#she has a harness for walks but shes very slow so in the yard so we just hover over her

[despazito]

Noble creature having supervised yard time

[enkays-den]

Skizz Week 2, Day 7: Free Day!

Thank you @skizzlemanweek for hosting this, I wasn't writing for the fandom when the first one happened, so I'm glad I was able to participate this time! Spending this week writing has been really good to stretch my writing chops, and to write characters and dynamics I haven't reached yet in Bid Me, Do Anything For Thee

Speaking of.... since this is a free day, I'm giving you an excerpt of Chapter 10!

1.3k words, warning: Imp and Skizz are not friends :(

Here's the AO3 link if you want to leave kudos and comments or read my other stuff!

There was a knock on the door, startling Impulse. 

“Uh, you can come in.”

Skizz cracked open the door. “Do you want to walk dogs with me?”

“Uh, all of them?”

“Yeah, I figured you should take Mickey and Peanut since they like you the most. I can take the hellions.”

“Umm… Okay. I’m okay to leave now if you are, I guess.”

“Cool beans.”

Impulse followed him downstairs, where Skizz handed him two leashes. Then, he called out, “Bubbas! Time for a walk!” His voice dipped up and down comically, startling Impulse a bit.

 Huh, even this guy has a dog voice.

The impending stampede of dogs was preceded by the sound of paws scrabbling, then they started filing into the mudroom. Skizz started to manhandle Buster so he could get his harness on, struggling with the large dog. Impulse put a hand on the dog’s back to hold him steady.

“Thanks,” Skizz said, fastening the buckles around his chest.

One by one, they got dogs attached to their person. Mickey was not breaking tradition as the most polite of the dogs, sitting calmly by the door leading back to the hallway. Peanut was sniffing his shoes, but otherwise fine. Skizz on the other hand, seemed resigned to keeping the three most hyper of the dogs under his care.

Finally, Impulse summoned Deckard with the usual whistle. The weeks at the MDI had conditioned Deckard well, the dog standing alert and patient as Impulse got his leash on.

Skizz was already outside, Vivi, Bubba, and Buster circling around him and determined to get their leashes tangled before they’d even left the property.

Without a word, Skizz led the way around the house and onto the sidewalk, Buster taking the lead.

Impulse trailed behind, Mickey on one hand, Deckard and Peanut on the other. The three-legged dog skipped happily alongside Deckard, who was walking in stride with Impulse. Mickey walked at a slow pace, easily keeping up with her long legs. 

A few feet ahead, Skizz had gotten a decent amount of control over his dogs. Buster and Bubba were trying their best to lead he tall man around, but were held tight by their leashes. Vivi was at their heels, bouncing from side to side and undecided whether she wanted to follow one or the other.

“How long will we be walking them for?” Impulse asked. 

“I usually take them out for half an hour, there’s an off-leash park about ten minutes past my usual loop point that I can show you tomorrow.” Skizz talked over his shoulder, not looking back at Impulse.

“Okay. Do you walk them in groups or all at once?”

Skizz scoffed. “No, I either have someone that’ll come and help me walk, or I just let them run around the yard until they pass out. All they need is a ball and they just tire themselves out after a while. That’s my routine most days, but I will take advantage of having an experienced dog owner around very gladly.”

“It’s no problem.” God, I hate small talk.

They continued walking around the neighborhood in silence. At least the evening weather was nice, and the dogs he had were behaving.

Just as they approached a four-way stop, a deep-ish voice called out. “Yo, Skizz!”

From the front porch of a bungalow duplex, a large man was waving. He seemed like he was a few inches taller than Impulse, with a similar frame. He had a light brown beard and short, curly hair with a flash of bright blue running along the top.

He walked over to meet Skizz at the gate. “Haven’t seen you in a while man, how are you?”

“‘Sup, man! Work’s been a bit crazy lately, I’ve mainly been at work playing catch-up.” Skizz smiled bashfully.

Impulse did his best not to stare. The man had taken on an entirely different persona to the one Impulse had known so far. His shoulders were slumped slightly downwards and he was slouching so he looked a little shorter.

“I know that feeling, dude,” they replied. “And who’s that walking the rest of the pack?”

“Oh, that’s Impulse. He’s my new housemate! Just showing him around the area, letting the dogs relax around him.” One would almost think from his tone of voice that the other man was genuinely happy he was there instead of completely apathetic.

Impulse looked up, putting a smile on. “Hi. I’d wave, but I kind of have my hands full.”

The man laughed. “No problem, I’ve seen this bunch tear down the street, so you keep doing that. My name’s Jevin.”

“Nice to meet you.” Impulse gave the man a nod before busying himself with Vivi and Bubba’s leashes, which the two dogs had gotten into quite the mess. It gave him a reason to not stumble through more dialogue with the man while also being able to listen to the conversation him and Skizz were having.

