#one more husband and she gets a set of steak knives

[alistairs]

Drink from the leche of sirens Summon the sailors in town Strangle the fear of deciding Which ones deserving to drown

[X]

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 60 - Epilogue

Title: Irreverent Pt. 60 - Epilogue

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~2K

Status: Complete

A/N: That’s all folks. Chapters 59 and 60 coming out together today.

For J - For being the reason I finish this. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Aaron's been seated in his new office for the past hour, going over the new certification and training requirements for the BAU with Dave. Technically, it should've been Prentiss he was meeting with, but she'd happily passed along that piece of her new responsibilities, stating that the grouchy old men would do a much better job at it than she ever could.

From across the way, he can see through the glass walls into his old office which Prentiss now occupies. Both Garcia and JJ are sat across from her, no doubt convening there before they all fly out for your bachelorette party. It was a bit unbelievable to think he was only a week away from officially marrying you.

That is, if you survived this weekend, as you'd commented apprehensively earlier that morning. You've been terrified about what Emily had planned, especially given how his bachelor party had gone a few weeks prior. Dave had lured him away with the promise of good steaks and cigars, and then ambushed him with private dancers. He'd even gone out of his way to find one that held an uncanny resemblance to you. John had been sure to give that one a wide berth, making a beeline for the other corner of the room and staunchly avoiding any sort of eye contact with Aaron, much to his amusement. The night had culminated in a panicked text from Aaron to you, begging to be rescued. You'd arrived – his knight in shining armor – and taken him, a terrified Reid who'd been on the phone texting his girlfriend half the night, and a reluctant John who had finally relaxed enough to enjoy the company of the other dancer when you'd arrived and fixed him with an unamused regard that had the poor guy following the rest of you out with quick goodbyes to Dave and Morgan.

"You talk to Morgan recently?" Dave asks idly, sifting through the files in search of the old requirements documentation.

"Yes, he seems to be liking the transition to the academy," Aaron remarks, flipping through the file in front of him in search of the same. "We grabbed lunch last week when I did the Profiling and Prosecution seminar."

Dave smiles with a contemplative nod, and Aaron can only imagine what was going through his friend's head. Things were changing around them slowly – you'd left the team and had built your own, Prentiss was running the BAU, Morgan had retired to spend more time with his wife and soon to arrive son. Aaron himself had taken on the mantle of Section Chief, a role to which he was taking to far better than previously anticipated. Though, he supposed it helped that this time, he was only doing the Section Chief job and not also running the BAU.

It had been the right decision – for him, for you, for Jack. Both of you were home for dinner more nights than not. The three of you had settled into a routine that felt comfortable, and while he missed being directly in the field, he could see the change in him, his body. At his last doctor's visit, Dr. Robbins had commented that his stress levels appeared to be lowered and having a job that wasn't quite so hard on his body was a great help in that.

John was over every few weekends, very much a part of that routine you'd created, and the three of you had flown to New York a handful of times as well, taking Jack to a Yankees game (which he enjoyed thoroughly) and taking him on the subway (which he didn't care for). Dave had asked him half a dozen times, how he felt about John's presence in your lives. Aaron was incredibly alright with it – he hadn't been the only one who thought he'd lost you.

If he was being truly honest with himself, he was far more comfortable with John than he'd ever allowed himself to be around anyone that wasn't you or Haley. He's had time to think about it, about why that was the case. He figures it's because John is possibly the only other person in the world who understands the importance of you, the impact of you. For Aaron, in many ways, John also felt like an extension of you. The same biting humor, the forced humbleness – the way neither one of you could see anything wrong with spoiling Jack entirely.

Aaron could still easily recall the day he'd made an offhand remark about him not wanting Jack to grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth. John had grown quiet, eyes fixed towards where you were finishing making lunch. Jack was sat on the countertop, mixing together a bowl of cookie dough for you, to be baked for after lunch. Aaron had followed his gaze, his heart warming gently at the sight. It was so familiar, Jack always loved helping you in the kitchen. Aaron's mouth involuntarily turns into a smile as you laugh at something Jack had said, your head falling back easily, the musical notes of your laughter making the room feel brighter.

When John had turned back, he had a far away look in his eyes. "You're right," he'd said, clearing his throat, his voice a little heavier than before. "At the end of the day you want to be sure of only one thing – that he feels immensely loved. Because kids who aren't fed love by a silver spoon, they tend to lick it off of knives."

Aaron knew, without being told, that John was referring to Julian. He found himself incredibly grateful that his son got to be fed by you, wielding a platinum spoon. With John in your lives, that love in Jack's life only increased.

*------------*

You stood at the door of Aaron's office, having walked down from your own, on the way to Emily's so that you and the girls could fly off to a weekend of controlled (hopefully) fun. Who were you kidding? Emily Prentiss was in charge of your bachelorette party. You'd be lucky if you made it back in time to meet Aaron at the altar.

It takes a few seconds for them to notice your presence. A few seconds during which you get to admire the late afternoon sun hitting Aaron's frame just right, the golden hues turning his hair a lighter brown – it made him seem younger than his age, and the white flecks (which he blamed almost entirely on you and your disappearance) would suggest. The pronounced furrowed brow that seemed to be a permanent fixture for him while he was in the office, the warm eyes turned seriously down towards the papers in front of him, the pink lips that had spent a fair amount of time between your legs the night prior, causing you to shatter around him. That had resulted in John making a few crude remarks at breakfast that morning, which thankfully flew over Jack's head. Your son was far too excited to have an entire weekend with just his dad and favorite Uncle for a "Boys Only Weekend" to make up for you missing his soccer game on Saturday.

Aaron shifts, noticing your presence, head tilting up and eyes meeting your own. At the sight of you, they imbue warmth and familiarity, sparkling against the reflected sunlight. You're struck for a moment. Your husband-to-be was remarkably beautiful.

"Hey, how's it going?" You smile at both Aaron and Dave, entering quickly to meet Aaron on his side of the desk. Both of them turn to look at you.

"You still have no idea where Emily is taking you?" Rossi's face betrays his glee at your misfortune. He's been cross with you ever since you kidnapped Aaron from his own bachelor party. In your defense, the man had practically begged you to.

"No, she won't tell me." You sigh, your voice coming out almost in a whine.

Rossi's lip twitches, though he does a good enough job at not laughing outright.

You perched on the arm of Aaron's chair, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Harvey sent these over," you tell him, placing the envelope you had been carrying on his desk, your hand returning to play with the ring on your finger around as you were prone to do nowadays. "Would you please sign them and make sure they get to his office before Monday? He wants them finalized before the wedding."

Aaron nods, noting how your delicate fingers caress the stone of the ring that's sat on your hand and made him – quite literally – the luckiest man alive.

He's been expecting some paperwork coming his way in light of your upcoming ceremony. He'd lightly brought up the idea of a pre-nuptial agreement with you early on – for your sake – and had been laughed out of the room. You did however, feel it necessary to make him aware of exactly what assets he'd have access to, and thus your lawyer had been busy creating a summary for him to look over and acknowledge. Apparently, it had taken a full staff to do the entire work up, over the course of a month. If the thud the envelope had made when you'd set on his desk was any indication, he was in for a long night of reading.

"Alright, I should go." You heave off of his chair and the two of you look at each other and then Rossi, who takes a hint and looks away, leaving you to bend down and capture his lips against yours. You feel his arm winding around your waist and tightening into your side briefly, before you withdraw, your tongue peaking out to lick your lips. Aaron looks just barely flushed as Rossi turns back, his lips twitching in amusement as you fix yourself and take your leave.

*------------*

The door closes behind you, Aaron's eyes following your walk across the floor towards Emily's office.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dave asks, drawing his attention back to the envelope you'd dropped off for him. There's something oddly familiar about this – the two of them in his office, an envelope related to you dropped off at his desk. Though this time, under far less confusing and much happier conditions.

Aaron nods, doing his best to hide the smile threatening to break through at his friend's curiosity. Ever since New York, Dave had been very interested in learning exactly how much richer than him you were.

Reaching for the envelope, Aaron opens it up and withdraws the large stack of papers, and flips to the first page. Disclosure of Assets – the name of the document hardly did justice to the summary that followed. Properties across the U.S., Europe, South America, and the Caymans. A plethora of divided up Swiss bank accounts, each with a balance more staggering than the last. A stock portfolio rivaling Buffets. The number at the bottom of the page takes his breath away entirely.

Aaron turns once more to look towards his old office – he can see you gathered there with the rest of the girls, laughing about something. Given the piece of paper in his hand, he has to hand it to you in that moment. You lived far below your means. To think that someone your age had access to that kind of money – that kind of freedom – and still chose to do what you did. He didn't think there were many others who would.

Before Aaron can react, Dave has reached across the table and yanked the piece of paper right out of his hands.

The noise of complete shock that leaves his friend's body was not one that Aaron was likely to forget anytime soon. He watches as Dave reads the same summary he just had, his eyebrows moving further and further into his hairline as he goes down the page.

When he finally looks back at Aaron it's with a look that couldn't quite be described – surprise, awe, a hint of envy. Aaron can viscerally see the same thought he had moments ago regarding you and your work at the Bureau flit through Dave's head as he too turns to assess you across the floor.

Quietly, he hands the documents back to Aaron. Shifting in his chair, Dave clears his throat. "You do know that you're going to be picking up the tab every time now, right?"

Aaron chuckles, nodding. He'd assumed as much.

He turns back to you, only to catch you looking towards him as well through the glass walls. Your mouth turns up into a smile as your eyes meet his. Eyes like the sunrise colliding with his, causing his stomach to flip in that torturously delicious manner that only you seem to invoke. Eyes that meet his and stay. Eyes that have followed him, mirrored his, since the moment the two of you met. Eyes that betrayed you both when you looked at one another, the sheer intensity of the emotion behind them giving you away entirely. It didn't matter what distance, what time, what circumstance separated you from one another – somehow his eyes knew to always find their companion in yours.

Aaron might have fallen first, but he is forever grateful that you'd followed.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day 14: There Is Only One Way To Load A Dishwasher

Warnings: Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Oh we are getting closer. And this particular scenario happened between my father and me one night. Luckily no one cut themselves, but we were in a severe disagreement as to how sharp knives were to go into the dishwasher. Turns out I was the logical one. Don’t forget to keep an eye out for @what-is-your-plan-today​ and @ohthankevans13​ for there updates. 

Series Masterlist

There was the loud sharp sound of laughter from the outdoor patio, which Ransom joined in as well with his own genuine laugh while having a firm hold of your thigh under the table, his thumb sweeping back and forth over the soft material of your leggings while your hand was clasped over his in reassurance, easing his hand loose to weave your fingers through his. 

This evening a couple friends of yours came over to the house to visit and have dinner, which you knew Ransom had been a bit apprehensive with. Not that he didn’t like your friends, sure he did, they were perfectly nice people you had grown up with, Rick and Sandy. But they weren’t like Ransom’s usual friends, other people in the same arrangement he had been, trust fund kids who didn’t give two shits about anyone but themselves. Perhaps that was a good thing. He was still learning how this whole being married thing worked. 

So Ransom was a bit nervous all damn day, brushing it off though as in ‘He was Ransom Drysdale and did not give a shit what anyone thought about him.’ You knew this to be a lie, that he actually wanted to make a good impression on them. Just from the way he was acting all day, double checking there was enough wine and beer for your guests. That the house was generally picked up looking. He even offered to go pick up dinner, which you were not going to say no to. Writing out a list with a firm “Just pick up this list, NOTHING ELSE.” 

And it just raised your suspicions when he came home with steaks. High end expensive steaks that had been hand cut by the butcher at their local shop. You gawked at them as you had actually put burgers on your list. You peeked in the rest of the bags. There wasn't the buns, chips or anything else you had written. But the ingredients for grilled veggies, potato and garlic bread. 

“You didn't have to do this Ransom. I thought you were going to stick to the list?” You remarked as you looked at the steaks he so carefully let laid to rest on the kitchen counter before taking them to be grilled. 

“Well if we're going to entertain, we’re doing it right.” He responded and that's when it clicked, this was his way of showing he could take care of his family, be something more than what everyone thought him to be, so you dropped it. Going to your tiptoes, you pecked his cheek with a thank you, and went from there. 

Now it was the end of dinner, you felt Ransom relax more and all four of you enjoyed a fun conversation, some of which was Rick and Sandy filling Ransom in on some of your younger years, a devilish grin would spread across his face. “Oh trust me, she's still just as bad, just better at hiding it.” 

“Hush I'm an angel.” You made a move to gather some dishes when Ransom sprang up to take them from you. “You are the one who fully corrupted me Ransom.” you smirked at him, which you could see a bit of color rise in his cheeks and his eyes crinkling in the corners with a grin. 

“Something I take great pride in Princess. I got the clean up, you continue visiting.” He offered and you smiled a thank you while settling back down. Rick and Sandy gathered their plates, with nothing but praises for the whole meal, especially those perfectly grilled steaks, which you glanced at Ransom to see a slight satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before you turned back to your friends. 

Ransom headed back into the house from the patio with the plates and utensils, listening while you restarted the conversation. He didn't bother shutting the door, leaving it open to let the conversation flow into the house as well as the breeze of the evening. Flicking on the overhead light, he popped open the dishwasher and started to randomly put plates in wherever they fit as the dishwasher was already half full from the night before’s dishes as well as their breakfast ones. Then he started dumping the utensils into the tray lining the side made specifically for them. He wasn't paying attention though, forks were going in tines down or up, spoons shoved in any spot they would fit and the wickedly sharp steak knives went in handle down, their points glinting maliciously face up, ready to strike any unsuspecting hand. 

Which Ransom did, when he grasped another bundle to shove in, and his palm, slid along the tip of the knife along the meatiest part, near his thumb. 

A blossom of red spread on his hand, as well as a sharp surprising pain, making him jerk back and clatter the handful of forks across the dishwasher and floor. “Son of a Bitch!” He yelled rather loudly in shock as red droplets dripped over the dirty dishes and across the tile floor till he got to the sink and turned on the tap. He could feel a wave of naseau wash over him as his vision blurred a moment and sharpened seeing the red swirl down the sink. 

You happened to hear Ransom yelp and curse as the door was open, as well as Rick and Sandy who looked with concern towards the house. A glance over your shoulder showed Ransom standing at the kitchen sink, and you could see from there that his face was tensed and almost in pain looking. “Excuse me.” You said hurriedly and pushed from the patio table to rush inside. “Ransom? Oh god what happened?” You grabbed a hand towel to press against the gash on his hand to get the bleeding to stop, his face whiter then usual. “Breath Ransom, don’t pass out.” You tried to draw his attention to you instead of at the red welling up again before you pressed the towel against it. 

He hissed when you pressed down from between clenched teeth. “Fucking knife got me while I was loading the dishwasher.” 

You glanced at the dishwasher and could see the mess that it was left in. Knowing you would have to set it straight, especially the knives, as half of them appeared to have been tossed in point up. 

“Christ Ransom, you gotta put the knives point down for this reason.” You said hurriedly as you pried the towel up to take a peek at his hand. “We have to take you to the emergency room, this is pretty deep. You are going to need stitches.” 

“Nah- I should be alright.” He started when he wobbled a bit, his other hand grasping the edge of the counter. Its that moment Sandy poked her head in. 

“Do you guys need any help?” 

You were immediate before Ransom could protest. “How about a rain check on Cards Against Humanity? I think we need to get some stitches for Ransom.” 

Sandy then came in fully to take a look at Ransom's hand. “Let me take a look? I’m a nurse, and can tell you if they will give you any stitches.” 

Ransom lifted the hand towel once more and she hummed while looking at it. “Yup, looks just like the cut Rick had a couple years ago. Steak knife get you?” 

“Not fucking intentionally.” Ransom growled a bit, getting agitated now feeling he was under scrutiny. 

“Ha, Rick said the same thing.” Sandy chuckled and her husband came in, happening to hear her.

“Well I forgot I put the knife in the water when I was washing the dishes.” He came to Ransom’s defense with a dumbass excuse and at this point Ransom was ready to go to the emergency room, just to get out of this curve of a disaster the evening took.

Sandy dabbled at the wound with the cloth when the blood welled up again and Ransom this time felt his head swarm. “Im going to...” and thats when he slumped, you and Sandy trying to catch him and Rick managing to get his arms under Ransoms armpits and ease him down to the floor. You straightened up with a hand against your lower back and one pressed to your baby bump, sighing. 

“Ransom can’t handle blood... I’m hoping this isn’t whats going to happen with shitty diapers to.” 

***************************

After You managed to get Ransom to the emergency room, and he was once again patched up and left alone, you were sitting nearby, counting your fingers and muttering to yourself. 

“What are you doing Y/N?” Ransom winced as he flexed his hand a bit, and you smirk at him. 

“Counting how many times we have been to the emergency room in the past 6 months. This makes three times. You are like a walking talking disaster Ransom, I’m a bit surprised it has been this long since we’ve last visitied.” 

He glared at you while he stood and took his coat from you to shrug it on. “Eat Shit Y/N, I never visited the emergency room till I hooked up with you. What does that say?” 

You shrugged. “That I’m not as much as a dumbass as you Ransom, but that’s okay. I love you anyways.” You tuck into his side as you two leave the room. 

“Yea yea, Love you to Y/N.” He rolled his eyes, wincing as he dug his injured hand into his coat pocket, looking for the Beamers keys.

[prolestariwrites]

The Wish [8]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 8, in which Dante has to face the most intimidating creature of all... his wife.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Chapter 8: Dante Sparda, Legendary Demon Hunter

Dante pulls up outside of Vergil’s house and turns off the car. They sit in silence for a long moment before he says, “Thanks again for what you did back there.”

“You’re welcome.”

His brother’s voice shakes a bit, but it seems like he’s holding onto control, even if it’s barely. Which is something at least. “It’s funny,” Dante jokes, “you’ve used Summoned Swords on me half a dozen times at least, and this might be the first time you used it to save me.”

“Summoned Swords,” Vergil murmurs. “Is that what that’s called?”

“It’s what you called it in my world. Although it’s a bit different there.”

Vergil nods, and silence settles again. Dante scratches his chin as he searches for what to say. “You know, Nero can do it too. Surprised the hell out of me the first time I saw it.”

“Nero.” Vergil turns his face to the window. “I should get inside.”

“Yeah. But, Verge…” Dante sighs as Vergil looks back at him. It is obvious his brother needs him now: he needs comfort, reassurance, something to help him process everything and come to terms with the truth. He needs wisdom. He needs tact and compassion.

Damn it all. “I’ll pick you up in the morning,” Dante says. “Then we’ll look for dad.”

“Yeah.”

Vergil reaches for the car door and Dante blurts out, “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll find him. And if any demons show up, you can use Yamato. You’re a better fighter than I am, so you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not a swordsman, Dante,” he grumbles. “I haven’t fought with anyone since we were children.”

“But you can. And Mary can too. She’s a way more successful demon hunter than I am.” Vergil frowns at him, but Dante continues, encouraged, “She kicked both our asses. She’s always got some demon on the run, knows how to use dozens of weapons and make her own even. And Nero? He’s got all kinds of crazy power. He was demon hunting before he even knew how.”

