to be the assault. I then told him, "I'm sorry to say that your doctor was not trying to hit on you on anything, that is a normal thing that happens with mens' checkups." This was news to him. It was obvious that he is not a well-versed healthcare worker.

Once we finished our food, I suggested we walk along the river. First, though, I wanted to drop off my leftovers in my car. We walk to it and I make him guess what kind of car I drive. He is impressed by my car and we don't linger long before I say we should leave the parking lot. He tells me that he has a muscle car, which is so random and I would never put him in a car like that. Whereas a sixteen-year-old girl might be googoo-gaga over this, as a full-grown adult, it isn't quite as alluring to have a car like that.

While on the riverwalk, I become irritated at the fact that he walks very slow. Slower than I am able to walk. It makes no sense as I am significantly shorter than he is, so my strides shouldn't be longer than his. I mention to him that he walks slow and I ask that he walk a little faster. He picked up the pace, but then slowly reverted to his tortoise-like speed over time. I tire of our uneven velocities and we take a seat on some rock benches. We chat about brief things and I suggest we walk back. Again, I battle with the paces, mention it a couple more times that I am unable to walk as slow as he walks.

We get back to the main area of Armature and take a seat in some oversized chairs. He tells me about his family and some stories about his relationships in middle school and high school, which are also drawn out and bizarre. It nears 10pm, and we are told by staff that they close at 10. A couple minutes til, I remind him we need to leave and I ask where he parked. He parked in a different lot, I offered to walk him to his car. He offers to drive me to my car. We do so and his muscle car is indeed very overly-masculine. He goes on to go through a bunch of random songs on Spotify, only playing each song for less than 30 seconds, very ADHD-like. He drives me to my car, but wants to keep me there, again showing me more songs. I'm politely just listening as he flexes on all the types of music he listens to. He tries to show off that he knows "alternative music," my preferred genre, but I point out that a lot of the songs he's playing are more "pop-punk" or just old alternative jams.

He compliments my music taste and mentions that he has noticed I am adept at knowing song names, musicians, movies, and so forth. I begin to joke that likely I am a little autistic, adding "I'm working on my eye contact," as I make direct eye contact with him. What he says next, is something that I was not prepared for, and something that still baffles me, and possibly always will. "Yeah, you do look a little retarded." Immediately, I burst out into laughter; not because I think what he said was funny, but because I am so bewildered and shocked by what was just said. Eventually, through the laughter tears I am able to get out, "Dude you shouldn't say that to a woman." He insists it was a joke and makes excuses, but I keep laughing, with my hand on the door handle just waiting for a good moment to step out. I repeat that what he said isn't cool, and eventually stop laughing long enough to say, "alright, on that note, I think I should head out." Being friendly, I still ask that he tell me when he gets home since I know he has a longer commute home than I do. I wave goodbye through our car windows.

The formalities are complete; he texts me ever so briefly the next day, respectfully I respond, knowing well I never plan on going out with him again. Then it seems we have a mutual ghosting situation, as I don't try to text him, nor he to me. This day I have another date, and after that one, I have no one that I want to communicate with as that is also a dud. All is good until a few days later when I am out with my friends in Ybor, drunk. I get a text from Timmy* saying "yo." I lament and groan and my friends ask about my reaction. I explain the situation and one of my guy friends asks for my phone. I hand it to him as he starts to text him on my behalf.

My phone is with my friend, but with my Apple Watch, I can see the text conversation and when he is responding. I start yelling "oh god please don't bring him here. I don't want to see this guy." Respecting my wishes, my friend decides to still fuck with him, but prevent this poor soul from spending money on an Uber and coming down.

My friends then send a selfie of themselves, with me not in it, saying "she's with me." I yell at them more saying, let this guy be, just ignore him. However, instead, my friend takes it a step further.

I tell my friend that he was too harsh and that I of course would have told him I wasn't interested, but a lot more mature and kindly. When later I check, understandably Timmy* has unmatched me on Hinge*, likely blocked my number. No loss there though.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Plus One

a wedding guest blurb about that time you and Harry showed up to a wedding without dates

or: you like champagne and Harry likes you.

wc: 2k

AN: this is my first reader insert so let me know what you think!!!! 

_______

You weren’t exactly a fan of weddings. The last one you went to was six months earlier--the bride was your ex-boyfriend’s cousin and you spent most of the night making small talk with his grandmother about how great the weather was and how beautiful the ceremony had been.

Which was true--it just wasn’t your idea of a perfect evening. 

And maybe you were a little bitter about this wedding. No one really enjoyed watching two people promise to spend their lives together only a week after you threw the towel in on your last relationship, right? 

So as you trudged into the reception hall and took in the sight of all of the name cards, you realized that this one wasn’t shaping out to be any better. Your name was written in pinterest-worthy script, and beside yours was his. You’d RSVP’ed long before the break up, and you weren’t about to throw a fit days before your co-workers wedding demanding that she remove the evidence of his existence from the decorations she’d been prepping for months. 

So instead of stomping out and mourning the relationship you were sure was the one, you made your way over to Table 13. You weren’t surprised to see that it was in the back of the room--hidden in a corner near the bathroom and far, far away from the dance floor. 

Your co-worker Nicole had begged you to come. And you loved her, of course you wanted to support her on her big day. The only catch was that you were the only one from the office in attendance and you didn’t know a single person aside from Nicole and her new husband, Josh. 

But it was a beautiful spot. A big tent on the grass of a beautiful mansion--one that was old and covered in ivory and you were going to make the best of it. The weather was warm for mid-August and seeing as your plus one recently decided he wanted to see other people, you only felt mildly awkward flying solo. 

So you dug through your purse until your fingers blindly found the sharpie that you knew was buried somewhere inside. You pulled it out, yanked off the cap, and crossed out the 15 letters that were printed below your name. 

“Should I ask?” A voice sounded beside you. A hand pulled out a chair from the table and dropped his name card above his plate. He left an empty seat between you as he sat down and let his eyes scan over the paper in your hands. 

“Oh, he just couldn’t come,” you let out a laugh--embarrassed to have been caught doing something so childish. 

“So you’re crossing him off altogether?” His accent let you know he was far from home, his green eyes and dark hair let you know that he was definitely not someone you’d met at the engagement party a year earlier. 

“He also said he wants to see other people. So, there’s that, too.”

He laughed at his, leaning back in his seat and letting his eyes scan over your face. “I’m Harry,” he said, extending a hand to shake yours. “Josh’s roommate from his study abroad in London.”

“Y/N,” you said, giving your hand in return. “Nicole’s co-worker. Glad to see I’m not the only one shoved to the back table.”

He laughed at this, leaning to the side when a server filled your glasses with water. “Whoa, I personally think we have the best seat in the house. Close to the loo, far enough from the dance floor that we hopefully won’t suffer from second-hand embarrassment when someone gets too drunk,” he shrugged his shoulders, still keeping a steady gaze on you. 

A couple joined the table, talking amongst themselves as you replied. “Yeah, well, I’m glad to be here. Even if he’s not,” you pointed down to the empty seat between you and Harry. 

“He sounds like an idiot, in all honesty,” he looked down at the fabric of the chair. “He’s missing out on free food and alcohol,” he paused for a second, bringing his eyes back up to yours. “And you--so the joke’s on him.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you pulled your gaze down to your hands. The simple gold ring he’d given you for your birthday was still on your right hand. You twisted it out of habit and wondered where he was. 

Harry turned to greet someone he knew--another man his age with a woman on his arm. You sed the moment to check your phone. No new messages. Barely two hours into the whole event of the night and you’d only had two drinks. Something needed to change fast. 

The rest of the guests seemed to filter in to the hall--the DJ started talking into the mic and before you knew it, your table was full. Ten seats in total, making it a solid nine minus your plus one. When Harry stood from his seat with his eyes on the bar, you followed his lead. 

“Waited long enough, right?”

“Absolutely,” he laughed, offering a hand in front of him to allow you to lead the way. 

“So you’ve known Josh for a while,” you fell into step beside him, watching as he let his thumb and pointer finger pluck at his lower lip. 

“Met in 2014 and lived together for a few months. Dirtiest flat I’ve ever inhabited, to be honest.”

You laughed at that--you’d heard countless stories from Nicole about how messy Josh could be.  “London, you said?”

He nodded as you came to a stop at the end of the line. “S’where I’m from, s’where he came for a semester.”

“Long way to travel for a wedding,” you remarked, shifting your weight to save your feet the pain of your wedges. 

“I live here now,” he explained, shoving a hand in the pocket of his trousers. “Josh and I had kept in touch and I came to visit the year after his time abroad and fell in love. Moved over about a year ago now.”

“That’s about when I started working with Nicole.”

“She’s in,” he trailed off, clearly wanting you to remind him of what your firm did.  

“Commercial real estate marketing,” you spit out the phrase like second nature. People could never seem to remember what you did for a living, but Harry nodded thoughtfully like he was interested.

You stepped a ways forward when the line in front of you moved. Only two people separated you from the bartenders as Harry replied. “Right--he’s told me that before.”

You smiled politely in an attempt to pretend it wasn’t awkward that you barely knew each other. Harry was cute and friendly and at least there was someone that made you feel like you weren’t totally out of place. Knowing your luck, though, he likely had a date who was in the bathroom or home sick or something of the sort. 

“Did your date back out last minute, too?” You forced the question out, probably sounding awkwardly and frantic. 

The side of his mouth pulled upward as if he was somewhat smug. “No--also flying solo. But, by choice.”

“You chose to come to a wedding by yourself?” You widened your eyes playfully--but also seriously wondering how someone as handsome and outgoing as he was could wind up here alone. 

He nodded and lifted his shoulders as if to downplay the decision. “Are you implying that I need someone to keep me company?”

“No,” you laughed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not at all. Just--wish I had the confidence to show up at an event like this and not worry what everyone thinks about the lack of man beside me.”

He laughed and tilted his head to the side. “Well, you’ve got a man beside you now, and they’re paying attention--whoever they are--they’ll just think we’re together.”

He stepped up the open bar and rested his elbow on the wooden surface before you could reply. “Two of whatever she’s having,” he threw his chin in your direction as he removed two folded bills from his wallet and placed them in the tip jar. 

“Uh, just prosecco, please,” you stepped forward and waited--somewhat awkwardly--as the bartender turned her back to you both. 

The over-dramatic voice of the DJ floated over the air as he introduced the wedding party, prompting you to clap your hands together as the bartender filled your glasses. Once you both  had your drinks in hand, Harry made a move for the table.

“So you’re here alone by choice--do you know anyone else here?”

His eyes scanned the room as you settled back into your seats--this time he occupied the chair directly beside yours. He pursed his lips together, shook his head side to side, and then brought his eyes back to you. “No--just the happy couple.”

“And me,” you reminded, a small smile creeping over your lips. 

He raised his glass between you and clinked it against yours. “And you.”

“And for a living you…” your voice drifted, allowing him to pick up the sentence where you left off.

“User experience at a software company. Heard of Brinmoore?” His lips threatened to pull into a smirk, as if he knew your answer before the word left your mouth. 

“Never.”

“Me neither until I got here,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair again now and shrugging. “Pretty good, though. Quite like it, actually. Decent pay, decent benefits. Still don’t understand the whole American healthcare system, though.” He frowned and seemed to zone in on his place card that was now right next to yours. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you teased, suddenly enthralled with the way he brought his eyes back up to meet yours. 

You were interrupted momentarily by the couple across from you--they asked something about the dinner menu and made appropriate small talk as Harry seemed to sip as his champagne between stolen glances in your direction. 

A woman at your table--Shayna, who introduced herself as Nicole’s friend from high school--motioned between the two of you when Harry was in the middle of a conversation with her husband. 

“How long have you two been together?” She smiled politely, forking into the salad that was now being served. 

“We’re not,” you said quickly, letting your hand flutter in the air between you. “Just met tonight. Both here solo.”

Your words were choppy and forced--hopefully the blush on your cheeks was less evident in the dim lighting. 

“Oh--well, good timing then, huh?”

**

The cutting of the cake found you at the bar again--this time hoping to drown out the anxious voice in your head that worried about never finding your soulmate. The same bartender poured you the same drink, and when she offered it to you over the counter, you felt a hand on the small of your back. 

“Dipped out?”

Harry--whose tie was now loose around his neck after another three drinks--had red cheeks that you imagined were warm to the touch. 

“Needed a refill,” you raised the glass between you, watching as his eyes trailed down to your hand. He fell into step beside you as you headed back to the table

The music--which had been moderately upbeat all night--suddenly slowed. Shayna and Kevin were still seated side by side, laughing as they spoke with Nicole’s mother. 

You placed your champagne flute down on the table, and when you looked up, Harry’s hand was waiting expectantly, mid-air. 