“Work’s doing well for me too, although in a few weeks painting season will be over and gutter season begins. Can’t complain, though, it’s good money.”

“If you’re only working one job, it must be good money,” Skizz said amiably. 

Is this the real guy or is the agent the real person?

They spoke for a little longer, Impulse  dissociating until he heard Skizz wrapping up the conversation. “Alright, man. I need to talk to you about the door on my garage, but we should get home and eat, it’s been a long-ass day.”

“No prob, man. You can always just slip a note under my door and I’ll ring you up.”

“Alright buddy, see you later.”

Skizz pulled the dogs’ leashes and started walking back the way they came.

Impulse followed in his footsteps, thinking about how different a personality Skizz had donned in front of someone else. He hadn’t known Skizz that long, but the change had seemed startlingly radical and fast. He was no stranger to code-switching, as his therapist called it, but never such an obvious switch with no idea who the real identity was. For Impulse, that act took time to trigger and exhausted him. 

Now, Agent Skizz had returned. Impulse couldn’t see his face, but he could envision that analytic stare in his mind, sweeping the area.

”How do you describe your job to other people?" He asked, trying to not say anything outright.

Skizz luckily caught his meaning and didn’t skip a beat. “Corporate event planning. Charity balls, expos, parties.” He slowed his walking pace and spoke at a lower volume. “By the way, you should keep whatever story you tell others straight and let me know what’s what.”

“I don’t think I’ll be talking to many people,” Impulse muttered.

“You’ve already spoken to Jevin,” the man pointed out. “It’s easier to get those lying ducks in a row right off the bat instead of consolidating a bunch of mismatched statements. You never know who’s talking to who.”

Easier said than done. Impulse was a bad liar and he knew it. Perhaps it came hand in hand with his candid nature, perhaps it was just another way his anxiety reared its ugly head.

He chose to stay silent for the rest of the walk, not having a single clue what he could talk to the other man about. Did he even want to build a rapport with him? Probably not. Agent Skizz put the civilian face on for the sake of maintaining cover, but didn’t seem bothered to say friendly at work. Joe, Zed, and Tango showed that the MDI wasn’t strict about employee etiquette, so if Skizz wanted to be friendly, he could be.

They arrived back at the house, and Skizz handed him Vivi, placing the dog directly into Impulse’s arms. “You can let the others loose in the house, I’m gonna stay outside and let the B-Boys tucker themselves out.”

Impulse nodded, slightly relieved they wouldn’t be entering the house at the same time. Something about Skizz just didn’t sit right with him, and he wasn’t willing to observe him long enough to figure out what it was.

[luninosity]

What is your secrets to have/had cats that live a long healthy life? Like foods, environment, etc. Did they all spayed/neutered, had their vaccines, annual health exams for seniors? I have 14 yo cat and i want her to be with me as long and as healthy as possible. Thank you

That's pretty much what it is, yep! :-)

Our kitties (ours now, and my parents' cats that I grew up with) have always been indoor cats (sometimes, under supervision, they can go in the backyard - fenced-in-yard - on a leash and harness; one of my parents' cats will ride in a stroller when they go for long walks, but the others get too stressed!). They're all spayed or neutered, they have all their shots, they get annual vet visits (more often if there's something that looks worrying, like when we thought Merlyn was losing weight, and she was!) and kitten or senior care (food, meds) as needed.

We try to do a lot of playtime (it naturally slows down as they age, but we want to keep them active) and keep them engaged - Merlyn likes to run and chase, so we have a lot of strings, feathers on sticks, wiggly things she can hunt! Sir Percival liked more pounce-and-kick-and-eviscerate play. :-)

We have a lot of treats, especially as they get older - especially Merlyn, right now, as she puts back on some weight! She's also very picky about variety of flavors (and senior cats need stronger flavors, as their taste buds dull a little) - she likes most things, but she gets bored, so we have to switch flavors of food! She gets wet food because it's better hydration, which is important as they get older - she has a little bowl of dry food too, but she doesn't actually like dry food all that much, so she'll really only eat it if we've both been gone most of the day and she's hungry!

I know we're lucky in that we have enough income that, when the vet says, "she needs this medication," we can say, "okay, let's do that" - not everyone can! (And honestly there's probably an upper limit, we're not, like, rich...but...we would do everything we reasonably could, and we would adjust a people-food budget to save money if we had to.) (As a pre-teen, like eleven or so, I once sat right there and watched my dad spend over $5k in one night, at one vet emergency care hospital, trying to save one of their rescues who had an out-of-the-blue, completely unpredictable, heart attack at four years old. He told them to try everything and not worry about the cost. And then he worked three overtime shifts later at his job. Which tells you a lot about my parents and their attitude toward their cats...)