“Nero’s just a child.”

“Yeah, here he is, but in my time, he’s older, and I’ve seen him in action. Took down a whole evil god robot once.” Vergil huffs and shakes his head as Dante leans his elbow on the steering wheel. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to worry. You didn’t think you could fight but then you skewered that guy. So trust that they can handle themselves. And your V, Vitale? He’s not… I don’t know him, he’s not from where I’m from, but if he’s anything like you, then he’s got this too.”

Vergil glances at him briefly before nodding. Then he opens the car door and climbs out, and Dante watches as he hurries up the driveway to his front door, still clutching the sword.

Dante heaves a long sigh before starting the car again. On the drive to home, he wonders what he’s going to do about Lir. He’s still not entirely sure she’s not a demon too, so if he comes clean with her, there’s no telling she won’t attack him just like the bar waitress.

His questions are answered when he walks in the front door. “Dante? Dante!” Lir practically runs to greet him from the kitchen. “There you are! What happened? Are you okay?”

Before he can answer she pulls him into a hug, forcing him to bend over so she can press her cheek to his. “Dante,” she murmurs, and he feels a pang of guilt as he returns the hug. “I was so worried.”

“I’m okay.” He eases up and pushes her hair back from her face. “Why were you worried?”

“Your mom called all frantic. She said your father ran off and broke a window and in his study… there was…” Lir’s voice trails away as she examines his front, and Dante glances down. There are splatters of blood on his jacket and shirt, and he steps back as she gapes. “She said there was blood on the floor. What happened?”

Her eyes are wide with alarm as they rise to meet his. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll explain.”

Dante eases past her and heads to the kitchen. Lir follows, hanging back in the doorway as he moves to the sink. He uses the minute to think as he runs his hands under the hot water, taking a few pumps of dish soap to clean the blood away. He shuts off the faucet and grabs a dish towel, drying them as he turns to face her.

He leans against the kitchen counter and swallows thickly. “Mom was upset, huh?”

“Very.” Lir takes a step closer before hesitating. “What happened?”

“We… fought. It’s fine,” he says hurriedly, holding up a palm as she opens her mouth. “My dad’s been keeping secrets and I confronted him. It didn’t go well.”

“Secrets?” she asks. “What kind of secrets?”

Dante folds his arms with a sigh. “He’s not who he says he is. He’s… something else.”

“Something else? What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not human.”

He waits for a long moment to let the news absorb. Lir stares at him with wide eyes, and he notices how her fingers tremble as she reaches out to brace against one of the chairs at the little breakfast table. “He’s not human,” she murmurs.

Dante nods and she tilts her head towards him. “And the blood?”

He glances down at his soiled shirt. “That was my mistake. Dad was lying and I wanted him to tell Vergil the truth. So I stabbed him with a sword.”

“You stabbed him?”

“Yeah. He was fine though. Got right up.” Dante chuckles. “Shoulda seen the look on his face. Serves the old man right. He kept refusing to come clean, and I—”

“Dante.” His mouth snaps shut as she sinks into the chair, looking pale. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this isn’t all his blood.” Lir looks up sharply as he spreads his arms. “Vergil and I got a drink afterwards and got attacked by a couple of demons in the bar. Had to kill a waitress and all I had was a chair leg, if you can believe it. Luckily Vergil came through. Wasn’t that bad, he killed the bartender.”

“You killed a waitress?”

Dante winces. “Okay, it sounds really bad when you say it like that. But they were demons, I swear.” He starts to walk towards her, and Lir scrambles up, pressing back against the wall. The fear on her face makes him freeze, and he watches as her eyes start to tear up. “Hey, relax. Really. It’s gonna be fine.”

He takes another step and Lir launches herself across the kitchen, diving for the knife block. She pulls a long bread knife from its slot and spins, holding it out like a magic wand as if to ward him off. “Don’t come any closer!” she shrieks.

“Okay. Obviously I’m telling this story wrong.” Dante holds up his palms. “I’m not gonna hurt you. See?”

“You’re crazy!” she cries. “Demons? Killing?” He rolls his eyes and she shakes her head furiously. “Stay away from me!”

She steps to the side, keeping pressed against the counter, as she fishes her cell phone from her pocket. Dante frowns as she swipes it on. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling the police.”

Her voice has an edge now, and Dante can see she’s a dangerous mixture of frightened and furious. “I’ll just go,” he suggests.

Lir shoots him a look to kill as she raises the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes? Yes, I need the police, my husband—”

As she speaks, something catches Dante’s attention, like a pinprick on his neck. His head turns just as the ceiling explodes in a shower of drywall, the window shattering as something breaks through. Lir screams and he sees her drop the phone in the corner of his eye, and Dante steps between her and the two demons that now stand towering in their kitchen.

He looks up at the hole in the ceiling and grits his teeth when he sees the sky. “We have a fucking door you know,” he growls.

“Dante!”

Lir’s voice is wild with panic, and he holds out a hand. He curses silently, knowing her being here is going to just make this harder. It’s bad enough to fight a demon when a human is around, but now his instinct to protect her is screaming loud enough in his head to drown out any reason. He’s got to get her safe, and then he can deal with them.

“Lir, I want you to run.”

“What?”

“Get to the front door and run. Now!”

He doesn’t know if she obeys because at that moment they advance. Once again he tries to summon Rebellion, and again he realizes he’s left it in the damn car. Two sets of teeth and four sets of claws come for him with a screech, and then Dante is dodging, throwing one punch after another as he tries to make a plan. One of the demons picks up the toaster and throws it at him, making him duck. It sails over his head and implants into the wall behind him. “What the hell!”

One of the demons grabs his leg, pulling him to the ground. Dante lurches to the counter as he falls and grabs a drawer, yanking it free with one pull. He prays it has something he can use, but inside are dish towels. “Damn it,” he mutters, but he swings the drawer, which breaks with a spray of splinters as it hits one demon full on the face. It falls back and lets his leg go, and Dante scrambles to his feet, pulling open another cabinet.

This one has plates at least, so he grabs the stack and throws them one by one at the other demon. They explode in its face, the porcelain shattering loudly as it falls in pieces to the floor, but they disorient it enough that Dante can deliver a kick that sends it sailing across the kitchen. Before the two demons can recover, he lunges at the knife block, and with a steak knife in each hand, he quickly dispatches them both, slitting their heads open, both collapsing in a pool of dark blood.

Dante catches his breath and drops the two knives in the sink. When he turns, he finds Lir on the ground, her knees drawn up as she gapes at him.

“Lir…” he murmurs with a wince. They stare at each other for a long moment, and he takes in the pieces of drywall stuck in her hair, the way her shoulders shake, the bright flush on her face. But she’s alive, that’s all that matters. The rest of this shit he can explain, and fix, and make up to her.

Just then, there is the sound of someone talking, and they both look down at the phone on the ground. It looks like it takes a half minute for her to remember what it is, but then she jerks it up to her ear. “Hello? Hello, yes I’m here. No, no, everything’s fine.” Her eyes are wide as they take in the mess now that it’s settled, but her voice is steady. “I thought my husband was hurt, but he’s fine. A cabinet fell over in the kitchen, that was all the commotion. I’m so sorry.” She listens for a moment and then says, “Really, it’s not necessary. We’re fine.”

Dante takes a deep breath as she finishes the call, looking out the hole in the wall where the window used to be. He scans the darkness for any more demons, but his senses don’t pick anything else up. Lir says goodbye, and he glances over as she presses a finger to the screen before slowly setting the phone on the ground.

Their gazes connect, and he feels a twist in his chest as he sees tears swimming in her eyes. But then Lir scrambles towards him, and he catches her in a tight hug, her face pressed to his neck. Dante gives a small smile as he holds her closely, rubbing a soothing hand on her back as her breath shakes against his skin.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“So that’s everything.” Dante looks over at the passenger side, where Lir stares straight ahead. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Her eyes fall to where her hands sit in her lap. “So you’re not Dante? My husband?”

“I guess not,” he replies. “I mean, I’m Dante, but I don’t know if I’m him or if he’s me or if…” He rubs his face and glances at the clock on the dashboard which shows it’s nearly midnight. The gas station they had pulled into is deserted, and the light from the shelters over the pumps gives enough light that he can see the pained expression on her face. “Sorry. I keep saying the wrong thing. And uh, I guess I should apologize… for the other night—”

“No, it’s…” She glances over, almost shyly, and Dante’s heart skips a beat. “You’re still him, just not him him. I think.”

“Right.” He chuckles humorlessly with a half smile. “You hungry?”

Lir shakes her head. “Not really. I’m exhausted.”

“Let’s get some rest then.” He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, heading down the nearly empty street. After a few turns he finds a little motel, and Lir luckily doesn’t argue when he parks. She stops to grab the bag she had packed in haste before they fled the house as he heads into the office, emerging a minute later with a room key. “Funny, the guy didn’t blink twice even though I’m a mess,” he jokes.

Dante grabs Rebellion from the trunk, remembering this time, before he leads her to room six.  But he hesitates when he slides the key into the lock. “I guess I should have gotten two rooms?” he murmurs.

“No. I don’t want to be alone.” She presses her hand on his back lightly. “It’s fine.”

He nods as they enter, flicking on the lights as Lir follows inside. There is a Queen-sized bed in the middle, a television, a chair and table, and Lir shrugs off her jacket before opening the bag. She pulls out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, holding them out to him. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”

“Yeah.” Lir doesn’t look up at him as he takes the clothes, and not knowing what else to say, he heads into the bathroom.

His reflection is a mess, his hair sticky strands covered in blood and dirt. His face and neck aren’t much better, and as he strips off his clothes, he thinks about what he must have looked like arriving home like that. “This is why I never got married,” he mutters to himself as he turns on the faucet. “Too much trouble.”

His dialogue continues as he starts the shower and unwraps the little bar of free soap, listing the reasons why a relationship and marriage don’t mix with demon hunting: too much blood. Too much laundry. Too many questions. Weapons. Blood. Death.

He leans his forearm on the tile, watching as red swirls around the drain until the water goes clear. Stupid fucking wish, he thinks. This life he had always wanted? It’s not possible, and he needs to accept that and move on. He had no idea what he was asking for, Dante realizes.

It makes sense, really, he tells himself as he towels off. After all, Lady didn’t have anybody. Neither did Trish. Whoever Nero’s mother was, it couldn’t have lasted long before Vergil was gone, if his brother even knew he had a kid in the first place. Too much liability when you have someone in your life. He remembers Lir’s scream as the demons crashed into their home, the way the fear hit in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. But Nero has managed it, hasn’t he? He has Kyrie, and goes home to her every night, blood and guts and all. Dante frowns, wondering if it’s not meant to last. It would kill the kid to lose her.

Sparda, Vergil, him, now Nero… their whole family, one after another, losing someone close before disappearing too. Like some big cosmic joke.

Lir is curled up on the pillows, the lights off and the television on. She pulls back the covers when he climbs up to join her, and Dante smiles a bit when she repositions herself with her head on his chest and her arms tightly wrapped around him. “This okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Dante snorts. “Nah. It’s a crazy story, I know.”

“I pulled a knife on you.”

“Not the first time someone’s done that.”

Lir stiffens a bit before lifting her head. She looks at him sadly, but he grins. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t tell me who I am,” she says.

Dante glances away with a shrug. “I don’t know you in my time. We never met.”

“Oh.” She lays her head back down against his shoulder, and Dante settles his hand on her hip. “I’m glad we got to meet here.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Dante listens as Lir’s breathing goes steady, her body sinking against him as she falls asleep. He stays awake, watching the light behind the curtain grow darker before slowly turning gray. By the time the sun comes up, his decision is made.

[girlsgonemildblog]

Seriously, What the Fuck Did I Just Watch? - Emily in Paris, Episode 8 Recap

Poster from IMDB

I literally cannot believe everything that happens in this episode happens. I honestly may not be able to even write this blog; that's how insane it all was. The episode begins with Emily leaving her apartment at the same time that Gabriel and Camille are leaving theirs, but Emily hides to avoid running into them, meaning we don't get to start our drinking game just yet. Camille then texts her asking if they can meet for lunch and talk about "something important."

At breakfast with Mindy, Emily is sure Camille knows that she and Gabriel kissed (for the second time). Mindy gives Emily some pretty good advice, "just don't kiss Gabriel," but Emily insists that "it's not that easy." It literally is, though? Like, just don't put your lips on his? It's really not that hard? You see tons of other people every day, and you don't kiss any of them, right? Or is Emily just going around and kissing literally every person she sees? I highly doubt it. The conversation moves on to Mindy, who has friends from her old life in China visiting because one of them, Li, is getting married. Mindy is nervous about seeing them again because they don't know that she's a nanny now.

For lunch (did she go to work at all or just out to eat?), she meets Camille at a sushi restaurant, clearly following Mindy's advice to avoid anywhere with steak knives. It turns out that Camille doesn't know about her kiss(es) with Gabriel and just wants Savoir to represent her family's champagne company. Emily says she will pitch it to her coworkers, and Camille invites her to her family's chateau for the weekend to learn more about the company. Gabriel will not be coming because he has to work and is still upset with Camille for asking her mother for a loan to help him buy the restaurant.

When she finally does go to the office, her coworkers are not very interested in the champagne company since it's so small. They then begin to roast Emily about the love triangle she's in with Gabriel and Camille. Without Sylvie, Luc, and Julien, this show would be completely unwatchable.

In the morning, while loading her belongings into Camille's tiny car, Gabriel shows up, and it's revealed that he is coming because he got the weekend off work. Emily is less than happy since she is still trying to avoid him. In addition, due to their bags, the three of them all have to squeeze in the front row, making Emily sit on Gabriel's lap. As they're driving, Camille asks, "everyone okay?" in a weirdly suggestive manner, and I again have to wonder if there's going to be a threesome at some point. It almost feels inevitable. But then, Camille also says she wants to set Emily up with her brother, so who knows.

At the "chateau", Emily meets Camille's mother, Louise, who is extremely cold to her and speaks French despite being fluent in English, and Camille's father, Gerard, who is naked by the pool, his genitalia covered by a very well placed champagne bottle. Louise sends Gabriel to the market, and he tries to get Emily to join him on the bike ride. Emily says no, as a bike ride on the French countryside to a farmer's market is way too romantic to do with someone who you are trying to avoid kissing, and then Emily and Gabriel get into a fight on whether they can be friends, Gabriel saying it's no big deal and Emily insisting it's best if they keep their distance.

Emily decides to go on a tour of the winery instead, where she chugs champagne like it's a natty light and she's an 18-year-old named Brad pledging Kappa Sig. She hits it off with the hot tour guide and discovers that he is Camille's brother, Timothée. Every Timothée is hot; this is only the second I've ever seen, but my point still stands. I also must point out how much he looks like Gabriel. But they're from France, not Alabama, so I won't say what I am thinking.

Gabriel cooks dinner for the group, and I have to say that making your girlfriend's chef boyfriend cook you dinner, in your home, on his weekend off, is rude. Let the boy have one night where he's not working. Gerard makes a lot of uncomfortable comments about the taste of Gabriel's coq and eggplant, and Louise lectures Emily that women aren't supposed to touch the champagne bottle at the dinner table, and you shouldn't talk business there either. Then Camille's parents start telling Gabriel that he should accept the money they've offered him, and it gets even more awkward than when Gerard was implying he sucked off his daughter's boyfriend. Emily posts a photo of her and Camille to Instagram, and we learn that her account has grown to 21.7k followers, which is only a 1.6k increase in 3 episodes, so it seems her meteoric rise is beginning to fizzle out.

Mindy texts Emily that they look very "cozy" and then tells her to check out her friend's livestream because she's about to surprise the rest of the bachelorette party. We then cut to Mindy in a jazz club with her friends, who announce that they're there so she can sing again. They reveal that they know that she's a nanny and don't care; they just don't understand why she's given up on her dream of being a singer. They finally convince her to get on stage. She insists she can't and tries to give the microphone back to the MC, but when he tells her no, she starts belting immediately.

Emily watches through her phone, and when the livestream ends, she can hear through the wall that Camille and Louise are fighting in French over the loan to Gabriel. To get away from it, she goes outside to sit by the pool. Timothée comes out to join her with a bottle of champagne. They have a heart to heart, and Emily says she left the US because "there were no decisions left to make, not even wrong ones."

Just when I was thinking this show is actually pretty good, the craziest thing that's ever occurred in the history of television happened. Emily asks Timothée about the difference between a Champagne flute and a coupe glass, and he tells her the coupe was designed using the shape of Marie Antoinette's breasts. Emily then takes the coupe glass and puts it up to her own boob. Timothée, without moving any closer or saying even a single word, reaches out and grabs Emily's other boob. Emily then guides his second hand to her tit that originally had the glassware on it. Seriously. This happened:

There's then a jump cut to Emily and Timothée having sex, and Timothée is bad at it. I mean, rapid jackhammering and weirdly intense concentration bad. Emily actually tells him to stop and repeats his own advice about drinking champagne back to him, "slow down. You're supposed to savor it." I threw up a little in my mouth.

The next morning, Emily wakes up with a hickey and then joins Camille's family for breakfast. There is a new man there, and Camille introduces him as the brother she wanted Emily to meet. Confused, Emily asks about Timothée, and Camille says Timothée is her younger brother and is 17. Just then, Timothée joins them, kissing Emily and apologizing for her hickey before sitting down. Everyone at the table realizes what happened, and Gabriel has to get up and leave to keep from laughing. Emily repeatedly insists she "didn't know," but I'm not sure how well that would hold up in a court of law. (For those curious, as I was, France currently does not have an age of consent but has a bill waiting to be passed that would set it at 15.)

Louise asks Emily to speak privately in her office. Emily immediately begins to apologize profusely, thinking Louise is going to yell at her over the whole accidental-statutory-rape thing, but Louise says she "doesn't care about all that" and just asks if her son is a good lover. I think Emily's face says it all:

Emily lies to Louise and says Timothée was sweet and gentle. She then uses the opportunity of having Louise alone to finally talk business since Louise had been dodging her all weekend. Emily comes up with an idea to get rid of their excess inventory, based on an Instagram that Mindy posted of her friends spraying a bottle of champagne over themselves in a club. She pitches the idea of "a bottle to sip, a bottle to spray," and says their champagne could be "the official 'spray' of Paris." I have to say; this is actually genius. Maybe Emily isn't completely terrible at marketing after all? Louise is worried about the legacy of her family's company since it's a little tacky of a pitch, so Emily proposes they create a second label and name it after Louise's husband's nickname, "Champére". Louise agrees, and the episode ends with Gabriel, Camille, and Emily piling into Camille's car to head back to Paris and Gabriel mocking Emily for being a cougar.