“What?” You asked, looking down at his open palm. You could see some calluses at the base of his fingers--the rings he wore had left their mark on his otherwise smooth skin. 

“Dance?”

“Dance?” You repeated the word back at him, your eyes flickering over the parquet dance floor--as if you must have misheard him. 

“Dance,” he nodded, smiling again as you brought your eyes back to his. He bounced his hand in the air--as if to prompt a response from you--but you soon lifted your hand to find his. 

He pulled you in the direction of bride and groom--both of whom swayed in the center of a larger group of people. You looked around the room, certain that you looked like a fool dancing with a man you hardly knew and even more sure of the fact that you looked embarrassed and nervous and awkward. 

But the feeling didn’t last long. Harry pulled you up against him, his right arm snaking around your waist and his left lifting your hand to rest by your shoulders--which were now nearly touching in the midst of the crowd. 

He seemed to step into the song seamlessly, his body swaying and dipping with each beat as if he’d danced to the song a thousand times. He was warm--but the heat of his body next to yours was soothing and reassuring. 

By the end of the song he hummed into your ear--a quick glance in your direction was all he needed to know that you were more than content with the current arrangement. And when the song ended and Nicole and Josh were left staring at you in awe, Harry simply shrugged and nodded his head in the direction of the bar. 

“I’ll grab us another glass.”

[praphit]

SM3: Nice Jerks are the Worst

I don't know about y'all, but I had big plans for 2020. Now, maybe those big plans will still happen, Idk. But, this was supposed to be our year! - that's what people say, right?? This was the year that you were going to go on that vacation. You were going to drop that dead beat spouse, leave that spouse with the kids, and run off to Mexico, right??!. You were going to start that business. Gain that weight. Come out of the closet. Finally tat that left butt cheek. You were going to stop doing hardcore drugs. Maybe this was going to be your year to start doing hardcore drugs. I'm not here to judge, only to ramble. 

But, 2020 quickly turned to shit. Now, we're all looking for someone to blame. Someone has to pay for our horrible haircuts or hairiness, our newfound hatred for our families, and for plenty of much more serious stuff.

I, personally, like to turn to movies for lessons about life. And I think I have the perfect movie to help us figure out who to blame - you guessed it "Spider-Man 3"

This first attempt at a motion picture SM was doing so well. We loved Spidey (though some didn't care for Tobey Maguire, playing him). 

Spidey and Mary Jane (Kirsten Dunst) are adorable. Then, this thing showed up and everything turned to shit (not unlike Covid-19).

Let's look into what went wrong, and who is to blame.

First, let me say that I really liked the action in this movie. There are three villains in this movie: Venom (played by Topher Grace), that thing you see above. 

Green Goblin (played by James Franco), who is... a green goblin. 

And Sandman (played by Tommy Church), who has a body  that is now kinda made of sand - which seems silly if you pick it a part... though so does a man with the powers of a spider.

There was lots of action, and it was all shot well. There is one action scene where there is NO ONE around... I mean NO ONE. It's frickin NY. Peter Parker (not dressed as Spider-Man) and Green Goblin are causing all kinds of damage and making a lot of noise, and not ONE new yorker has anything to say about it? Unless you're a healthcare worker, I bet new yorkers are still cursing at each other from their homes. This was glaring, but Imma let it slide, cuz the action was good.

That's about all of the good I have to report:)

Quick plot recap:

1) MJ and Petey are on the rocks 2) James Franco is an asshole, trying to destroy Peter for killing his father (which he didn't) 3) Venom is trying to kill Spidey (what else is new??) 4) Venom, at one point, infects Peter Parker, to become "Black Spidey" - this, of course, is also when the people of the city started to hate him.

5) Oh, and Peter, mm! He's the worst. I've got something for him later.

There are two major reasons why people talk shit about this movie.

1st - Casting/Characters

Nobody is likeable in this movie

From the very first scene, MJ is singing to us, annnnd it's sooooo boring. I don't think it was supposed to be. Someone in the audience should have been booing. We can’t just allow entertainers to get comfortable, thinking that they can do whatever the hell that they want! - that’s how you end up with stuff like this 

 It was like, if Snow White were to perform a number for a large crowd.

Just Snow White - I ain't talking about no cute animals around or the suspense of menacing dwarves that might turn on Snow White at any moment. Not even a prince who might be gay (that’s the word on the streets). Just a long movie filled with songs from Snow White; that's what we're talking about. First, MJ bores me, then she's pathetically whining throughout the whole movie.

Sandman is cool (despite his love for striped shirts), but we don't really get to know him. 

Side note: He gets his powers by accidentally getting trapped in a science experiment. The scientists, btw, ( And Lord knows what they were up to) knew that something could have been trapped in there, assumed it was a bird, and kept on going. See, this is why certain people don't trust y'all.

James Franco is James Franco (an asshole). Not worth a pic.

Venom doesn't really have a personality (and his host... well, he ain't no Tom Hardy)

PLUS, Peter Parker is a dick (again, we'll get to that later).

The most likeable person in this film is JJ Jameson, and we're not really supposed to like him.

A person with that look shouldn’t be your most likeable character.

Look at this stage - 

Who is likeable up here? Fauci, maybe? But, betting by the amount of times that he puts his hands to his face, 

- there are things he's not allowing himself to say, so though perhaps likeable, if we can fully trust him. And as far as Trump...  Even Trump supporters can't HONESTLY say that they LIKE the man (I mean, if he weren't the prez, would you honestly want him around? - your family?). They certainly can't say that they trust him - though I guess the amount of people looking into ingesting cleaning products after Trump mentioned something along those lines, would beg to differ.

This is the group we're looking to for direction?!

And this is also a problem in the movie. I have to be able to like SOMEBODY! 

I need to be able to trust someone to stop the cheesy-written shit storm that is this movie.

"Cheesy Shit Storm" - how bout that for a visual? :)

2nd - dance numbers!

I actually didn't mind the first one, when Peter is dancing through the streets.

Ha! Wow, he is going for it. Come get it while it’ s hot, ladies!

It's odd, but it's supposed to be. It's supposed to be funny, and it kinda is. You ever dance a lil bit while you're out at a store? I know I do; especially now that we're wearing pandemic masks - no one knows who I am. NBD to dance a bit in public, but if you keep going passed a certain point, it just becomes annoying.

That's why the second dance number is bad. Plus, it doesn't make any sense.

At this point MJ and Peter have broken up. She's singing in a bar, and Peter interrupts her song with a dance number (while using his new girlfriend to poke at MJ). Now, While MJ’s songs of boredom deserve interruption, she didn’t deserve that.

Venom is like a drug. Venom brings out the worst in a person. You're telling me that Peter Parker, with all of the rage built up from Uncle Ben and villains and his life not being all that great; the best or I should say "the worst" that he can do is Jazz hands? With all of his superpowers, he should be out there slaughtering everyone in sight. I mean, he did slap the shit out of MJ though (by "accident"). That's when he snapped out of the evil dance number. I don't know what kind of message that sends. 

"MJ, it wasn't until I slapped the holy hell out of you that I realized the error of my ways, so... thank you? I'm just going to go on about my day now."

I see this misguided scene as a metaphor. Peter Parker is dancing around his issues:

His relationship with MJ has been bad. He's on that stuff (Venom). And honestly, MJ knows that he's Spider-Man. Why couldn't he have just explained to her what was happening? 

"Sorry, baby. I got possessed by an alien again, you know how it is."

And he was dealing with the fact that the person who killed his uncle is on the loose. Another side note: MJ, even though they had just broken up, still cares for Peter while he's dealing with the news about Uncle Ben's killer. That's a damned good friend right there! - especially the way Peter had been acting towards her.

We've got to deal with stuff, people! We can't just get bad haircuts, wear weird clothes, and do drugs! Eventually, that will lead us to slapping the shit out of someone that we love. There are a lot of realities that we're prob not facing at the moment (and some we prob have no intentions of ever facing). A lot of things that we could have done to prevent certain things from escalating, but... we were busy doing our typical dance.

Peter was warned about Venom and did nothing about it. He told himself, "I got this", and clearly he didn't. Honestly, the whole city was screwing up by not helping Spider-Man at all. At the end, when the big fight is happening, and MJ is near death, everybody is just watching all of this go down. Where were the cops?! The S.W.A.T?! Other superheroes? New Yorkers themselves! - they're bold! But, to be fair, Venom came from outer space, so... it was a bit unprecedented; people were prob scared. I'll cut them and Spidey some slack.

You know who I won't cut any slack - Tobey Maguire's Peter Parker!

Peter Parker is a jerk. I'm thinking that Tobey's Peter Parker has always been a jerk; a nice jerk, but a jerk. Have you ever met a nice jerk? They do all of the things that a regualr jerk does, but they'll rationalize their behavior, and look puzzled when you react to their awfulness. I didn't notice this in the 1st movie, cuz I was just happy to get Spider-Man. I didn't notice in the 2nd movie, cuz those kids were just too darn cute. But, his niceness was so annoying in this movie. And he treated MJ horribly : He never listens to her, he’s always late, he only talks about himself, he’s too damned nice, he never knows when they’re in a fight, he kisses other women right in front of her and then is like “What did I do?”

I kept wanting her to punch Peter out; he would have deserved it.

The foundation of the character of the 1st Spider-Man was a problem from the start! If the foundation is shaky, then - whew! I'm glad that we finally fixed it:)

Plus, he never said he was sorry. He did one of those "Well, I'm not perfect." things. She ain't asking for perfection, just quit being a jerk!

A better movie would have been if MJ had been infected by Venom. For starters, she would have given a better performance, in the beginning. Something more like this - 

She would have banged Peter's friends. She would have destroyed her critics. And most importantly, she wouldn't have taken any shit from Peter. That could have been the main plot. Instead of a convultued blend of three villains around the nice jerkiness of Peter, it would have been Spider-Man vs MJ - beatening each other up all throughout the city; though I guess that would be considered domestic violence. But, why dance around real issues out there! 

It could have been a family-friendly movie about drug abuse (Venom) and domestic violence... and possibly some make-up sex in the middle of the city. But, after that, one of them, if not both, are going to jail! We gotta deal with the problems, people!

Grade: an entertaining D+ 

I did enjoy it. It wasn't as bad as I remember it, and I'd prob watch it again. But, I can't deny that on a technical level, it's crap.

"Who’s to blame?" isn't really the question. It's more "Who deserves what percentage of the blame?" There's a lot of blame to go around here... even to us who enabled Peter's jerkiness in the first two movies.

I like the direction that we're going in now. 

A better Spidey A better MJ Better villains

And even a better Aunt May 

- looking all good with Tony Stark.

- imagine Tony aggressively flirting with the older one

[vael]

2019 Annual Review

Each year, I look back at the previous year’s annual review and note that things didn’t go as planned. For some reason I am always surprised, but this time it’s a little painful, too. From 2018′s Annual Review:

“2019 outlook? Sunny! I hope it will be my best year yet.“

Oh, Vael. You built your house, you moved to the promised land. But your year did not go as planned. You are not even close to the zen you craved.

It has been a wild year. This will run long. All I can do is stick to the format and hope my memory and average writing skill will do the year justice. So, as usual, we start with the positive.

What went well this year?

We like our house. We do. The builder was no good, resulting in some warped walls and a lot of headache getting them to finish everything properly, but the layout is very suitable for us. My office is exactly what I needed, our TV room has just the right space for us. We finally have a respectable kitchen. Since I’m living and working in the house 24 hours a day, it’s important to have a comfortable space.

Game development. For the past five years, I’ve put in some serious work. A lot of it was within my game engine, GAM3, and tinydark’s gaming network, The Orbium. While I put in a lot of work, not much came in the way of actual games produced. I finally rallied in 2018 and put out Bean Grower. It was designed to be a supplemental game, not a main driver, so it will not bring in sustainable income. I went on to think that I should open GAM3 up to other developers, license the engine out and collect a share of what they make.

I resolved to refactor GAM3: a word which means to rewrite and modernize many parts of it so that it’s easier to work in, and for it to present better. I would come to realize this desire to share GAM3 was due to a lack of confidence in myself to produce something great, and financially sustainable. Around the time I was realizing that multiplayer was the answer, I discovered Marosia.

Then we moved, I took on contract work, and things generally slowed for me for a few months, eking out what development I could. I played Marosia throughout and in August, it died. I wrote a teardown for it. The stars had aligned: though I had a lot of prelim work to be done, I would make a successor to Marosia. I managed to hype a few people in the community with a demo of GAM3 and I spent the next few months coding a chat prototype and generally organizing myself, and finally mid-November began the refactoring. It would end there, but just this morning (seriously) we learned Marosia was coming back. I had a momentary freakout but it’s ultimately a good thing for my own game.