I suspect we're also lucky that we both have some applicable skills - Awesome Husband is a doctor's kid and knows a lot about various medications and isn't afraid to get messy (say, if something causes diarrhea), and my mom worked as a vet tech for a few years - some of their rescue cats have been little enough that she's bottle-fed them, raised them, all of that. And I used to be a lifeguard (with applicable first-aid, including animal CPR, training and such) and I'm not at all bothered by needles - so between us we were fine doing things like giving Percy fluid injections at home, when his kidneys got so bad.

So I guess that last piece of advice is...if that's something that might come up, with an elderly kitty, maybe practice things like injections in case you need to?

But it sounds like you are an awesome Cat Parent already, given the question! <3 And Miss Merlyn says hi to your kitty, too!

[troublesjunkyard]

So I technically had my first day of work? I was there from 9:00 - 11:40 But they had me get my fingerprint scanned so I could clock in/out and had me go over all the guidelines. The manager then sent me home and said she would text me my schedule.

I almost was late too. I got halfway down the second street when I realized I had forgotten a piece of paper that I needed, so I had to turn back. After grabbing the paper, I walked out the door and went to close it when Amicus ran out the door. (He is not a runner, he just likes to be outside w/ me.) I tried to pick him up, but he laid down, and because I was trying to get him inside as fast as possible, I was holding the screen door open.

That was a mistake. As soon as I got Amicus inside, Chaos ran out and he was too fast so I couldn't grab ahold of his harness. So I then had to wrangle him. (We aren't sure if he's a runner or not.) Chaos made it outside and was like "WooHoo! I'm outside in the front yard! Let's run around in circles before doing zigzags!" (Luckily he didn't run out of our yard.) After finally catching Chaos and putting him inside, I was able to shut and lock the door.

So that was very stressful. Both Amicus and Chaos chose the one day that I needed to leave and not be late so I had a job, to fuck up my day.

THIS IS NOT SOMETHING THEY NORMALLY DO! Amicus is very good at listening and usually stays inside until I give him the okay to come out. And Chaos has been learning to stay when you say stay.

...

They could have done this any other day. But they chose today to do it.

Probably because I left, and that would have been the first time I have left (without leaving with my mom right next to me) with my mom already gone (and leaving them all alone.) So when I came back and tried to leave again, they were like "Okay guys, operation 'Keep Dakota here with us all day like normal' is a go!"

Oh yeah, I don't have a car nor a driver's license or even a permit, so I had to walk. The McDonald's was 16 minutes away. (In walking distance to our house.)

I left at 8:32 and realized I forgot the paper and turned back at 8:34. I left the house the second time (after wrangling the dogs) at 8:38.

Sure that is enough time. There are easily more than 16 minutes from 8:38 - 9:00. But you also have to factor in traffic.

I have to cross a not-very-busy street (most of the time) to get to the hospital parking lot. I then take the H p-l into the Braum's (a fast food place) p-l (fast food parking lot means watch out for cars.) I then have to take B p-l to the main street. I have to wait for the crosswalk to be safe to cross, cross, then I have to wait again to cross to the other side. (I have to cross twice to get two the McD.)

So I made it to the McD at 9:00 on the dot. If I had left any later, I would have been late.

Luckily, I know the route very well since I take the same route to get home from school if I walk.

I pass by the McD, cross the street, cross the street again, walk through the B p-l into the H p-l, walk through the H p-l to the side road, cross the side road to get to the neighborhood roads and then travel down the neighborhood street to get to my street and to my house.

So I at least had familiarity with the route so I wasn't slowed down even more by being unsure if I was going the right way.

...

"When life gives you lemons" make extra sour lemonade so you can throw it into the eyes of your enemies.

Or something along those lines.

(ˉ▽ˉ；)... so much text- sorry I had to read it three times.

Damn... what a day... But at least you made it hooray!

I hope it will go well for you (*^▽^*)

I had my last work day today, so I've got some free days now, yay!

[joonkorre]

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared. 

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been. 

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up. 

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind. 

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two). 

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

[fuckyeahfightlock]

I would love an update on Ray "Crazy Ears" Bork! :)

Ray BORK! (aka RayRay, Ray el Rey, RayGun von Borkatron) is about 97% perfect, as 16ish week old puppies go.

First of all, he is my first puppy (we got Ollie when she was about 4), and he will definitely be my last. Mostly because he does not know where to put his poop, and I. Have. Had it. I changed diapers every day for FIFTEEN YEARS. I signed up for the minimum of dog clean-up when I got a dog, yes, that's fine and I accept it, but I'm completely over being constantly over-involved with pottying/potty training. Ray's like, Yeah, No, I'll hold it 'til we go back inside, then sneak away for ten seconds to ruin another rug. Potty training score is a D-. It's way easier with children, at least it was for me.