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

in too deep (part 2) - jules

jules x reader

warnings: drug use, very very slight violence, that’s pretty much it

notes: this is LOOOONNNGG probably the longest thing i’ve written,, ever and i apologize!! there was nowhere satisfying to stop in between the markers i’ve set in my mind for these chapters without creating two unsatisfyingly short chapters instead of one satisfying long one

***********

“fuckin’ score!” you squealed as jules let you down from the garage window. “now we just gotta get in there.”

you walked along the path towards the front door, rolling your eyes at the stereotypical garden gnomes with their happy painted faces.

jules held the crowbar towards you. “need this?”

“babe, please. we’re not barbarians,” you pulled out a paper clip from your jacket pocket, unfolding it and maneuvering it into the lock. you heard a familiar metallic tapping noise, prompting you to scold your girlfriend. “jules, please stop fucking with that, it’s gonna wreck your enamel.”

she mumbled an apology and you heard the lock click successfully. “yes! yes, i fucking got it!”

“you did it baby! you’re so fucking good!” jules kisses all over your cheek and jaw, pulling you in for a smooch on the lips. you wanted to lose yourself in her touch, but you remembered time was of the essence if you wanted to get the fuck out of here.

you yanked on the handle, but to your surprise, the door remained shut. “what the- it’s fucking dead bolted. who the fuck deadbolts their door? this is a great neighborhood!”

“take this,” jules thrusted the crowbar into your hands, watching as you pried the thing open, the wood splintering to the ground.

the both of you entered the home cautiously, peeking around corners as you held the gun up in self defense. jules headed into the kitchen, searching for a likely spot for some car keys. you surveyed the dining room, finding that nothing particularly stuck out to you during your search. 

  “find anything?” you asked your girlfriend. she shook her head no, eyeing around suspiciously before casting her gaze on the bowl of fruit perched perfectly on the countertop. 

  “it’s fake.” she stated seriously. you fought the urge to smile at her goofiness, choosing to nod affirmingly before heading upstairs. you rifled through countless dresser drawers, hoping to come across a set of goddamn keys. you came across an old video camera that appeared to be from 2004, but upon further inspection, the battery seemed to be dead. you tossed it over your shoulder, hearing the equipment land with a thud on the carpeting behind you. 

you unceremoniously plopped down on the couch next to jules, leaning back with a heavy sigh. “nothing?”

  “yo tengo nada.” she mumbled before stuffing a heaping spoonful of cereal into her mouth. you glanced down at her sour expression. 

  “stale?” you queried. “stale.” she affirmed, spitting the sugary wheat back into the bowl and tossing it over her shoulder. 

  “okay, time to think. no keys, so we gotta come up with something else.” you suggested, slinging an arm over her shoulders. 

  “it might help if we have a creative boost, you know?” she smirked, placing the bag onto your lap. a devilish grin made its way onto your face as you kissed the corner of her mouth.

  “mmm, i like the way you think, babygirl,” you took out a vial of coke and a credit card, dividing the substance up into lines on the back of some travel guide on the coffee table that looked like it was from the 70s. jules ripped a page out of another magazine and rolled it up into a tube. she went first and you followed, snorting a line as an idea popped into your head. 

  “gas! we’ll siphon the gas!” you shouted, turning towards your girlfriend to see what she thought. 

  “what? oh, that’s great, baby!” she leaned in for another kiss, but you were already up and pacing the living room floor. 

  “yeah, yeah, that’ll work. we just need, like, a gas can or something to put it in, and then we can put it back in the car!” you grinned, looking to jules for some input. 

  “yes! we don’t even need that much, we can just- fuck, you’re so fuckin’ smart, baby!” she slammed you into the wall, furiously smashing her lips to yours as she reached into your back pocket to grope your ass. 

  “mmmph! wait, baby- wai- we c-can’t do this now,” you managed between moans.

“what, you don’t want it?” she pouted, pulling away from you.

“no! fuck no! you know i want it, you know i fuckin’ wanna fuck all over this place, but we have to get back to the car before it gets towed or something.” you reasoned, pulling her hands back into yours.

“you’re right, i’m so sorry, baby.” she averted her gaze towards the ground, picking at her nails nervously.

“don’t ever apologize for that shit. that’s love.” you smiled, cheeks turning pink when she smiled back at you. you pressed your lips to hers, savoring her taste as you kissed her slowly.

you decided to head into the basement to find a hose and, after a debate over who should go down first, jules bravely headed down into the darkness. the two of you split up, figuring you could cover more ground separately. she crept up behind you, groaning when you jolted and shifted the beam of your flashlight into her eyes.

“there’s nothing down here. come on, babe,” she moved from your field of vision, the flashlight suddenly casting on a little girl chained to a pipe, her sudden presence making you scream.

“what?” jules turned around, practically jumping out of her skin when she saw the child.

“w-what the fuck?” you exclaimed. “what the fuck?” you asked her if she was alright, but she stayed silent, looking at the two of you as if she’d just seen you flush her pet fish down the toilet.

“y/n, we have to get her out of here,” jules stated firmly. “look at the lock, can you pick it?”

“can i pick it? baby, that fucker’s industrial. not gonna happen.” you crossed your arms. “and besides, we don’t know where her parents are, or why she’s chained up in the fucking basement! that’s a huge fucking red flag, julie! i mean, this- this is practically a red flag factory!”

“baby, i love you, but there’s no fucking way i’m leaving if that little girl isn’t coming with us. can you figure out some way to get the chain off her? pretty please?” she begged.

you tapped your foot anxiously, eyes darting around the open space in the basement. you sighed, looking back at her pleading expression. “fuck you, and fuck those goddamn puppy eyes of yours.”

her face brightened, clinging to your side and pressing kisses to your cheeks lovingly.

“okay, the chain is connected to the pipe, so we don’t have to pick the lock, we can just cut the pipe. we just need a saw of some kind.” you looked over to her.

  “that’s my girl,” she grinned widely. “it doesn’t really look like there’s any tools down here. maybe a knife would work?”

you headed up to the kitchen, rifling through drawers and drawers of utensils. you quickly grew frustrated with the lack of anything sharp in this seemingly childproof home. “butter knives! just fucking butter knives! what, do these people not eat steak?” you growled in irritation. you looked over to jules who had a shocked expression on her face as she stared at something behind you. you spun around to see a couple standing there, a baby in the woman’s arms. 

you grabbed the nearest object, which turned out to be a meat tenderizer and held it threateningly towards the intruders. the man took a step forwards, triggering your protective instinct as you aimed the gun at him. 

he held his hands up in defense, backing away from you. “alright, easy now. we don’t want any trouble. take what you want; money, jewelry, whatever you’re looking for just take and go on your way.”

  “we don’t want your money.” you stepped towards them, standing in front of jules and trying to assert your dominance. 

  “you can have the mallet if you’re keen on it.” the man assured. you shook your head, tossing it to the floor with a metallic clang. “is this your house?” the man nodded. “you live here full time? this isn’t a rental situation?”

  “no it is not. what exactly is going on here?” he asked curiously. against her better judgement, jules stepped out from behind me, her brows furrowed. 

  “okay then. we wanna know why the fuck you have a little girl chained up in your basement, that’s what we wanna know.” she shouted, crossing her arms aggressively. “tell em’, babe.”

  “y-yeah, what the fuck?” you gestured towards them with the gun in confusion. you wanted to look over to your girlfriend, but you didn’t want to take your eyes off the suspicious couple. 

  “oh lord, and here i thought you were gonna rob us,” the man laughed in relief. “that’s just sweetiepie. she’s been acting out at school, that’s just what we do to discipline he-”

  “chaining a child to the floor is no way of disciplining her! we’re getting her the fuck out of here and taking her somewhere safe!” jules cut in, fiery with passion. 

the man’s wife joined the conversation, shouting something about coming in uninvited and kidnapping her daughter before her husband calmed her down. “no! don’t you dare take her away from us! i won’t have that poor girl subjected to your sinful lifestyle!”

“watch your fuckin’ mouth, lady!” jules pointed at her angrily.

you and george pulled your partners away from each other, calming them down before continuing to speak. “listen, we have a second car in the garage. and if for one reason or another, that second car were to go missing, we might not report that incident for some time. but if you were to take my daughter with you, you’d be forcing my hand to call the police in a much more timely manner.”

your shoulders sagged, looking over to jules as she stood strong. you admired her for her ability to never take shit from anyone. 

  “you can’t stand here and tell me you don’t wish you never went down those stairs.” he was right and he knew it. you were stuck between a rock and a hard place, so you decided to do what you did best: break the tension.

  “i just realized nobody knows each other’s names here. i’ll start. i’m y/n, and this beautiful thing is my girl jules.” you exhaled through your nose. you turned to see jules looking pissed off, whether at you for opening your mouth or the situation. 

  “i’m sorry, i can’t believe we haven’t introduced ourselves! i’m george, and this here’s my wife, gloria.” george proudly announced, tossing an arm over gloria’s shoulder. 

  “nice to meet you, george and gloria. now that we all know each other, let me tell you something.” your face fell serious. “we’re taking that girl and you’re not saying shit to the police. you wanna know why you won’t say shit? because you’re fucking psychopaths with a little girl chained up in your basement! and there’s no way you can call the police without risking them finding out about the fact that you’re fucking psychopaths with a little girl chained up in their basement!”

you watched as they shifted uncomfortably, feeling pride in your words against them. you spared a glance towards jules, grinning inside when you saw the proud look on her face. 

  “get the fucking keys, george.”

you found yourselves in the basement, watching george’s every move as he unlocked the girl. jules stood a few feet behind you, pinning gloria’s arms to her back.

  “you’re free, come here!” she didn’t move. “chains are off dude, let’s get the fuck outta here!” 

the girl clung to george’s leg in fear, causing a prideful grin to appear on the man’s face. 

  “you can come with us now! we’ll have fun, we can find you a great family. hey, we could even get burgers and ice cream, how does that sound? have you ever even had a burger?” you joked. 

you placed a hand on her shoulder but she turned and bit it, making you squeal and jump back from her. george took this opportunity to slam his head into yours with such brute force that you blacked out on impact as you fell to the ground, the gun clattering out of your grasp. 

jules’ muffled voice frantically screaming your name was the last thing you heard before you fell completely unconscious. 

**************

i had to make a few changes, some for creative purposes, some just bc i felt like it

and yES i CUT OUT THE SCENE WHERE THEY READ EACH OTHER IM SORRY IT WAS GETTING LONGER AND LONGER AND STRESSING ME TF OUT

also i don’t like how long this is writing things this long stresses me out and as i’m typing this at 7:24 i realize this was supposed to be out 8 hours ago

also also for my taglist, i’m adding people who either liked or reblogged, but feel free to message me if you do/don’t want to be tagged!!

tags: @emmyrosee @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @willyourecognisemee​

[fuzziwwuzzie-blog]

The story of my life!! (A sad tell for sure!!)

Hello

My name is Justin.. I am 41 as of May 3rd this year! Yeah!!!

I never thought I would live to see 40 much less anything past. It!!!

The only reason I have made it this far is because of my beautiful wife Dina!!

If not for her I would have been dead years ago!!

   When we meet I was a loose cannon! Ready to fight for looking at me the wrong way! Doing every drug you could think of to erase the past and drinking a fifth of tequila every two days to numb the future!!

That was 14 years ago and not a moment to soon! We will never have kids together.. that is one thing I have had to get over but I believe it's for the best really!!

I have came along way but I still don't think I am ready to be a daddy!

That's ok cause you see she has two kids from her first marriage ( both adults now) A Boy and a Girl..

 Her daughter has two kids now and one more on the way!!!  😁😁

My granddaughter calls me pappal and I'm sure the other two will as soon as they can talk!! And I don't think I could love them anymore if they where blood!!!

I lOVE MY GRANDBABIES!!! And I will do anything for them!!

Anyways back to me ...

I had a troubled childhood to say the least!

 When I was 5 I watched my grandma die !!

 When I say (watched) I mean watched! It was a Saturday morning ( I know this cause I was watching cartoons and in the early 80's cartoons only came on on Saturday mornings). Anyway I was laying in the floor of Granny's house watching cartoons when I heard her start gasping for air ... I stood up and looked at her (she was on a bed in the living room) and froze... She was trying to get me to get help but I was scared and didn't move...

   She finally took her last breath and I stood there looking at her till my mom came in the room some time later..

   When she realized what had happened she pushed me outside and said."go play everything will be ok" But I knew that grandma had passed ...

When the first responders got there they asked me what had happened and I couldn't remember..... 

 While they got her out of the house I was playing by a woodshed when I heard some kittens..I dug around in the wood until I found them!. That's when I saw Toby! He was just a little black ball but I knew he was mine!!

so mom let me keep him and I named him  Toby !!

I had him for about three years before a neighbor shot him for walking on his car!

(at least that's  the story my step dad gave us)

Granny dieing was not my first memory ,but it is one of the not so bad ones!!

I guess when watching your grandma is die is not the worst memory you have as a kid you can really say you had a screwed up childhood!!

    Before that I got buried alive, thrown in a lake (and couldn't swim), kicked through a wall (for spilling some tea), and last but not least raped... All before I turned 6 and trust me it didn't get any better after my sixth birthday either!!!

 After Grandma passed  My mom meet this guy (Robert) and before you knew it we was moved in with him!!

Boy was that fun!!!

What time he wasn't beating us.. he was apologizing for beating us and swearing it wouldn't happen again or trying to convince us it wasn't his fault to begin with. I put up with that from the time I was six until I was  13 .

Everyday getting a beating or  getting molested by him!!

I remember once I had forgotten to water some dogs we had out back before I went to school... And when we got home their water was frozen in the fridge... well I was taking them some fresh water in a bucket when all I remember is a sharp pain in the back of my head.. my step dad had took the frozen gallon jug and slung it at me and hit me in the back of the head and knocked me out and then left me laying there until I woke up..

I tried to tell Mom some of the things he did when she wasn't around but She wouldn't listen or she maybe she just didn't want to believe any of it!!

You know how they tell you to "tell the teachers " or to tell  an adult " ??

well I did but  every time he would come up with some kind of excuse !! Or say It was just my overactive imagination or  well he is  just mad at us for punishing him for doing something wrong!!

That it was all a bunch of lies!!

And buddy when whoever was talking to him about it left ,or we got home ,, I got it worse!! Mom just got tired of getting beat so she just turned her head let me take the beatings!!

 Untill  I came in from school one day right after I had turned 13, he had mom on the couch  beating her again !well I couldn't take it anymore!! Her eyes where already almost shut from the swelling !! God only knows how long he was hitting her!!! I had had enough!!! 

 So  I told him to stop hitting her! He did , he stood up and turned around and started walking towards , and said "so what are you going to do little boy " as soon as he got close enough I swung with all my might !! I'll never forget the first time I hit him!!  you see he wore false teeth !!

Both sets top and bottom!

And when I first connected my right hand with his jaw!!! Both parts broke!!

Two pieces went flying and two pieces where kinda stuck half in and half out of his mouth!!! I started laughing so hard I thought I would piss myself right then and there!!!

And that wasn't good enough to look on his face was PRICELESS!!

   I guess he didn't like that I was laughing at him so he came at me ( he didn't expect me to fight anymore butI I had been building it up hatred towards him for years and I guess my hatred for him just came out that day!!! I started swinging as soon as he was within reach and I would have killed him that day if mom hadn't stopped me!!

   He grabbed my hair ( which was long back then just to piss him off) and tried to hold my head down.. maybe he thought I would stop but I didn't!!! I just started swinging from the ground up straight to his privates!!! As hard as I could!!! Evey time I swung I thought about all the shit he did to me!! To my friends!!! I guess finally he got to be too much for him he took off a running.         

We lived in a single wide trailer.. we were fighting in the first bedroom.. which was up my bedroom.. which was on one end and when he ran to his bedroom.. which is on the opposite end of the trailer ...we had to run to the living room, through the kitchen ,and down a hallway.. I made a pit stop in the kitchen. Mom had a set of steak knives that was in a block on the counter.. I grabbed four!!!

  You shut the door to his bedroom right before I got there I ran those for knives through the door and I commenced to kicking in on the door!!!

That's when Mom grabbed me to me at the back door and told me to leave if she's calling the cops which she did I love spending 45 days in jail for simple assault communicating a threat !!

  All because I was trying to stop him from beating her ass!!!

  I didn't used to neches a 6 and 13 she never once called the cops on him for anything I stood up for her and she called the cops on me and send me to jail !!!

  I tried to tell the judge but he just looked at me like I was a misfit teen rebellion against their parents!!

   When I got out your mom want to move back into the trailer and her and her husband moved out and left you there ..

said I couldn't come with!!

  I was 13 , my dad didn't want me,my mom didn't want me ( even though I was old enough now to make sure he would NEVER lay his hands on either one of us again.. she thought it was better with me out of the picture...

  So she let a friend of mine move in (he was 18) this way it didn't look like she was abandon me.and for the next couple of years I learned how to steal to pay the bills!!

  As soon as I turned 15 1/2 I quit school ...

  Of course it wasn't long before I was in trouble with the law!!

  Only it wasn't for what I thought it would have been for!!

  When I turned 17 some friends of mine decided take me to the skating ring for my birthday.

I met this girl there still miss you Louis 15 I thought I'm 17 she's 15 no big deal till next year wrong!!!

    come to find out she was 12!!

Just about to turn 13 !!

But by the time I found that out it was too late!! we had already had  sex!!!

Her whole family lied to me because they wanted me to marry her!!!

You see they had five kids then the dad went and got into an accident and had brain problems from then on so they couldn't afford the kids anymore cause he couldn't work and neither could the mom ..

So they had already pawned the oldest daughter off to a guy and now they wanted me to take the younger one...

But when I found out how old she really was I dumped her .. she didn't like it none ,so she went to the doctor, told the doctor she was pregnant and told him that I was the father if she was pregnant.

Well in North Carolina and there's a 4 years difference is statutory rape automatically and it has to be reported..

When the detectives came and asked me about it I told him the truth they asked if I'd be willing to write in the statement and I said sure cause I didn't think I had done anything wrong!!

I did write that statement and  that's what got me convicted!!!

I was 17 when they came and talked to me. No parent around no lawyer nothing!! I didn't think I needed one!! I was always told "you can trust the cops they are on your side!!"   BULLSHIT!!!!

They knew the truth!! They knew I should not have gotten charged!! But what happened???

They came to me with this shit "oh we got to write it up but we'll put it in the back file as long as you don't get in trouble with his next 5 years it will go away!!"

all they wanted was for me to turn 18 so they could prosecute me as a adult!!!    Which is what they did !!

right after my 18th birthday they hit me with statutory rape charge facing 12 years and because I wrote my statement against myself (trying to do the right thing!!)

if I would have fought it in court I would have been found guilty and had to do a 12-year minimum sentence!!

So I took a plea bargain for felony child abuse. The one of the stipulations is that once I had to take sex offender classes..

Now in case real normal flow could never been to a sex offender class let me tell you what to do. There is this guy that runs the show he" evaluates" you..

And tells you how many classes he thinks that you should do. (and of course because the more classes you do the more money he makes he's going to make sure that you do 12 classes or more)

So as part of my probation I had to go to these classes first me knowing that bad I'm at with the guy that's okay listen to what I had to say blah blah I thought he's on my side then he came back with this BS that I was a predator and I needed 12 classes..

okay whatever I couldn't fight it I was on probation had to do it fine I went to the first class do the six other people in their ( guys).

