#only together can we make it look less like a nursing home bingo night at congress

[incomprehensiblegiberish]

(Note: This has an edit at the bottom providing context and clarification, please read that as well) Because its an election year and I keep thinking about this, I would like to remind everyone,

THE PRESIDENT DOES NOT MAKE LAWS THAT WILL EFFECT YOUR LIFE SEVERELY

The president does not even MAKE LAWS. The president can VETO a law, but the real people voting for specific laws are voted in STATE ELECTIONS.

If you want change in your life by the government, you have to vote in LOCAL, AND STATE ELECTIONS

I repeat

LOCAL AND STATE ELECTIONS ARE TO PICK WHO MAKES LAWS FOR YOUR STATE AND WHO REPRESENTS IT.

I am sick and tired of seeing people complain about the amount of old people in the government. You have to VOTE. If younger people vote, younger people are more likely to get elected, and then the voting pool is larger. Old people are going to vote for other old people, and they are the only ones voting in state elections therefore, old white men are the only ones represented. You have to vote if you want an accurate representation in your government. The president doesn't do shit regarding laws (other than being able to veto laws). Thats military. Not laws. Get it together, this is an elementary level skill. Its literally taught in the 5th grade, how people don't understand that is beyond me.

VOTE IN STATE ELECTIONS FOR FUCKS SAKE THAT IS HOW YOU GET LAWS PASSED THAT YOU WANT.

The president is only important in regards to MILITARY. The president is commander in chief of MILITARY. Not laws. If you want the US to stop supporting a certain country, vote for someone that agrees or is at least the better option (Damn the two-party system). If you want a law passed to protect your rights, vote for senators and representatives that want to protect your rights. Please for the love of god, so much could be fixed by voting. The system is broken yes, but it is not the only one to blame, go vote for the love of god I swear. EDIT: I would like to clarify some things. This is meant as a GENERAL STATEMENT. The president CAN do things that affect you severely, but GENERALLY the president is not in charge of laws that severely affect people day to day as the laws that the president deals with are for the ENTIRE COUNTRY. And therefore, are usually less specific. This does not mean presidential voting is any less important, that is the opposite of what this post was saying. This post is because the presidential elections seem to be the only one people vote in. And its good that people vote in this, but the issue this is mainly from is the fact that state and local elections are overlooked constantly, and then people complain about how the government doesn't provide representation when no one is going to vote. I am not saying the president doesn't do things, the president is important, but we can't forget about the part actually responsible for making laws in states and in the federal government. I see so many posts about how laws are being made by people who no one (at least over the internet) seems to agree with, and people complaining about how horrible the government is and how many old people are in there. And I agree, there's too many old people past retirement age in the government making laws and other things, but in order to get them out of the government, people must vote for other, younger people. Its not just going to be fixed by screaming about things over the internet. This post is not going to fix anything, it was a rant because I am pissed about this.

This is likely going to be the only update I add to this, I will not be responding to anything stated about this post, or put into reblogs. I am not in the habit of discussing politics with people and I don't plan on getting a start any time soon. I hope you all have a good day and thank you for coming to my rant I felt the need to throw here

[heyitsani]

We Don’t Share the Same Blood

Batman Bingo 2020: Ice Cream/”You are my dad, right?”

Word Count: 2026

Rating: General 

Warnings: Dick’s low self-worth, is that a warning?  This is fluff peeps, not much to warn about.

Pairing: None 

Summary: When Bruce is unable to attend parent/teacher conferences at Gotham Academy with Damian, Dick steps up and takes his place.  The evening ends with ice cream and a revelation that puts to rest a lot of questions Dick has been asking himself.

Notes: Dick get a little stuck in his head here, but it’s mostly fluff.  These brothers give me life and this makes me happy after such an awful Damian day yesterday.

I also put it all under the cut because there wasn’t a really good “preview” cut off point.  Not because it’s NSFW or anything.  Good, clean fun here.

You can also read this on AO3 here

While the idea of having kids and a family one day had always been one that Dick had subscribed to, he had never thought he would take the less traditional path.  He always expected to settle down with a partner, maybe marry them, and then have children through conception or surrogacy.  Yes, adoption had been an option to consider, but he had always wanted to make sure that his family genes continued through at least one biological child.  Not because he wanted his kids to look like him, but because he wanted a piece of his parents to continue on, even when they couldn’t.

He wanted a Grayson to be in the world after he had gone from it.  He wanted to be selfish on one thing.

What he hadn’t thought would happen was that at the age of 27, he would be taking custody of the son of the man who had taken him in after his parents had fallen to their deaths. He hadn’t expected to be doing it alone with no one but the man he thought of as a grandfather to guide him. Sure, Bruce hadn’t always been the best father, but Dick had always thought he had done the best he knew how. Mostly.  And Dick had always expected to have Bruce to fall back on when he felt like he was drowning in the ocean of parenthood.

But he hadn’t had Bruce.

It had been him and a child who hadn’t wanted Dick.  Damian had wanted Bruce, not a poor substitute in the shape of Dick.  And the young Wayne had made it clear from the very beginning that Dick was nothing but an inconvenience.  That he wasn’t Bruce and he never would be.

Then things had started to change.  Jason stopped trying to kill them and Tim was off trying to find the man they all loved like a father.  And Damian stopped fighting Dick every step of the way.  He still fought, but he slowly started opening up to the older man and things started to fall into place.

They were good.  Dick was happy and Damian was flourishing.  He watched the kid go from an angry murderous brat to a haughty self-entitled brat.  And then, eventually, Dick started seeing an actual child emerge.  And he did everything he could to foster that in Damian.  He tried to give him back the childhood that had been stolen from him.

And Damian slowly became a son.

And then Bruce came back.

And Dick felt like his entire world was torn away from him and there was nothing he could do about it. It had hurt.  It had burned.  And he had punished himself instead of taking it out on Bruce.  Because it wasn’t his fault.  And it certainly wasn’t Damian’s fault.  

So, Dick had done the only thing he could do.  He went back to his apartment and kept his distance so Bruce had the opportunity to become a real father to Damian.

At least until Gotham Academy was calling him stating Damian needed someone to pick him up because he was ill, and Bruce was not answering his phone.  Dick had still been listed as a secondary contact and Damian had asked for him over Alfred.  And, of course, Dick had dropped everything and gone straight to the school he had once graduated from to pick his brother up from school.

He hadn’t even considered saying he wasn’t able to.  Not for Damian.  Never for Damian.

And though the kid looked green around the gills, he looked far too grateful when Dick appeared in the doorway of the nurse’s room.

That day Dick had moved himself back to the primary contact for the school and promised Damian that he would always come when his brother called.  Always.  It didn’t matter what he was doing, if Damian needed him then he would be there.  Like he had always tried to be for all of his siblings since he had failed Jason so spectacularly when he had first come to the family.

Damian was different, though.

Outside of the fact that Dick had blurred the lines of brother and parent in his own heart, sometimes he felt like Damian did the same.  Like Dick was something more than just another brother.  And a part of Dick hoped that was true.  Even if the other part of him felt beyond guilty for taking that from Bruce.  It wasn’t like his father figure had meant to be taken away from them for a whole year, forcing Dick to step into far too many roles that he had never wanted. Including, “father” for a kid who would have rather been anywhere else.

“Are you even listening to me, Richard?”  Damian’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, reminding him where they were and why.

Right.  Parent/teacher conferences that Bruce couldn’t be bothered to attend because the League had called on him.

“Sorry, Dami.  Got stuck in my head.”

Dick wasn’t surprised to see the teen heave a heavy sigh.  “I was explaining that these meetings are droll and pointless.  I am performing excellently in all of my courses and I don’t understand why we have to bother.”  Snorting out a laugh, Dick reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair.