Also, I did not appreciate enough just how little his big sis barks. She is a very non-barky dog. He never stops, and he is loud, and I am deaf and on edge. His bark is knife-shaped and fits precisely in my ear drum. We are working on the "quiet" command but he has selective hearing. Quiet while waiting for food. Barks to invite play with Ollie, which he does endlessly because puppies like to play. Bright side: at least I don't have to play with him much. 10/10 recommend only getting puppy if you have older dog to run interference.

He was about 5lbs when we got him on 20 May. Two weeks later he was 11 lbs. Yesterday at his 16 wk vet check he was 19 lbs. He's gonna be a BIG boy. Which is fine; we like sturdy dogs. Have a feeling he will be tall and sleek (greyhoundish?) rather than vaguely tank-shaped like Ollie (American Staffy/boxer). He likes fetch because Ball is Life. Also likes tug. Requires a slow-bowl or puzzle because he eats like there will never again be food.

Put a pad in his crate this week as he has finally earned bedding by proving he won't destroy it, and he willingly/independently goes in there now to nap, which is progress--up to now all time in the crate not involving a meal is accompanied by scream-barking, crying, and jumping. Hopefully crate training will lead to potty training; the vet said so and it makes sense.

He is afraid of cars so won't go on walks outside our back yard. We'll work on that. Also very anxious riding in the car; I have never seen so much drool in my life. He likes squeaky toys, could take or leave peanut butter.

His ears do give me life, though. According to some of the Guam-based folk in the Boonie Flight Project facebook group for our "flight crew" of 5/15/21, boonies take a while to figure out their final ear arrangement, and have "the most mobile, busy ears I've seen on any dog". I think Ray's will end up upright and bunny-like, but time will tell.

He outgrew two harnesses (size xs and size s) in six weeks and can finally wear just a collar. Still drags a leash everywhere so we can catch him if he runs or we need to rush him outside (for the pottying he won't do out there).

He defaults to a sit when at rest; Ollie always, always stands when she is not lying down. I think this means he is less high-strung than her (hanging loose island style!). His belly button is prominent enough to notice! I didn't know dogs' belly buttons were even findable.

That's enough about him.

[ghost-at-the-masquerade]

Taking the Day Off

Rated T, 3,724 words

Summary: Link and Riju have a (mostly) fun day out

A/N: This is not shippy and you are not welcome to read it as such

Stinging sand pelts any bit of exposed skin it can find and sings off their golden shinguards. Scorching desert air whips past their face, hot even with the shield of cooling magic drifting down from their headband.

Ahead of them, Riju’s hair whips wild and free. She laughs and lifts her fingertips into the air like she’s skimming them over the surface of a pond. No crown or jewelry today, just long, baggy clothes in brilliant red, purple and gold.

The two are headed northwest, out from the shadow of the city. Nowhere to go and no one to answer to. Riju guides them past the dangers of the desert with ease, even with its landmarks few and far between. Weaving between pillars on their way toward the ruins, slowing her breakneck pace only to regale them with the the names and glories of the weathered statues they passed.

Grand, statuesque heroines and goddesses uncommon to the mainland. Resonu, conquerer of sandstorms, who tricked the wind into hiding their secrets; Sabis, the goddess who cleaved the stone of the valley and allowed the Gerudo into the rest of Hyrule.

Link studies their crumbling faces and missing weapons, and they have to ask, “But why are they in such a state…?”

“It’s a kind of… symbolic thing. Allowing them to return to the land, in their own time.”

Still, the concern didn’t quite all fall away at first.

“Don’t worry, they’re not forgotten - statues are not how we record history.” She laughed and hurried Patricia along once again.

They reach the depths of the ruins, sheltered by the bleached bones of ancient things and the shadow of the highland.

“We believe they’re a migrant cousin of the Dodongo,” Riju says, running a reverent hand over one massive vertebrae, “native to Death Mountain and speculated to have a cousin in Hebra as well.

Their gut clenched at the very idea of something that big ever lurking in the sand, like the molduga. “What happened to them?”

“Of course the obvious answer is that they died off, but some of our scholars think they may have shrunk instead, as they moved out deeper into the desert.”

“Shrunk?” They signed with a laugh, one which Riju echoed.

“Yes, well, maybe that’s not the way to put it. If Hebra has anything in common with a volcano, it’s mineral-rich stone. But they wouldn’t have that here. So they became smaller to compensate the lack of food.”

“Why not just move back?”

She shrugged, “The ways of beasts are never truly known.”

At last they slowed to a stop under the watchful eye of a stone swordswoman. Unhooking from their mounts, they stuck their shields upright in the sand. Stepping up onto the hot sandstone of her base, they sat together in her shadow.