Maybe we fat slob pig looking sons of b****** anyway.

I didn't make it all the way through the first class it says in a circle and if I started sharing what they were there for got to the third guy and he started saying that he likes to smell diapers at babies and it made him hard while blob and I couldn't take it no more I called him a pervert son of a b**** so I cussed him out got up and left...

Tell my probation officer I didn't think I felt that I deserved to be in that class they said well as part of the stipulations of the court so I had to do it so I gave it one more shot next time this guy started talking about how you want to hold his little six year old granddaughter down and blessed her every time you saw her I got up knocking the f*** out left and ran..

skipped out on probation at night!!

I knew I was going back to prison...

there's no way I could handle sitting in classes with a bunch of perverts like that.

Listen I fcked up!! I made a mistake and  I knew that what I did was wrong but at the same time I committed my crime unknowingly!!

I was done wrong ! I was lied too!!

And I don't believe that I deserve to be in those kind of classes and labeled as one of those types of people!!!

I knew nobody was going to hear my side of story so I left and went to West Virginia!! 

Which started a whole new saga...

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[siribear]

ham, the bouncer for the third rail, leads her down into what appears to be a subway platform turned bar. it’s a small bar, almost comfortable with its dark lighting and scattered tables. a woman in a red dress serenades the clientele, winking at ham - or alice, it’s hard to tell - from across the room.

‘in there, the VIP room,’ he says quietly to not disturb the song.

the VIP room, by contrast to the dim lighting of the bar, is bathed in red light. she kicks herself mentally, wondering what she’s let hancock get her into. three men occupy the room; two in green camouflage and heavy armor, armed with heavy weapons while the other wears a tattered leather duster and patched leather pants.

maccready would be the one in the duster, she imagines, but the other two? by the looks on everyone’s faces, this visit isn’t an all together enjoyable one. maccready catches her eye briefly, looking her up and down, before returning his attention to the other men.

‘why don’t you and your buddy take a hike, winlock.’

winlock chuckles, low. ‘you can’t run forever, maccready. only reason you aren’t dead yet is we don’t want a war with goodneighbor.’ he looks to his partner, then back. ‘but if you keep on taking jobs in the commonwealth, you’ll force our hand.’

‘yeah, yeah. whatever,’ maccready says with an exaggerated eye-roll. ‘if you don’t mind? i’ve got company.’

all eyes are on her, then. from maccready’s, shadowed by his cap, to winlock’s, framed by a simple tattoo, to winlock’s partner’s, hidden by a pair of sunglasses. great.

‘and what did i just tell you about taking jobs - ’

alice pushes past him, settles herself on the couch and cozies up to maccready, one arm thrown over the back of the couch behind him. she smiles prettily. ‘i’m just visiting an old friend.’

‘right. remember what i said, maccready.’

she doesn’t move away until the two are out of sight. when he stands, so does she. ‘if you’re here for a friend,’ he starts, and she has to roll her eyes, ‘or to preach about the atom, you’re talking to the wrong guy.’

‘considering hancock all but lead me to you, i’m pretty sure you’re the right guy.’

his eyes widen. ‘hancock? what’s he want?’

she pulls hancock’s bag of caps out of her pack. ‘it’s not what hancock wants. i need you to track someone.’

maccready looks like he has to physically restrain himself from taking the money. ‘track who?’

‘ever heard of kellogg?’

‘you want me to track him? there are cheaper ways if you’ve got a death wish, lady.’

alice takes a step forward. ‘i’m going to kill him. but i need help finding him, and hancock figured you’d be the one to ask.’

he closes his eyes and sighs. ‘two hundred and fifty caps. up front.’ she tosses him the money. ‘and what if i can’t find him?’

she removes another few handfuls of caps from her own purse, the money she made from selling her salvage earlier. ‘call it incentive. otherwise - guess you just made a few hundred caps easy, huh?’

he frowns. ‘you know there’s... very few mercenaries in the commonwealth, right? like - most just join the gunners, and anyone that can’t becomes a raider. not many people can do that kinda work by themselves.’

‘well,’ she says. ‘that says quite a lot about you, doesn’t it?’

‘you don’t get it. kellogg is fu-freaking ruthless.’

‘maccready. either you help me find him or i take my money back. i’m not asking you to kill him, just track him.’

‘all right, all right.’ he tucks the caps into his duster. ‘you can count on me, boss.’

she sighs with relief, tension draining from her shoulders. ‘thank you,’ she whispers. ‘thank you.’

-

maccready escorts her to the hotel rexford when she asks about a place to stay, and doesn’t even charge her caps for it. he laughs when she mentions it, and tells her he’ll keep in touch.

inside the hotel, she speaks to an elderly woman named clair who hands her a set of keys to a room on the top floor. the elevator is nothing but a collapsed pile of rubble, and so she begins her climb up the stairs. the stairs creak with each step, a miracle that the floor doesn’t give way. the faded red wallpaper peels away at the corners, dust and spiderwebs making their home in the crevices. by the time she reaches the third floor, she’s ready to fall into bed.

she walks the hall to her room at the end, when a door squeaks open to her left. just another patron heading out for the night, she thinks, until she hears a rasped gasp and a wheezing, ‘you.’

she freezes, turns, comes face to face with a ghoul dressed in a trench coat and matching hat. ‘i’m sorry, who - ’ but then she sees it, the vault-tec pin on his lapel. ‘did you... work for vault-tec?’

his black eyes narrow. ‘i am vault-tec. they wouldn’t let me into the vault.’

alice blinks. then remembers. following nate up the hill to the vault entrance, the group of people waiting outside - the man who had just finished registering their names on the list being threatened with a minigun. a quick, i’m sorry, before being rushed to the vault. alice pulls him back into his room and shuts the door.

‘oh my god. you?’

‘yeah,’ he says, looking at his hands. ‘me. how are you still... how do you still look - ’

she winces. ‘the vault was some kind of - experiment. we were cryogenically frozen. i just woke up a few weeks ago. did you know about any of this?’

‘no. twenty years working for the company, and i didn’t qualify. but i was supposed to win a pack of steak knives.’

‘i’m so sorry.’

‘claire ward, right?’ he asks, and she nods, slowly. ‘you’re the only one that i remember from - before. everyone else is...’

‘i know. hey, why don’t you head back up to sanctuary, instead of staying holed up here? we’re building the place back up.’

‘we? your husband - ’

‘the minutemen,’ shes says quickly. ‘it’s a long story. just tell preston that alice sent you. and i’ll be back to visit soon.’

he repeats the name, confused but accepting. 'you promise?’ he smiles, face lighting up immediately. ‘yeah, that sounds nice, actually.’

she holds out her hand awkwardly, unsure what else to say. he takes it. ‘then i’ll see you again soon.’

-

the night passes as quietly as she assumes it can, for goodneighbor. outside she can hear people talking, shouting, the occasional gunshot from down below. still, she allows it to lull her to sleep, only starting awake when someone slams a door shut on the floor below.

the next morning, she visits hancock and maccready before she leaves, anxiety making her ask more questions than necessary. both men reassure her that they’ll keep up their end of the deal; she even hands maccready more caps just to make sure the man from vault-tec makes it safely to sanctuary.

maccready carries a sniper rifle of his own, and she takes the moment before they part ways at the goodneighbor gate for a few pointers. by the time his short tutorial ends, she confidently snipes two ferals from the top of a hill of debris.

goodneighbor’s seal reads 6-o.

from a corner bookstore, she follows the freedom trail up to faneuil hall. the courtyard is near unrecognizable. metal cages and spikes covered in barbed wire litter the yard, spattered with blood. the smell hits her next. blood and rot, its source the bags of flesh strung up around the building like christmas lights, blood leaking from the mesh netting.

she has to crouch low to avoid a giant mutant dog. it sniffs the air but barely passes by her as she makes her way up to the seal. R-5 she notes before making her way around the building. there’s a steady beep, beep, beep on the other side and two super mutants stand guard. she peeks around the corner with her rifle and finds the source of the beeping: one of the super mutants is holding a live mini nuke. the red light blinks steadily in its palm.

if that thing catches her, she’s dead. no doubts about it this time.

she steps back, rubble shifting underfoot. one super mutant shouts ‘hey!’ but the beeping grows no closer. she presses herself flat against the wall, clenching her fists. if she goes back to the courtyard, she’ll just alert the dog and the rest of the super mutants. the fire escape is way too high for her to climb up to - so.

she takes a steadying breath, eases her rifle around the corner of the building, and takes a shot.

the explosion throws her backward, slamming her shoulder into the neighboring building. she gasps, in pain and surprise, and the world is muted aside from the high ringing in her ears. injecting a stimpak into her, she slowly leaves the alley, ignoring the crackling of her geiger counter.

the mournful wail of the mutant dog speeds her steps.

when another super mutant and a pair of dogs stands between her and another seal, she climbs into an abandoned house for cover. from her new vantage point off the street, she’s able to pick off the dogs with a few shots and their master in just a few more.

D-8.

old north church is close, just around the corner, and so is the last seal, bringing the password together. piecing the notes together, she shakes her head. definitely should have headed straight to the church.

inside, the church is wrecked, pews splintered and broken, upper level half collapsed onto the bottom floor. she sneezes suddenly at the dust, alerting a sleeping feral near her. she takes it out, as well as another feral that rises at the sound of her gunshots.

alice scans the room for more and finds her next clue. a white lantern stenciled on the edge of the partially collapsed upper floor.  follow freedom’s lantern.

okay, then.

down in the catacombs is another lantern stencil, as if she had any doubts about where she was going. she almost trips over a skeleton, then a dead feral, and finally turning on her pipboy light brings her face to face with a live feral. not live for long, and she’s proud of herself for not screaming.

a larger rotating dial sits upon the wall at the end of the catacombs. wires lead from the wall to the dial. the false wall. hands upon both sides of the dial, she begins spinning it, depressing the center when she stops upon each letter of the password.

railroad.

on the final letter, gears turn and click behind the wall, which slides backward and to the side. the catacombs opens further - into another pitch black room. hand on her pistol, lit up pipboy held aloft, she proceeds slowly further.

one step into the darkness and it is no longer - light floods the room as construction lights switch on. the familiar spin up of a minigun makes her freeze. she holds up her hands.

‘that’s far enough.’ a woman speaks to her, framed by light. ‘you’ve gone through a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting, but, first, you must answer my questions.

who are you?’

[tunehummed]

THE JONATHAN LARSON PROJECT. — 458 sentences from the 2019 album the jonathan larson project, conceived by jennifer ashley tepper! change pronouns as needed. trigger warning for mentions/discussion of abuse, sexism, homophobia, and oil spills.

GREENE STREET.

‛ i found the sun on a midwinter day. ’

‛ on a backstreet down in soho, there was snow on the ground. ’

‛ instinct told me to get out and search for a day. ’

‛ there goes a chic, chic baby on her way to a coup d’état. ’

‛ there goes a fella like me lookin’ for his day. ’

‛ there goes a boy in his mama’s arms. ’

‛ you can say what you can say. ’

‛ there goes a lover sittin’ and writin’ this song. ’

‛ i’m sittin’ on greene street! ’

‛ and i don’t mean money, honey. ’

‛ watchin’ the world waltz by. ’

‛ laughing the day away. ’

‛ there goes a man with a camera whose sunglasses shade his eyes. ’

‛ there goes a man who seems that he knows a star. ’

‛ there goes a tourist who’s scared to answer me. ’

‛ there goes a dancer too scared to answer me, an artist who winked as she passed by. ’

‛ an artist who winked as she passed by! ’

‛ all these people out in the street, too bad that no one wants to meet. ’

‛ too bad that no one wants to meet. ’

‛ everybody i see walks right by. ’

‛ would someone please look me in the eye? ’

ONE OF THESE DAYS.

‛ another failure, another flop. ’

‛ i should try another hobby, this has gotta stop. ’

‛ i feel like a tightrope walker without the wire. ’

‛ one more disaster, one more dud. ’

‛ it could be worse! at least this time no flood. ’

‛ at least this time no flood. ’

‛ at least this time no flood, though it’s the fourteenth time that i’ve almost caught on fire. ’

‛ though it’s the fourteenth time that i’ve almost caught on fire. ’

‛ maybe it’s luck! what is luck, how could this be luck? ’

‛ no one’s luck could be this bad! ’

‛ maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s time… ’

‛ one of these days i’ll find a way. ’

‛ i’ll make it to the top, leave ‘em all back in the dust. ’

‛ one of these days someone will say, ‘that boy will never stop!’ ’

‛ that day’s gonna be one of these days. ’

‛ don’t understand it, it isn’t fair. ’

‛ every time i try to prove myself results just aren’t there. ’

‛ i feel like a mountain climber without the peak. ’

‛ my sister laughs at me, says i’m odd. ’

‛ my mom and pop think i’m a punishment from god. ’

‛ i get looks from my neighbors that seem to say, ‘there goes that FREAK!’ ’

‛ sometimes i wish - no, i don’t - yes, i do, i wish! ’

‛ i wish that somehow i’d been born dumb. ’

‛ then i feel that something may change. ’

‛ i’ll rise above the throng. ’

‛ they’ll be amazed at who they see. ’

‛ one of these days someone will say, ‘i knew it all along.’ ’

‛ one of these days that’s what will be. ’

‛ god, can it happen today? ’

‛ maybe there’s been a mistake. ’

‛ let’s trade a failure for one minor miracle. ’

‛ i’m gonna be number one! ’

‛ i’m gonna be number one, at least in some one person’s eyes. ’

‛ one of these days someone will say, ‘you are my only one.’ ’

‛ i’m gonna fly, i’m gonna touch the sky. ’

‛ i’m gonna win, i’m gonna sin, i’m gonna never die. ’

‛ gonna glow, gonna flow, gonna click, gonna stick. ’

‛ gonna gain, reach, conquer, gonna make ‘em sick. ’

‛ gonna triumph, prevail, sail, razzle dazzle, glitter gleam. ’

‛ gonna see my face in every house on every screen. ’

‛ i’ll be the hero, i’ll change the world. ’

‛ and maybe in the end i’ll even get the girl! ’

‛ gotta believe it. ’

‛ i can see through the haze. ’

‛ a miracle’s in for a landing, gonna get here, gonna happen one of these days. ’

BREAK OUT THE BOOZE.

‛ the wolf’s at the door and i hear talk of war. ’

‛ somebody break out the booze. ’

‛ let’s grab some hooch. ’

‛ let’s get goopy and smooch. ’

‛ forget all this sob sister news. ’

‛ the world’s gettin’ lousy, so let’s go get drowsy. ’

‛ yes, right here and now-sy. ’

‛ let’s bow-wow these blues. ’

‛ the stars look poetic. the moon’s copacetic. ’

‛ crank up your jalopy and then we’ll get sloppy. ’

‛ we’ll call up our bookie and say to him: ‘cookie, lookie, we’ve nothing to lose.’ ’

‛ the times ain’t so jake, every bum’s on the take. ’

‛ got no cake, got no steak, just this ache in my shoes. ’

‛ the moon’s looking cheesy. your eyes say, ‘i’m easy.’ ’

‛ oh – it’s swell to be alive. ’

‛ oh – it’s the real mccoy! ’

‛ oh – give a yell, we’ll survive. ’

‛ waiter! who needs a mug? give me a bottle or a jug. ’

‛ the government’s awful, so let’s be unlawful. ’

‛ throw out the compass and let’s make a rumpus. ’

‛ this town’s getting screwy, so let’s go kablooey. ’

‛ it’s true if we get boo-hoo-y, we lose. ’

‛ let’s make it strange – hell! let’s get naked, angel. ’

OUT OF MY DREAMS.

‛ out of my dreams. ’

‛ out all night, kisses on the street. ’

‛ sidewalk, dance, september heat. ’

‛ stay in bed, love all day. ’

‛ fire, passion, every single way. ’

‛ go to work, mind on you. anticipating what we’re gonna do. ’

‛ nasty words on the telephone. ’

‛ alarm goes off, i’m in bed alone. ’

‛ you left my life. stay out of my dreams. ’

‛ thursday, friday, 3 am. ’

‛ buses, subways. us versus them. ’

‛ winter chill, skies look dark. ’

‛ monkey business in central park. ’

‛ coffee, cocoa, more whipped cream. ’

‛ vodka, brandy. was it just a dream? ’

‛ window shopping, christmas day. ’

‛ i wake up, all that was yesterday! ’

‛ try to stay busy. hard to stay afloat. ’

‛ will i be sunk by this lump in my throat? ’

‛ can’t think, can’t act, can’t find new roads. ’

‛ think i see you everywhere, my heart explodes. ’

‛ will i ever laugh? will i ever be the same? ’

‛ i’m tossing, i’m turning, i’m calling your name. ’

‛ maybe you’ll come back. that thought makes me weep. ’

‛ the only thing i do is i go back to sleep. ’

‛ stay out of my dreams. get out! ’

VALENTINE’S DAY.

‛ he was a greeting card candy cupid. ’

‛ there was a blizzard, it was twenty below. ’

‛ she was 15, clean, lonely and stupid, and as pure as the virgin snow. ’

‛ he pulled her in from the storm and the fire was warm. she didn’t have the nerve to say no. ’

‛ she didn’t have the nerve to say no. ’

‛ beat her till she’s black and blue and gray. ’

‛ draw a little heart. draw a little arrow. draw a little blood. ’

‛ v-v-v-valentine’s day. ’

‛ red wine, waterford crystal. chocolate kisses and lace. ’

‛ knives and chains and a pistol mounted on a wall, like scars on a face. ’

‛ he said he liked to play rough as he locked the handcuff. she knew it’d be tough to escape. ’

‛ she knew it’d be tough to escape. ’

‛ february winter in her heart. ’

‛ i said i’d show her normal love. she said, ‘too late to start.’ ’

‛ she said, ‘too late to start.’ ’

‛ now her fashion is basically leather. favorite color is basically red. ’

‛ and her passions change like the weather, as she dances from bed to bed to bed. ’

‛ and she feels like a fool, but she likes her men cruel. ’

‛ i doubt she’ll be cool till she’s dead. ’

WHITE MALE WORLD.

‛ bryant gumbel, decaf coffee, french vanilla ultra slim. ’

‛ pert shampoo with extra body, clinique, neutrogena. ’

‛ hey, madonna. ho, madonna, hey. ’

‛ stay-free, yeast-x, estee lauder. ’

‛ estee lauder, revlon, calvin klein’s obsession. ’

‛ advil, ultra-brite, no nonsense. ’

‛ diamonds are forever. ’

‛ it’s just another day. just another day. ’

‛ just another day in the white male world.  ’

‛ salad bar, no! candy bar. ’

‛ yes. candy bar, no! salad bar. ’

‛ diet coke, no! diet rite. ’

‛ cellulite or cancer? ’

‛ yes sir, no sir. ’

‛ holly hunter, melanie griffith, meryl streep. ’

‛ spandex, reeboks. ’

‛ taylor dayne, stairmaster, oprah winfrey. ’

‛ let’s cut down a jungle. ’

‛ let’s go start a war. ’

‛ let’s go rape a co-ed. ’

‛ what a lovely thing to do! ’

‛ let’s drink beer and bust some heads. ’

‛ let’s all vote for jesse helms. ’

‛ let’s string up a faggot and a black guy and a jew. ’

‛ evian water, black lace push-up, billiard table, dirty words. ’

‛ skinny blue jeans, skimpy t-shirt. ’

‛ husband hunting, binge & purge. ’

‛ open your mouth and open your legs and open your purse. now – where’s the trojan? ’

‛ now – where’s the trojan? ’

‛ wait! don’t stop! too late, he’s finished. ’

‛ what if men got pregnant? ’

LA DI DA RAP.