I haven’t been more excited for a project in a long time. I never thought I’d be so excited to create a standard fantasy world, but it’s a ton of fun, with intricacies I never considered. The game’s design lends itself to a sustainable monetization model: I’m thinking $3/mo for quality-of-life upgrades, with a discount for buying in bulk. I would have paid double for Marosia, so I think this is fair. (6 months of die2nite is currently priced at $69, 6 months of Hattrick is $90!) And most important of all, I can do it ethically, with a game that truly means something to people.

Web development. I’ve learned quite a bit this year! I am so grateful for svelte. I liked but never loved React.js. It always felt ponderous to me. I have no doubt The Orbium’s refactoring would have taken me half the time it did if I were learning svelte vs. React, simply because React is so much more convoluted than svelte, and all in the name of uglier syntax. Svelte seamlessly integrates style and functionality into UI components, which means that if I’m working with a button that clicks to open a modal, everything I need for that button is in that one file.

Due to my contract work (with Harley Davidson, I can reveal) I also got some experience with Symfony and other modern development practices in PHP. PHP doesn’t really excite me these days, loathing having to produce views with it, but it is at least comfy.

My job. “Yeah, yeah.” I got a raise, most of which was contributed to getting Eve and my son onto my badass healthcare plan. We’re developing like it’s 2012, which is frustrating and makes even simple tasks take forever, but I can’t complain about the pay nor the stability of the company and my position there. I also work mostly remotely.

What didn’t go so well?

2019 was dominated by the bad. Eve’s not putting out an Annual Review, but our pain is shared.

The move. 11 months after the contract was signed, our builder was finally ready to let us move in. The house was not finished, just livable. So we rushed out of Rhode Island. We packed my car with everything we could fit, even removing the spare tire, but we got almost all of it. Me, Eve, our son, and our two cats.

At around 7:30 PM, we were driving on a dark highway when we were struck by a muffler that had fallen out from the truck in front of us. It destroyed the front-end, spilling radiator fluid onto the road. I had no idea what was going on, but it so happened that a mechanic had broken down right near us and was able to help. The engine barely carried us to the nearest motel, and I was in shock. I carried all our stuff to our second-floor room, it was even lightly raining. And I was defeated. Eve reports she had never seen me so bad. I had no idea how long we’d be in this ghetto-ass motel, what it would cost us during this time of great financial need, and mostly: I was just miserable. We could have died. If it had hit one of our tires, we could have spun out at 70+ MPH. All I wanted to do was get to our house the next day, and here we were.

I won’t detail the rest here, but I do want to thank my friends for their support and appreciate the good fortune that we got through this time.

We got to the house at 11PM on a Sunday; I still appreciate our builder taking the time to show us around so late. And... it was not at all what we were expecting. We had no driveway, and it had rained. We were tracking in some mud but that didn’t even matter because the entire house had to be cleaned. There was dirt all over the floors, they’d forgotten I didn’t want a chandelier over the dining room table, and the feeling was that we’d gone through Hell (and austure financial practices) to get here and this was it. So much wasn’t done. We knew that, but we didn’t think we’d be sweeping and wetting the floor with paper towel just to have a place to put our stuff. Shoutout to my friend Cody for setting us up with a supply drop.

We spent a lot of time buying furniture, aided by our rental SUV, all the while worrying about our newly purchased things sitting around the house without our protection as workers came in and out. I had to go back to Virginia to pick up the car and through exhaustion, caffeine, stupidity, and anxiety, managed to go 88 MPH and get myself a ticket: a misdemeanor, even. I spent the entire day picking up that damn car (5 hours up and down) and returned home in the worse state I’d ever felt. I was emotionally, mentally, and physically depleted.

But there was no stopping for me: I took on contract work and I had to get it done just to stay afloat. And then we got a fucking dog.

The dog. At some point in 2018 we determined that our son could use a companion and that a dog really completes the family. Leading up to the move, we put a down payment on a rough collie: the “Lassie” breed. They usually run around $800 and we got her for $500. I was a fan of the breed and Eve had done research that proves it’s a great breed. (it is) Even after the accident, we thought we should pay the rest for her and bring some joy into our life.

We named her Esme, and getting a dog was definitely one of the worst macro decisions I’ve made for the family yet. I couldn’t last more than a month with her. It was my decision to get rid of her, which made my wife and son sad but we were getting so little out of the experience. The cats beat her up, she was afraid of everything, and all she wanted to do was run around but we kept her cooped up in the house because we had no fence. I hated that there was still a dog smell, and I hated that it farted during Game of Thrones. It was over when we went grocery shopping and came back to a poop-filled crate, which the circumstances of the night dictated I must clean.

Young Living. Eve was supposed to sell essential oils for some side money. We knew it wasn’t going to be big money, unless she got lucky or turned out to be a natural-born saleswoman, but it was something to do and we believe in the products. I really trust in Young Living and I personally have seen the benefits of their oils and products.

So she went to the YL convention in Utah to learn to sell and, hey, have some fun. She returned feeling even less confident: they’d changed some numbers, and the truth that we always knew was that the market’s highly saturated. There are memes trivializing the effects of oils and there’s no denying the company’s an MLM. A lot of the big earners made their sales early on. Coinciding with the bad feels of Autumn, we decided to put the oil dream aside and focus on mental and physical health.

Eve mental/physical health. The muffler changed a lot for us. It morphed what should have been a very happy time in our lives into a very stressful one. Eve felt fatigued and broken down, and I wasn’t much better off. One day before her planned back-to-action, pick ourselves up and get ready to enjoy Summer, she sprained and tore a ligament in her ankle while coming down the stairs. We hoped it was just a sprain and did everything we could to avoid going to the doctor, but a week later she hadn’t gotten better and so began the PT and bullshit regimen. Our plans of hiking the blue ridge mountains were crushed.

But she recovered, and I shit you not, the very day before she planned to return to action, it was Father’s Day. She was making me my special breakfast and was using a hand-blender to blend pumpkin french toast mix when she went to clean some gunk out of the blender with her finger. It was a split-second decision to help make breakfast faster. Her finger twitched, caught the irresponsibly sensitive power button and tore her finger up. Immediately took her to Urgent Care and then the Emergency Room. $3,000 and some luck later, she kept her finger, but has permanently lost some feeling in it.

That was a bad time for us. I was overworked, she was miserable, and yet she still managed to get to Utah to learn how to sell. To salvage our year. In Autumn, all the anxiety, stress, and the damage from her upbringing finally culminated and she broke. 

Her physical health tanked in tandem with her mental. She suffered frequent menstrual issues and her EDS (a joint disorder) flaring up. It is hard to detail all the pain and frustration, and it really is beyond the scope of what needs to be said. My wife is depressed, prone to feeling overwhelmed, and I’m happy to say that we are getting her professional help soon.

What’s remarkable is that I can’t recall a period of time that she didn’t try her best to recover. Every month, most weeks, she would constantly express that the next day or month was her time. She’s done it for this month and 2020 as well. And I don’t think she’s lazy or unmotivated. She is just defeated and I am a poor comforter. Honestly, I am just shit at helping people if the solution isn’t “well just force yourself to do the thing.” That’s how I get through my problems and it doesn’t work for everyone, not even always myself. Still she is strong. I think writing this out has helped me remember that.

Relationship with my son. I had hoped my increased efficiency and happiness would improve our relationship. I planned for more structure: things like “once we’re upstairs for bedtime rituals, no going back down.” Each night I make a point to spend a minimum of 30 focused minutes with him. But I have only succeeded in making our relationship worse. I don’t think he needs professional help, but there is something within him, from when he was three years old, that just prevents him from being a hard worker. Respect is important to me and I don’t respect him. He is a frustrated child, often not understanding the world, often forgetting things he was supposed to do. I’m not doing a good job of helping.

I think I could have done better, but there were simply too many fronts to fight.

Mental performance. I haven’t gotten any better from last year. I am still not as sharp as 2017-Vael. It is a matter of stress and lifestyle.

What did I learn?

How to be a homeowner! Generally how to manage a home. I got my tools, all cute with my little leaf blower.

SLOWWWW DOWWWWN. The outside of the house needs some work. We need to extend our driveway, clear an acre, and put up a fence. I could take a loan out to do this and be fine, but I could also just slow down. Take a deep breath. Enjoy what we have for the Summer. It sucks I won’t be able to use that acre for farming, but I think I have a good place to plant a single apple tree this year. And hey, less mowing.

A shit ton of web development.

Probably became more cynical. But I think The Good Place has helped remind me to be a good person.

To just accept Eve needs help. And that I really suck at helping her.

Future Outlook

All that bad stuff that happened? Pfft. Shitty year. 2020′s here, it’s a brand new decade. I’ve got a cool game I want to make, we’re gonna get Eve some help, and...

Get pregnant! Yeah! Right now we definitely aren’t ready for kids. We need to use our new health insurance to make a bunch of appointments, recover  financially, mentally, physically. But we very badly want more children. I feel it all the time. I have begun to suspect that genetics do matter, and I wonder if Abel’s laziness mirrors his biological father’s laziness. My dad loved to work and I do too. It might be possible to pass these traits on.

Better office. I need to get some furniture and improve my work environment.

Vacation! We desperately need a vacation. We’re going to Disney this year, either May or June.

Zen Vael. I will attempt to be “the person I want to be” as detailed last year. My soft goal for this is March 15th, as I set last year. I will undoubtedly fail that date. There is no way I’m wrangling my sleep and attitude in the next two months, but surely by the end of the year?

Thanks for reading.

Vael

[prorevenge]

Try to screw the elderly out of essential health care services? Have fun watching your company collapse.

Disclaimer: all names have been changed to protect the identities of the stupid.

So, back in October of 2017, when I was young and carefree and happy, I applied to a job working for a home healthcare company. This particular company would supply nurses and home care aids to assist the elderly with day to day activities like cooking and cleaning as well as more essential services such as wound care, catheter care, etc.

The building that I worked in was an apartment building that housed seniors who needed some care, but didn’t require many essential services. Think of it like a hotel that was just for seniors, with us being the “lobby” where the elderly could call down if they needed extra assistance with catheters, medication, whatever.

When the program first started, it was fantastic. We had an amazing in-office supervisor named Becca. She would do all of the paperwork for the day, and then come help us with our list of clients in the building that needed help. Some clients would need help getting in and out of the shower, making breakfast, taking medications, things that I have already mentioned. Becca did all of the paperwork and helped us with the clients, she was great.

It started to go downhill about two weeks into November. The position that I had applied for was a full time position, and when I interviewed, they told me that I would be able to get full time no problem because they are always looking for staff... hmm... that’s peculiar. Remember this point for later.

It’s about two weeks into November and I’m about to get my first schedule, and I notice that I am only listed for 52 hours in a two week period. I call the off-site office/head office and ask them why I was only getting 52 hours when I was supposed to be getting full time. They told me that even though I have a full time contract, hours are not “guaranteed” and I would have to work outside of my availability to make up the extra hours.

I was pissed, but I didn’t say much beyond “okay, thanks for letting me know, bye.” Word got around the program/hotel that Becca was getting ready to leave for another job. My coworkers and I were all stunned, because Becca was the supervisor that we loved. She was gentle with the clients, and helped us immensely. She confirmed that she was, in fact, leaving in two weeks.

Flash forward to just after Christmas and we get a new supervisor from another province. This lady has zero clue how to do her job. We are constantly having to explain to her that certain clients can’t be seen at certain times because it would conflict with schedules and we can’t guarantee a time in case of an emergency situation like a senior having a heart attack, fall, or what have you. Instead of taking this constructively, she tells us that she knows what she’s doing and begins to run us into the ground. We keep our mouths shut and work, even though we know that the schedule will fall apart. Sure enough, after about a week this new supervisor is up to her eyeballs in unfinished paperwork and phone calls.

About a month after that, we lose a full time employee because this new supervisor, who we will call Donna, told her that because she was 5 minutes late to work that it was her fault that the clients wouldn’t be able to be seen on time and she might as well not even give report because the clients are already going to be seen late anyway.

Then comes the temporary workers to fill in for the full time employee. Our old full time employee worked Mon-Fri from 7-3. These new employees would stroll in anywhere between 8:30-10am and leave by around noon. They didn’t chart. They didn’t tell us what they had done. They didn’t even wear their name badge most of the time. We were picking up the slack hard, all while Donna sat on her ass in her nice cushy office chair doing nothing except complain about how much work she had to catch up on. It was “so stressful” that she needed to go out for smoke breaks. If you’re a non-smoker you’ll feel me on this one. She would be gone anywhere between 20-45 minutes at a time to “have a smoke” while the rest of us were rushing around.

Then came the discrepancies in pay checks. Some people weren’t getting paid overtime or for holidays. We had multiple incidences where a coworker was short about $200 on their pay. This was because Donna didn’t file the necessary paperwork and talk to HR. Long story short, we sign in for work on a Samsung Galaxy through a medical program. At the end of the day, Donna is supposed to take all of our information from sign in (goes straight to her Samsung) and email it all at once to payroll. She wasn’t doing this.