Riju stuck her canteen upright in the sand in front of her and pulled a bag from her hip, untying it and laying the cloth out on her lap. Inside lay her midday meal, for which she had packed a small spread of cooked meats, seared veggies and sweet wild berries.

Link pointed to the berries and asked, “Dalia’s garden?” before turning to dig through their own pouch, feeling through its endless depths for the right pocket.

“Yes, she was very excited for her first harvest and insisted I should have some. I still don’t know how she gets them to grow here, they rarely even survive the trip from the bazaar.” She says, biting into one in earnest. She spoke through a shameless mouthful,  “They were my favorite as a child.”

They laughed softly and considered telling her she still was one, but thought better of it. Instead they pulled a hydromelon from their pouch, setting it between their feet. They drew a guardian sword with a bit of flourish, halving the melon with a satisfying ‘chunk’. Juice seeped down and disappeared into the sand. Link offered half to Riju, who tossed it to her seal. Patricia barked happily at the treat.

Flicking the juice from the blade, they put it away, returning the two to companionable silence as they watched the shimmering distance and the slow progression of shadows across the sands. Every now and again, a hot desert breeze flapped a bit of cloth or hair, a quiet third companion while they ate.

When she was done, Riju used a bit of her water to wash her hands of the berry juice. She dried them with the cloth that had held her lunch before securing it to her belt again, then stood and stretched her legs, watching Link with a lopsided smile as they opted instead to suck their fingers clean.

“That’s rather childish.”

“Says you.” They puffed out their cheeks and pointed at her, poking fun at her lack of manners earlier.

She gave a good-natured huff and didn’t respond further, tapping her foot.

They laughed, rising and prying both of their shields from the sand, handing Riju hers.

Riju called the seals, who had been playing and chasing each other just a little ways away. Clipping in, they were off again, headed further west after deciding it best to steer clear of the old Yiga base, even if it had been abandoned. Far enough to clear the boneyard before swerving south, staying far from the stone cliff that marked a known molduga nest. A dust cloud could be seen on the horizon.

The distant nest disappeared behind a dune and small clusters of cacti came into view. Link slowed their seal, dropping behind a few yards and pulling an ornate golden bow from their back. They nocked an arrow and let fly as they passed a row of cacti, piercing one of the fruits, the momentum ripping it from its root and sending it flying. They grabbed the arrow by the shaft as they passed, jerking it free and frowning at the sand caked into the juice that had leaked out.

Riju laughed at them as they caught up. “Watch this.” She said, and she called to Patricia, veering hard to the right, up a steep dune. She crested the mound and jumped, snagging one of the fruits mid-air.

She swerved lazily, proudly back and forth as she rejoined them.

“Not bad.”

“At least you can eat this one.” She said, tossing it to them.

They put both it and the one they had attempted to clean away before signing, “I think you can do better.”

“Oh do you?” She said, and when they nodded she continued, “I might have another trick up my sleeve.”

Before they could even goad her, she was moving fast up the next large dune and Link had to hurry to see what she would do next.

Riju launched herself sidelong into the air, snapping up her line so that she unhooked herself from Patricia, doing a quick spin. Amazingly, she stuck the landing, but failed to snap back into Patricia’s harness and the momentum left her spiraling into a face-full of sand.

When Link slowed to a stop beside her, she popped up on her hands and knees, smiling, “It actually almost worked! That’s the closest I’ve ever gotten!”

Link laughed and cheered, offering her a hand up. “Very impressive. But no fruit.”

She stuck her tongue out and kicked a bit of sand in their direction before walking back over to Patricia. Link just laughed again while they waited for her.

There wasn’t time to turn and see. And even if there had been, there wouldn’t have been time to run. The sand beneath them burst open, exploding upward in a great shower of earth and taking Link with it, while Riju was thrown aside.

Time slowed for a split second at the crest of her flight, hung sideways in the air while she tried to make sense of anything that was happening. Then Riju landed, hard, rolling only a few precious feet away. She whipped her aching head up and watched, wide-eyed, horrified as Link was snapped up in the mighty jaws of the molduga with a wet crack. The line severed, their terrified seal dropped back to the sand, where it bolted for the safety of town.

Riju scrambled away, the sand swelling as the beast returned to the depths and sent her tumbling head over heels. Faithful Patricia met her where she fell and Riju grabbed the harness, letting herself be dragged away.

There was little else but desert around her now - the empty expanse between the ruins and the uninhabitable. She urged Patricia back the way they had come, toward the ruins, as she could feel the beast rumbling somewhere below, following them and gaining speed. Her heart raced, her breathing came through clenched teeth, her legs stinging with pins and needles.

In what felt like just the nick of time, Patricia threw herself onto another square of sandstone, taking Riju with her. Girl and seal huddle together beneath the statue, Riju’s fingers balled in Patricia’s mane. For long moments, she hears nothing but her own pulse in her ears. The molduga’s trail stops just a few yards behind them.