“It’s so I can hear teacher’s gush about what an amazing student you are.”  His words were met with an eye roll before they continued their path to the first classroom.  And though Dick knew the teachers would all tell Dick that Damian was a bright kid and was very diligent, he knew they would also tell him that he was not the average middle schooler.

And Dick was well aware of that.

“Well, if it isn’t Richie Grayson,” a familiar voice called out.  Glancing over his shoulder, Dick smiled the familiar face of one of his old school friends.

“Hunter Blake, how are you?” Dick held out his hand to shake the other man’s but was surprised when the other man ignored it and found himself pulled into a hug instead.  It was quick, gentle, and over before Dick could really react but it still caught him off guard.  

“I’m good!  What are you doing gracing the halls of Gotham Academy on PT night?”

Glancing down at Damian, Dick was surprised to find the kid smiling brightly.  “Uh, I’m here with Damian.  Bruce couldn’t make it, so I’m filling in.”  Dick shook off the surprise at Damian’s expression just as he had the hug and looked back to Hunter.

“I don’t know why I never put that together.  I’m guessing you two are heading to my classroom now?”  Hunter looked down to Damian and Dick saw the teen nodding out of the corner of his eyes.  “I’m Damian’s art teacher.  Come on, I was just dropping off a forgotten purse in the office so I’m heading back that way too.”

“I didn’t realize you ended up teaching here.”

“Well, they certainly love to hire their graduates when they can,” Hunter laughed, and Dick nodded.  The trio walked in silence for a few more feet before Hunter was waving an arm toward a room.  “This is us.  Why don’t you go get your portfolio, Damian, while I talk to Dick?”  The teen wasted no time in hurrying off to grab something.

“So art?”

“I enjoyed it as a kid, turns out I’m pretty good at it but not good enough to make a living.”  Dick glanced around the room and took in all the art on display and shrugged.  

“You must be good with kids? Damian always talks about his art projects.  It’s obviously his favorite class.”

“No one has talent like him. He’s by far my most talented student. Probably the most talented student I’ll ever have.”  Dick followed Hunter to a wall of landscapes and immediately he could point out which one was his brothers.  The forest behind Wayne Manor was unmistakable but the style was one Dick had framed around his own apartment.  “He’s quiet and he’s reserved, but he is an artistic genius.  I hope he is encouraged at home to cultivate it?”

“I have numerous pieces framed around my own apartment.  I know Bruce has a few in his various offices as well.”  If anything, Dick had always worried that they had pushed it too much. But Damian was stubborn and if he didn’t want to do something then he didn’t do it.  So if he hadn’t wanted to draw, then he wouldn’t.

Hunter smiled brightly and clapped a hand on Dick’s shoulder.  “I’m glad to hear it.  I would love to be able to say I have a Damian Wayne original hanging in my classroom one day.  I’ll let him show you his portfolio.  I’ve got other parents to mingle with.”

“Thanks, Hunter.  Good to see you.”  Hunter said a you too before turning to approach a mother cooing over her daughter’s work.  Looking down to see Damian holding a book in his hands, Dick smiled and moved to sit at one of the desks so his brother could show off.  And Dick couldn’t stop the swell of pride in his chest as his brother showed him piece after beautiful piece.

When they had gone through the entire book, Dick smiled at Damian and told him just how amazing everything was and he watched the teen glow under the compliment.  As if it meant something coming from Dick.  Something more than it would had it come from someone else.

“What do you say to some ice cream?”

“That would be an acceptable end to this evening,” Damian agreed after he had returned from putting his portfolio back in it’s place.  And Dick couldn’t agree more because ice cream was an acceptable end to just about any evening.

“Richard,” Damian called softly as they walked the street with their individual cones.  Dick hummed in response as he watched the other people on the street, enjoying the cool but not cold night air.  “Thank you for attending tonight.”

Looking down, Dick smiled. “Of course, Little D.  I know I’m not Bruce, but I’ll always be where you need me to be.”

“Yes, you are not Father,” Damian agreed.  And though Dick knew that, the words did sting a little.  “But in full disclosure, you may not be Father, but you know you are my dad, right?”  Freezing in place, Dick stared at Damian as he processed his words.  He wasn’t Damian’s father but he was his dad.  That is what the teen had said.  

“Dames…”  Dick wasn’t sure what to say.  Did he tell him that he couldn’t do that to Bruce?  Did he thank him?  Did he hug him?

“I apologize if I have overstepped, but I thought you should know.”  There was an awkwardness to Damian and a slight blush on his cheeks, like he was embarrassed to admit such emotion.  It made Dick melt.  “I have spoke with Father about this regard and he told me that it was completely understandable, given the time you and I have spent together.”  Bruce knew?  And he apparently didn’t care.  “But I just wanted you to know that you may be my brother on paper, but to me you are more.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Dick finally responded, voice thick with emotion.  He wanted to say more, he wanted to gush all of his emotions onto Damian and make sure he knew that Dick felt the same.  That no matter what happened, Damian would always be his son. “It means more than you know.”

Nodding his head, Damian looked from Dick to his ice cream cone and then started walking again.  “Come, Baba.  Jon’s birthday is approaching, and I must find a gift to give him or I will never hear the end of it.  You shall aide me on this mission.”

Baba.  Dad.  

“Of course, Dames.  We wouldn’t want to disappoint a Kent.  You’d never survive the puppy dog eyes.”  Dick spoke through the happy tears that built in his eyes at the name, following his son down the street to see what the shops could offer.

[runpogorun]

Here’s my gift to @wrtng-thngs-nd-stff for the Daredevil Exchange. It also fills the ‘Innocent until proven guilty’ square on my Daredevil Bingo card. Enjoy!

The prompt was: “Each night counts for something or else we’d all go mad,” by Charles Bukowski.

*****

Matt was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his socks and his tie when his phone beeped with a text message from Foggy:

Each night counts for something or else we’d all go mad.

Matt frowned, and held up his phone to dictate a response. “Fog. It’s too early to be that cryptic.” He placed the phone beside him and reached down to pick up a shoe, groaning quietly.

Foggy’s reply was swift: 

It’s not early, you’re just late. I’ve been watching the video of DD from last night. Are you okay?

Matt finished tying his shoes, and shrugged on his suit jacket before dictating his next text. “Yes, mom. I’ll see you soon.” He checked the time. He was only a little late, and last night’s video can’t have been that dramatic.

That’s unlikely, my dude. And did you forget Bukowski?

Matt had. He paused to do a quick internet search, and opened a new note in his phone. Then he straightened his tie and went to face the day.

_____

The next week, when Matt was once again late, it was this:

Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.

Are you going to make it? 

I need you today.

Matt was in a coffee shop, waiting for the triple order they would all need to get them started on the last day of pre-trial preparation. He didn’t bother replying, just sighed and collected his order then walked the short distance to the office. It had been a not-insignificant period of time since his last serious injury. He was keeping it together.

Matt wove between the towers of boxes, placing Karen’s coffee in the middle of her desk, then knocked on Foggy’s office door. Foggy’s head lifted, and he sprang out of his chair with a cry of, “Coffee!”

Matt leaned against the doorframe and nursed his own cup. “Where’s Karen?” 

“Picking up those photos.”

Matt hummed in response, taking a sip of coffee. Foggy wandered back to his desk and plopped down in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think Ms Zhang feels okay about tomorrow?” Foggy asked. 

Matt nodded. “I offered to pick her up, walk with her to the courthouse.”

“She lives literally nowhere near you.”

“Ah,” Matt said, “But she doesn’t know that.”