Coworkers started dropping like flies. Over the Christmas break, one woman worked a 16 hour shift (3pm-7am the next day) because they couldn’t find anyone to fill in. The seniors in the building were noticing all of the new faces. They were asking why their visits were being cut from the usual 1 hour to roughly 15 minutes. We simply told them it was because we were short staffed.

We were frustrated, the seniors we worked with were frustrated, and management (Donna and head office) just kept sitting on their asses and laughing while we rushed around because they weren’t the ones making direct patient calls. They could ignore the phone calls and paperwork. We couldn’t ignore angry remarks from the patients.

All of the coworkers got together and talked about what to do and it was decided: any time that a patient complained, we would tell them that we were incredibly sorry but we couldn’t offer any extra time as we were short staffed and if they had an issue, they could call the off site supervisor at 555-5555.

Calls began pouring in, meetings were happening, and still nothing was changed. We were told by head office to “just wait it out” and that Donna wasn’t a bad supervisor because it was “just her personality.” At this point we were all PISSED beyond belief. People for night shift started to not show up, leaving the people who had just worked 3-11pm stranded until the head office managed to find somebody to come in. Usually someone would come in around 12:30-1am if we were lucky.

About a month ago, they put up a schedule of “open shifts.” I noticed that I was working alone every other Friday from 3-11, when we should have had two staff at the MINIMUM. I started calling the office and they told me the same thing they’ve told everyone else: “just hang in there, we are in the process of hiring new staff.”

I worked last week, and night shift didn’t come in. I was stuck at work from 3pm-7am and when I called at 11pm (when shift change was supposed to happen) they told me that I had to stay. When I told them that it was illegal for me to work a 16 hour shift without time off between/proper breaks, I was met with a statement I’ll never forget:

“Why don’t you see if day shift will come in at 4am so that you only have to work 13 hours?”

I was absolutely fuming at this point and was ready to tell them exactly where to go. But if I quit on the spot and let them win, I’d be leaving my coworkers short, and the patients living in the building without any proper medical attention.

I started getting more complaints from patients and angry families. I gave them all the head office number and told them to ask for Chris, who is the operations manager. To make a long story short, about 70 out of the 85 clients who live in the apartment have switched their medical services to a competitor’s company, Chris walked out Donna tonight (aka fired), and I called the head office tonight and told them not to worry about me anymore because I was done working every two weeks short staffed. I quit on the spot, which means they will be scrambling to fill two 3-11 shifts tomorrow, and the remaining 15 clients will have to be seen by the staff at head office, who will finally be getting off their asses and seeing what our world has been like for the past half a year.

TL;DR - head office fucks us around, fucks the elderly around, and eventually it all backfires in their face when staff quit and leave them to do the work that they had been dumping on us.

(source) (story by DyingFirstClass)

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 9

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

Tuesday, April 9th (continued)

In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised when the car didn’t stop, and Graham merely said “Sir?” while looking in the rearview mirror.

“You can stop,” the King nodded, and the car immediately pulled into the next parking spot.  “What is it?”

“Do you trust me?” Rose asked simply, blinking up at him and doing her best to look responsible and trustworthy.  Given his unhappiness at her initial hiring, this would be a good test of if his feelings had changed, and if he was truly ready to play ball.

After a moment a smile spread across his face, and he nodded.  “Aye.  Are we getting out?”

He emerged first, before turning to help her out of the car.  His hand was inordinately warm against hers, a pleasant feeling given the cold air around them, and he held on for far longer than was strictly necessary; they were several steps down the road before he let go, though she could still feel his touch like a phantom.

“Where are we going?”

“Come on,” Rose just grinned, heading up the steps of the Children’s Center to the main entrance, the King at her heels and Sarah Jane not far behind.  A large knocker sat on the front door and Rose tapped it, fighting back nervousness as she waited for the door to open.

After what felt like a small eternity but couldn’t have been a minute at most, it was opened by an older gentleman with sandy blond hair, whose eyes widened at the sight of them before his brow furrowed.  “Can I help you?”

“Hi,” she said brightly with far more confidence than she felt, “my name’s Rose, I spoke with Polly on Saturday, she said I could stop by today for a tour of the place.  Is she available?”

The man nodded, blinking, before calling over his shoulder, “Pol, it’s for you!”  Stepping aside, he gestured for them to enter. “She’ll be right down.  Please, come in.  Welcome, Your Majesty,” he bowed his head to his king.

“Thank you,” King Ian said graciously, before turning a curious eye to Rose.  “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Mel and I- my assistant- we came into town for the start of the festival on Saturday,” Rose hurried to explain before the woman arrived, “and the Center- City of Arcadia Children’s Center, I believe- was hosting a bake sale.  I got to chatting with the girls and Polly, and I had a thought. When you choose your wife, she should have a cause, right?  Obviously because of timing she won’t have much time between the proposal and wedding, and I thought her first thing as Queen could be to sponsor the Children’s Center.”

The King arched an eyebrow at her, face impassive, and Rose held her breath.  “You think this is an organization deserving of Crown funds?” he asked neutrally.  “You know nothing about them, really.  Or if they would even accept it.”

“That’s why we’re here!” she explained, as Polly hurried up.

“Sorry, love, I was changing a nappy- oh my word!  Your Majesty, welcome!”  She dropped into a deep curtsey, and Rose had to hide a smile at her obvious surprise and bewilderment.  “How may I serve you?”

“Miss Tyler is assisting with planning the Coronation,” he said vaguely, “and thought I should stop by.”

Rose bit her lip, taking in everyone’s lackluster expressions and wondering if she’d made a huge mistake.  Again.  Shit.  “It was just a thought,” she mumbled, backtracking, her face flushing.  “But if there’s a more pressing engagement…”

“I did promise her a tour, Sir,” Polly cut in.  “Please, it would be an honor.”

The King’s jaw clenched, but he nodded in agreement, making Rose feel worse.  “I suppose we have a few minutes,” he allowed, causing Ben and Polly to both brighten considerably.

“That’s wonderful!  Please, if you’ll follow me,” Polly said, turning towards a room on the right-hand side, and Rose waited until everyone else followed to fall in line, shoulders slumping and biting her lip to keep from crying.

Shit, shit, shit!  Why do I keep fucking this up?

-

By the time they were done with the tour of the Center Ian’s jaw ached from clenching it so tightly in an attempt not to smile or laugh.  Rose had stuck to the back of the group, looking miserable, which made it easier to keep up the façade.

In truth, he was slightly amazed at her talent – somehow, with no guidance or hint from him, she had managed to key into one of the causes most dear to his heart, after healthcare.  That she would see a somewhat run-down building where children would go for free care and think this is a cause a Queen should support, this is the first cause a Queen should support amazed him.  When the subject had come up at various times throughout his life, most of the women he asked What would be your first priority as Queen? would respond with some variation of the fine arts.  Music, dancing, painting, sculptures, preserving history…  All fine things, he would admit, but not his top priority – that was his subjects.

And somehow she had seen that bit of his heart, had translated it so perfectly.

He managed to keep his expression severe until they climbed back into the car.

As soon as the doors had shut and Graham had started driving again she blurted, “I’m so sorry!  I should have asked first, that was so stupid of me.  I hope you weren’t offended, or annoyed.  It was just an idea, and a terrible one.  Please forget about it!”

She looked terrified, the poor girl, and he could contain himself no longer, letting out a snort that soon turned to a fully belly laugh, as he truly let loose for what felt like the first time in ages.

“Your Majesty?”  Rose’s small, scared voice snapped him out of it, and wiping at his eyes with his shirtsleeves, he fought for composure.

“You did nothing wrong,” he rasped out, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from Sarah and sipping at it.  “Quite the contrary.”

“So… you’re not going to fire me?  Again?”

Any remaining humor fled immediately, and he made sure to meet and hold her eye when he said, “No.  I have no intention of doing so. You’ve been doing an… adequate job,” he allowed, not quite able to say what he really felt, suddenly worried that if he did, the whole sordid truth might spill out.  “No, I’m quite afraid you’re stuck here until I marry, Miss Tyler, and not a second less.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, a tentative smile playing at the corners of her mouth.  “What did you think of the Center?”

He smiled warmly, digging in his jacket’s inner pocket for a moment before pulling out what he was looking for.  Flipping it open to the right page, he held it out towards Rose in offering.  “My personal checking account – Ian Docherty, that is, not ‘the King’.  Funded by my work as a doctor- that bit’s not important though.  See the last entry?”

Rose took it, reading aloud, “A thousand dollars paid to- oh.”

“You see?”  He accepted his checkbook back with a nod.  “You’ve managed to find the cause most dear to my heart, after medicine.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”  Ian blinked, unsure of her question.

She raised an eyebrow, looking more relaxed now that she knew she hadn’t mucked up.  “Why is the Center so important to you?”

That was an unexpected question, though he supposed perfectly reasonable.  “Polly was our nanny,” he said slowly, “when we were young.  Once we no longer needed her she went to start the center, with my parents’ blessing.  She wanted to give children who had less than ideal childhoods a safe place.  Polly was always firm though, she didn’t want the Crown paying for the Center – private donations only, though we tried to convince her otherwise.  We have grants and other programs that would help support her, but she still refuses.  I write her a check every month, but most go uncashed – I know they’re struggling when one is.  Most over the last year have been.”

A ball of worry twisted his gut, as he let himself think about the Center.  Polly and Ben were both dear to him, people he’d known and loved his entire life, and the thought of them struggling made his soul ache.  He did all he could to help, continuing to write them checks and sending workers around when he caught wind of a problem.

“Donna actually sends her twins there, twice a week,” he shared unexpectedly.  “She hadn’t before, but once the fancy agency opened she started to, to try to encourage others to support it.  The rich couples who care about status and money were the first ones to pull out, and she had hoped that the chance to rub elbows, or more specifically share toys, with royalty would be enough to tempt them back.  Their donations had been what kept the Center firmly in the black, but the building’s so old that it’s difficult for Ben to maintain on his own.”

The it wasn’t enough went unsaid, but Rose picked it up loud and clear it seemed, based on her sympathetic expression.

And then her face lit up.  “What if you hosted a fundraiser?”

“What?”

Rose nodded excitedly, eyes gleaming.  “Oh, it’s perfect! It might be last minute, but it could work.  You host a ball, or dinner, or whatever, with the price of the tickets going straight to the Center.  Ben and Polly would be honored guests.  We’ll be doing in-person interviews by then, so whoever is still on our shortlist can attend.  We have them mingle – it gives them a chance to meet your subjects, and understand the sort of causes that are important to you.  Quite frankly, their opinions afterwards might be quite telling.  Especially if it’s not so formal!  Host a casual dinner, and see how the candidates react.  I know being normal is important to you, and it gives you a chance to see them that way!  If they can’t handle it, or sneer, or go over the top, then that helps weed the list down further!  Oh, that’s brilliant,” she gushed, digging a notebook out of her purse and starting to scribble in it.

“I think it’s a fine idea,” his aunt offered with a smile.  “And the money won’t be coming directly from the Crown, so I think we can twist Polly’s arm into accepting it.  We can have it this weekend!”

Ian raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two madly-smiling women.  “You think you can pull this off?”

Two heads bobbed enthusiastically.

He let out a sigh, before nodding.  “Then do it.”

Rose’s answering beam was enough to make it worth it.

It’s official.  I am fucked.

-

Thursday, April 11th

Naturally, that meant Rose spent the next day and a half running around like a crazy person, trying to accomplish a thousand things at once.  Wednesday was the first round of interviews, each of the twelve getting forty-five minutes with Rose.  Seven were sent home that day, and the five spent Thursday morning in more intensive interviews with Rose, an hour each.

Now, for a little happy hour get to know you, the King would meet the remaining women for the first time.  From there, he would hopefully narrow it down to three, and then finally one.

Rose walked him towards the ballroom where hopefully his future bride and queen waited, doing her best to encourage him.  “Look, you chat with them, try to find some common ground.  All five are, on paper, if not perfect, then very well suited to you.  But only you can feel a spark with one of them, and make your choice.”

“How will I know?” he asked tentatively, as they walked arm in arm down the hall from his apartments to the minor ballroom hosting the small cocktail party.

“Know?”

“Who to keep.”

Rose shrugged, wrinkling her nose.  “Whoever gives you butterflies.”

“Butterflies?  Is that like indigestion?”

She laughed.  “You’ve never had them before?  Blimey. Uh, yeah, I suppose, but… happy.”

“Happy indigestion?”  He looked so baffled she had to smile despite her own nerves.

“Exactly.  It’s okay to be nervous though – this is just a first pass,” she tried to reassure him with a pat on his forearm, privately marveling at the softness of his suit jacket.  “Anyone you absolutely don’t click with, or can’t possibly see a future with, we send home.  Those left will get an hour or two of your time tomorrow, and attend the fundraiser Saturday night – which is pulling together beautifully, by the way.”