This is not a known nest. The earth here is too hard, too uneven, too cool for an adult to move through. Though judging from the size of the trail it left, that was just it; it was a juvenile, more reckless and less predictable than its elders.

With that perspective on her situation, Riju surveyed the area, judging the distance between rocks, wondering if there was any way they could move between them fast enough, wondering how long and how far it would follow, wondering if she could ever get out. She pulled the sword from her hip, held it tight in a shaking fist. She could defend herself - but a sword was almost nothing against the tough hide of a molduga, even a young one. There was a system to taking one down, one she knew but had no tools for.

Even as she thought of her own survival, her final glimpse of her friend in the jaws flashed before her eyes. She whispers a prayer for them, but cannot bring herself to close her watering eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat as the thing’s shovel-jaw breaks the surface once more. Thrashing and squealing, plumes of dark smoke escaping with every cry. She dares not hope - but then there they are. There’s hardly a patch on them not bloodied, but they’re there, still moving, hands and feet braced precariously between jagged teeth, whole body shaking with the effort to keep the jaws from coming down. Riju jerks up onto one knee, but her legs give out under the weight of fear and helplessness. Even from here she can hear Link’s ragged, frightened breathing.

She blinks and the molduga’s mouth had snapped shut, but somehow, Link is on the other side, thrown out on the sand on their stomach. Her own voice sounds distance in her ears as she calls out to Patricia.

Staying as low to the ground as she can, she has Patricia whip her out in a sharp u-turn, just close enough to snag Link under the arms. There’s not a second to spare while the beast recovers, spewing the last of the smoke. She grits her teeth and has to adjust her footing, but she can manage the weight. The three tumble onto the stone in another heap. Somewhere behind them, the enraged molduga burrows.

Riju’s hearing comes back into sharp focus, wide eyes darting over her fallen friend as she pulls back from them. There’s too much, it’s too much, says the static in her brain as she scrabbles for their pouch, for whatever hope it might hold.

She stops when suddenly there’s a soft blue light that grows in strength. A thousand-thousand tiny threads that coalesce. She’s frozen as she watches, as she hears a soft voice, so faint she’s not quite sure she really heard it. The light and the threads envelop and sink into their figure. Link picks themself up, whole again. They touched their head gingerly, shaking it to clear their vision. Their face lit up when they saw her.

“Riju!” They croaked out, before switching back to signing, fingers shaking and a relieved laugh on their lips, “Thank every goddess and sage, you’re alright, I wasn’t sure- couldn’t see-”

“I’m alright?!” She sputtered, flabbergasted, unable to decide if she should play it off or be annoyed or just thankful. She chose instead to throw her arms around them, squeezing with all her might. She pushed them out to arm’s length again - then yanked them closer to the statue. “Why aren’t you dead?!”

“… That’s not a very nice thing to ask.”

“It ate you!” She gestured to all of them with an open hand.

Link smiled sheepishly, shrugging helplessly, “That happens.”

Riju opened her mouth to answer but decided against it, switching instead to the issue at hand. “We need to get out of here.”

Their expression steeled and they gave a firm nod. They rose to their feet and turned to scan the rocks, much as Riju had done, then pulled out their map. Riju stood close behind, watching as they zoomed in close and slowly scrolled through the area. There were areas of hard, raised earth and old structures dotted along for a good while out east, but after that was a large gap of open desert. They’d have no chance of crossing to the city if the thing followed them that far. And the implications of leading it that close to a densely populated area were terrifying regardless.

Clipping the slate back to their belt, they asked, “How well can you climb?”

Riju looked to the highlands, then back to Link. “Not well enough to climb that, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Link studied the distant wall for a long moment, lips pursed pensively. They could maybe carry her up, but getting back down was another matter - another matter that would probably take a whole extra day of travel, since they had no idea if the glider could handle both their weight, and they’d never risk her safety on it. Never mind the fact that they’d have to leave Patricia behind.

They turned to consider the distance to the city. There was no telling how long it would take for the thing to give up on them. How long they could be stuck in the elements, waiting. Even if Link had plenty of resources in their bags to sustain the both of them through the wait, people would come looking. And people would get hurt.

They turned back to Riju, something unreadable on their face. “We’ll have to kill it.”

“Okay.” Was her answer. Neither eager nor resigned, just a statement of fact.

While they didn’t want to have to involve her, having her on standby for another save could make all the difference. “You get to something more solid, I’m going up there.” They pointed to the nearest skeleton.

She nodded, and before they could say anything else, she was dashing across the sand to an outcropping of stone. Icy anxiety twisted in Link’s gut. Both of them watched the waves of sand intently, hearts racing as it turned and charged in their direction. But she was able to jump up on the outcropping safely, close behind her seal. She knelt to steady herself, holding a hand to her chest as she watched the molduga continue to approach. It skirted far too close to her haven, sitting only feet above the sand. While it shimmied its fin angrily above the surface, it didn’t risk the jump; their vision was generally poor, and a bad jump at hard stone could result in a broken jaw.