“You do you, buddy. Just get her there on time.” Foggy’s head bent to the desk in front of him, his hands shuffling papers. He sighed again. Behind Matt, the door swung open and Karen stalked in. She must have spied the coffee immediately, because she headed straight for her desk, dropping a thick envelope and scooping up her coffee cup with a sigh of happiness. She came over to join Matt, touching him on the arm in greeting as he smiled at her.

“Come on, Fog. We’re going to kill it tomorrow. We’re prepared. You can be happy.”

Foggy slowly raised a hand, pointing his pen at Matt and in a deep voice intoned, “We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.”

“What?” asked Karen.

Matt shook his head. “He’s on a Charles Bukowski kick,” he said.

Karen made a noise of comprehension, turning her head between Matt and Foggy. “Ohhhh,” she said. “Oh yeah, he’s perfect.”

“I know, right?” Foggy cried, gesticulating wildly. 

“What?” Matt asked.

“He’s like your… depressed Fairy Godmother.”

Matt downed the last of his coffee. “I’ve got work to do.” He walked to his office and firmly shut the door on the sounds of laughter.

_____

Maggie really did make neat stitches, her fingers moving nimbly. Matt wondered if she’d learned before Jack. Maybe it was just the kids. She’d once stitched him up, when he was thirteen years old and a car had backfired, sending a sonic wave which confused him enough that he’d missed the curb and tripped. He’d angrily brushed off the concerned stranger who tried to help him, and limped home, blood dripping down his leg and pooling in his sock. Maggie hadn’t had a lot to say then, sighing and pushing him into a seat with firm hands. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, punctuating it with a sharp snip.

Matt snorted. “That would be a waste.”

“A waste would be this wound being a bit deeper, and you bleeding to death in an alley.” She turned and started tidying away her supplies, carrying them to the sink. 

Matt stood and reached for his shirt, turning it right side out and running his fingers over it. The blood around the ragged tear was dry and crackly. He poked two fingers through the hole and wiggled them. Someone shrieked three blocks over, and Matt turned his head sharply to the side, listening hard. The sound dissolved into giggles - a group of friends having fun. He relaxed again, smoothing away a few flakes of blood.

“Matthew.” Maggie was standing close in front of him. He hadn’t noticed her moving closer.

“Hm?”

She walked towards him and reached out, smoothing his hair back from his brow. “You look tired. I said I was here to listen.” Slowly, she pried the shirt from his hands, taking it from him. 

“It’s nothing,” Matt said, sitting down again.

“Sure.”

Matt scrubbed a hand through his hair, pulled his mask from his pocket and smoothed it out on his knee. 

“You still worrying about whether you’re making a difference?” Maggie asked.

“No. I know I am,” Matt said, shaking his head. “It’s more… keeping my head in the game. You know. Not... letting my friends down. Again.”

“This one’s clean,” Maggie said, throwing a bundle of fabric at him.

“Black, I hope,” Matt said, shaking the shirt out pulling it on over his head.

“You know, kiddo, what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”

Matt froze. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll wash this and sew it up for you. Why don’t you visit me at a reasonable hour, next time? Take me out for afternoon tea.”

_____

“You told my mother about Bukowski?” Matt’s glasses were in his pocket, and he narrowed his eyes in an approximation of a hard stare.

“To be fair, I think she’d already heard of him,” Foggy said, shrugging in an overexaggerated way.

“You still haven’t told me why. Why, all of a sudden, you’re all trying to make me feel guilty by throwing some old sexist alcoholic’s rantings at me.”

“I don’t need to do anything at all to make you feel guilty. You do that all by yourself. And Theo got rid of his old bed so he didn’t need my copy of Post Office to keep the legs level, so he gave it back to me.”

“Please tell me you didn’t start a file of quotes you thought applied to me,” Matt said, giving the stare another go.

“Innocent until proven guilty. Stop trying to hypnotise my dinosaur.”

Matt sighed. “Karen’s coming. Let’s pretend to be busy.”

_____

Matt truly did regret this type of injury. It was embarrassing, being so limited by pain that he struggled to do even the basics. He heard Karen’s footfall on the stairs and carefully, so carefully, climbed out of bed, making it to the couch just before she said, “I’m coming in, Matt,” and slid her key into the lock. Matt bit back a groan of pain, and pasted a smile onto his face.

She walked straight to the kitchen, all rustling shopping bags and high heels. “Hey, Karen,” he offered. 

“I didn’t expect to see you out of bed.” Karen put a couple of things in Matt’s near-empty fridge. “Beer?”

“Please.”

She came over, putting the beer on the coffee table passing him his carton and fork, and slipping off her shoes to tuck her feet underneath herself. “Don’t try that face. It makes you look worse, which I didn’t think was possible.” He didn’t think he could reach his beer without her seeing how sore he truly was.

Instead, Matt prodded at his takeout. He was ravenous and it smelled good.

“Foggy’s on a date, so you’ve only got me tonight. Want to watch a movie?”

Matt smiled. “Sounds good.”

“Great. Eat up, then, because you need to be in bed and food doesn’t belong in the bedroom.”

“I’m good here.”

Karen shook her head. “Your couch is not as comfortable as that big, soft bed.”

Matt just rolled his eyes. Karen reached out and patted his knee, and said, “If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.”

Matt stabbed his fork into his take out, and threw up his hand. “Okay, okay, I admit defeat. We can watch in my bed, as long as you don’t quote him any more.”

“It’s a deal,” Karen said, smugly.

_____

Matt woke, in searing pain, but it wasn’t going to kill him. He had wondered, the previous night. He certainly wasn’t going to make it to the office today, or maybe tomorrow either.

He picked up his phone to check the time. Late enough that Foggy would be concerned, so he dictated a text: “In the morning it was morning, and I was still alive.” 

Foggy phoned back thirty seconds later. “Buddy, do I need to call an ambulance?” He sounded short of breath.

“I don’t know. Does your chest hurt?”

“An ambulance for you, asshole. How bad is it?”

“Like I said, I’m still alive. But I won’t be in today. I’m sorry, Fog.” Matt pulled the comforter higher, tucking it around his neck.

“Do I need to call Maggie?”

“No.”

“Matty-”

“I said no, Foggy.”

“Fine. But I’m bringing you lunch. And you’d better still be alive.”

“Foggy.”

“Hey, you know, today might be the time to use that Bukowski quote I’ve been saving up.”

“Jesus, Fog, haven’t you used them all up?”

“Oh no, he was a very prolific man. But this one is the best. Are you listening, Matty?”

Matt  pressed his face against the pillow and made a vague noise.

“Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.”

[fraysbanes]

as far as fate goes

Characters: Catarina Loss, Dorothea Rollins, OC (Original Cats)

Relationship: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland (briefly), Isabelle Lightwood/Simon Lewis (briefly)

Rating: T

Summary: written for the shadowhunters wlw fic bingo, for the square “our cats fell in love while being outside what do we do now?”

As if this day wasn’t already bad enough with the exhausting shift and the late bus and someone eating her lunch from the break room  again, now Catarina’s starting to think her cat’s run away.

She wouldn’t blame the poor thing. With all the chaos going on lately and all the playdates they’ve had to host, Cat herself would do virtually anything for a moment of peace and quiet, too.

Just as Cat’s about to go turn the backyard upside down in her search, the doorbell rings. She goes quickly to answer it, hoping it’s Raphael coming back to tell her he accidentally kidnapped her cat when he dropped Madzie off from school earlier.

It’s not Raphael.

“Hi,” the neighbour Catarina vaguely recognizes greets. “I believe this belongs to you?”

In her arms sits an orange ball of fluff and bad attitude, better known as-

“Magnus!” Cat exclaims, scooping him into her arms. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

The neighbour (Catarina racks her brain trying to remember her name, but all she can muster up is “pretty lady three houses down across the street”) cocks her head to the side amusedly. “Magnus? Fancy name for a kitty.”