“Right.”  They reached the ballroom then, stopping outside the doors, and he let out a deep breath.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Rose inspected him carefully, adjusting his already-straight tie and brushing off his shoulders just for an excuse to touch him, though she refused to allow herself to dwell on the why of that particular desire.  “The most important thing is be yourself.  They’re evaluating you as much as you are them – if you both pretend to be something other than you are, you might run into another ‘River’ situation.”

“You think they’ll be pretending?”

“Of course.”  She snorted.  “One of the women in there will almost definitely become a queen in two weeks.  They will do and say whatever they have to in order to get the crown.  So, trust your gut, follow the butterflies, and let fate do the rest. Okay?”

He nodded slowly, still looking rather unsure.  “I hate this.  I wish she would just let me abdicate,” he whined, making Rose smile.

“Obviously, your sister believes you can do this.  And for the record, so do I.”

That, at least, seemed to mean something to him, because the deep crease in his forehead mostly smoothed.  She didn’t let herself wonder if, perhaps, it was her confidence in him more than Princess Donna’s that was the cause.

“Thank you, Miss Tyler, for everything,” the King said softly, genuinely, raising her hand to his lips, pressing the most fleeting of kisses to her knuckles and sending her stomach into a riot.  “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll know,” she promised with a confidence she didn’t feel, tone matching his.  “Maybe not the moment you meet, but you’ll know.  One of those women will be her.  Just have faith.”

With a final nod, he tugged at the hem of his jacket to straighten it before nodding at the footman waiting, who opened the door.  Shoulders back and head high, he walked into the room like the King he was, leaving Rose standing outside alone.

God, please let me be right.  Please let her be in the palace tonight.

[neighsleigher]

Blue Man Group Arrives In Nevada, Except It’s Just One Troll

> Equius Zahhak throws away the wax wrapping of his carbonated thin crisps and begrudgingly settles into the leather padding of the passenger seat. A conscious action for a foreigner. 

> He could see his escort from the parking lot paying for their topped-off tank of gas and refreshments with unmarked bills. The cashier, human, was, of course, polite to his patron, and given by their shared expression the two had struck a conversation. Much to Equius’ chagrin.

> They've long since escaped the confinements of civilization,  the last leg of their journey upon them. From this point on it’d be Equius, his escort, the asphalt of the open road and desert sand wisping past and grating sensitive skin.

Equius rests his arm on the window sill. Though grateful for the lack of roof to their vehicle, he can't help but feel like an uncomfortably large sardine in a comically small can.

Those two wrap it up and finally, finally, the door of the store swings open and the escort emerged.  Equius exhaled deeply through his nose and said nothing when the human popped open the driver's door.

“How's your stomach holding up?” he said, before dropping a bag into Equius’s lap. Oh, seltzer water. “Not sure if it'll do it you any good, but it's better than nothing.” The escort starts the ignition while Equius knocks back a quarter of his seltzer as they pulled out of the empty lot and got back on the road.

Already the feeling of nausea is starting to subside. “Thank you.”

“Ain’t a thang-chicken wang,” It’s when Equius raises a brow that the human clears his throat to keep talking. “Out on business huh? Must be some pretty exciting stuff, yeah?”

“I guess,” is all Equius could say.

“And you just returned from- like- space, right?”

“Correct.”

“That’s kinda dope- I mean, that’s cool. Being up in space for that long, I mean. What do you guys even do up there for that long?”

“You’ve gotten awfully chatty considering this is the final stretch of our drive together,” Equius says pointedly, which his escort responds with a shrug of his shoulders. “Clearly we work,” he says while another carbonated thin crisp square is pressed to the trolls lips. “And then we work some more, doing our part to service the Empire.”

His escort, clearly dissatisfied with his answer or lack-thereof, tries to push the subject even further. “Trolls have powers, right? Like mind control, or lifting things with your thoughts. You remind me of the X-Men! Except, you know, they don’t do what you guys do,” he laughs awkwardly. “You’re a blue, right? Can you read my mind, or do you have some other power?”

Crushing heads like a particularly ripe cantaloupe didn’t feel like much of a valued answer. “No.”

“So you guys are just born like that? Sorry, I mean hatched.” This humans attempts at getting friendly were falling flat. Equius isn’t sure if he should scold him for talking to his superiors at all or commend him for the stone sized globes he’s smuggling behind the confinements of his Sunday slacks. Nonetheless, he keeps talking. “Oh- you said you didn’t have any powers? Does that mean you just came out the egg Jack Diesel? A freak with a cause and crazy muscles?” He persisted.

This conversation has taken a hard left and Equius isn’t a fan of the detour.

This man can talk, he is like the Muhammad Ali of talking. If the conversation was an Olympic sport this man would have done a somersault onto the podium and clean house. Bronze, silver, gold- all his, tucked into his grubby little hands and taking everyone for a three-hour drive no one wanted in the first place. The tank is full, his gums are loose and everyone is terrified.

“Yes,” Equius interrupts before this man could even think of moving his lips again. “I was, in fact, hatched with unbelievable strength and gifted physical abilities that your species could only dream to achieve.” The escort opens his mouth to say something else, perhaps to comment on the visible sweat dripping down the troll’s brow. But he would never know for sure as it instead shuts tight.

“Though that is to be expected,” Equius continued. “We are superior, which explains why your planet was so easy to colonize into our mighty Empire. To call it a fight would be to give you more credit than you’ve earned- it was a scuffle if anything.”

“If you want to put it that way, sure, but you’ve got to admit that it was an unfair fight-”

“There is no such thing as ‘unfair’ in a fight,”

“Are you upset because- ”

Equius paused. His face had gone a faint yet noticeable shade of blue.

“Stop the vehicle.”

The escort furrows his brows and gives his passenger a look over. “You okay big guy?”

“I said stop the car.”

Nausea had returned and with a vengeance. The car swerved off the main road and into a clear patch of dirt and rocks, Equius stumbled out with the grace of a newborn deer and into a ditch.

The rest of the drive was smothered with an uncomfortable silence, both escort and escorted now reverting back into their proper roles. The two exchange glances, one apologetic, the other leaning to a close second.

And they leave it at that.

In two hours time, they finally encounter signs of life outside of the average lizard and hungry buzzard, driving past Imperial Military vehicles and the trolls who stood there like sour-faced statues. The Escort stops next to a toll booth and the troll manning it. “Evening boys, you two look like shit. Long drive?”

Neither driver or passenger could take offense to the observations made by the Imperial Soldier manning the toll road of the fenced off area, as they reigned true. Driving for almost several hours- including periodical breaks at Equius’ expense- has that kind of impression on people.

Their destination was finally revealed to be a small district in the middle of the Mojave Desert, Nevada. He hadn’t been given all the details, just to show up at the given coordinates as soon as they were grounded and their personal affairs were situated. No questions were asked; not because they weren’t necessary, but because it would have been unprofessional.

Equius runs the proper procedures. He flashes his I.D, credentials, and the necessary paperwork to prove his placement before taking a beetle to the pad of his index finger. It’s needle pointed mandibles piercing flesh and drawing a healthy sample of blood into its now swollen thorax. It glows a faint, royal blue.

He drops the beetle now full of his blood sample into a metal dish sitting neatly on the desk inside the booth.

The Imperial Soldier doesn’t look up from his flashy military-grade tablet, tapping letters and numbers into the illuminated screen before speaking in the escort’s direction. “You can turn back now.”

The human's jaw tightens a bit and excuses himself quietly, but not before offering Equius a farewell; “Sorry about the tight fit big guy, and uh, everything else.” Most likely concerned that he’d get a mark to his records. And ‘annoyed their assignment vomiting on the side of the road’ sounds like a quick way to lose healthcare privilege.

His silence is enough to make the escort shrink back into his seat, but it’s Equius’s careful bob of his head that eases him just enough to leave the booth comfortably.

“You can enter, just head towards the collapsible containment shelter- the big white tent a few feet away from the crash site,” The Soldier pointed past the gates and through the crowd, where a white stood proudly above the chaos. “Your overseer should already be inside.”

Equius muttered his thanks and entered the gate that sealed- whatever this was- off from the rest of the world with a chain linked fence and a lot of lethal weaponry.

Imperial Soldiers, Medicullers, and members of the Research Division scattered the sector like ants. Everyone was kept busy, to slow down and to do anything else outside of their job would merit a scolding or a demotion to their ranks. Out of the corner of his eye, Equius could see, judging by the colors of the patches sewn into their shoulders, three olives and a cerulean examining the contents of a body bag.

In the middle of the fray was a crater the size of a small cargo ship, deep enough to drain a lake three times over.

The earth around the edge of the crater that dropped into the pit was scorched and ashen, nothing would be able to grow here again. Equius peered over the ridge to get a closer look, to see if he could catch a glimpse of what could have caused an impact that severe to create such a sizeable hole. But it was empty, save for the trolls collecting dirt samples.

“Zahhak.” A voice, stern and smooth, called out above the crowd.

His attention snaps to look ahead, to now approach the white tent that the Imperial Soldier informed him of with a clawed finger. The voice originating from behind its partially raised entry.

A particularly photogenic tealblood, a familiar face, waited patiently by the tent’s entrance. The overseer’s right hand adjusts her thinly framed glasses that only brought attention to her small, button nose, her long hair now done up in a tight bun instead of flowing freely at her shoulders.

“You’re late,” she scolds and Equius tries not to wince. It had only been by five minutes, but that wasn’t an excuse to waste her time.

“My apologies, but if I may ask-”

“You may.”

Equius bit his bottom lip carefully before speaking again, his voice soft. “Why did you assign to me a human escort?”

Serana stares at Equius blankly, her gaze forcing him to shift nervously where he stands. Their relationship was strictly professional, but even then it wasn’t as if Serana hadn’t made attempts to understand her co-workers on some level.

“Come with me.” She was hard to read at times, even with

Ignoring the dampness on his forehead, she leads him inside.

Despite first appearances, the inside of the tent was fairly spacious, with enough walking room for exactly five adult trolls of intimidating size. On opposite ends of the tent the walls were occupied by bulky consoles, display screens, and workbenches all of organic roots. Healthy, pulsating wires coiled the floor and snaked their way around the legs of every troll and table here, every wire connected to one massive framework in the corner of the tent. Conveying electric currents into the lush purple mainframe.

Serana caught up her skirt and maneuvered her way around the maze of circuitry. She leads her lesser to the far back of the tent, where the wires became more crowded and convoluted. Making it a chore and a half for Equius to dance around so as to not crush anything.

Serana approached the back of the tent, her clipboard secure in her arms. “Sir,” she rose her voice to be heard among the whirring of machines.

The Overseer, Galleo Mercur, was (visually) as one would expect of a sea dweller; clean, neatly trimmed and exhibiting excellence with every graceful poise. His nose was pointed and his jawline regal, like a model, and though he’s already earned sweeps under his belt the man didn’t look a cycle over twelve. He stood in front of a glass display case that Equius couldn’t peer into despite being taller than the man.

The Overseer turned to face Equius with a wide grin etched into his lips. “Zahhak, baby, you mate it!” The man was always so loud, and even when he should have been used to it; Equius jumped each time. “Why so late, I thought you had a grasp on Earth time?”

“His driver was human, sir,” Serana interrupted.

The man rests a hand on his hip, cocking it to the side. “What? Zahhak, buddy, I am so sorry- Serana, how on Alternia did this happen!? You know I don’t trust monkeys behind the wheel.” He makes sure that everyone and their lusus within earshot knows his stance on the miserable road trip that Equius had embarked.

His dutiful assistant let her fingers drum against the back of her clipboard. “I did not arrange for this, sir.” Oh, that actually made sense.

Galleo tilted his head. “Then who did?” That made a lot more sense.

“You did, sir.”

Galleo paused for a moment, lips and brows scrunched tight to scan his mind for whether the accusation proved true or not. “Oh well, mistakes happen. Doesn’t matter,” he dismisses it just as soon as he considers it. Galleo brings up his right hand and waves it lazily; taking this as her cue, Serana carefully takes up space next to her Overseer and the glass cube he stood in front of.

“Zahhak,” Galleo said simply, running a chill down Equius’s spine. Or maybe it was the night breeze cooling the metal.

“Sir?” He responds proper.

Galleo, obviously pleased with the attentive care his employee put into his answers. “How would you feel about taking up a special little assignment during our time here on Earth?”

An assignment straight from the Overseer? “I would feel honored, sir.”

Galleo tossed his head back and laughed, loud and boisterous, like a talk show host from SNL, a program that Equius shamefully admits to tuning in on from time to time to fill the silence in his quarters. “See,” he spun on his heels, and Equius could see the gleam in his eyes behind the yellow tint of his glasses. “That’s why I like you, you’re always so quick to do what I want you to do and you barely waste my time with useless questions,” he crowed.