‛ we all should be drinkin’ to abraham lincoln and get stinkin’ drunk in his name. ’

‛ it’s a good thing he’s dead cause he’d cry his eyes red, hang his head if he saw this campaign. ’

‛ singing hey la di la di, hey la di da day. ’

‛ lincoln! here’s mud in your eye. ’

‛ are we past our prime? or is this the time to climb from the slime, make america great. ’

‛ are we so hollow that we blindly follow and swallow whatever they put on our plate? ’

‛ just sing no! ’

‛ to handlers, sound bytes, madison avenue, cynical hollywood, la di da pictures. ’

‛ tabloids, images, wrapped up facts in relation, slim control. ’

‛ la di da you drama la di da de da de la di da. ’

‛ pour some ales for old roger ailes and danny quayle’s his protégé. ’

‛ in ‘96 his looks, his tricks make tricky dick’s crime passe. ’

‛ i’ve had it up to here. ’

‛ here’s mud in your eye! ’

IRON MIKE.

‛ on a starry black night at the base of mount hogan, beyond horsetail creek and anderson bay. ’

‛ from the port of valdez sailed a ship, bound for long beach. ’

‛ over one million barrels of crude stowed away. ’

‛ to the left of the wheel in the bridge of the upper deck under the compass, was he. ’

‛ navigation computer, the captain and fisherman’s friend who could steer perfectly. ’

‛ they called him iron mike. ’

‛ in the dead of the night he steered the way through the darkness. ’

‛ iron mike didn’t see the red light on the reef. ’

‛ he’d been known to throw back one or two. ’

‛ yet no one thought twice when he set autopilot and retired below with the crew. ’

‛ from the two am stillness came the cry of the third mate. ’

‛ someone better go wake up the chief! ’

‛ yet by then it was too late. ’

‛ the starboard tanks had 12 foot gashes cut out by bligh reef. ’

‛ the forget-me-nots cried and the salmon all died and the fisherman wore black armbands. ’

‛ and the spokesmen from exxon said, ‘no major damage,’ though six million gallons remain in the sands. ’

‛ and from rocky point down to mount freemantle, you can still see the black film on the soil. ’

‛ and the echoes rebound throughout prince william sound of half frozen animals, choking in oil. ’

‛ who’s at the helm of this ship of state? ’

‛ we’ve in for some rough navigation. ’

‛ we have the power – the hour is late. ’

‛ gotta get tough and clean up the nation. ’

‛ black rainbows of exxon lightgrade again flowed, like hot fudge in a big apple spill. ’

‛ the detection machine had malfunctioned quite often, repair procedure so hard to enforce. ’

‛ and down on prall’s island, the cleanup begins. ’

‛ and the horror continues till we chart our own course. ’

‛ it’s the dead of the night. ’

‛ we can steer a new way through the darkness. ’

‛ we must see the light for relief. ’

FIND THE KEY.

‛ she’s walking, he’s sitting. ’

‛ he plays a dark c-minor chord. ’

‛ it’s like the keyboard is his heart. ’

‛ he hears the clock, he hugs the cat. ’

‛ he hugs the cat… no. he kicks the cat. ’

‛ he pumps the volume higher. ’

‛ a fire’s just about to start. ’

‛ why can’t, why can’t i? ’

‛ why can’t i, why can’t i find the key? ’

‛ why can’t i find the key? ’

‛ door closes – he freezes. ’

‛ he sees it’s hard to end duets. ’

‛ he lets his fingers feel the way. ’

‛ he loves her, he’s lost her. ’

‛ he’s hearing melancholy strings that sing the things that he can’t say. ’

‛ he can’t imagine what he should have said. ’

‛ it’s all been said and sounds cliché. ’

‛ he’s at the bridge between his head which says, ‘it’s dead,’ and his heart which says, ‘don’t let her get away.’ ’

‛ she’s gone now. he’s singing. ’

‛ he’s singing. he hears no two part harmony. ’

‛ he hears no two part harmony. ’

‛ he looks around – this can’t be real. ’

‛ this can’t be real. ’

‛ depression, a dark progression. ’

‛ why can he only sing it? ’

‛ what will it take to make him feel? ’

‛ and then somehow it ends. ’

HOSING THE FURNITURE.

‛ hello my lucite coffee table. someone spill a little milk on you? ’

‛ tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. ’

‛ one – more – twist! that’s better now. ’

‛ silly little me, me, me, me, me, me, me! ’

‛ i’m singing in the living room. ’

‛ what’s the time? fifteen minutes. ’

‛ pour the bleach, put the finishing touches on the dinner. ’

‛ the dog – the dog – the dog. still outside. ’

‛ my nails! my god! a chip! ’

‛ tom likes wonder bread with turkey. ’

‛ tom was preoccupied last night. ’

‛ is it me? is it – ’

‛ do i have enough milk? ’

‛ oh stain stain, down the drain. ’

‛ i can see myself in the coffee table, pretty as i was on my wedding day. ’

‛ pretty as i was on my wedding day. ’

‛ i’m as pretty as the coffee table. we’re so pretty! ’

‛ we’re so pretty! ’

‛ ah! what? you scared me. ’

‛ who were you talking to? ’

‛ who? no one. ’

‛ what’s all this? ’

‛ why are you acting so weird? ’

‛ you know i’m hosing the furniture. ’

‛ and when i hose, i sing to myself. ’

‛ who do you think cleans up? some elf? ’

‛ no sweeping – no mops. in no time it’s wheeeeee! ’

‛ when i’m hosing the furniture i’m free. ’

‛ i’m free – i’m free! ’

‛ now run along and play – i’m concentrating. ’

‛ you know your father likes to come home to that ‘just decorated look’... ’

‛ raindrops are falling on my couch! ’

‛ what’s the time? thirty minutes! ’

‛ martinis, cut the flowers for the dinner. ’

‛ the dog – the dog – the dog. hasn’t been fed. ’

‛ my hair! my god! a gray hair! ’

‛ tom likes onion cocktails. ’

‛ tom nodded off again last night. ’

‛ i get treated like dirt! ’

‛ i can see myself in the drapery. ’

‛ am i pretty as i was on my wedding day? ’

‛ am i pretty as the drapery? are we pretty? ’

‛ are we pretty? ’

‛ don’t you care? ’

‛ do i look mad? my happiness grows! ’

‛ who needs dad when i’ve got the hose! ’

‛ this house is a reflection of me – modern, graceful, easy, simple – synthetic. ’

‛ modern, graceful, easy, simple – synthetic. ’

‛ in everything i see my reflection. ’

‛ do i really look so simply pathetic? ’

‛ what? pull the trigger! ’

‛ soon it’s gonna rain on the bookshelf. ’

‛ what’s the time? 120 minutes. ’

‛ dry turkey, look relaxed for the dinner. ’

‛ the dog – the dog – the dog. the dog died last year! ’

‛ my blouse! my god! a crumb! ’

‛ i can see myself in the television. ’

‛ i was pretty on my wedding day. ’

‛ i was pretty as a television. we were pretty. ’

‛ we were pretty. ’

‛ a minor flood never hurt anyone! ’

‛ sometimes i wish this hose were a gun. ’

‛ just joking – see, i’m laughing. ’

PURA VIDA

‛ we are the people. ’

‛ we are the people who float on the river. ’

‛ we run up to the hill, we run down to the water. ’

‛ birds laugh and the sun, she smiles. ’

‛ and the trees, they dance in the wind. ’

‛ we race against time. ’

‛ we race for pure life. ’

‛ we need the people. ’

‛ we need the people who live on the river. ’

‛ find a pace, find a speed. ’

‛ nowhere to stop in big water. ’

‛ fish fly and the rocks play games and the trees sing out in the wind. ’

‛ sing in harmony. ’

‛ can we endure this race? ’

‛ can this race endure? ’

‛ we need the people who live in the forest. ’

‛ ‘ust there be finish lines? ’

‛ can’t the world drum like the water? ’

‛ the rivers will dry, and the birds will die. ’

‛ and the ghosts of the trees will cry out in the wind. ’

THE TRUTH IS A LIE.

‛ the berlin wall wasn’t destroyed, it was dismantled brick by brick. ’

‛ it was dismantled brick by brick. ’

‛ it was dismantled brick by brick and reconstructed on capitol hill, on the congressional floor. ’

‛ the money spent on one stealth bomber couldn’t wipe out homelessness. ’

‛ george bush never said, ‘read my lips.’ ’

‛ the peace dividend didn’t pay for the war. ’

‛ don’t look out the window. don’t go to the mirror. don’t you know what you will see? ’

‛ don’t you know what you will see? ’

‛ martin luther king and the kennedys were fictional players in a mini-series, just like charles manson and princess grace. ’

‛ bensonhurst was a publicity stunt. ’

‛ aids is a myth, first amendment’s fake. ’

‛ the sun revolves around the earth and the holocaust never took place. ’

‛ the truth is a lie! ’

‛ love does not exist between consenting members of the same sex. ’

‛ two plus two is five. ’

‛ the human body is revolting. ’

‛ we always will thrive. ’

‛ children don’t learn to hate from their parents. they catch it like german measles. ’

‛ they catch it like german measles. ’

‛ the moon is cheese and everyone should own a gun. ’

‛ women ask to be black and blue and pregnant their entire lives. ’

‛ the earth is flat and the white man knows what’s best for everyone. ’

‛ don’t you know what you might see? ’

‛ don’t look at the picture. don’t go to the theater. don’t you know what you will see? ’

RHAPSODY.

‛ i turn a corner, see a rat in the rubble as i try with all my might to put it out of mind. ’

‛ as i try with all my might to put it out of mind. ’

‛ i step on some budweiser glass. a limousine drives by. ’

‛ a rich man turns a corner, sees a rat in the rubble. ’

‛ he raises his smile glass window and reads the wall street journal. ’

‛ sky’s not free. river’s not free. i’m not free. life’s not free. ’

‛ life’s not free in the city. ’

‛ i’m told i too must wear a tie or they’ll fire me from my boring nothing job. ’

‛ i guess a tie is the ornament of establishment. ’

‛ i guess a tie is the ornament of establishment, though it seems to me to be more of a leash than a bow. ’

‛ though it seems to me to be more of a leash than a bow. ’

‛ so many people hounded to the pound. ’

‛ so many people collared to the dollar. ’

‛ okay, freedom is a state of mind. i agree. ’

‛ but i need the elements to remind me why. ’

‛ but i need the elements to remind me why with all this steel and concrete and noise about money. ’

‛ with all this steel and concrete and noise about money. honey, you get tunnel vision. ’

‛ honey, you get tunnel vision. ’

‛ you forget that there’s earth below the subway and beyond the ‘scrapers, there’s sky. ’

‛ i plan a day in the country with you. ’

‛ having gotten home from work last night at 12:30 am. ’

‛ having fallen asleep last night at 3:30 am because i couldn’t shut down my mind. ’

‛ because i couldn’t shut down my mind. ’

‛ the city never sleeps. ’

‛ as the phone rang this morning, your sweet was calling, i looked at that clock. ’

‛ how i hate that damn clock. ’

‛ i excuse myself from our date. ’

‛ see, i had to be back by mid-afternoon. ’

‛ and i know these are lame excuses and i’m so damn sorry. ’

‛ i’m so damn sorry. ’

‛ i know it’s important, but i feel like i’ve gotten my priorities beaten out of me. ’

‛ but i feel like i’ve gotten my priorities beaten out of me. ’

‛ but i feel like i’ve gotten my priorities beaten out of me with a rolled-up new york times. ’

‛ and this leash keeps tanking on my tie. ’

‛ i love ‘rhapsody in blue’ too. it’s just that he was rich when he wrote it. ’

‛ it’s just that he was rich when he wrote it. ’

‛ and only the rats, the roaches, the rubble and the rich men are free in the city. ’

SOS.

‛ this may be my final message. ’

‛ this may be the final bow. ’

‛ i’m sure i don’t know what will happen. ’

‛ i’m sure i don’t know what will happen. does it matter anyhow? ’

‛ does it matter anyhow? ’

‛ i hear footsteps down the hall. ’

‛ don’t know how much they’ll allow. ’

‛ if you’re waiting for the last reel, i think the time is now. ’

‛ i think the time is now. ’

‛ sos, oh, savior! ’

‛ sos, oh, hero! ’

‛ sos, messiah! ’

‛ yes, oh yes, oh! ’

‛ sos, oh jesus! ’

‛ sos, oh buddhal! ’

‛ sos, emmanuel!  ’

‛ this may be my final hour. ’

‛ this may be the dying day. ’

‛ though they never taught me why in school, i think i’m learning how to pray. ’

‛ i think i’m learning how to pray. ’

‛ they are right outside the door. ’

‛ don’t know why they keep on stalling. ’

‛ i know you’ve heard this all before. ’

‛ i know you’ve heard this all before, but it’s the last time that i’m calling. ’

‛ but it’s the last time that i’m calling. ’

‛ sos, almighty! ’

‛ sos, oh yahwah! ’

‛ sos, oh mighty zeus! ’

‛ sos, oh allah! ’

‛ does anybody hear? ’

‛ does anybody hear? answer me now if you do. ’

‛ answer me now if you do. ’

‛ is anybody there? ’

‛ is anybody there? i need you. ’

‛ i need you. ’

‛ this may be the curtain call. ’

‛ does it matter anymore? ’

‛ i asked why. that’s why i say make a try. it’s only a play. ’

‛ that’s why i say make a try. ’

‛ it’s only a play. ’

LOVE HEALS.

‛ like a breath of midnight air. ’

‛ like a lighthouse, like a prayer. ’

‛ like a flicker and the flare the sky reveals. ’

‛ like a walk along the shore that you’ve walked a thousand times before. ’

‛ like the ocean roars, love heals. ’

‛ there are those who shield their heart. ’

‛ those who quit before they start. ’

‛ who’ve frozen up the part of them that feels. ’

‛ in the dark they’ve lost their sight, like a ship without a star in the night. ’

‛ but it’s alright. love heals. ’

‛ love heals when pain’s too much to bear. ’

‛ when you reach out your hand and only the wind is there. ’

‛ when life’s unfair, when things like us are not meant to be. love heals. ’

‛ when you feel so small like a grain of sand, like nothing at all. ’

‛ when you look out at the sea. that’s where love will be. ’

‛ that’s where love will be. ’

‛ that’s where you’ll find me. ’

‛ you’ll find me. ’

‛ so if you fear the storm ahead as you lie awake in bed. ’

‛ no one there to stroke your head and your mind reels. ’

‛ if your face is salty wet and you’re drowning in regret, just don’t forget. ’

‛ don’t forget. ’

‛ don’t forget love heals. ’

‛ love heals. ’

PIANO.

‛ when the world is a constant jumble and a wall or two decides to tumble. ’

‛ when i think i’m at the end of the line. ’

‛ when i think i’m at the end of the line, somehow i get to you in time. ’

‛ somehow i get to you in time. ’

‛ somehow i get through to you in time. ’

‛ oh piano, you saved my soul again. ’

‛ you saved my soul again. ’

‛ oh piano, you saved my soul, amen. ’

‛ you saved my soul, amen. ’

‛ i may not play like a concert man, but i got a song to sing. ’

‛ but i got a song to sing. ’

‛ i may not play like a concert man, but i got soul. ’

‛ but i got soul. ’

‛ piano, save my soul. ’

[royal-writer]

Good Boy

Hi this would have more detail but I Can’t Right Now.

Dinner was getting cold. Essätha didn’t know quite how long she’d been sitting there; the table set with full plates and in her hands, the crudely sewn garment she was trying to mend up. Petty the thought may be, but she was glad for the helping hands of the young maidens. Clearly her capabilities as a housewife lacked in some of the most basic of womanly ways. It seemed no matter the small strides in improvement, she could never match the speed and quality of most other lady’s.

Which was to say that the hard work of the housekeepers shouldn’t be unappreciated. The meals they’d spent so much care and time to prepare now growing stale and unappetizing seemed a cruel insult to all the work they provided.

This was very unlike her beloved Amon to not join her for evening supper.

Anxiously folding the apparel, Essie placed it on the corner of the dining table. It rested there as she pushed her chair out, and then back in before proceeding out of dining hall towards the stairs. Hand to the railing, her voice rising as she ascended.

“My love?”

Walls lined with portraits and scenery greeted her as she moved through the space. Open windows with a light draft moving through soft curtains and hand carved tables lined with knicknacks from their journeys all neatly placed. The hanging false sculpture of a skeletal dragon watching over the dining room set and at a glance, two young misses below she could see from the balcony adjusting things at the table.

Essätha eyebrows knit together as she took in the clearly empty space. Placing a hand to the knob, she moved on to the short hall that lead to the bedrooms.

“Amon?”

Peeking into the sitting room to their bedroom revealed nothing. With a huff and adjustment to the way her flowing blouse fell over her, she made her way across the space to glimpse in their private chambers.

“M’lord?”

It too, was empty.

He wouldn’t have simply left without telling her, she thought shrewdly. That was uncharacteristic of her charming husband. So doting and gentle his love; never late for anything, never leaving her questioning such things. Too many times in her life she had been left with bitter unanswered questions and aches unexplained. He sought to her happiness just as much to her quiet insecurities.

This was becoming unnerving.

Perhaps he had lost track of time in the courtyard. Essie felt sure on this, and hurried with a gleeful smile to rush through the room to the hall, craning her head over the windowsill. A broad grin splayed over her features as she looked to the left and the right, certain he would be preening or picking a bouquet to try sneakily presenting to her.

The joy faded from her face.

“M’lord Amon?”

There was a faint noise from the joint library to her right. Dropping from the tips of her toes she’d leaned so far into the window with, the Yuan-ti woman hurried over to throw open the door.

Nothing by the bookshelves. Nothing by the desk Abernathy had built for them. Nothing by the-

Her eyes stalled on the figure hidden somewhat by the banister. Rushing through the room, her heart lunged into her throat.

“Amon-”

He looked up to her. Blurry mist clouding over his dark eyes. His jaw worked and he opened his mouth, but only the faint impression of a choked sound escaped him.

Her own mouth trembled, but nothing escaped her. Gradually; carefully slow so not to startle, she joined him kneeling on the floor by the threshold of the stairwell.