“Yeah, my daughter named her after her uncle,” cat explains. “So now he’s Magnus and my brother’s Human Magnus.”

Pretty Neighbour laughs. “Oh, I bet he loves that.”

“Are you kidding? It’s an honour to share a name with this evil little bastard,” Cat quips, making faux annoyed expressions at Magnus. She looks back up at Pretty Neighbour and smiles. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing him home.”

As Pretty Neighbour tries to convince her that it was no problem, really, even in the dead of night, Cat glances down and notices, for the first time, a second adorable little ball of fluff. This time a black cat twisting itself around Pretty Neighbour’s ankles but with its piercing golden eyes on Catarina - and Magnus.

Pretty Neighbour catches her looking and leans down to pick up the other cat. “Oh, right, this is Salem,” she says. “And, yes, she’s named after the one from Sabrina the Teenage Witch. No regrets. She’s also grown pretty attached to Cat Magnus, to be honest with you.”

“He’s just Magnus,” Cat says, and to Magnus she adds, “How many times have I told you not to go stringing random girls long, huh?”

Pretty Neighbour laughs again. “I’m pretty sure Salem seduced him, actually. She can be  very  charming.”

With Pretty Neighbour’s eyes narrowed and her voice suddenly lowering on “very”, Cat can’t help but look her up and down. “I’m sure,” she says. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? The place is a mess - I’ve got a five-year-old - but I’d love to actually get to know one of my neighbours. Especially now that you’ve saved my entire life by finding my cat.”

Pretty Neighbour hesitates for a second out of politeness, then nods. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Cat steps aside to let her in. “I’m Catarina, by the way. Friends call me Cat.”

“Dorothea,” Pretty Neighbour says as she steps inside, maneuvering Salem in her arms to offer Cat her hand. “Friends call me Dot.”

Cat shakes her hand before closing the door behind them and leading Dot to the kitchen. They put the cats down and let them play around the living room while Catarina pours herself and Dot a cup.

“So,” Cat says conversationally when they sit down at the kitchen table across from each other. “What do you do?”

“I’m an elementary school teacher,” Dot says. “Maybe I’ll get your daughter in my class in a couple years. How about you? What do you do?”

“Stress, mostly,” Cat admits. “But professionally, I’m a nurse.”

“That’s really cool,” Dot says. “I can’t believe I’ve lived a couple doors down from you for over a year and never knew you were a nurse. Or your first name, for that matter.”

“I bet it was fate,” Cat teases. “So our cats would only meet and fall in love when they were ready.”

Dot laughs, her eyes drifting to Salem and Magnus (well, okay, admittedly, Cat has to call him Mags in her head, because all jokes aside, Human Magnus has thirty years on Cat Magnus, so he gets dibs on the name) cuddling under the dining table. Salem gently licks at Mags’ cheek and Mags purrs, cuddling closer to her.

“Um,” Dot starts awkwardly. “Can cats…actually fall in love?”

Cat doesn’t know. She could Google it - her phone is right there on the table - but she decides not to. Whatever the cat definition of love is, those two clearly feel it.

“Ah, crap,” she mutters under her breath. “He’s really clingy. Salem might as well move in right now.”

“However clingy Magnus is, I’ll bet you anything Salem’s ten times clingier. She literally followed me here, remember?”

Cat gives her an amused look. “It’s not a competition,” she wants to say. But isn’t it?

“Well, either way, it looks like we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other,” she says instead.

The smile Dot gets on her face is bright and sudden and catches Cat off-guard, and she tries to hide it behind her teacup. “There are worse things in the world,” she says.

Cat imagines, for a moment, a future where she  does  see a lot more of Pretty Neighbour and her clingy cat - a future where they talk every day and wave to each other at the grocery store and mention each other to their families more often than they do other neighbours.

Her mind strays to less plausible - but certainly more exciting - situations. Drinking coffee together at the park. Taking Madzie to the movies. Going to the movies  without  Madzie. Walking home together. Dot spending the night.

There certainly  are  worse things in the world.

“Well, in that case,” Cat says, “Maybe I should give you my number. You know, in case Magnus runs away to see his lady love again.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Dot says, no longer trying to hide her smile - or her blush, for that matter.

“Plenty more where that came from,” Cat says, and returns the smile.

[sofeyhh]

BTS Private Boarding School Au

*Based on the BTS Private Boarding School Au I created

Part 8 / ?

“Faster!”

Their gleeful screams and shout carried out to the crashing waves of the ocean as they drove through the twisted road that wrapped around the mountain. Taehyung steps on the accelerator as his heart drums on his chest. The adrenaline in him soared to drive at such a speed. It was even more thrilling to see the open sea to his right while his two friends raised their hands, letting the wind take them away.

“Fuck you!” Taehyung yelled with his middle finger up as a car roared past them. He bellowed out a laugh after seeing the flash of an offended old lady.

Feeling the salty wind breeze through their hair and slipping past their fingers made them feel invincible. The three friends let out wails of incomprehensible words as the car raced down the narrow road. It felt like they were on the edge, flying away from their cruddy life. It was freedom to them.

“Fuck everyone!” the three of them screamed their lungs out, letting out their stress.

People on the outside, looking in, only saw the three boys as bratty, snobby, arrogant rich pricks that were doted by their parents and lived off a 24k gold spoon. They weren’t wrong about those facts but they always assumed that just because these boys were loaded with money, meant that they didn’t go through misery just like everyone else. Having millions in your back account didn’t do anything to nurse their personal struggles. It made even worse, if they were being honest. They had a reputation to uphold, respect to earn from friends and pride to dig from their parents.

Money was a burden at times.

“Mr Kim! We’re so happy to accommodate you for today,” the pretty salesperson working at the Gucci store greeted them. “Ah, it’s so nice to see you too Mr Jung. We haven’t seen you for ages!”

Taehyung and Hoseok went up to greet the employees dressed in crisp uniform like they were long time friends. Meanwhile, Jimin stood rooted at the entrance. He glanced around, drinking everything in; the marble floor, the gold accents and the angelic displays. It was all new to him. Never in his life did he once ever dreamed of shopping in such a store. Like every other average teenage boy, he bought his clothes from Topman or H&M, and even then he’d look out for the sales rack.

“We’ve got the private room set up for you,” the store manager smiled widely at Taehyung.

“Private room?” Jimin asked Hoseok in a hushed voice after waddling over to the taller boy. He watched Hoseok rifle through the rack of button up shirts while he hugged his own figure, afraid to touch anything.

“Yeah, Tae’s a regular customer here. They practically call him Gucci’s adopted son. He usually spends hours on end in here so they always have a private changing room prepared,” he explained to the boy.

Jimin nods in amazement with wide eyes. He’s officially in a whole new world where his friends live in Gucci and buys Porches when they feel bored. He was definitely not accustomed to their culture.

“Can I get a bottle of Champagne and three glasses sent it?” Taehyung told the employees before tugging at Jimin’s wrists. “My friend here is a Gucci virgin.”

He wiggled his eyebrows provocatively, sending Jimin blushing red. “God Tae, why do you have to make everything sexual?”

His friend only gave him a haughty laugh as he dragged Jimin over to the rack of blazers, now being inspected by Hoseok. Taehyung slings his arms around both of the boys and cocks his eyebrow. “Boys, it’s time to get sexy.”