“Of course,” Equius affirmed. “If you are to just tell me what it is that I am to do, sir, then I will do it to the best of my abilities.” Serving his higherups came first, after all. Even if Equius did take a quick detour to visit Dirk. The Overseer let out another hearty laugh, with Serana fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“A few nights ago, Earth time mind you, one of our patrol stations were given a heads up about some illegal crash landing activities here in this desert. I’m sure you saw the big hole outside.” It was hard to miss it. “To cut a long story short, patrol was called, they came to check it out, then patrol called us once they realized that this was way out of both their jurisdiction and pay grade.” Galleo stepped to the side; giving Equius a clear view of the mystery behind the glass casing, and the mystery a clear view of Equius.

At first he sees himself in a red tint, the glass surface of the foreign object reflected everything within a ten-foot radius. It was sphere shaped, smooth, and reminded Equius of a glass marble. It couldn’t be no more than thirty- no, thirty-five inches in circumference and looked heavy for any human or rustblood to carry on their own. The sphere glowed an intense color of red, specks of orange and yellow danced and mixed together with the red backdrop like small explosions in a sea of maroon.

“If you think that’s obnoxiously intoxicating, check this out.” Galleo, all too excitedly, reached for the latch that separated the orb from the rest of the world and yanked it free in one swift motion. Serana took a step away from the glass containment and Equius made sure to follow her example.

The lights began to flicker and the mainframe hissed in what can only be properly described as agony, the wires coiling in on themselves while the biomechanic consoles shook in their placements.

A gutteral rumble predated the crack-flash of energy that was pulled from their electronics. The once striking red color of the orb then shifted into something angry, telling. The explosions of orange and yellow bloomed inside of themselves, spreading out to all corners of the orb like thin veins. Trolls, now dangerously aware of what had been released onto them, relinquished their stations and hurriedly exited the tent save for three. Equius shielded his vision with his forearm, a crack of electricity licked the flesh of his arm and he cried out in pain and anger.

The vibrations beneath their feet had been growing, now even more intense than it was seconds ago. All the electricity that was being pulled from their equipment were now being drawn into the face of the orb.

Serana, now the troll of reason, saw an opening and jumped on it the second it was wide enough for her to squeeze through. Dodging wild and uncoordinated ropes of energy to slam the glass lid shut, and let go of a relieved breathe she had been holding on to. The orb hissed and sparked little snaps of energy, but other than that it lied as dormant as it was before.

When the excitement finally died down, Galleo noticed a smudge of navy blue on the toe of his shoe. He grimaced openly, muttering to himself about how these were ‘imported’ and ‘suede’. Letting Equius pick himself up from the ground while he fished for something on a nearby bench.

Equius held his wound in his free hand, while Galleo offered to him a file tablet. “I want you to take home a sample of this thing and run some tests while I tend to business. Paperwork and such, nothing interesting.” Carefully Equius took the so far only non-damaged piece of equipment in the room. “Give it a look over, fill out a report, and you have until we’re due for another departure mission.

Equius nodded and gingerly accepted the digital file from his Overseers hands. The wound would just have to wait, he’d have to secure some samples before anything else.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Had a voice: Chapter one

Summary: For two years you had let him dictate your every move. Dictate your time, your friends, your work. Everything, literally.  And for the life of you, you could not understand why you’d done so.

Now, here you were. In a beautiful but still strange city that had never become your own. And you were all alone. It was time to take back your life.

A/N: This story will follow the reader, which in this case means that Bucky does not show up immediately. Slow burn we'll call it.

Words: 1927

Ship: BuckyXreader (although not yet)

Warnings: none

Masterlist                                              Story Masterlist ***

The next morning you groaned loudly at the sound of your alarm. The sun was peeking through the curtains and you knew you had to get up. Still sleep had been such a nice reprieve and you wished it had lasted just a little longer.

You knew you had to get moving if you wanted to change and better your current situation. Only you could change it now, nobody else. And nobody else had any say in how you went about this.

For the first time in a long time, you were solely responsible. You were your own person. Nobody was telling you what to do. In a few days that would probably become frighting, but for now it was exhilarating.

And so you got up of the bed and grabbed the clothes you had laid out the night before, taking your room-key and walking towards the nearest free bathroom. Today you were going to find yourself a job. Preferably a job you liked, but anything would do at this point. You really just wanted to go about getting it yourself. You were confident that this would work.

It took you three hours to even find companies that were looking for employees and they would only accept digital letters. A little disheartened and hungry, you went and bought yourself a salad and a paper. Perhaps the paper could help you. You took a seat on one of the benched in time square and began flipping through the paper.

You circled a few things, but were quickly losing your confidence. Most places asked experience and diploma's. You had neither. At least not the experience required.

You knew you would have to start small, build something for yourself, but you no idea where to start. You had forgotten what you even really liked to do. For too long, you had ignored your own instincts. Your own passions. You would have to find them again. But first you needed a job to pay your bills. To have food, a roof over your head and perhaps even healthcare, you know, small stuff.

***

You had looked at a job flipping burgers, but you had been told you were too old and too expensive. You had checked with book stores, but there weren't many vacancies there. You had tried toy stores, but they too thought of you as too expensive. Eventually you went to an employment agency and asked them to put your name in their files. That was days ago now and you had not heard back from them.

Two weeks had passed since you left the relative safety of your faulty relationship and right now you wished you hadn't. You had nothing to fall back on and nothing to move towards. Life was kicking you in the shins and you were at your wits end. The past two days you had spend simply walking around. You didn't truly look around any more, you just walked. Disheartened by the whole job search. Convinced nobody wanted you.

It wasn't until you ran into someone on west 51st street that you even looked up at your surroundings.

“I am so sorry” you exclaimed and looked into the kind eyes of a small redhead. She smiled and offered you her hand to pull you up off the ground.

“I wasn't looking at where I was going, I'm really sorry” you said again and she smiled once more.

“Neither was I, I was preoccupied with my tickets” she said holding up her theatre tickets. You looked to the side and nodded. You had somehow walked all the way to the Gershwin Theatre. A place you loved, but had not been in a while.

“Nice,” you smiled, “what are you seeing?”

“Oh, I'm not. Unfortunately just picking these up for a friend. But they are to wicked” she said still smiling, “Are you okay?” she added, looking you over for any injuries.

“I am fine. A big klutz like me can take a little fall on the street” you chuckled before adding, “ That's a good one” pointing to the tickets.

“So I've been told. Perhaps I should find out for myself” the redhead said.

“You really should” you smiled and extended your hand, “ I'm Y/N.”

“Wanda” she said and shook your hand briefly. For a moment you stared at each other a little awkwardly. Then Wanda looked at her watch and gasped.

“Sorry, I have to go. Sorry for knocking you over” she said and you laughed.

“I can take it” you said and waved as she rushed off. Leaving you to look at the posters that hung outside the theatre. Staring at the black and green poster from Wicked, you almost missed the little notice to the side.

'Help wanted'

Almost. You had almost kept walking if it had not been for the girl. You smiled as you tried to door and upon finding it open, you walked inside. Asking the first employee you saw, about the vacancy they had. They kindly directed you to the people in charge and before you knew it, they asked for your CV and planned an interview.

Elated you left the building a little later. An interview. That was the closest you had gotten in all those weeks. In three days you would get to explain just why they should hire you. Walking towards the hostel, you felt like there was a skip in your steps. This had given you new found hope, that everything would work itself out. And you had three days to prepare.

***

Those days were spend with reading online tips and tricks for a good interview and perfecting the outfit you were going to wear. Looking presentable was important after all. Or at least that's what your parents had always said. Along with; a good preparation was half the work.

And turned out that it was indeed half the work. You felt confident going into the interview and the conversation had gone swimmingly. You got a call the next day saying you got the job. You could start the next week.

With a sigh of content you had dropped down on the bed after that call. This was just what you needed. It had been two and a half weeks since you dropped everything and while you had significant savings, it scared you that you were going through them so swiftly, without any new income. Next week that would change. Next week you would have income again. One you had procured for yourself. Nobody had helped you in any way. This was something you did all on your own and it made you incredibly happy.

***

In the end it all seemed to be going so easily, it made you a little suspicious. The past few years, nothing had really gone your way. At least not this easily. But the job was good and you decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

It only took you another two weeks to get into a bit of a groove at work. You quickly got a handle on the computer system that controlled the sales part and you got on a first name basis with many of your co-workers. Everyone had been really nice. Even better, not one of them seemed to have ever heard of your ex, Daniel. He was not involved in any way in your life at this point. That gave you a sense of safety that you had not even realised you had missed.

“Y/N” the voice of your manager, Jenny, called out that afternoon and you set down the broom as you walked towards her.

“Yes?” you asked with a smile as she looked around a little distracted.

“Tonight is a full house and Tammy called in sick. Can you manage the cloakroom?” she asked you and you quickly nodded. So far you had been doing every single low level job in the theatre and Jenny had already mentioned that she was content with your work ethic. This was an opportunity to show her you could help out in a crisis. Surely the cloakroom wasn't a management job, but it got crazy sometimes and you would show her how calm you could remain.

“Thanks, you will work with Maggie and Tom” Jenny told you and you just nodded. Maggie and Tom had been really nice to you, so this would be a fun evening.

By the time it was 6.30, half the cloakroom was already full and you were running back and forth with your co-workers. It was busy and would not light up for another 20 minutes at least.

You were barely seeing any of the faces of the visitors, until one of them said your name.

“Y/N, hi” the voice said a little surprised and you quickly looked up, a little shocked. Who would know you here? Before you stood the redhead you had briefly met a few weeks ago . You were very surprised that she still remembered your name.

“Wanda, good to see you. Giving it a try I see” you replied with a smile as you took her jacket from her and hanging it away, returning with a numbered card.

“Yes, my friend said it was really good so I figured I'd have to see it for myself.” Wanda replied.

“You won't regret it.” you said as you took the coat of the person next in line, hanging it next to Wanda's.

“I'm sure I won't.” Wanda replied.

“Have fun!” you said and she turned around with a small wave and a smile. You didn't have time to see where she went too or who she was with, as the next person was already pushing their coat in your hands.

A few hours later you walked out of the theatre with sore feet and a painful back. You sighed a little, knowing you had forgotten your metro-card and you would have to walk the 20 minutes to your room. Not only did you hate walking that far at night, you had not done the much needed investigating of the area. Was it even safe to walk?

About two blocks into your walk, your name was called and this time you recognised the voice of Wanda immediately.

“Hi.” you said, turning towards the bar on your left. She was sitting at a small table, a drink in hand. You weren't sure why she kept talking to you, but you weren't too concerned. You knew nobody and she seemed really nice.

“Have a drink with us” Wanda said and waved her hand towards an empty chair. You looked at your watch and wondered if it was a good idea. You had to work again tomorrow. Although, there was no matinee show. You would not have to get up too early.

You smiled and took a seat, ordering a cola for the server that was quickly by your side.

“This is my friend Bruce” she said and you shook his hand.

“I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too” He offered a kind smile, which you returned.

“How was the play?” you asked them and while Wanda became giddy, Bruce sighed deeply. That was the start of a great conversation that lasted well into the night and by the time you got home, you knew your would surely regret it in the morning.

Chapter 2

Tags:

@slender--spirit

[theliterateape]

When I Grow Up I Wanna Be...

I lost my class ring when I was 17. That girl, that 17 year old me, was arrogant, irrational, and brimming with ignorance. She knew nothing of the world, only that she wanted to experience all of it.

I’m not slamming 17 year old me. She wasn’t awesome, but she was bold, optimistic, and willing to learn.

That girl left her backwoods town and all that backwoods thinking for the grand city of Los Angeles. That girl just KNEW she was going to be famous. She just KNEW she would start her career by acting, and it would lead into a promising writing career with novels and screenplays pouring from her fingertips. She’d always been a writer. Since she was 7 years old and a children’s book author came to her school and planted the idea in her head.

That’s why, in the center of the class ring, just beneath the lavender jewel, there is a scroll of parchment and a quill. Because in the center of my being, even at age 17, I had always been a writer.

But, obviously, Los Angeles did not pan out for me. Back to the backwoods town I returned.

Suddenly, over a decade went by and I found myself exhausted, depressed, and lacking. I lacked fame, fortune, glory, pride. All the things I had set out to gain were still out of reach for me. I was a beat-down healthcare worker. I had chosen the profession because it was a sure-fire way to pay the bills. Yes, it cost me a lot of time away from home. Yes, I had to take call, and sleep in my scrubs, and spend the night in my department sleeping between scanning patients because no one else could work. Yes, I earned every single penny I worked for swimming through a sea of illnesses. I pulled 16 hour shifts, 18 hour shifts, covered in excretions, fluids, and odors of God’s great variety. I watched people die right in front of me.