Link only relaxed when she turned a smile back to them, the two sharing an awkward, stressed laugh. It was Link’s turn now. They turned their eye to the towering ribcage of something long dead. It was sloped enough that it wouldn’t take much actual climbing, but it would certainly take sure footing, without much room for mistakes. The molduga circled in the distance, searching.

They reached into their pouch, pulling from it a pair of sand boots; the molduga was circling closer now, and they would need every advantage they could get. They downed a rancid potion, too. Geared up, hyped up, they sprinted straight toward the ancient bones, almost immediately regretting not stopping off with Riju; it was closing fast.

Riju choked on her heart, throwing a hand up to shield her face as the sand exploded a second time. Whatever miracle had saved Link the first time, she was sure it couldn’t save them a second time. Fortunately, it didn’t have to, as the beast’s aim was off this time. Instead of snapping them up for an easy snack, it threw them high, almost over the pile of bones. They nearly rolled down the other side, scrabbling and scratching to get a grip, scraping their fingers and breaking nails, but able to hold on.

After the beast had disappeared below once again, Link hauled themself back up top, waving to Riju to let her know they were okay. Then, crouched atop the crest of the skull, Link drew one bomb from the slate, then the other. The round one they held between their legs, the other they tossed to the ground. The moving mound of sand stopped. They had its attention. Link pointed the slate down at it and clicked the trigger, sending up a shower of sand. When the molduga started to move again, they tossed the second bomb into the crater left by the first and waited.

When the molduga breached for what they hoped was the last time, they clicked the trigger again. It shrieked in pain, jerking to the side to land with a thunderous thud. One of its teeth came clean out, flipping away to bury deep in the sand.

Riju and Patricia were on the move before it had settled. She circled around it, looking for a soft spot and, finding none, opted to jam her sword into its underside, starting just under one of its pitiful little legs. It was a struggle, but she managed to pull it along as she passed, leaving a large, bleeding gash. Pulling her curved blade free, she whipped around to make another pass. When she hit the tougher hide toward its jaw, the bade stuck and jerked out of her hand. She muttered a curse and headed back to the relative safety of the rock formation.

Meanwhile, Link had dropped down from on high, putting their weight into the master sword, glinting bright as it pierced the beast above one of its tiny red eyes. Landing on their feet and barely keeping the pommel from jamming into their face, they wrenched the blade free, stabbing it again and again, every thrust going deeper until the molduga let out its last pitiful wail and stopped its pained thrashing. They stumbled and slipped off as it settled.

After taking a moment to catch their breath, Link, ever the scavenger, put away the master sword and got out something shorter. They sawed off some good chunks of the hardy fin cartilage before moving on to widen the gashes Riju had started.

Patricia at her side, Riju stepped closer, still shaking with adrenaline. “Gross.”

Link only shrugged and continued harvesting. Riju couldn’t think of anything else to say. When she retrieved her own sword she found the blade badly dulled, with a chip toward the tip. She returned it to her hip anyway.

After the exhausting chase, Patricia didn’t have the strength to pull them both, and the other seal was long gone, so they made the trek back on foot. The wind returned, ever welcome as they made their way home. Many steps passed in tired silence.

Somewhere about the halfway point, Link gently tapped Riju’s shoulder so they could sign, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

She laughed - she couldn’t help it. “And you should have?”

“My… responsibility.”

Riju shook her head and touched their arm in a way that might have been an aborted shove. “It’s already done now. We made a good team.”

They struggled for a moment longer, but finally agreed, “… We did.”

The sun was all but gone and the chill of night had set in by the time they got back, far later than they were supposed to. Buliara met them outside the walls, clearly doing her best not to seem fretful, and only further losing her composure as soon as she saw the molduga’s blood dried across the both of them.

“What happened?” She demanded, forceful in her worry.

Riju answered, tired but straight to the point, “A juvenile molduga that wandered too far east.”

Buliara took a sharp breath, going stiff in the shoulders.

Riju continued before she could speak, starting them walking toward the gate again, “It is slain. But I want a convoy out in the morning to look for more.”

“Yes, chief. I will inform the guard immediately.”

The pair of guards at the western gate greeted them, stoic as ever, but their relief at Riju’s safe return was betrayed by the set of their shoulders. One of them accompanied the party into the city, staying a few steps behind the chief. At the steps of the palace she split off to tell the captain what had transpired.

Finally back inside the palace, Riju turned back to Link. “Thank you, Link. It was fun, until the part where you got eaten.”

“Same.” They signed with a laugh.