The three friends roamed the store, picking up everything that caught their attention. They simply handed it over to the line of staffs trailing after them and their choices would all be hanged in their private room. Jimin squeaked a small thank you every time he handed an item over, still unused to the whole ‘personal assistance’ system they had in the store. From his past experiences with sales reps in clothing stores, they were always so grumpy and easily offended, Jimin never knew why. He’d ask about a pair of pants and they’d grunt a half-hearted answer. Or in the changing rooms, if he were to peep his head out and asked if they had a different size available they’d reply sarcastically with, “Well, have you checked the rack outside? All the sizes are there.” They made this store feel like paradise.

“Holy fuck,” he choked out a cry when he made the mistake of flipping over the tag. “This blazer costs $5450! I don’t think I’m allowed to spend that kind of money.” He knew Gucci was pricey, but fuck was it fucking expensive. Jimin never thought such a price tag would exist for a piece of clothing.

“Didn’t you say your father gifted you with a card for your birthday?” Taehyung reminded him. He slips Jimin’s worn out wallet out from his pocket and takes out the silver Amex card. With the slim card between his fingers, he fans his face adorned with a smirk,“This is begging to be used.”

Jimin’s father did present him with a card. And his father did tell him that he’d be transferring about $2000 every two weeks. Come to think of it, his father did tell him he was free to use the money however he liked. With a gulp, Jimin nods his head, preparing himself to spend the most he has in his entire life.

“Baby, you’re now living in a whole different world,” Taehyung says as he holds his shoulders. “And you’ve got to dress the part.”

---

*Jimin’s past*

“Everyone, dollars and pennies out now.”

The group huddled around a pipe of an abandoned skate park on the outskirts of town. Jimin rolls his board over as he stuffed his hand into his pocket, producing crumpled dollar bills and stray coins.

“I’ve only got $4.75. What about you guys?” Jimin asked his friends.

The five of them mumbled numbers that accumulated to less than $20. Or more accurately, $18.64. They sighed as they stare at the pathetic pile of scraps on the ground.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have skipped school,” one of them whispered.

$18.64 wasn’t enough for the six of them to buy lunch, let alone a complete meal for two. If they had stayed in school, they would’ve been able to buy a $2 bowl of noodle. But then again, a cheap bowl of noodle was not an enough bargain for them to stay in that crappy school.

“Fuck that. The Dean’s having a checkup today and you know he likes to pick on me for no reason,” his other friend whined.

“That’s because you get in trouble all the time!” Jimin exclaimed as he shoved his friend. “You’re practically a regular in detention hall.”

His comment was supported with murmurs of ‘yeahs’ and hums of agreements from the others.

“Oh hey! I know where we can get lunch. So the other day, I was in my room studying and my mum has my neighbour over. You know that nosy lady with that garish blonde hair? Yeah so I overheard her saying that she was with her cousin at the market. And her cousin was telling her how this other lady on the other side of the aisle who had big boobs w-”

“Where the fuck is this going?” one of them interrupted.

“Um you would’ve known if you hadn’t stopped me asshole!”

“You’re talking about a lady in the market with big boobs!” his friend retorted. He eyed his friend who was pouting with crossed arms.

“It was relevant to the story!”

“Was not,” he scoffs to himself as his friend continued on with his descriptive story.

“Anyways,” the boy cleared his throat before continuing. “The lady with the big boobs, she was fired from her previous job and was trying to find a replacement like real quick. She’s got like five kids to feed. Within a week of her of being jobless, she managed to get a job at this newly opened vendor on Garrad St. They have a bunch of stuff on their menu and it only costs around $2-$5 for a meal. So that’s how my neighbour got to know about it and brought my mum and I to eat there. Swear, it was so good.”

The group fell silent as they stared at their friend. “You listen to too much gossip man,” Jimin chuckled.

Their laughs echoed around the empty skate park as they teased the young boy. “For real, you sound like my grandma after she comes home from Bingo Night,” one of them snickers as they gathered the money.

It didn’t matter if they had to walked for 20 minutes to get food they could all afford. So long as they were together, it meant enough for each of them. The six of them had a bond like none other.

---

The trio lounged in their private changing room decked with plush nude carpets, comfy leather couches and floor to ceiling mirrors. Jimin shrugged on a maroon blazer and examined himself in the mirror. The clothes he tried on not only had amazing fit but everything felt like they were made of a thousand thread count. Jimin was already falling into the hole of luxury brands. He hears Taehyung groan from the couch by the wall and looks over.

“I want me some bourbon,” he whines. “Can one of you be my designated driver?”

He gave his friends a puppy grin, hoping they’d let his ass get buzzed at three in the afternoon. Champagne is always a good sip but Bourbon was something he craves every so often.

Hoseok complies to a gleeful Taehyung as he tugs on a pair of gold boots. “Provided I get to drive Sinatra for a week,” he bargains. Taehyung only waved his hand at him as he orders himself a nice glass of Bourbon.

He pans his attention over to Jimin who was getting comfy in his choice. “Jimin baby, maroon is not your colour. Here,” Taehyung says as he holds out a silky flowy white dress shirt. “Hoseok, hand him that dark gold vest you were trying on.”

Taehyung instructed every little detail on Jimin’s attire like the conductor of a symphony while he sits comfortably in his chosen attire; a cream turtleneck under a baby blue suit. After looking in the mirror for the 10th time that day, Jimin had to admit, his friend had an eye for great taste. Everything he picked out, from the shirt to the little accessories adorning his hands, suited Jimin. For once, he really did look like he could fit in.

“Perfect!” Taehyung yelled out as he eyes Jimin up and down. “Baby, you make me gay.”

After spending at least four hours in there, they headed out to pay. While Taehyung and Hoseok were in line, Jimin gets a notification on his phone. It was his friends from his old hometown, texting him about their trip. He was sent a picture of the five of them in the back of an old pickup truck parked by a beach.

To Groupchat: broke fucks Wah...It looks beautiful...wish I could be there with you guys

From Groupchat: broke fucks You should’ve came when we invited! Obviously you can afford a bus ticket now.

From Groupchat: broke fucks Yeahhh we were willing to wait day for you!

To Groupchat: broke fucks I told you guys, I’ve got an event coming up this weekend. I just spent hours in the store trying to get an outfit.

From Groupchat: boke fucks What was the event again?? Something about a fundraiser?

To Groupchat: broke fucks It’s the Annual Fundraising Gala :) everyone dresses up so I had to get something nice.

From Groupchat: broke fucks Shit is that what rich people do? Dress up to go to fucking fundraiser? Hahahaha!

From Groupchat: broke fucks And I thought all they do is sip wine on their yacht ><

Jimin reads their replies with red cheeks. As much as he tries to understand their view on the culture, he couldn’t help but feel annoyed at their ignorance. The fundraising gala really was for a good charity and people really do donate tons of money.

“Baby, I’m getting you a new wallet. Yours is horrible to look at,” Taehyung said without looking at him, immediately taking out his card to pay for the branded item.

He really was in a whole new world.

BTS Au Masterlist

[mhsn033]

Best health ‘We are no less American’: Deaths pile up on Texas border

Best health

RIO GRANDE CITY, Texas — When labor danger signaled that Clarissa Muñoz changed into as soon as somehow going to be a mom, she jumped in a car and headed two hours down the Texas border into even handed one of the nation’s most dire coronavirus sizzling spots.

She went first to a clinic so desperate for support that nurses only within the near previous made 49 mobile phone calls to gain a bed 700 miles away to airlift a death man with the virus. From there, she changed into as soon as taken to a bigger clinic by ambulance. Alongside the skill, she passed a funeral home that most incessantly handles 10 companies and products a month but is up to nine every week. And when she somehow arrived to give beginning, she changed into as soon as blindsided by another complication: A test printed that she too changed into as soon as contaminated.

Hours later, Muñoz changed into as soon as granted perfect about a seconds to keep eyes, but no fingers, on her first born, who changed into as soon as immediate whisked away.