I put up with that life for far too long. I settled. I worked to make money even though it cost me so much more.

I had to change.

I started small. I finally straightened my teeth and began focusing on my appearance more than I’d ever allowed myself before. It was like putting down a new coat of pain on an old house. The difference was small, but set in motion bigger changes.

In February 2019, barely one month before COVID was officially recognized in the U.S., I went back to college. After dropping out of acting school and slaving away to earn my degree in radiography, I had sworn never to get into school debt ever again. But changes need to happen, and I just KNEW it was the right thing to do.

I began working toward my teaching degree, to teach high school Biology.

Surprised I didn’t do something with my writing? I’m not. I know I’ll always be a writer. I was a writer when I was 7 and wrote my first ghost story, I was a writer when I was 17 and wrote a total knock-off of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I’m a writer now. I may not be famous or rich, but I’m still a writer.

I just wanted to change the way I paid the bills.

And I got SO. MUCH. MORE.

I love science. Always have, always will. That’s why I went into X-ray instead of nursing. Science is just COOL. If you disagree, it’s because I wasn’t your science teacher.

I’m good at it, guys. So stinking good at it. I love lesson planning, finding ways to make art projects that teach science, to find online games that teach science. I really want to talk about science all day and show kids how the world around them works. I take so much joy in every little task. Even grading is interesting to me. I know the novelty will probably fade a bit as the years go on, but the passion is real and deep.

Imagine how my heart broke when I did not land the job interview.

I had been floating on the clouds when I was called to interview for this amazing teaching gig at this perfect little school. But they went in another direction and I had to pretend that I was prepared to move on, that I agreed it was for the best.

I figured this whole thing was a mistake. I had made a very expensive mistake. Now I’d have to pay bills on a degree I couldn’t get a job in. I was a waste. A teacher with no classroom. Shackled to the eternal burn-out the hospital inflicted upon me, just waiting for the inevitable back injury that was sure to come.

I even got a second job at that point. Just to have something to look forward to professionally. I began working at the Boys and Girls Club. It was a job designed for high schoolers, but I couldn’t resist the appeal of hanging out with a bunch of zany kids all day in a place stocked with amazing games and activities.

Then, out of nowhere, I get a message from a school I thought had already filled their position. They wanted an interview for their Biology opening.

I refused to get my hopes up. I barely prepared for the interview. I thought, if they hire me it will be because they like the person and teacher I am, not some lady who memorized great interview answers.

And I got the job! I clicked with the principal right away and I could tell I was a great fit for the school. Like awakening from a nightmare, I realized I was going to be exactly where I wanted to be. I wasn’t a waste. I was still on the right path.

Then, I got another message. From a complete stranger, who had found my class ring. In fact, she did not know how it came to be in her possession, but with my signature on the inside of the band, she was able to discern (Lord knows how, my handwriting is atrocious) my name and began reaching out on Facebook.

Neither of us could figure out how the ring had traveled from my 17 year old self to her jewelry box. Sixteen years of it being gone and it has found its way back to me. Me, a totally different person than I was when I last held it.

My ring has found me not famous or rich, but I am very wealthy. (Prepare for the cheese, folks). I’m wealthy because I have worked so long and hard to earn knowledge and to never stop learning new things, because I have built a family and kept my loved ones close to my heart, and I have never stopped being who I truly am. The arrogance, the insecurities, the many other adjectives are all just siding to the house. Inside that house I am me. A writer. Now, a teacher.

May I never stop.

[lawrencedienerthings]

As coronavirus became reality in Colorado, I dealt with a different diagnosis — breast cancer

#twowomen🤖 🙆 💬 👹 🎀 💺

Colorado News

On March 5, I went for a mammogram.  The clinic was crowded that day and women in pink gowns sat in the hallway and more sat in another room.  Two women and I chatted, used the Keurig machine, and mused on this new virus but couldn’t remember its name. No one was wearing a mask.

The following morning I received a call to come back in on March 9 for a mammogram. The receptionist was wearing a mask and she had a bottle of Purell sitting near me.  I wasn’t sure what to do; should I use it before or after I signed my name on the electronic pad?

After the procedure, I was led to a special waiting room where I sat calmly and read a well-thumbed magazine about wild animal refuges.   I was called into another room where a radiologist told me I needed a breast biopsy.  Calcifications, she said. She was not wearing a mask.  We scheduled it for St. Patrick’s Day.

Later that day, I picked up student essays from the junior high where I teach to take home and grade, and would have gone to my writer’s group but it was canceled. A sleep apnea test I’d scheduled for that week was also canceled.  So were a party and an author lecture.

Sunday, March 15, I, my husband, John, and his siblings went to a Mexican restaurant.  I ordered the Corona Margarita which had a bottle of Corona beer upended into the glass.  We laughed. Our waiter said that it was possible they would have to close soon.  This didn’t make sense.  It wouldn’t happen.  Two days later, it did.  

MORE: See all of our Write On, Colorado entries and learn how to submit your own here.

When we were walking to our cars after dinner, my brother-in-law received a call saying his elective back surgery was postponed indefinitely.  He was clearly upset.  

When I went for the biopsies, everyone had masks.  The magazines were gone.  Two days later, my cell phone rang but there were three dropped calls before I was able to clearly hear I had breast cancer and set an appointment the following Monday with my oncologist.  I walked into the kitchen and casually mentioned that I had cancer.

On March 22, my husband and I went for a long ride in the foothills above Fort Collins.  We were going to take this one step at a time, we said.   Once back in town, we stopped at Dairy Queen.  John went in and tried not to stand close to anyone.  The server was not wearing a mask.  I enjoyed my cone immensely.

On Monday, we bravely walked into UCHealth Cancer Care.  The receptionists were wearing masks.  We met the doctor and she had on a serious doctor mask, which she said kept her from touching her face, nothing more.  Then we got down to the diagnosis:  breast cancer in the right breast which called for (at least) a lateral mastectomy and chemo and maybe radiation.

After almost three hours of this, we left with a fistful of appointment sheets and referrals and a white notebook filled with such information as, “So, you have cancer!  Now what?”  I was overwhelmed and not much else mattered for several days. The next evening, I was supposed to host my book club, but it had long been canceled.  I thought I sure would rather be having book club than cancer.

I went in for an MRI, CT scan, blood tests and genetic screening.  With each visit, I saw more healthcare workers with masks.  My appointment to find out the results was changed to a virtual one.  At last, I could see what Dr. Datko looked like. Neither of us could look the other in the eye. Welcome to a new reality.

I was slated for a mastectomy and possible reconstruction but it was unclear if the surgery would even happen or where it would be done.  The mastectomy might be good to go but the reconstruction part might be elective which meant postponement.  It was out of the hands of the surgeons.  The hospital board had to approve it. 

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Surprisingly, both procedures were approved and scheduled for April 9, at the surgery center on the premises.  I met with the masked surgeon and then an unmasked plastic surgeon.  He said the masks were useless.

At this point, I had stopped watching the news and was trying to be positive and mindful.  COVID-19 stayed far away from my awareness. It had to be that way.

The day of the surgery, the streets were empty.  The parking lot, likewise.  We walked into the building, the lobby deserted, and the information booth unoccupied.  Once at the surgery center, we had to ring a bell.  I stood behind a Plexiglas partition where forms were pushed to me through a tiny slot.  

The waiting room had gaps between all the seats. When it was time for me, my husband was not allowed even to wait in the waiting room. He was sent home. That was hard. I cried.

The surgery and reconstruction went well and everyone was masked.  The pathology report was good but I was told I needed 12 weeks of chemo just to be sure.  Once the worry was over and I went home to heal before starting chemo, I began to let in the virus news.  

My friends brought over dinners but left them on the front porch.  I was gifted four home-made masks.  I talked in person with my neighbor while outside, 10 feet apart, wearing masks.  Only now am I feeling the brunt of social distancing and safer-at-home.  Going to a grocery store is a distant memory.  Everyone else has already developed coping skills to get by but I haven’t as yet.

Cancer in the time of COVID-19 sucks.

Darlene Mueller Morse is a writer and editorial consultant who lives in Fort Collins.

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[workingontruth]

Our 2 Kings 7 Kind of Life

Don’t you love it when God shows up?

Have you ever missed it when God showed up?

What about now?

Today, opinions are a dime a dozen. Talk to a dozen people, and you’ll get a dozen different angles on any of a dozen subjects. But in spite of our differences of opinion on any of a wide range of topics, I think we all agree on one thing these days; had I interrupted your Christmas celebration this past December (whether or not I were wearing camel’s hair and in need of a good flossing to extract locust legs from between my teeth), telling you the following list of things would all come true in less than 90 days, you would have labeled me a complete crazy man and would’ve told me to go back beneath the rock from which I had come.

“In less than 90 days,…”

1.       You, over there in the Free Enterprise motor coach pullover (that would’ve been me) … you will be returning to the University of Indianapolis with the Men’s Lacrosse team from South Carolina before playing the final game of your trip–but oddly enough, both teams will be fully healthy, the weather will be ideal, and the trip will have been coasting along without a hitch. Oh, and the university’s administration will also require the other eight remaining U Indy teams, participating in their various collegiate sporting events from Florida to California and everywhere in between, to immediately return to campus as well. And, once you return, your entire fleet of buses will be emptied of fuel, removed from insurance plans, and put out of service–though all machines are mechanically sound and all drivers are healthy and available to drive.

2.       And you, in the red Community Hospital valet shirt (that would’ve be my wife) … you will be in your new role in the front office of the Center for Genetic Health. But having been asked not to congregate with your co-workers in the perfectly suited and newly designed office space the hospital had just finished, you and all of your co-workers will be working from home to reschedule all patient appointments sixty days or more into the future–unless they are willing to conduct their appointment over the phone or via video-chat.

3.       The NBA post-season will never happen, and the balance of the season itself will be stopped cold in its tracks at half-time of a game in the Mountain Time Zone on Wednesday, March 11th.

4.       All NCAA spring athletic events will be cancelled for the remainder of the school year and March Madness won’t happen.

5.       There will be no date set to begin the MLB season.

6.       Grocery stores will have been unable to keep chicken, ground beef, bread and toilet paper on their shelves.

7.       Gasoline will, in some places, be under a dollar a gallon, but few will be filling up.

8.       The nation’s restaurants will be closed for all dine-in experiences while the fortunate will try to stay in business by doing carry-out or drive-through business only.

9.       All shopping malls, strip malls, barber shops and hair and nail salons will be closed.

10.   The Federal Government will be sending $1,200 tax-free cash gifts to the vast majority of American citizens.

11.   The world will have a drastic shortage of personal protective equipment.

12.   The Down Jones Industrial Average will suffer 3 of its worst days since the “Black Monday” market crash in 1987 in the span of less than a week, losing roughly one-third of its value in a matter of about eight days.

13.   State governors will be requesting their citizens “shelter in place” by remaining home but for essential trips for food or health-related emergencies, while in some states it will be a finable offense to travel anywhere but to secure such.

14.   The President and VP of the United States will be holding daily, 2-hour press briefings for weeks on end.

15.   Frequent air travel will be little but a memory, international travel banned, airfares costing less than a good meal out (which will no longer be happening).

16.   The President will sign a presidential memorandum that will require the likes of General Motors to begin manufacturing respiratory ventilators.

17.   Dozens of privately held companies like Michael Lindell’s “My Pillow,” will be transformed into N-95 facemask factories.

18.   Samaritan’s Purse will have set up and be running a fully-functioning hospital in the middle of New York City’s Central Park.

19.   The United States Naval Hospital Ship “Comfort” will have been deployed to New York to help in the cause.

20.   Most people will be wearing PPE masks everywhere they go.

21.   All public concerts world-wide will be on hold.

22.   Churches will be asked not to meet, and nearly all will comply without resistance.

23.   Employees representing nearly every U.S. industry will be furloughed, let go or kept on payrolls with forgivable loans from the Fed.

24.   People will be asked to stand in lines outside Lowe’s stores at six-foot intervals to ensure active shopper customer quotas are kept while both one-way entries and exits are monitored.

25.   Many stores will be required to close down public access to much of their merchandise not deemed “essential,” to help support the cause.

26.   Pork, chicken and other meat packing plants in the U.S. will be closing down.

27.   U.S. unemployment will be at the highest rate since the Great Depression as new weekly filing claims will be counted not in the hundreds of thousands, but in the millions.

28.   The nation’s, and most of the world’s movie theaters, will be closed.

29.   People without facemasks will be shunned and avoided by “mask-wearers.”

30.   Neighbors will be sitting in their driveways and on FRONT porches again.

31.   College students will be home with their families, taking part in online classwork since all university campuses will be closed prior to semesters’ end.