Caesar lifted his head from Amon’s lap to stare at her. The haze of cataracts made his once clear gaze now see foggy. His tail gave a thump as he released a heavy sigh, placing his head back down as though tired. The beard of his chin and all along his snout flecked with white and silver, now nuzzled into his master’s abdomen.

“He wasn’t following me down the steps,” Amon explained shortly; voice cracking. “I had came back up and tried urging him… Then carrying him but he…”

The Illiad heir swallowed thickly. A clear jump in his throat as she reached for him; one hand to his back and the other moving to comb through the hairy beast’s mane of fur. The same as Amon’s were; barely touching upon the aching old hound.

For some time, the mastiff had been acting off. Eating less, sleeping more, engaging little. There had even been a few accidents which were discretely cleaned up. Though no one laid a hand or raised tone to the respectable canine Lord and Protector, he always stared dejected at his messes. Head down, tail between his legs, at times hiding in shame.

Now the handsome old beast whined at the gentlest contact. His tail wagged; as though in apology, while he lapped at Amon’s hand and then her own.

“I’ll send for the physician,” she murmured, staring at the agonized look in her love’s features. Where the lines of happiness had grown so common now were hollow with his eyes.

He only gave a mute nod, and she leaned in to kiss the spot where his scruff met his cheek. The bitter salt of tears lay beneath her lips. She found that the taste only grew sharper as she pulled back, roughly clearing her throat to scratch gently against the pooch’s ears. The vision of him faded in and out beneath a veil of liquid.

“You’re a good boy Caesar,” Essie asserted, pushing herself up from the floor.

His tail rose weakly, and fell against the floor without a sound.

Stepping gingerly around the duo, Essätha took to the steps; her short boots clunking. She looked up over her shoulder when she was nearly at the next landing, her heart ripping in two. Watching her dear heart lean over, burying his face in the neck scruff of the majestic creature as his shoulders shook with his weeping.

She had trouble keeping a steady voice through the entire explanation to the maids, as they hailed the nearest doctor to the estate.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was a good boy. Everyone continuously told me so, trying to shower me with their love and gentle caresses. They felt unusually painful to my sore body. Though I wanted to howl my grief, I knew they did not understand my pain. I licked their hands to better their bruised feelings. I tried to refrain from my whimpers and cries as I was lifted, and brought to lay in the sitting room by the library on an old blanket.

The thing was, I no longer felt worthy of being called a ‘good boy’. I found myself unable to make the stairs all the time, leading to some embarrassing puppyhood mistakes. I could smell the concern on everyone when I was not hungry for my meals, or even for the tempting treats of bacon and sausage in the morning or pieces of steaks and racks of lamb in the evening. I could smell the hurt. I could smell the sadness that I had not smelled in a very, very long time.

Master had smelled of sorrow for so long. Usually it was a faded thought; something he was used to wearing like the hidden smells humans did not seem to pick up in the dirt as I did.  Sometimes he was happy even then; with me, with women, with a Hunt, with friends. Mostly he was sad though, almost always a little sad and although I tried with my kin to make things right for him, it never lasted.

The Journey had made him less sad. Our new friends had made him less sad, until he no longer smelled the same as I’d known him my whole life. He smelled different, and it was a good and invigorating kind of different. A new purpose, new layers and folds of aromas.

Eventually he smelled not of just this new, happier Master but of his Mate. She had been a good friend from the start, so I was not at all upset when she stayed. She gave me attention, helped to groom and feed me, sometimes was berated for sneaking me the occasional treat that I knew Master did not like me to have.

I feared Home would made him sad again, but it only did sometimes. The Journey and the new friends had made him different, until recently.

Now he smelled close to the nights when he’d lay on the floor with my kin and I. Or the times we’d jump into his bed and he would remain awake even until morning.

The man I did not recognize spoke kind to me, and although I was not sure of his presence, Master and his Mate seemed at ease to have him. He tutted and spoke gently to them both, administrating a needle and vile into my neck after getting a curt single nod from my human. His jaw was stubbornly set but his eyes had circles beneath them I recognized and water in his eyes.

When the stranger had finally stopped his buzzing conversation and left the room, Master knelt down beside him and rubbed my head. It was the least painful spot on my body, and somehow he knew and I appreciated that with a lazy swish of my tail.

His Mate joined him, scratching my ears in a way that used to make me groan with pleasure. Now there was only fire, burning on my insides as my eyes drooped and opened slowly.

“Lord Caesar,” she teased me, liquid dripping down her face as she leaned down to kiss upon my dry nose. “You’ve done a very good job keeping everyone safe, haven’t you? You’ve been there for us all and especially for your dad Amon when he’s needed you most. You’re a good boy.”

I snorted through my panting breathes. Everything inside me labored for air. I was growing strangely dizzy even just laying still. The pain which had been pins poking my body for some time now was like stabbing knives.

Her body leaned back. A hand remained to my neck, gentle but barely there buried in my fur.

The most wonder image of my Master filled my sights. Hands scratched along my chin, up to the side of my face as I gave what would count as a bellowing ‘woof’ in my current state.

“It’s okay, Caesar,” he spoke quietly. “You’ve done your job. You can rest now. You can rejoin Brutus.”

I could smell a lie a mile away my whole life. I could smell one now. Lies and sadness and hurt.

I knew it was Time. I knew it was coming. Nature had her way of telling us; the creatures we were still closer to Instinct than anything else.

A delicate whine escaped me as I licked Master’s palms. If I had the energy and less agony in my bones, I might have tried to stand up and lap the tears from his face like I used to. But I no longer had the power, even as I tried commanding my shaking legs that I was losing more and more feeling in.

The man’s face morphed into raw agony. A mournful sob escaping him as his forehead touched to mine. I wagged my tail, and huffed my next attempt at a bark. It was the best way I could let him know that I loved him, too. That I understood.

He had smelled of such pain when Brutus had died so tragically. Now he was sad and fearful of losing me, too.

I would love to stay longer. If I was more able-bodied, I would love to go Hunt and to Chase and to be pet and fed more treats. I would love to lay in bed with Master and his Mate and jump in their wrestling matches or lick their faces to wake them up when they slept in. I would love nothing more then for a bit more time to make them happy.

After all, Master was much more than just Master. He was also My Human, My Friend, and as his Mate liked to say, My Dad. I had been raised by this lonesome human since I was but a puppy. I still recalled what it was like being held in his arms, albeit vaguely, when I was small. I remember learning tricks, and how to follow a scent trail. I remember the praise as I learned how to Hunt.

I was a good boy because I was Master’s good boy. He had raised me with love and stability, and I had done my best to be the best I could be for him. He needed me, and I had needed him. We were stronger together.

But he would be okay. Master was brave. He had moved on past his pain with Brutus. He had even moved on from his life-pain I had thought would be a part of him forever. He was a good Human, and a better Master, and he had his Mate and his people.

As he wept, I managed to lap a few stray tears from his cheek. I could feel the woman leaning into my side as the horrid rippling agony departed my. I was growing warmer now, and my eyes didn’t want to stay open any further. I was mostly aware of my Human though, and his soothing dark voice shaking and trembling hands holding my face. The way he said my name and spoke of me in high praise, although I mostly just heard my name.

“Good boy, Caesar. Good boy. You’re my good boy Caesar, you’re a good boy.”

I rested my chin in his hands and breathed a raspy snort for the last time. Growing weightless; lips pulled into a genuine wolfish canine grin before fading. The sinking waves of warmth pulling me in as Master sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. Oh I wish I could tell him I didn’t hurt anymore, that I still loved him, that I would never be far.

I opened my eyes again to see Brutus and feel no pain as I stood and vigorously whipped my tail. Galloping after my old friend through an endless field, my legs felt free and weightless at last.

~ Amon would later bury his old friend out in the back of the house, and that next year, plant a dogwood tree near the spot in memorial to his trusted friend

[rickq178]

Happy Birthday, Miami Rick!

So, like a total dork, I wanted to do something special for my muse’s birthday, which happened on Friday. x3 Guess I dropped the ball a bit. Even though it’s belated, I’m going to post this birthday drabble I just wrote. Enjoy!

Rick stepped through the portal and into the living room. A sweet scent wafted from the kitchen that caught him off guard. Surely, Diane was baking cookies for Beth. She hadn’t been happy the last time he bailed, but his memory was spotty. He’d been on the bender to end all benders. After all, he had turned thirty today. He could kiss his youth goodbye. Dying young would have suited him, but apparently snorting line after line and drinking enough vodka to fill a liquor store shelf couldn’t do that for him. Maybe if he’d dipped into the Fractal Dust as a sleep aid he wouldn’t be here.

The multiverse had a sick sense of humor.

The horribly hungover man stumbled into the kitchen.

“Daddy!” Beth chimed, a big smile lighting up her face. She sat at the kitchen table with her mother decorating a cake. Her little legs swung from her booster seat. “Daddy’s back! I told you, Mommy! I told you he would be.”

Diane forced a smile only for Beth. She rose from the table and walked over to Rick, heels clicking enough across the linoleum to make his headache worse. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss.

But her kisses were never kisses anymore. She used them sparingly as means to detect the liquor on his breath. “Welcome back.”

“Good to be—URRRP—back, sweetie.”

She didn’t linger long enough for Rick to get a chance to hug her. Instead, she broke away and retreated to Beth and the cake.

“Uh, you girls didn’t have to do this.”

“Beth wanted to.”

The little girl wiggled happily in her seat. “It’s Stir‘n Frost! When a big cake’s more than you need, you need Stir‘n Frost!”

Rick sauntered over and mussed up his little girl’s hair after a moment’s hesitation, mindful to steer clear of the stitches on her forehead. “Huh. Look—Look at you. Could be the next spokesperson for Betty Crocker. You—You’re cuter than those mule twins and that mom from the ad.”

Beth giggled but Diane rolled her eyes. She lifted her daughter from the booster seat and set her down. “Sweetie, why don’t you go play outside for a minute?” She opened the sliding glass door to the backyard.

“Okay! Can I pick the flowers from the garden?”

“Of course.” Diane watched Beth toddle out before closing the door. She turned her eyes to Rick, narrowing them. “Why do you go home to him?”

“What?” Rick asked, confused. The room seemed to get darker.

“Him. Why do you go home to him every night?”

Suddenly, he was a sixty-one-year-old man and backing into a corner. His heart raced. “Diane, baby, you—you—you can’t bring Ricky into this.” He swallowed hard. “You’re dead.”

His wife corned him, slamming his back into the wall and pinning his shoulders. Her manicured nails sunk into his pink jacket. “Who do you think put me in that grave?”

Rick grimaced, the little color he had draining from his face. “Th-That wasn’t my fault!”

“Don’t you think we could’ve had a life?” Her nails dug in deeper. “If you’d just come home every night?”

“You—You know I don’t do apologies, baby. I-It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, is that so?” Diane wore a cruel smirk. Her nails were like knives. They tore his layers of clothes, piercing his skin and drawing blood. “Then why did you used to say ‘sorry’ for every little thing when you were back in high school? You think you can reinvent yourself? Fool me? I know you, Rick Sanchez. The real you. Not this sad eighties cookie cutter version of you.”

“D-Diane…” His eyes moistened with unspilled tears. “You—You’re hurting me.”

“I guess you could never grow out of that speech impediment. Or being a crybaby.” She pulled away only to push him to his hands and knees, the cold linoleum making him ache upon impact. “Grovel. Beg for forgiveness.”

“D-D-Diane, D-Diane… Diane, I—I’m—”

Rick sat up and gasped, naked body soaked in cold sweat. His eyes darted around blurred surroundings. He breathed laboredly, chest heaving up and down. It took a few minutes to realize he was in the master bedroom of his Miami mansion. The sound of the ocean from the opened window registered belatedly over the hammering of his heart.

He fumbled, eventually locating and grabbing the flask off his nightstand and downing all of what remained.

He looked at the spot beside him. Ricky was gone. He checked the clock. Already late afternoon. Made sense. He had little Morty to look after and a life of his own.

“Th-The nightmare begins,” he mumbled to himself humorlessly. The real one, anyway. Diane had never hurt him in like that in reality. Or known Ricky. It had been a memory mixed with a recurring nightmare and a slightly varying script.

He knew what day it was. And he had to meet Miami, Beth, and the rest of them in a couple hours.

He forced himself out of bed.

Steeled with liquor and just one bump to get himself going, Rick stepped into the upscale steakhouse near Paul’s hotel. The hostess at the counter informed him of how his party was already waiting for him.

Rick found the table. It consisted of Paul, Beth, Jerry, Summer, Miami, and a vacant spot for him. Jerry’s attendance was bullshit since he never lived in Florida. Must have been for the free meal and spring break and a desperate attempt to win back his wife despite her being married to her new husband for a few years now.

“The nightmare continues,” Rick muttered under his breath.

Jerry nudged Beth. “Is he talking to himself now? Could be the beginning of early dementia.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Jerry, please.” Paul took her hand from under the table, giving it an affectionate squeeze.  

Miami rose from his seat. Even though that stupid school made him cut his hair and almost look like any other Morty during the week, he still maintained his tan and dressed how he pleased on the weekends. He currently sported an eighties style floral print dress, a platinum blond wig, and a full face of makeup. He pranced over and draped his arms over Rick’s shoulders.

“Hey, Rick. Way to keep in touch.”

“Oh, Miami, baby… I-I know.” His lanky arms looped around his grandson’s waist.

Miami stood on his tiptoes and pecked his grandpa on the cheek, leaving a lip print. “Happy birthday.”

Rick pulled him into a fierce hug. “You look bitchin’. Wish I could take you back to the club right now.”

“What’s stopping you?” Miami whispered into his ear.

Jerry cleared his throat. When that got no reaction, he spoke loud enough for the entire restaurant. “See, this isn’t normal. I thought that school you sent him to was gonna make him into a real man. People probably think Morty’s Rick’s hooker.”

Rick only broke the hug to storm over to the table and draw is laser gun from his belt. He grabbed Jerry by the collar of his wrinkled shirt and pointed it at his head. “What’d you say?! Wh-Wh-What would you know about real men since all you are is a real piece of shit?!”

Paul stood, putting a hand on Rick’s wrist in an effort to make him lower the gun. “Rick, be sensible! It’d be foolish to act like an animal and get kicked out of this fine establishment. Beth made the reservation a month in advanced.”

Rick’s blood boiled, but Paul’s comment was enough to make him look at his daughter. Instead of seeing her as a thirty-four-year-old woman, he saw the sweet, little cherub sitting in the booster seat. Even with her makeup on, he remembered exactly where the scar on her forehead would be from the airplane accident. He swallowed hard, recollecting how he’d been holding the girl in his arms one minute and seeing her in a hospital bed in what felt like the next. Diane told him he’d thrown her.

Rick put the gun away and let go of Jerry, who cowered at this point. The sack of shit probably wet himself. “Yeah, whatever.” He clipped his sunglasses to the front of his shirt and sat down. “You—You didn’t have to do this, Beth.”

Beth smiled. “I wanted to, Dad. Have some wine.”

Miami took his seat and giggled despite the recent scene. “Yeah, Rick. You’re gonna need it.”

“Totally,” Summer said, also smiling. “Happy birthday, Grandpa Rick.”

The evening was still young. Even after dining on steak and lobster, he still drank enough to get tipsy at the restaurant. And now he was totally shit-faced in a booth at his club. Like every night. Instead of having a glass of water after each cocktail, he did a line, purple powder dusted under his nose. As flamboyant of a Rick as he was, most would have expected him to make a scene and throw an even bigger party on his birthday. Instead, it was old hat, the club playing out the same way it did every night, eighties dance songs blasting over the sound system, shuffled but the same.

He danced the night away until his body felt too heavy and could no longer stand. The alien bartender politely helped Rick steady himself. She encouraged him to take the party back home and promised how she’d lock up for the night. She playfully said how maybe Rick could catch his young boyfriend if the stars were in alignment.

Rick just barely stumbled through the portal back into the bedroom, a bottle of vodka in his hand. He collapsed onto the bed and took a swig, though the majority of it made it onto his shirt. And he coughed like an amateur, though it stemmed from choking a bit rather than from the burning sensation his throat had grown numb to long ago.

“H-H-Here’s to you, you old bastard,” he slurred upon regaining his breath, watching as the room spun around him. “Happy fucking goddamn birthday.”

He started snoring then, the bottle falling out of his hand and rolling onto the floor.

[theliterateape]

Call Thru The Metal

By Dana Jerman

The following fiction was written as a stylistic response to the novel Nightwood penned by Djuna Barnes in 1935.

THE LONELY LANDLORD LIVED ON A LUCIOUS AVENUE, but in his queer heart he was prone to jealousies. It was why his marriage had not worked. It was a struggle-and-compromise formation.

And the perfect tree-lined way glittered on day after elysium-colored day. These grasping feelings came from the notion that time was constantly playing gentle tricks on his then-benign intensities and dispositions. Perhaps too some issue came in the form of no frugality in the information he chose to gather, which leads one to feel embarrassingly overwhelmed and nearly completely impenetrable to jokes and jocularities. His wife was prone to effete witticisms. They were, the pair, hopelessly incompatible.

So there was the existence of an early love letter she had written about the scenes and trials of their courtship. It lay open on a side table in the library. It was not a thing that had been opened in a long while, and the Landlord did not know how it got there, but there it was all the same.

“And I have the memory of you coming over in a taxi. So late, to make love to me while a storm raged outside. And some of my favorite music played, which became your favorite. But then you had to go—so you went. Back into another taxi to a bed without me in it. Me to a bed without you, or your hard and yearning kiss.”

Events of this sort had been reoccurring in a harmlessly slight and insidious fashion for longer than he could remember. In the life of the Landlord, there were many a “Darling, I simply don’t know” and they had to be enough. They formed a sheen around his anger, but not an impermeable one. He could rise to meet the occasion of this emotional challenge with his perceptive attentions. But his body had other more nervous and mischievous ideas for the analysis and relief of the aforementioned psychic blocks.

✶

“I PICK THE HILLS,” She had said before leaving. And to think for even a moment she had been happy in a way he could not try or did not wish to steal away. She simply could not seem to wear anything humorous.

“My taste is displeased.” He had uttered thoughtlessly one day as she was dressing. He wanted to take the statement back almost immediately. When the flash of her eyes grew dark and brave he then lost all chance at redemption.

And how closely one factor predicts another in a side-shot look. This is the endless-father correlation. The thin-sliced experiment of his smile he counts as service. Daddy is a title that means all-judgement-no-forgiveness. The one chance at intimacy ruined by absence: Away on natural life for the stabbing death of his wife. Not the landlord’s mother however, that woman is also dead. But no one ever found her body…

Oh wives and their legends, Papa would say. Here was the astounding paradoxical implicit association test of a man who went to Yale then on well-directly to replace beerkeg compression units. Meanwhile collecting remote controls and antiquated batteries and used to run a street sweeper between jobs.

Somehow the glistening ignorant city left him as impotent as a bug.

He employed murder to match the white cross-dresser’s work in the dancehall. Completing the gaudy poem of their oozing hips. Caustic gains in worths of the ill-described are thus: A moaning laugh. Cough. Someone loses a shoe in the park. No one drowns but a few get wet. One pukes when he finds the homicide.