On The US’s southern doorstep, the Rio Grande Valley, the U.S. failure to dangle the pandemic has been laid bare. For practically a month, this borderland of two million of us in South Texas pleaded for a discipline clinic, but no longer until Tuesday changed into as soon as one ready and accepting sufferers. In July alone, Hidalgo County reported more than 600 deaths — more than the Houston notify, which is 5 times higher.

At DHR Well being, even handed one of the greatest hospitals on the border, practically 200 of the 500 beds belong to coronavirus sufferers isolated in two devices. A third unit is within the works. That doesn’t even consist of the COVID-19 maternity ward, the keep mothers and newborns are separated directly.

Scientific doctors and nurses rushed Muñoz’s toddler out of the supply room and down a hallway sealed by a zippered tarp to restrict immoral air. Seven hours later, she quiet did no longer know his weight. Across the motorway, alarms blared repeatedly in a coronavirus intensive-care unit, summoning nurses to roll sufferers onto their stomachs to power more air into their lungs.

“It’s a really, in actuality gruesome feeling,” Muñoz acknowledged of looking out at her son being taken away.

Texas reopened quicker than many of the U.S., only to backpedal within the face of massive outbreaks. Well being officers exclaim the worst of a summer season resurgence appears to be like to be at the aid of the notify as a total, however the border is a bleak exception. Scientific doctors apprehension another punishing wave is around the nook.

This predominantly Hispanic plan is cruelly at possibility of COVID-19. The prevalence of diabetes here is roughly three times the national realistic, and households dangle amongst the bottom incomes in The US, including to the roar of thwarting the virus.

Even the weather has added to the burden. The principle storm of the season barreled over the border two weeks ago. At the beginning, native officers hoped that the storm named Hanna would wash out family gatherings and bar crawls, slowing the spread. In fact, the blueprint knocked out energy to hundreds of homes for days, driving households into closer contact with family whose lights remained on.

Now, acknowledged Maritza Padilla, DHR Well being’s assistant chief nursing officer, there is “no likelihood” of knocking down the plan’s an infection curve.

At the clinic, a television computer screen shows the fight in proper time: Teal rectangles signify occupied clinic beds, and green rectangles are inaugurate beds. The grid is practically all teal. On a whiteboard, “body bags” is scrawled on a checklist of wanted objects.

A Christian reduction charity that opened a coronavirus discipline clinic in Contemporary York’s Central Park visited the border in mid-July with an appreciate in direction of constructing another facility. That by no arrangement panned out, and neither did another notion to send sufferers to resorts. Final week, Republican Gov. Greg Abbott introduced that a Hidalgo County convention heart would turn out to be a clinic.

Local authorities remain pissed off.

“We need the support. Our home is on fire,” Rio Grande City Mayor Joel Villarreal acknowledged. “We’re no less American than other of us in other aspects of the country.”

Martha Torres, a nurse at Starr County Memorial Well being facility, is conscious of about procuring in vain for support. She has spent total shifts calling other ICUs in Texas to accept helicopter transfers out of her 29-bed unit. Some sufferers are sent as a long way-off as Oklahoma City, and few survive after the long flight — leaving households with the burden of getting the bodies aid home.

One entrance to the clinic’s COVID-19 ward resembles an off-the-shelf patio door, the kind sold at mountainous-box hardware retail outlets. Final week, Alex Garcia, 26, visited his father by peering during the exterior window of his room. Every males are pipeline crew.

That identical night, Emily Lopez changed into as soon as making ready for her mother’s funeral only weeks after her aunt died of the virus. The two had been playing bingo together sooner than changing into ill, and two other relatives were also hospitalized. “On this notify, it is no longer a joke. It be life or demise,” she acknowledged.

The COVID-19 maternity ward at DHR Well being is a notify of relative aloof but with its own complications. Among them is the topic of squaring only practices with the realities of South Texas, including guidelines that advocate the mum cease isolated at home and the toddler be positioned within the fingers of another caregiver.

“This is mountainous in Hartford, Connecticut, on memoir of all individuals has a 4,000-square-foot home, the frequent profits is $180,000 and all that. Down here, it is extraordinarily a form of,” acknowledged Dr. Efraim Vela, the clinic’s chief govt physician of ladies’s wisely being. “We’re having complications with that.”

Nearly 15,000 pregnant girls within the U.S. dangle tested sure for the coronavirus, and no longer lower than 35 dangle died, in step with the Facilities for Disease Management and Prevention. Though it is that you just would possibly perchance maybe maybe imagine for a pregnant lady to spread the coronavirus to her fetus, it appears to be like to be quite uncommon.

Muñoz, 25, did no longer know she had the virus when she left her home within the border city of Falcon closing week for her son’s beginning. While she went into labor alone, her husband sat all night within the automobile automobile parking space, barred from coming within.

Very first thing within the morning, he plunked down $100 for a immediate COVID test at a clinic that urged him he wanted an appointment. “I urged them it changed into as soon as an emergency. They weren’t going to let me gather my son out of the clinic except I changed into as soon as detrimental,” acknowledged her husband, Nicolas Garcia.

After the beginning, her son changed into as soon as a mobile phone app away: The clinic lets COVID-sure mothers call the nursery over a video chat. Nurse Ashley Vaughan makes a hiss plight the digital camera so mothers can sight fingers and toes on the call. “This mom will cease on the video chat until the mom falls asleep,” Vaughan acknowledged, pointing to a different bassinet.

She went aid to the opposite toddler. “He’s doing perfect, devoted?” Muñoz requested during the video. Vaughan assured the novel mother that he changed into as soon as honest, and the conversation shifted to when the family would possibly perchance maybe maybe spin home.

“Are you performed? Or cease you should cease on?” Vaughan requested.

Muñoz acknowledged she would spin for now. She took a closing uncover about sooner than placing up.

“I take care of you,” she acknowledged. “Bye.”

———

Linked Press video journalist John L. Mone contributed to this story.

———

Note AP protection of the pandemic at https://ift.tt/2ueWXx8 and https://ift.tt/2wrCaXK.

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[bandbacktogether]

Growing Old Gracefully Is Optional

New Post has been published on https://www.bandbacktogether.com/posts/growing-old-gracefully-is-optional/

Growing Old Gracefully Is Optional

Growing old is optional, growing old gracefully even more so.

My mom did not have it easy in the last 5 years of her life.  Her first problem was with her sciatic nerve, which first caused pain then weakness in her legs and eventually left her dependence on a wheelchair. I tried to keep in mind that she was in pain, scared and unsure during the times when she seemed to be going the extra mile to be as difficult as possible, but I wasn’t always successful.

After my father passed (Mom went just 4 yrs later), my mother became a shut-in.  This was pretty much by choice.  We lived 4.5 hrs apart, I’m an only child and we have no relatives who still speak to us living nearby. She refused to consider moving and her house looked liked something you’d see on “Hoarders,” but that’s yet another story. She wanted to live completely independent of help, especially mine, because this was the first time in her life that she was on her own, so I think she wanted to prove to herself that she could.

Did I mention “shut-in?”

She was defiant, she was determined to be independent and she was lying…I had a 74-year old teenager on my hands.

She ordered food through Amway. She bought her clothes via catalogs. She banked via the mail. She had a few friends who would come over and check on her most days, but the situation was far from ideal. Her mind was not the best, but she was sharp enough to lie to me about anything that didn’t show her situation in the best of lights.

For instance, she never told me about the time she fell and had to call the neighbors to help her up.  She never told me about the time, in a very confused state, she called 911 in the middle of the night because -best I can piece together- she had a dirty diaper and was having trouble changing it herself.  The cops busted the front door open and were not at all pleased to find her in no actual danger.