32.   In lieu of our celebrating athletes and Hollywood types, doctors, nurses and healthcare workers will be the new heroes.

33.   People in some industries will be earning more to stay at home than while working full time.

34.   The Fed will be paying the unemployed an additional $600/week over and above the state provisions.

35.   All elective surgeries will be halted while hospital ORs remain unused.

36.   Online church “attendance” will skyrocket, leading to thousands and thousands of new believers.

37.   American celebrity musicians will be holding online “Global Citizen” concerts to raise millions of dollars to give to the World Health Organization which is being held liable for its part in enabling the death of hundreds of thousands in nearly 200 countries world-wide.

Would any of these things been plausible just a few months ago?

Obviously, this is only a partial list, and one to which most of us could quickly add another dozen. And NOTE they’re not all bad! Isn’t it just like God to orchestrate blessing in the face of difficulty? 

But in my mind, these “90-days-ago incomprehensible occurrences” are not unlike the similarly baffling predictions that Elisha, in 2 Kings Chapter 7, was revealing to the king and his officer.

Here’s the short version:  

Elisha replied, “Hear the word of the Lord. This is what the Lord says: About this time tomorrow, a seah [probably about 7 lbs] of the finest flour will sell for a shekel and two seahs of barley for a shekel at the gate of Samaria.” 

The officer on whose arm the king was leaning said to the man of God, “Look, even if the Lord should open the floodgates of the heavens, could this happen?”

“You will see it with your own eyes,” answered Elisha, “but you will not eat any of it!”

The officer was utterly confounded. “Really? How could this be?” And to be sure, there is no way, given their circumstance at the time, they could have concocted such an unlikely series of events.

(Read verses 3-13 to learn how this mystifying prophecy actually took place.)

But then, the verdict is recorded in the later verses...

“So they selected two chariots with their horses, and the king sent them after the Aramean army. He commanded the drivers, “Go and find out what has happened.” They followed them as far as the Jordan, and they found the whole road strewn with the clothing and equipment the Arameans had thrown away in their headlong flight. So the messengers returned and reported to the king. Then the people went out and plundered the camp of the Arameans. So a seah of the finest flour sold for a shekel, and two seahs of barley sold for a shekel, as the Lord had said.”

Now the king had put the officer on whose arm he leaned in charge of the gate, and the people trampled him in the gateway, and he died, just as the man of God had foretold when the king came down to his house. It happened as the man of God had said to the king: “About this time tomorrow, a seah of the finest flour will sell for a shekel and two seahs of barley for a shekel at the gate of Samaria.” ...but your officer will not eat any of it.

What’s my point?

God often does things in ways no man would ever script. What we deem impossible is a drop in the bucket of God’s immeasurable and endless power and insight. After all, He knows the future!  

But here’s what WE do.

If told of how the above-mentioned improbables would come true by late-March, we would have responded, “Oh I see. What a tragic series of events. But I understand now how that will happen. It all makes sense.”

And because it “makes sense” in hindsight, we disregard the overriding variable of the supernatural God into the equation and chalk up the now-plausible circumstance as nothing more than the “natural” occurrence of things.  

No matter how crazy things get, when viewing world events on merely the natural plane, most won’t need a God to “see it.” It will all make logical, cause-and-effect sense.

In the same way, I believe much of what will lead up to Revelation 12 and is told us in Daniel 11:31 and following, will likewise “make good sense” to the mind of mankind at the time. Going so far as to think of the Anti-Christ to come, we have to assume he will not come into power forcefully, but peaceably, with the full support of a global community…one that is now forming rapidly. Yes, it will all “make perfect sense,” for the answers and charismatic leadership of the one we know is to come will help to solve what will have become the world’s most pressing and previously unsolvable complexities. And the world community will give him his prominent role. 

Still, for those in Christ, let me be clear that these can be days of amazing intrigue and anticipation, not fear and worry. 

But, you see, my point is that this is how God usually chooses to bring about his plans, through a course of events that will be laced in the common sense of man … so much so that even the elect would be deceived were it possible (Matthew 24:24).

BUT, He gives light to the eyes of his children. Our great and unshakeable God has let us in on his plans. We are his friends if we do what He commands (John 15:14). And as friends of the Son of God, the Son has made known us to his agenda (John 15:15).

Now, my intention is not to insinuate we are absolutely on the cusp of the rapture of the Church, or teetering at the edge of the Tribulation–though I’m also not saying that we couldn’t be, for the Father alone only knows the day of Jesus’ return for his children (Matthew 24:30-42).

What I am saying is that if we can learn anything from history, and from an acquaintance with the scriptures, we can assume that the initial events predicted in the Bible will likely “make sense” in the moment to the mind of unregenerate man.

So, one last question. 

Given our current sermon series at my home church, Northview Church, I am wondering if you are listening, watching and fellowshipping with the Holy Spirit living inside you? It’s something about which I wrote in great length as well in SET FREE. 

Do you know the mind of Christ? Do you have the mind of Christ? 

If not, it’s time to change that. If not, you may be missing that God himself is showing up right now on planet Earth.

Place your trust in Jesus Christ. He is ready to open your eyes.

Maybe it’s time you learn more about the God who is doing something incredible right now in the midst of this unprecedented time. Maybe it’s time you gain in you the Resource that dispells anxiety and replaces it with a calm assurance the world will never understand. 

You can learn more about having a relationship with Jesus here. Or, reach out to a pastor at Northview Church by texting “NEXT” to 85379 and selecting Option 2.

God is showing up right now. Don’t miss him in the details.

Keep watching.

[myblogwithothermediainserted]

Wednesday, March 25, 2020 3:58am

This is a facebook post from Dr. Gabriela Magda, Rae Votta’s friend in New York. I would just post the link like I usually would, but I don’t want to risk losing this one. 

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I asked my mother for permission to share this #COVID19 dispatch and she said, “I have no problem with that. I want others to be safe to do whatever is in their power to be safe and to protect others from getting sick.”

Last week I videochatted with my mother and noticed she was congested and ill appearing. She told me she had new backaches and a cough that over the course of the day had turned productive, but that she did not have a fever. Because my mother takes medications for a chronic condition that make her immunocompromised, the temperature she reported to me, 99+, though mildly elevated, was concerning to me and as the day progressed and her temperatures rose to 100.4, I became fearful and contacted her doctors to inform them of what was going on and request an outpatient COVID test which I knew would be available where she receives her care. They replied to me immediately and though initially they were more concerned about influenza, they acquiesced to my request and the next day she drove to the testing site. Though her fevers, aches, and cough persisted, she felt a little bit better than the day before and we were hopeful this would turn out to be no big deal.

The next day, hours into my first day working on one of our hospitals’ COVID teams, my mother’s doctor called me to inform me that my mother had tested positive for COVID19, and because they knew I am a pulmonary/critical care physician we came up with a treatment plan together. I had just spent the morning listening to case presentations of COVID patients as varied as those who could be discharged home to continue their recovery there, to people close in age to me who were fighting for their lives in the ICU. The news of my mother’s diagnosis stunned and scared me, and I went into fight or flight mode coordinating her care, remotely assessing my father, a cancer survivor who lives with COPD, for symptoms, and instructing my parents on how to quarantine from each other on different floors of their house for the foreseeable future.

We do not know where she acquired COVID. It could have been at her job in a New York City public school because despite the urgently expressed insistence of teachers, parents, and students across our city, our elected officials delayed the (difficult) decision to close the schools. It could have been at the grocery store. We will never know, and what matters is not quite where, but rather under what conditions this virus was able to be transmitted. When my mother learned of her diagnosis she called me crying and pleaded, “Why me? What did I do wrong?” My heart broke. You did nothing wrong.

This past week I have been working in the COVID ICU at Bellevue, the oldest public hospital in our country, which occupied a mythical place in my mind while growing up in NYC and at which I now have the amazing opportunity to practice medicine alongside colleagues who are as passionate as I am about providing the best possible care to EVERY person who comes through our doors. Every night when I come home I hear phantom ventilator alarms. The other night I thought I heard one near my bed and almost turned around to see what the problem was before I realized I was home and not in the ICU and that there are no ventilators in my tiny studio apartment. In my brief career, I have never seen anything like what I am seeing in our ICU, nor have my more experienced colleagues. Our census grows daily with patients who develop respiratory failure after a few days of smoldering fever and cough. A pattern of middle-aged patients representing all walks of life who have certain co-morbidities seemed to develop, but we are seeing even younger patients with the illness. It is not socially responsible to say that this disease afflicts only the elderly. We are no longer allowing routine visitation by family members so as to prevent further spread of the infection to themselves and to other people. This is just one of the difficult decisions that we are tasked with making on a daily basis.

As predicted by anyone with a keen eye on social justice and labor rights, those affected include workers who could not afford to take a day off from their jobs lest they lose even a day of much needed income. When I look at these patients, I am reminded of my parents, working class immigrants who diligently went to their difficult jobs every day to put food on the table for me so that I could grow up comfortably and fulfill my dreams in this country that sometimes doesn’t seem to care as much about people like them as it does about the ultrarich and ultraprivileged. My father was a New York City taxi driver for my entire life until 2 weeks before I went to medical school in New Orleans, when he retired and within the same week was diagnosed with cancer. If it weren’t for being married to my mother, whose employer provided them both health insurance, he would not have received the chemo, radiation, surgery, and follow-up care that saved his life. He worked 12+ hours per day, 7 days a week, 365 days per year during his tenure as a cabbie. I wonder to myself, if he had still been driving his cab during this pandemic, would he be one of the patients whose ventilator I now adjust on a daily basis?

This is not the first time I have grieved for my city. I remember exactly who I sat behind during Spanish class when I heard the first plane fly into the World Trade Center. I watched the towers burn from my homeroom window. I walked 70 blocks and 6 avenues that day and along the way found a woman who I recognized from my morning commute and asked her if I could go with her to wherever she was going just so I had someone to walk with. I remember the devastated faces I passed on the street. When I was finally able to get to a working telephone to call my mom, I remember the sound of relief in her voice because she thought I had died. My childhood street has since been named after a first responder who lived on it until that day. I remember the acrid smell that persisted in the air when we were finally allowed to return to school, and I feel lucky that unlike some of my classmates from that time, the only ailments I suffer from are chronic sinusitis and the occasional unpleasant memory.

This is an entirely different crisis because it does not have a sense of finitude (although in many ways, neither has that day), and the thing we are contending with is invisible except for its horrific consequences we are seeing play out in our hospitals everyday. It is an affront to my parents, my patients, and my colleagues who are literally sacrificing their own well-being to take care of our city, when I observe or hear of people still publicly congregating in dense groups despite repeated warnings from leadership, physicians, and scientists to stay home. It enrages me when I hear out of touch politicians irresponsibly prattle on about people going back to work in a couple of weeks when we are struggling to manage the current onslaught in our hospitals and my colleagues and I fear we are nowhere near the peak of this problem.

I do feel like everything in my life has prepared me for this moment and that I am meant to be right here, right now, working in whatever ways I am able to with my colleagues to take care of the people who need us the most. I am the first physician in my family; the life I have lived is so radically different from the ones my parents lived in Ceausescu’s Romania. I chose to go to New Orleans for medical school because I was haunted by images of Hurricane Katrina and I wanted to learn from people who kept that city afloat (literally and figuratively) while the agencies who were supposed to help them failed them. I ranked my residency in Washington, DC, because I wanted the opportunity to rotate at the National Institute of Health, where Dr. Fauci and his colleagues were my attendings and taught us about the ravages of the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s and 1990s. The day after the election in 2016, I cried with my patients about the results and will never forget the words of one woman who held my hands as she expressed her regret that she could not vote due to her hospitalization and said, “This is going to be bad for me.” I was so thrilled when I matched in New York at my current fellowship program because I knew I would be joining the ranks of an amazingly dedicated, compassionate, innovative group of people who show unwavering and undeterred care for every single New Yorker. I am so proud of my family of colleagues here and across the world who are selflessly and tirelessly working in whatever capacity in order to care for patients.

I am once again urging you to heed the calls for social distancing. I have been reading your posts and am painfully aware that some of you are deeply struggling to pay your rent and your bills because of this turn of events. I am so sorry. I am encouraging you to elect politicians whose interests are to create a social safety net for all people in this country, and not just to provide tax cuts and benefits to people who they perceive to palatably satisfy certain demographic criteria. I am imploring you to hold your elected officials accountable and demand they provide healthcare workers with the resources we need to take care of you, and the resources you need to be able to stay home nourished and properly sheltered so that our healthcare system can accommodate everyone who desperately needs it right now.

My mom is doing okay for now. I am remotely monitoring my parents daily. We are scared that any day the other shoe could drop, but we are trying to remain hopeful and grateful. In the meantime, the magnolia tree behind my building continues to bloom magnificently, the birds continue to chirp obliviously, the sun continues to set and rise again…

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