And the tendril is the spark is the stem creeping a creep ominous and slow from the poisonous spotted orchid named malice. The tendril of disease sprawled to clutch at the softest tissue of the closest one.

Ah—it is how the small learn from those whose blood fates bloom large in their own.

✶

THE LANDLORD’S WIFE. Now Ex-wife. She had two sisters.

She was one of a set of identical triplets. They were prized for the very product of their existence. Their mother was an heiress. Their father was a writer of much loved novels. The first time the Landlord saw his Ex-wife’s sisters was in a family portrait. He came very suddenly down with an atrocious case of basorexia. He swelled with guile from a sinister prospect.

If you had inquired of the Ex-wife to describe her landlord, she might see fit to call him a filthy Pan. Evil-grinning satyr who cares for no one. Immune to certain sensational transferences in the name of a push-button sex drive and the will to kill.

She would say something cryptic like “his best sketches were done in the hospital.” And it would mean bits. Any creative impulse he grasped or even momentarily exercised were masturbatory self-portraits in cum. Or they were the exorcism of insulting passes as the female staff on days when he was most warmed over with pain and injections. (The Landlord was pre-diabetic and had dirty kidneys as well as a predisposition to gout.)

The Ex-wife would say this only after she was slain at his hand, however, because she had deemed him previously to be too soft. Too much infused of a guilty-staring complex to be capable of such a thing.

But those nights alone while the landlord sucked treatments from fluid bags into his veins, they became projections to live over and over. She was like an already dead soul, keen and trenchant in the quiet under an authentic moon. She entreated the afterlife for its embrace. Summum bonum by the Bete Noire. She held the hands of her neverborn children and heard their whispers reveal projections of the adaptive unconscious. “You are very brave to be here,” They said. Confirming all stratospheric transferences with the long, direct looks from their dark levels of brow and eyes. She knew her sisters were in danger then, but not how or why.

Alas, defamation carried in the mind does no great good to anyone beyond. Verbalized estimations, however inane, to one and from one who consider themselves to be in possession of their better faculties ought to be shared.

✶

THE EX-WIFE WAS NOT BURIED IN THE LOAMY SWAMP at the back of the local zoo for a full day when the landlord, kept out in the park to think, ran into the second sister and her husband.

They inquired eagerly after his person and their own blood kin whom he claimed was home with pneumonia and recovering with a lot of sleeping. Assuaging them tho’ he could barely keep the glee from his voice. A glee saturated with new reason. For now, the life worth living the most for the Landlord was not without murder.

And seeing his Ex-wife’s twin strolling with her beau, he could picture her sweet face in its revelatory convulsions brought on my masturbating with her favorite ivory handled letter opener. Bone-shaped handle down as the business end, of course. Here another Ex-wife shape who probably championed very similarly in the morbid throes of enacted lust. And here she was accompanied by a man whose shirt matched her dress. Seriously.

“His shirt matched her dress,” he said aloud to himself as he passed, taken up suddenly with the true and profound absurdity of life as if he was in a whole-lie-wood film. No gunspinner of the wild west here. Just the primed experiment of an officious wheedling coward. Passing poorly along his doomed life like a preened rat who cannot find its way beyond the wine cellar.

And so it was under the guise of a brief and barely meditated gathering of the remaining two sisters at the Landlords behest and exquisite dwelling place. Alerted to the notion that his wife had gone missing from within a sick delirium.

The sisters had made the mistake of coming alone. As soon as they had gathered near to the fireside and taken up the miniature snifters of cognac from the hands of their host, it was then in a few abrupt slightly ridiculous curving motions their throats were slashed and eyes punctured by two separate antique steak knives that were pretty much lying around the back of a kitchen drawer not being used at all.

Not much later, he had no trouble surrendering to the man whose shirt had so perfectly matched the dress.

[hellportalhospital]

The SOS foundation

Glass already knew most things about Karsten and what his work consisted of, but if she was going to marry him she had to know about the charity work.

After some screening, he had chosen 11 people, from each hospital in the city, or from a long waiting list of international patients, each with a medical condition and mountains of debt; and invited them over for dinner and a contest. The winners would see all their expenses paid for and the best treatment available at Health Portal.

The night of the event, 33 masked guests arrived in addition to the contestants. Karsten introduced them in the parlor as “Our audience, and the investors you should thank for the prize, should you win.“ Their phones and other personal belongings were confiscated at this point and they signed several forms of paperwork. All the doors in the house were locked.

They had a light chat over small appetizers, getting to know each other. They seemed to be having a good time until Karsten asked a mother of two which of her children she liked best. She seemed taken aback by the question and responded that she couldn’t choose, of course. He offered her a hundred dollars just to name a name. She took the money and picked her first born child. Easy. And so the games began.

They all moved on to the dining room. Wine and a steak dinner was served, and they all seemed pretty impressed, except three of the contestants. One of them was vegan and refused to eat the steak. He was offered five hundred dollars to eat the whole thing. It was a spectacle watching him swallow it down without vomiting, but in the end the transaction was made. The second one said she was going through chemotherapy and it killed her appetite, so she was paid similarly to finish the whole dish, including the foie gras on the side. The third one was a recovering alcoholic, sober for two years. Karsten paid him five hundred to drink his glass of wine and ten more to finish the bottle.

“People have no principles, but everyone has a price.“ He whispered to Glass in an amused tone.

When they moved on to dessert they noticed they had a second set of knives. Karsten proposed another game. Ten thousand dollars to stab themselves, ten more to stab someone else. The vegan asked if he would get more money if he killed the person next to him.

At this point someone made a run for the door and was immediately shot dead by Farah. Nobody would refuse to play from then on.

Karsten asked a woman much it would take for her to cheat on her husband. She could have her pick of the remaining contestants. It took time and several hundreds to have another male bend her over the table. It was at this point they knew morals were thrown out the window and nothing outside of the room mattered, only money and maybe surviving the night.

A person on a wheelchair was asked to amputate their own legs if they wanted top of the line robotic replacements. Someone else was told to give an eyeball for their kidney transplant.

At five a.m. the next morning only two people got to leave the house, injured and traumatized, with their prize money and the promise of full treatment at the expense of their dignity.

“God, isn’t it fulfilling to help people?“

[creativitytoexplore]

A Body Swinging Like the Clapper of a Bell by Robert Kinerk https://ift.tt/31pKSDn Robert Kinerk tells the morbidly humorous story of three Alaskan ambulance attendants: Casey, Jason and Cranmore.

It's a rainy night in the panhandle part of Alaska, 1966. We're three men on an ambulance crew and we've hauled our gurney up a flight of narrow stairs. A woman's lying across a bed. She's on her back with her bra and panties on. Her head hangs off the mattress, her face completely bloody. Even her hair is soaked. Blood stretches out its strings, falling - drip, drip, drip. The bleeding woman's boyfriend, in his baggy underpants, is standing by the window with a steak knife. "We were just having fun," he says. His girlfriend croaks the same thing. She says she doesn't want to go to the hospital. What she means is she doesn't want her boyfriend to have to answer for the stab. The cops would ask a lot of questions. Jail time. Drip. Drip. "If you're not okay," I tell the bleeding woman, "the hospital's the place to be. If you are okay, they'll let you go. A quick cab-ride, you're home." Upshot is, we get her to the hospital. The doctor takes a look. It turns out she is okay, and two days later she's behind the counter at a new café where I treat Jason to lunch. Jason is the rookie on our crew. He eyeballs the bandage the woman wears on her throat. It's so scrunched up and dirty it looks like chewing gum. Over my soggy chicken croquettes, whispering because what would be the point of embarrassing our waitress, I tell Jason what happened in the steak-knife room. The panties and the bra. The dripping blood. The dumbbell in his underpants. "You gotta feel sorry." Words of wisdom from a waif. Jason has stuffed his mouth full of greasy hamburger, but that doesn't stop him from sharing his thought. "No one has to feel sorry, Jason." Ours is not a feel-sorry field of service. There are chaplains begging for those jobs. When drunks with steak knives start playing games, that's when we spring into action. Our job is staunching the flow of blood. Metaphysicians need not apply. Jason hadn't exactly appeared on the firehouse stoop in a basket with a note, Take care of my baby, but in his infancy, a few years earlier, he might have made that appearance. He had drifted west from Minnesota and then followed the coast of British Columbia to the new state of Alaska, washing up on the island of Boon. I had taken this poor waif beneath my scrawny wing. I am Casey, the ambulance-crew veteran and its spiritual adviser. Jason's inaugural call comes. It's early morning, way out the road. We hadn't been given an address. We're told to look for a certain location - like, "After you take this bend and pass a house that has a donkey engine in its yard, look on your left for a big cedar tree. You'll see a guy who'll show you where to go." Cranmore and I take Jason. When we reach a woodsy wilderness we see a young guy waiting - dark haired, maybe twenty-two. He's standing by a cedar tree and waving. "Come this way!" We haul the gurney out and follow him into the woods. "Appendicitis," he yells across his shoulder. Thank you, doctor. This guy is wearing black jeans and a halibut jacket, which is the rough, grey work coat common in this part of Alaska. He has spiky wisps of something in his hair, as if he slept in straw. We hike down a trail barely visible, a skinny path, squishy underfoot because this is the southeastern part of the state. What isn't rocks is muskeg with salmonberry bushes. After maybe a minute and a half of huffing, we come to a creek five-feet wide. On the other side we see a shack, and what have these people made it of? They've made it out of road signs. They'd trotted off with the Construction Area - Keep Out signs, and signs that say Detour, and signs that say Road Closed. They had felled three alder trees across the creek to make a bridge, but alder trees are not that thick. The walking distance, bank to bank, is seven feet approximately, five feet directly over water. Still, no one on our crew is wearing boots. Ours is a volunteer ambulance service, part of a largely volunteer fire department, and we answer calls in what we have on at the time, which for me, this time, means street shoes. I have Jason help me carry the gurney across the slimy, skinny bridge. "Careful," I tell him, as if parental advice is necessary. Inside the shack, no light but what the open door lets in. Almost blocking the door is one big double bed. On the bed lies a young woman, apparently blind. She's stretched out on her back, moaning, with an infant clinging to her chest. The dark-haired young man who flagged us down guesses we're thinking the moaning woman must be who we'd come for. "No, no," he says. "It's him. He's over there." He points to a darker corner, but Jason's heart is with the sightless mother and her baby. He looks stricken by the sorry spectacle. Had it been in his waif power he might have gathered up the blind madonna and her scabby child and spirited them to whatever succor a kind heart might nose out. Cranmore and I turn toward the dark. We see, emerging out of dimness, another adult, a gray-haired crone, the witch or mother of the family. She has gummed-up features. She wears a filthy skirt and men's construction boots. She's pointing to a guy lying on the floor squeezed up in the fetal position. This guy tops out, I'd say, at three-hundred pounds. We set the gurney down beside the moose. I ask him to unbend a little. We're going to have to strap him to the gurney and pack him out of there. Much moaning and groaning. Much squawking from the crone. From the bed the same groans as before. The only guy not groaning is straw-hair. He has smoked himself off - zip. He fears he might be put to work packing the sick guy out. That's what my guess is. The three of us take our positions; Cranmore - fortunately husky - at the heavy, shoulder end, with me and Jason as the leg men. Jason staggers just lifting the load we share. And the monster groans. His mother - if that's the relationship - pours out curses. The blind woman on the bed adds to the wailing. Her groans set off more squeals from the baby. Just reaching the door is a battle. Then, when we get to the creek, we see another problem. Are we going to wade through the water with this three-hundred-pound burden; are we going to risk the alder-tree bridge; or are we going to tell the guy, 'Screw it. You have to walk.' We choose the third option, although we don't announce it in exactly the words I've suggested. Turns out the guy is okay with it. He understands the risk of getting dumped in the cold creek. His mother, though, comes screaming. She's followed us out of the cabin. She screeches while we set down the gurney and unstrap Moose. The guy has enough sense to ignore his mom. He wobbles to his feet. He eyeballs the alder trunks. He probably wishes he hadn't been so lazy and had chopped down a thick hemlock instead, but he makes no mention of that. He stretches his arms out for balance. He takes dainty, girlish steps, but once he's started he doesn't hesitate until he's safely on the other side. We are, of course, relieved. We follow with the gurney. We tell him to lie down on it so we can strap him in. Meanwhile his mother, the hag, has never stopped screaming. She's trying to cross the creek herself but her foot slips and - splash - she's in the icy water over her construction boots, hollering her head off. No one pays attention except Jason. He stands staring like he's in a moral quandary about whether he should go and help her flounder out. He hesitates about lifting the loaded gurney, torn between his duty to the fire department and his sympathetic feeling for the crone, who, I'm sure, given the opportunity, would have carved his heart out and sliced it up for stir fry. It is Jason's nature, I was to learn, to extend his sympathy to the suffering masses, and at that moment, in those woods, the crone in the creek represents suffering humanity - the war- weary, the disease-stricken, the prisoners in fetid jails, and the battered, bleeding foes of tyrants. The current is washing her filthy skirt tight against her scrawny legs. Her cursing is concert-hall quality. And she's somebody's mother. She's the mother of a human being who is half the size of a baby elephant and whose appendix may have burst. She couldn't have been more representative of suffering if she'd been elected to the post. And Jason feels sorry for the hag. "Look sharp," I shout. That breaks the spell. We three lift. We struggle up the muskeg path and reach the ambulance. There we find Mr. Twenty-Something standing sheepishly by the cedar tree. Under his arm, a lunch box. It turns out he works in town, at the spruce mill. Twenty-something asks if we can give him a ride. "Fuck off," I tell him. Cranmore says much the same, although not in language as delicate as mine. Only poor Jason resists the chance to be obscene. He hesitates at his passenger door. His milk-of-human-kindness jug is filled up to the brim. "Get in the god-damn ambulance," I yell. Cranmore, more pithy, says, "Shit." Our next call comes on a Sunday about 5am. "Heart attack," the dispatcher says. Seven of us lived at that time in rooms on the fire hall's second floor. When calls came in at night it was the upstairs bachelors who responded. On this call, three of us - the man- mountain Cranmore, Jason and me - drive out the road and find an L-shaped one-story at a bend in the road. A semi-hysterical woman in a man's plaid bathrobe lets us in. She says her husband is dead and she wants him out of there. She doesn't want her kids to wake up and see their father rigor-mortised. We wonder why she hadn't noticed him before he stiffened up, but an ambulance crew isn't paid to speculate about conjugal relations. We're paid to do our job, so we follow the semi- hysterical woman down a dim hall to the bedroom where her dead husband lies curled up on their bed. The guy's in his Jockey shorts. You find out a lot about what people wear to bed when you work on an ambulance. We aren't supposed to take dead people in the ambulance. If a person's dead the rules say to call the coroner. Let the coroner call an undertaker, and let the undertaker handle it from there. We try to explain this to the semi-hysterical lady. We say her husband certainly looks dead but we aren't authorized to say he's dead. She has to get an authority on corpses for that. This woman has abundant brown hair that probably would have been gorgeous under other circumstances. I guess her kids would be nine or ten years old. She isn't old enough to have teenagers. And her husband, the deceased, still has a full head of dark hair. He isn't exactly trim but he isn't terribly out of shape either. I guess he'd be between thirty and thirty-five. "If you aren't authorized to say he's dead, how do you know he isn't?" the lady hisses. Where's a coroner when you need one? She has a point, of course, and the upshot is we agree to strap her late spouse to the gurney and haul him out of there. We have to strap him carefully. He's curled in a way to overlap the gurney cushion, and he could fall off if we're sloppy. It's worse once we get him in the ambulance because the gurney locks to the wall on the driver's side. The dead guy's back presses against the wall and forces his knees and his head and part of his shoulders out to the air on the opposite side. His head is so far out, as a matter of fact, that on the whole trip back to town somebody has to sit in the jump seat holding it in his hands. "It's a great honor," I say to Jason, who shows a little squeamishness about cradling the head of the deceased. Jason is so soft we could probably have bruised him with spit. Not that we go around spitting on new fire department recruits. He has a boneless look is what I should say. A look of no muscles, but like his body is simply this paste-colored bag with maybe suet in it. His neck sprouts up from it, an ordinary neck, and then the blossom of his head with its liquid eyes and homely ears and lackluster, shoe-polish hair. I mean hair that clings to his skull so close it looks like wax from a Shinola can. We put Jason in the jump seat. He doesn't like it but he's the rookie, and we say he has to be the holder of the dead guy's head. Meanwhile Cranmore regales us with details about his sexual exploits of the evening before. He'd been after this one girl, a little slip of a blonde, for a long time, and he finally seduced her in the back seat of a Volkswagen bug. Now, the girl may have been just a slip of a thing but Cranmore is six-feet-four and weighs two-eighty. He had been all-state in high school basketball, not because he was particularly good but because he was so big smaller guys tended not to challenge him under the backboard. He has an elaborate explanation for how a person his size can have sex in the backseat of a Volkswagen, and much of his explanation is droll. In Jason's boneless hands, the dead man's head will not stay still. We're driving over ripples in a road of hard-packed dirt. The dead man's head bobs like he's laughing about sex enjoyed under confining conditions. Jason, staring at the bobbing head, grows more and more pale. It's a metaphysical pale as well as a nauseous pale. The difference is this: With nauseous you puke; if it's metaphysical your faith is challenged. Especially if your faith is of the conventional kind, the kind that starts with Jesus loves me and proceeds through church suppers and fellowship meetings and pastors named Jim or Bob and brings you at the end to a Hallmark heaven where grace abounds and those whom God has chosen walk on streets of gold. "What is it with you Minnesota people?" I say. Jason gags. "Don't get sick!" Jason gags again. "Stop!" I yell to Cranmore. Before Jason can puke, Cranmore pulls over. Jason shoots out the back door. He retches and vomits by the side of the road. When he comes trembling back he finds me in his place in the jump seat. I am not immune to noble gestures. The bouncing head put our rookie in Barfville. He hadn't mastered, yet, the indifference required of caregivers when corpses bob their heads as if hysterical at jokes being told about back-seat sex in Volkswagens involving ultra-tiny women and men the size of national parks. Guys lived in the fire hall to save money, not because we liked to get up in the middle of the night and answer fire calls. When fire calls came, a fire horn summoned other volunteers from their homes. The horn, on the roof of our two-story fire hall, weighed more than a hundred pounds. Its blare woke up hermits on distant islands and scattered bears on far-away hills. It was particularly loud in our living quarters, especially in the bedroom right under its place on the roof, which, as it happened, was the bedroom we'd assigned poor Jason. All our rooms were alike, basically cubicles without even a closet, although each had a floor to ceiling wooden wardrobe with cupboard-like doors on its front. Jason took that room never having heard the horn. But maybe it wouldn't have made any difference if he had. The horn is terrifying even to a person hearing it for the hundredth time. The first night the horn goes off, Jason is deep in sleep. It sounds to him like nuclear warfare. He shoots out of bed. His eyes bug. Zing - he jumps in his wardrobe. He hunkers down among his scanty articles of clothing and slams the door, crouching with his eyes squeezed shut for further protection from the whomping noise he hears. It was the most perfectly child-like thing a person could do, short of hiding under his bed.