She did tell me about the time she called 911 for a ride to her doctor’s appointment, only because she felt a grave injustice was being done. Something had happened with her scheduled special needs ride, and she reasoned that if the doctor needed to see her then she needed to take an ambulance. She had received a bill for $700 for that non-emergency ride and didn’t think she should have to pay it. I did talk her into paying the bill, hoping she’d learn her lesson.

I tried mentioning the idea of assisted living, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“They beat you and lock you in your room!” she screamed. Eventually, I convinced her to get some in-home elder care and a woman would come by three times a week for three hours at a time to cook, clean, and run errands for her. Finally, I could get the low-down on her condition from someone who would be honest with me.

This started out well, as Mom enjoyed having someone to talk to and she was now getting fresh, home-cooked meals instead of the packaged crap she ordered via the mail.  But, it didn’t last.  I got a call from the coordinator to tell me my mom was hitting the workers.  She was also being verbally abusive.  At one point, Mom chased a worker out of the house, screaming at her from the front door.

I got emails from a friend of Mom’s who had visited her, only to find her crying hysterically, saying “I hate my life!” and hitting herself in the head. When asked about it the next day, Mom acted surprised and said nothing like that had happened.

Then, Mom came down with a bad cold that required someone to stay with her while she was ill.  The elder care folks were great and worked out schedules so that she was tended 24/7 until she got better. Problem was, despite appearing to hate these helpers, once Mom got better, she didn’t want the 24/7 visitation to end.  In fact, now she was refusing to let them leave. I’d have been fine with the additional help, but we could not afford the $10,000 per month for very long.

I had to talk with Mom and tell her it had to stop. This did not go well, and there were tears, but in the end, she cut back to 1 visitation, 5 days per week.

The pain and weakness in her leg was getting worse, and it was spreading to the other leg.  We talked to a number of doctors, but she didn’t like most of them and liked even less what they had to say.  Finally, after yet another fall that she still would not admit to, she was in the hospital again.  Her doctor convinced her to have back surgery, and at last she agreed.  She was hell on wheels both pre- and post-surgery.  She had a fear of falling that was off the charts.

When the nurses tried to move her in the bed, or, heaven forbid, try to get her to stand up, she’d scream. I’m talking hear-her-down-the-hallway screaming.  I’d leave the room and stand outside biting back tears whenever anyone tried to work with her.

When she was well enough to leave the hospital, she went to a rehab facility to help her get back on her feet as much as possible. It was there that some medical genius, who I’d kiss on the lips today, put her on anti-depressants (yeah, I know, “what took so freakin’ long?!” – she refused them before because she didn’t want to “take dope”).  Mom became a bit more reasonable and a little easier to deal with.  More like heck-on-wheels.  When I asked her why they put her on the happy pills, she said “so I’d stop screaming.”

Hallelujah!

During rehab, her doctor spoke with me, informing me that she could not live on her own. Preaching to the choir, sir. So, through hook, crook and threats of Adult Protective services, I got her to agree to move “temporarily” to an Assisted Living facility near me.  I found a really nice place a mile from my home and they assured me that the beatings would be kept to a minimum. (Joke!)

We moved some of her favorite things up and set up her two-room apartment to look really nice and homey. When she got out of the hospital we drove her straight to her new home.  Despite hearing how horrible it was, we watched her start to enjoy life again.  She was making friends and playing Bingo every day.  God forbid you came by during Bingo hours, only did THAT once.

Mom *loved* the call buzzer and actually wore the one by her bed out, because she used it so much.  She still managed to keep things lively.  I got a call from her one Easter morning, telling me she couldn’t move her leg and perhaps she had had a stroke. “Should I go to the hospital?”  Well, the normal answer would be “Hell YES!” but I had learned to ask.  “Why didn’t the nurse call the ambulance for you?” I ask. Mom said that they wanted her to check with me first.  None of this was adding up, so I told her I’d be right over.  When I got there she was wheeling around her room, fully dressed and looking fine.  I asked which leg it was that she could not move.  “This one!” she said, bouncing the leg up and down.

Her behavior continued to become more erratic, and I got a call that I never thought I’d get.  Mom was flashing her boobs at the male help and at some poor, unsuspecting wheelchair repairman.  Oy.  A doctor was brought in and a diagnosis of dementia was made.  This only pissed her off.  She accused the facility and the doctor of telling horrible lies about her. “I’d never do that!” she yelled.

In the end it really was a stroke that took her.  The weekend of Thanksgiving she had a massive stroke affecting half of her brain.  She had her 78th birthday in the hospital, but was not aware enough to know it and she passed just a few days before Christmas.

I’m still working on cleaning out the house, but it is getting close to being done.  I avoid driving by the assisted living place, still too many bad memories. I can laugh about Mom flashing the help. It’s two years later and I’m finally getting to the point that I don’t jump when the phone rings.

Growing old gracefully is optional, for sure.

[bondedbrotherhood-blog]

Here and with Shadows - by Zera

Zera: It was a dark, and dreary Tuesday…

Original way to start one of these, isn’t it?

I tell you, if people spent less time worrying about the state of the weather and trying to wax lyrical, then maybe the race wouldn’t be in so much trauma and distress. I know, I know, in Shakespearean terms, describing the ferocity of the winds, and the rain, and all the goings on outside a dwelling set the scene beautifully and gave a sense of impending turmoil, but to be honest, my life really hasn’t been that bad.

I may have lost my mahmen before I even had a chance to know her, but my father has been a wonderful role model and support. I may never be the girliest girl you’ll ever find, but I do know my way around the basics, and what I lack in sculpted and subterfugios femininity, I make up for in other ways.

And you can get your mind right out of the gutter; I’m not talking about my prowess between the sheets. Or against the wall. Or under water. Or in the car. Or… well, I’m sure you catch my drift.

My father had no idea how to raise a girl, but I will always love the fact that regardless of his inexperience, he didn’t try to put me on some unattainable pedestal. He used what he knew, and the both of us ran with it full tilt into the great beyond. Like many civilian families, we didn’t have a swell of money to rely on to keep us afloat. Instead, my father had ventured out into the human world, trying to find a place to carve out his own living. He found it in something useful: the provision of sports and recreational gear.

What started out as a small afterhours business had flourished to a budding success by the time I was born, and I spent many hours in the store as I grew up. By then he had a day manager and several staff, all of which were more than happy to let him pull the long nights; they never thought to question why. They just believed he was a good boss, allowing them to go home to their families.

Technically, it wasn’t just my childhood that I spent in the store; I spend a hell of a lot in them now too, but that’s because I manage it for him. In the past few years we’ve expanded: what started out as a Ma and Pa store now includes a number of abseiling walls, a gym equipped with weights and rooms for classes, an enclosed shooting range, and I’m pretty sure he wants to look at putting in a pool. Why, I don’t know. But it’s his baby, and I won’t stand in the way of him getting what he wants. He deserves it, after his only daughter caused the death of his beloved Cecilya.

The violence of the birthing bed left her too weak after she brought me screaming into this world, but not once has he ever held it against me. He tells me I have her fire, and her beauty. All I know is I have her eyes and his technical skill with a weapon.

From the time I was old enough to understand right, and wrong, my father let me take karate with the instructor at the gym. I was the only girl in the class, of course, but that didn’t stop me trying to whoop the boys. The fact that they believed they could beat me just because I was a girl made my stubborn ass want to be faster, stronger. It worked, too. As I climbed through the belts, I don’t think I’ve seen my father prouder. Well, except for when I started throwing in a little MMA, and when I took down my first deer.