Cranmore says as much on the call the horn summons us to. Cranmore regales me with panicked-Jason details while I am trying to assure the homemaker who called in the alarm it is no problem at all to be shocked out of bed at three in the morning because somebody put beets on to boil and went to sleep forgetting them. The homeowner, sheepish about the beet alarm, offers us grapefruit juice. He is a slug- shaped man with a bald head whose nasal voice is familiar. I hear it on the radio. He recites the local news - who has gotten married, who has died, who's appeared in district court on a charge of drunk and disorderly. He's poured grapefruit juice, which he keeps refrigerated, into half-sized Dixie cups. While we open windows, he shuffles in our wake from room to room, his grapefruit-juice refreshments on a tray, and I am touched by his cordiality. He represents the claims put on the human heart by cordiality. Grapefruit juice! Grapefruit juice. What can a person say of cordial grapefruit juice? Not that grapefruit juice converts us to kindness. By us I mean the firehouse crew. Merciless teasing commences, once we're bunking down again, and Jason is the butt. Cranmore goes WHOMP right in Jason's ear, imitating the sound the fire horn made. Later he asks the boy if he's out of the closet yet, Cranmore betraying by his bray how original he thinks his joke is. We have a long, narrow kitchen in our second-floor living quarters, and when I come in a week later for Cheerios and milk, Jason's already there, making egg salad for a sandwich. I have to do a sideways step to slip past him to the fridge. He doesn't turn. I hadn't planned on saying WHOMP, but the occasion seems so ripe I do. Jason swings around and hits me in the face. I can't say for sure I feel his punch. It's too great a surprise. My thought is, 'Did he really do that? Did he throw a punch? Did he hit me in the face?' "Am I bleeding, Jason?" "I shouldn't have hit you." He looks about to cry. "But you shouldn't have made fun of me, Casey." "Jesus, Jason. You punched me? Jesus H. Fucking Christ." Spiritual advisers don't usually curse, but blood is dripping from my nose and making a red, Hitler moustache on my upper lip. Jason, penitent I guess, hands me a paper towel. I rush away to our communal bathroom, where cold water does its staunching trick. When I return, hors de fucking combat, to the kitchen, Jason has dodged away. He's left behind his not quite completely mashed egg salad, which I stand over, poking my finger into my nose until blood drops splash into his bowl. This, I think, will teach you, Jason, in whom the sap of human kindness flows and in whom it does not. Two days later, on an early morning ambulance call, Cranmore and Jason and I drive to a house in the west end where homes cling to the side of a hill. The address we'd been given brings us to a path across a field so big they could have fought the Second Battle of Manassas there. We set off through knee-high grass. At the end of the path, a flight of stairs climbs, switchback style, to a gingerbread-style house perched overlooking the meadow. A man had died at the kitchen table enjoying his nightcap of red wine. Thin hair slicked back; a lean, aristocratic face; a slender body - everything combines to make him look like someone suave. His tumbler with wine in it sits on the table. Ditto the green bottle. He'd put on a silk, paisley bathrobe for this nighttime ritual and he's sitting in a kitchen chair pulled up close to the table. He died resting his chin on his left hand. His right hand still reaches to touch his glass, as if he'd been in pleasant contemplation of another sip when whatever mechanism moves the heart stopped working. He is so well balanced, with his belly to the table and his head resting on his hand, that he hasn't tumbled over. He sits in his happy position, and all through the night no one knew he was dead until his nephew found him in the morning. Here is a situation much like the situation of the dead husband weeks before. That had been poor Jason's rookie run, the one on which he'd barfed. We get the same argument about Mr. Silk Bathrobe that we'd heard at that earlier call - Silk's nephew says he doesn't want his kids to see the corpse. We agree to be the transporters of someone we'll claim not to know is dead. The difference this time is those tricky, switchback stairs. Cranmore says if we're to get the bent corpse down the stairs, he and I will have to carry it in a blanket. We tell Jason to precede us with the gurney, which the waif obediently collapses and tucks beneath his arm. Out the door he goes. When Cranmore and I assigned Jason to carry the gurney, we meant for him to set it up and wait for us at the bottom step, but the subtlety of that instruction escapes our rookie. Stepping off the bottom stair, he shambles across the field, still carrying the gurney. A few steps down the path, he starts to whistle. Cranmore and I trot to catch up. The body in the blanket falls into the rhythm of our run - swinging like the clapper of a bell. The sky is blue, with clouds like balls of cotton. In the green grass, dots of flowers show, the color of ketchup and mustard. Birds sing from hiding places in the trees. This is a perfect day to sing. And what I sing to our whistling waif is this: "Jason, I'm sorry about your egg salad." It's the ketchup-colored blossoms, not much bigger than the heads of pins that make me say it. I'm not sorry. Jason knows that. He's not sorry for punching me either. But Cranmore starts to sing, "Ding-dong... Ding-dong," because the corpse, in its blanket between two galloping ambulance attendants, is swinging like a bell. Cranmore is not sorry for singing his cartoon song. No one is sorry for anything. Everyone is singing. Technically, Jason is only whistling, but I am including his contribution in the catch-all 'singing' category because it was a grand day for swinging a corpse in a blanket. It was a day beyond any miserable day of soggy croquettes. Beyond Band-Aids fingered till they look like chewing gum. Beyond shacks made out of road signs and people hiding in their wardrobes when the fire siren screams. I sing of grapefruit juice cordially presented, and flowers the color of condiments. Jason is whistling. I don't know what his tune is. And Cranmore - goofy Cranmore - sings, "Ding-dong... Ding-dong." The body, which we carry at a trot, the body swings and swings. We are ambulance attendants running with a body swinging like the clapper of a bell, and the song that rises from our throats to the cotton-candy clouds is, "Ding-dong... Ding-dong... Ding-dong."

[ridiasfangirlings]

Princess Fushimi beloved daughter and heiress of Queen Regnant Awashima and King Consort Kusanagi must find a husband. Que Scepter4 Boys and Homra Boys being her Princely Husband Candidates. This ends up with Princess Fushimi gaining a harem and creating world peace through marrying everyone, "Let others wage war, thou happy Austria shall marry." With lots of cute little princes and princesses in the future.

Somehow I feel like Fushimi would be very resistant to the ‘lots oflittle princes and princesses in the future’ part, she’s probablyvery insistent to her parents that if they want grandkids they can gohave more children because she doesn’t need to be surrounded by abunch of little brats. Awashima and Kusanagi are a bit at a loss asto how to deal with their precious princess, as Fushimi is also verystubborn about the idea of getting married in general, like Awashimasuggests they hold a nice royal ball to find Fushimi a prince andFushimi’s like do what you want I’ll be in my room ignoring everyone.They try to set up royal matchmaking meet ups with other nearbyprinces and nobles but Fushimi refuses to go to any of those either,she doesn’t want anything to do with getting married or havingchildren or being a perfect little princess.

Of course Fushimi’s gloomy attitude doesn’t stop word from spreadingthat she’s in need of a husband and in fact many countries areinterested in pursuing her hand, not just to find a wife but also inorder to broker alliance deals with her nation. Awashima and Kusanagiare cool with anyone pursuing Fushimi as long as they make sure theirintentions are pure, like no one wants to mess with Fushimi’sfrightening pair of mothers (rumor has it someone tried to feelFushimi up at a ball once and before Fushimi could even stab themwith the cutlery Kusanagi had taken the person aside to have a nicechat. That person was never seen again). Various alphabetically-namedprinces from the surrounding countries appear and begin trying tofind ways to win Fushimi’s hand – Prince Akiyama makes her thefinest coffee, Prince Benzai brings many rare breeds of kitten forher to cuddle, Prince Hidaka suggests they go for a fun horsebackride around the palace together, Prince Kamo makes her a delicioussteak dinner with no vegetables, Prince Chitose tries to chat her upand almost gets stabbed, Prince Dewa brings her many hats becausehe’s heard the princess secretly loves fashion accessories.

Fushimi has no interest in any of them but maybe she slowly startsopening up to them, like Akiyama helps her carry some knives back toher room (and doesn’t ask what she needs them for) and Hidaka staysup with her all night helping her balance the kingdom’s budgetbecause Fushimi’s good at that okay. When Awashima and Kusanagi askwhich one Fushimi would like to marry she keeps saying no though,which eventually leads her parents to decide that perhaps that meansshe would rather marry all of them. Fushimi’s like wait whatbut too late, her harem is now firmly ensconced in the palace, all ofthem trying to be friendly with her and make her smile and Fushimihates it but also maybe it’s not so bad because there are so many ofthem they can entertain each other and she only has to spend timewith them when she wants to. Plus in the meantime all the kingdomshave united in their love of Princess Fushimi, so in the end all’swell that ends well.

[bushraslifestyle]

10 Best Kitchen Gadgets You Can’t Live Without

Kitchen gadgets you can’t live without. Aren’t you curious to know what they are?

What’s up lovely friends? Anything new and exciting? It’s pretty hot over here, and it makes one want to stay home most of the time…If you love to cook staying home is easy, right? Speaking of cooking, today’s post is all about the best and must-have kitchen gadgets that I carefully picked for you!

Cooking Teachers & Kitchen Gadgets

My mother-in-law is a cooking teacher and a great cook. She always says, “You should never compromise over quality”. Oh Man, her kitchen is even prettier than mine… she has all kinds of kitchen gadgets! I am always impressed with her stuff. A few gadgets here might be stolen from her kitchen’s gadget recommendations.

In the future, I will interview her and do a post about her favourite gadgets only. I promise, you will not be disappointed as she has a great taste.

You can’t be a cooking teacher if you don’t have great kitchen gadgets in your kitchen, right?

Moms Also Recommend These Kitchen Gadgets

My mother is also the best cook on earth. Her food has high demand in my husband’s friends circles. When I eat at work I mostly eat in my office, and after that when I see patients, they always say “Oh, it smells so good here”. You will see some of the gadgets I have for my mother and she uses them every day. She also has a wishlist to get some more for herself.

Bushra’s Lifestyle is a participant in the Amazon Services, LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for us to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.

Here is The List Of The Best Kitchen Gadgets

1- KitchenAid KSM155GBAZ 5-Qt. Artisan Design Series with Glass Bowl

The Kitchen Aid brand is pretty reliable to pretty much all of us. Their products last long. This is a well-constructed mixer and comes with easy controls. Its stand out feature is a glass bowl which is a show stopper in the kitchen. Somehow. glass has always flattered me in the kitchen.

This gadget will totally transform your kitchen!

If you are hooked to baking, then this mixer is a must-have. It looks very elegant and classy. Having it certainly uplifts your status as a cook and will make you an authentic pie crust maker.

Key Features:

Easy to use

Comes with one-year limited warranty

Multipurpose attachment hub, over 15 optional attachments

5qt glass bowl with measurement markings

10-speed setting with tilt-head design.

Available in 13 different colors.

Comes with the burnished metal flat beater, burnished metal dough hook, and wire whip. It’s a bit pricey but the quality is awesome

You can create endless menu and culinary treats with its extra accessories

This one is a little less expensive, but this would be my second choice for a lower budget.

Looks a lot like the first one, but it has fewer functions. However, they both are great. Just go with what suits your budget. I just wanted to throw in a similar one with a lower price.

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2-Premium Stainless Steel Mixing Bowls Set

They seamlessly nest inside each other

We all know that every kitchen needs mixing bowls, hence we have to add them in our list, and this is a cute little set. This quality stainless steel bowl set looks great and pretty. You gotta have pretty stuff in the kitchen. After all, you need to please your eyes as well with everything.

Key Features:

Food-grade steel

Shatterproof and lightweight

Freezer and dishwasher safe

The flat bottom offers reliability & stability

Sized to every task and comes in 3/4 quart to 8 quart

3-Instant Pot Smart WiFi 6 Quart Multi-use Electric Cooker

Once you have this, you will never like to get rid of it.

This little instant pot-electric cooker has way too many benefits to offer. It’s insanely helpful and a huge time saver in your cooking life. It wears many hats, as you can use it as a pressure cooker, slow cooker, rice cooker, or porridge cooker. Oh man, that’s quite a few ways to cook!

What do you guys think? Wait, it’s not done yet.. you can also use it as a yogurt maker, cake maker, saute/searing, and steamer!

This is a necessity in the kitchen- a must have! This thing is phenominal.

Key Features:

OMG, over 750 pre-programmed scripted recipes

Cooks up to 70% faster

Monitor progress in graphics through smart devices

IOS/Android cooker control app with 750 scripted recipes

Progam your instant pot from your smartphone or tablet

Smart WIFI schedule to cook, adjust, & monitor your meal for optimal convenience

Unlimited cooking customizations

Share your favourite recipes with your family

Stainless steel cooking pot and steam rack.

No chemical coatings

Comes with a steam rack with handles, rice paddle, soup spoon, measuring cup, mittens and condensation collector

Energy efficient

I can go on and on praising this thing, I completely love this device! It can replace up to 8 kitchen appliances. Can you imagine that?

Here are 47-plus instant pot recipes for you guys to try!

4- Keurig K475 Single-Serve K-Sup Pod Coffee Maker

My husband can’t survive without it.

Keurig is one of the gadgets my husband can’t survive without. He has many other gadgets to go along with it as well. It is one of the best brands.

This Coffee maker comes with 6 K-Cup pods and a water handle, plus 2 filters to help your beverages taste the best.

Key Features:

Strong brew

5 cup sizes

70 oz water reservoir allows you to brew 8 extra cups before having to refill

Less than one minute brew time

Removable drip tray fits a 7.2″ travel mug

4, 6, 8, 10 and 12 oz K-cup pod brew sizes

Brews a Carafe 22, 26 or 30 oz using K- Carafe pods (Carafe is not included)

Strength control setting

Large color touch screen with a digital clock

Can be programmed on and off automatically at set times to conserve energy

You would love it every single day as we have been using the Keurig brand for the last 7 years.

5- COSORI 5.8Qt Electric Hot Air Fryer – One Of The Neat Kitchen Gadgets

The best thing to have with 100 recipes

I discovered it when I visited one of my friends and she reheated up Samosas in it. They were as crispy as if you fried them the first time. I was instantly sold on it.

Its built-in digital touch screen menu offers 11 cooking presets including, Steak, French fries, Vegetables, Root Vegetables, Bread, Desserts, Poultry, Seafood, Shrimp, Bacon, Frozen Foods, Preheat. Just tap and go!

Key Features:

Designed in California

2 years warranty for free with lifetime support

11 cooking presets,

Super easy to use!

XL oven oilless cooker

Space and time saver

Square basket to put more food in. Baskets are removable and are non-stick

The best health gift for the weight watcher

85% less fat than traditional deep frying methods without compromising over the quality of the taste

Cooks faster than a conventional oven with crispier and tastier results

100% satisfaction guaranteed

It’s hard to find bad reviews for this product. Google-land has a lot of great things to say!

6- KOIOS Juicer, High Juice Yield

It’s totally worth of your money, either on sale on or not. It has a Germany made motor with 2 years extended warranty. It is worth spending the money on it.

If you love healthy drinks and homemade natural juices, then you need to get one of these. It will give you a lot more juice with fewer fruits or vegetables. Overall, no regret if you purchase this.

Key Features:

The motor has 2 years of warranty,

Super easy to assemble and clean.

Very affordable

Ultra-quiet and versatile

A low-speed juicing system keeps nutrients from being destroyed.

Comes with a recipe book as well.

Very easy to clean

7- KitchenAid KSB1575ER 5-Speed Diamond Blender One of My Favorite Kitchen Gadgets

Spoiler alter for sm00thy lovers

Who doesn’t love smoothies? Nothing can be better than a homemade smoothy… yum… now I need to go and make one before I finish this post! This little blender has everything you need to make a delicious and tasty drink. It looks great on your countertop.

Key Features:

Available in 24 different colors

The diamond blending system ensures that all in ingredients blend together.

Time-saving

Easy to clean

BPA free

Shatter, scratch, and stain-resistant

5 years limited warranty

8- Blackbirdlee Microwave Oven Egg Maker, Chicken Shape

We love this in our home!

This is one of the kid’s favorites gadgets that we have. We have a little larger one that this as we can cook six eggs at a time. It’s very helpful in the morning and provides you with freshly boiled eggs.

Key Features:

Multi-functions as you can not only boil eggs with it but also can steam buns, bread, dumplings, and other food.

Cute design with safe handles.

9- Mueller Austria V-Pro Multi Blade Adjustable Mandoline Cheese/Vegetable Slicer

One of the neat tools to have. I have been using one similar to this for the last 13 years.

this is one of the niftiest little kitchen gadgets I have ever used. For me, this product gets a big thumbs up as I have been using it for the last 13 years in my kitchen. It works like magic. It cuts everything very fast. This one stands up or sits on a bowl, A ton of different slicing grating inserts.

Key Features:

Extremely fast blades.

Stylish cutting designs for food presentations

Adjustable from 1-9mm.

German engineered 5 ultra-sharp 420-grade hardened surgical stainless steel blades

FDA and LFGB standard approved

A big time saver

Slicing guard with stainless steel prongs

Comes with a slicer blade, wavy blade, shredder, coarse shredder, and grater

Money-back guaranty

You are going to fall in love with this product, once you use it for a week!

10- DALSTRONG Knife Set Block

This is the expensive version, and It’s on my wishlist for the future.

If you don’t desire to have a sharp and finest set of knives in the kitchen, then don’t claim yourself as a cooking lover. They are great tools to give a final shape to your meal.

The reason I picked this set is craftsmanship. It’s so beautifully made with German HC steel. However, since it’s pricy so I do have included a less pricey version below as well to suit low and high budgets

Key Features:

Will last a lifetime

Stain-resistant, stunning design elements

Incredibly sharp razor with a hand-polished edge at 14-16 degrees per side.

Luxury imported black wood handles are triple-riveted with a grip that ensures comfort and maneuverability

Engineered to perfection at 56+ Rockwell hardness and hand-polished to a satin finish

Money-back guarantee

Here is what included in the set

6″ utility knife for fruit and small veggies

5.5″ serrated utility knife for tomatoes, french loaves and more

5″ Steak knives – set of 6

3.75″ Paring knife for detail work, peeling, pitting, coring, etc

2.75″ Peeling knife for decorative cutting

9″ bread knife

9″ Slicer knife

8.5″ Kiritskue knife

8″ Chef’s knife for the multi-purpose culinary workhorse

7″ Santoku knife

7″ Nakiri – square nose vegetable chopper

6″ Boning knife

10″ Dalstrong honing steel for maintaining edges between sharpenings

A great bang for your buck!

The more affordable version is this one. I wanted to give you an option according to your budget. This is the one I have been using currently and it works just fine. It’s not that fancy though.

This the one I currently have in my kitchen

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Questions For you

1-What is your favoirite gadget? I would love to hear your thoughts

2-Which one have you already used before?

3-Which one do you think can be a big time saver?

4- Do you prefer to spend more money on better quality by investing in some great products?

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