I think I was maybe 17, and my father had taken me off on a hunting trip. For years I’d wanted to go with him, but he’d always left me behind with one of the staff. Doting father that he was, he didn’t want to leave me alone in the house; female vampires are precious gifts, after all. We’d been doing day trips out into the farmlands since I was 15, just shooting cans and paper targets. But it wasn’t the same as having to measure the wind and account for movement, like when you were shooting at something that was likely to bolt if the wind changed and carried your scent in its direction.

It was exhilarating, even if it took four days before I was confident enough to take down my first.

His pale green eyes had shone until they were practically luminous, and I grinned so hard I thought my cheeks would crack. Since then we’ve gone a couple of times a year together, though he still goes off on his own too, while I watch the shop. I think he likes the solitude. It gives him a place to think, some time to just… be, away from the responsibility of being a business owner. I don’t blame him, though it saddens me a little that he hasn’t found someone else, that he closed off the part of himself that could love another woman the way he had his Cecilya.

And yet, I know there’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is try and make his life a little easier, while I try to make sure I don’t lose who I could become in the process.

I still take classes at our gym; I run the karate program for the kids at night, and train with an MMA instructor into the early hours. I’ve started branching out there too, bringing in blades and blunt instruments to widen my range.

I consistently have some of the highest scores on our gun range. I even came up with a monthly game of BINGO. They’d scoffed at first, but when they realised there was money and beer to be won, they came around.

I’ve knocked out more idiot thugs than I need to remember; whether it was because they were new hotheads at the gym that needed reminding that a female can be just as strong as them, or on the rare occasion I graced the clubs on Trade Street, because they patted my ass just one time too many without an invitation.

But I’m growing restless. As much as I love my father, and the business I’ve helped to cultivate, I want something more out of life. The race is fading, dying at the hands of that scourge, the Lessening Society, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without contributing. I’ll never be the kind of female that works well in a nursing setting; I just don’t have the temperament needed for the right design of bedside manner. I’d be too hard, too coarse; don’t get me wrong, I can be sweet, and charming most of the time, but my tolerance for bullshit is pretty low.

Let’s just hope that all holds in my favour.

Because I want to apply to be a Trainee.

*****

The sound of cloth wrapped fists hitting the heavy hanging bag barely greeted my ears as hip hop music blared hot and heavy through the speakers of the gym. I’d clocked off and closed down the retail side of our establishment a little over an hour earlier, and at this time of night, only the young and the motivated were here. So in actual fact, it was only me. Even if I did have company, they generally didn’t mind my music choice, and if they did, they didn’t mention it.

The shooting range and abseiling walls were done for the evening too, leaving me and a skeleton crew of one other to monitor reception. While the average 24-hour gym leaves their desk unattended during the graveyard shift, trusting their patrons with secure keys, we didn’t take that luxury. The vampire in us made us cautious, and so instead, either my father or I was here at night.

Increasingly, I found it was me that pulled the graveyard shifts, but that was more a symptom of me wanting to train and give him a break, than anything on his part.

Breathing in short bursts through my lips with each fall of my fist against the heavy fabric, I let my body twist and contort naturally with my movements. As the music swept over me, I started to include the rest of my body, throwing elbows, and knees, and kicks as distance, rhythm, and the sway of the bag dictated. I grit my teeth as I threw my weight into each assault, sweat beading on my skin as the bag began to test its counterweight in the ceiling.

My father would kill me if I pulled any more plater out, so I eased back and away from it as I thought about whether it was time for my cool down.

“Damn, Zed. What’d that bag ever do to you?” the sound of Jacob’s voice, one of our regulars, causing a broad grin to curve across my lips before I turned to him with a serious expression.

“What didn’t it do? It was just standing there, giving me the glad eye,” shaking out my arms and cracking my neck. Here, in the human word, I’m known as Zeraphina Davidoff, so while those of the race call me ‘Zera’, the human’s call me ‘Zed’. It’s kind of cute, really; while my personality didn’t change, it gave me some strange sense of security, knowing the human’s wouldn’t piece together what I really was.

I never went full out at the gym unless I was alone; the less questions that were asked the better, and I hated having to scrub their memories. You had no idea what it was you could be erasing, so I mitigated the risk by moderating myself. I’d heard of vampire only gyms that had been opened in the more industrialised areas of Caldwell, but there were other risks associated with being a female vampire, alone, in any vicinity that could be traced directly to our kind.

The Lessening Society was a constant concern, so the less time I spent in murders of vampires was probably a smart move. It was one of the reasons I didn’t hit Trade with the others; the Society stalked the clubs, picking off civilians like we were sport.

It made me want to clench my jaw so hard my teeth would crack.

“Earth to Zed. Come in, Zed?”

The sound of Jacob’s voice had me snapping out of my reverie, and I finally gave him a wry smile. “Sorry. It’s that time of the night again. Josh still out on the desk?” walking the few paces I needed to and scooping up my towel.

“Yeah. But seeing as it was just you in here, I’m pretty sure he’s spending most of his time on Tinder,” to which all I could do was snort.

“You’re here late,” I commented, and he raised his shoulders in a slight shrug.

“There’s no rest for the wicked Zed, you know that.”

Oh didn’t I just.

“You’re preaching to the choir there, Jay,” slinging the towel around my shoulders, holding an end in each hand after I dabbed at my face and chest.

“Is that why you’re always here until the early hours of the morning? Trying not to be bad?”

A dark chuckle escaped past my lips. He wasn’t trying to be flirty, which was a good thing for him, because if he had, he would have earned a severe look from me. “You really don’t want to know why I’m here,” releasing the towel and turning so I could drop it on top of my workout bag. As I turned back to him I pushed my hands back through my hair to slick it down, cracking my neck as I let them fall away from short, dark locks.

“Man trouble?” which of course just made me snort.

“C’mon. When are men not trouble? Besides, I don’t date,” leaning down to pick up my stuff and sling the long strap of my bag over my shoulder. I always kept it with me when I trained. Paranoid? Possibly. Practical? Always.

“You’re missing out, you know,” I heard him call as I headed for the door of one of the training rooms.

“Nah, you see Jay, what guy could keep up with all of this?” which just had him snorting a laugh as I kicked through into the bare room; thick black matting its only adornment.

What guy indeed.

Dropping my bag in the corner, I knelt down and slipped two Gurkha blades from my knapsack. I’d spent enough time working on my musculature. Now… now it was time to play with blades. Tomorrow would be the bow staff. The day after throwing knives. It was taking some time, but I was getting used to them. I’d been toying with the idea of buying a naginata, but there were only so many bladed weapons you could purchase without people starting to ask questions.

Breathing calmly, I rolled my wrists and subsequently the weapons I grasped loosely in my hands,

I needed to find a leather maker in town to make a custom holster for me.

Something to add to my to do list.

And with that, I lost myself to the hip hop that beat out at me through the speakers, its momentum blending with mine as I wielded the razor sharp blades with measured confidence. To be afraid of them left you liable to be sliced through; being over-confident or cocky left you with the same result. So as I turned, and curved, and thrust, I imagined it was a body that was in front of me; an invisible shadow partner that forced me to be strong, to be fast, to be accurate. I tried not to leave myself exposed as it returned every joust.

With each set of combinations I worked through, I grew more fierce, more focused. Other aspects of my training started to shine through. I threw kicks, and bobbed and weaved, slicing upwards or across through vulnerable skin. As my session drew to a close, my body wasn’t just misted with sweat; my muscles ached, and a low throb had begun to build beneath my temples.

That’s what concentrating too hard for too long will do to you.

As I twirled the blades around cloth wrapped palms, I took another shuddering breath, sending a side eye to the door as I heard a slow clap reverberate throughout the room.

“Damn, Zed. Remind me not to piss you off.”

I smiled.

At least I wasn’t showing fang.

Here and with Shadows - written by Zera.