“We’ll have to do it again some time.” She waved as she started up to her room, followed by Buliara.

They waved a second longer than they should have. Then it was just them and the remaining guards in the hall. Link’s ears perked up as a thought occurred to them. After a moment of digging, they offered one of them the bag filled with the molduga’s foul-smelling innards.

The smile she offered in return wasn’t quite as bright as Link’s, but she didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thank you. I trust you know where the baths are?”

[celtics534]

Can’t Fight This Feeling

You guys said you would like a prequel to Shiver and I loved the universe so much that I had to write one! Hope y’all enjoy! 

In case you haven’t read it, here are the links to Shiver: FF.net and AO3

Read this fic on: FF.net or AO3

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Ginny walked slowly across the uneven lawn, the precariously high pile of plates shaking ominously with every step. The large extended table was only twenty steps away, but Ginny honestly wasn’t sure she’d make it. Damn her mother for forgetting that she was shorter than her brothers and carrying a stack of plates that was practically her height wasn’t a good idea. 

 “Excuse me, have you seen Ginny? Oh, wait you can’t really see anything at the moment can you?” 

 Ginny didn’t need to see in order to recognize the sarcastic tones of her best friend. 

 She stopped moving, wishing her death glare was more effective through objects. “You know if I had a free hand, my fingers would be giving you a little show

 The heavyweight she was holding lightened as Harry’s grinning face came into view. He held half the stack in his hands. “Does your mother know about your anger issues?” 

 Ginny snorted. “Who do you think I get them from.” She looked across the yard to where Ron and twins lounged by the pond. She jerked her chin towards the lazy group. “What pulled you away from the boys’ club?”

  Harry gave a small shrug, making sure his was stack level as they began to walk in unison towards the table. “I saw you struggling and figured someone better prevent a catastrophe. I do hate it when your mother is upset.”

“You’re such a mumma’s boy.” Ginny placed her pile of chinaware gently onto the table. “Even when it’s not your mum!” 

 “You’re just jealous that your mum likes me better than you.” Harry started setting plates into their places. 

 “She only likes you better because you suck up to her.”

“Which gets me fresh biscuits every time I come over, so I think it’s fair to say I’m the real winner here.” 

 Ginny couldn’t help but laugh at his childish grin. “Such a conniving scoundrel, Potter.” 

 “And don’t you forget it, Weasley!”

 Together they placed the final plate and cutlery set in the correct place. Ginny sat down in the end seat, sticking her feet out in front of her. “You know in olden days, you’d probably be marked as a pirate.”

 Harry leaned a hip against the corner of the table as he smirked down at her. “I think I’d prefer the title of marauder. Sounds more mystical and cool.”

 Ginny rolled her eyes. “At least that would be one cool thing about you.” 

 Harry’s jaw fell open in mock consternation. “How dare you. I’ll have you know people think I’m very cool. Hip even.”

 “What liars have you been talking too?”

 “Your mum.”

 That got Ginny. Her deadpan broke as she snorted with laughter. Her head fell back as her giggles took possession of her body. After a moment she looked up at Harry’s smirking face. “My mum is your coolness adviser?”

 Harry nodded emphatically as if she were a fool for questioning it. “Fuck yeah! Molly Weasley is the most fashionable person to walk this Earth.”  

 Ginny had to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from encouraging him. “Oh really?”

 Again his nod was certain. “Duh. Who else would I use as a judge of character? I mean you’re great and all, Gin, but you don’t come close to holding a torch to your mum.”

 She stuck her tongue out at him. “Whatever you say, marauder.”

 “See it’s already catching on!” 

 Before Ginny could tell him what else he would catch (a nice dead leg and possible bruise), the woman of the hour shouted from in the kitchen. “Ginny, dear, could you come back and help me?!”

 “Fuck.” Ginny’s muttered curse made Harry laugh. She rose slowly, already dreading whatever task her mother had come up with. Ginny was always selected to help in the kitchen, and it wasn’t due to her Gordon Ramsey like abilities (though she did idolize his impressive vocabulary).  

 “Notice how she didn’t ask me to help.” Harry’s impishly wide grin only got bigger when she gave his shoulder a light push. “Another perk of being the favorite.”

 “This isn’t favoritism, it’s sexism.” Ginny shook her head. “If I had dangly-bits like the rest of you”— Harry snorted, but she ignored him—“I wouldn’t be stuck mixing batter, instead I’d be allowed to kick all your arses on a shoot out." 

 Harry snorted. "Well to be fair, Ron's been off his game ever since he heard Hermione was dating that Bulgaria bloke, so it wouldn't be hard to kick his arse." 

 Ginny smiled at him innocently. "And what's your excuse?" 

 "Hey!" Harry put a hand over his heart as if she'd offended him, but the crooked grin that curled his lips spoke to his amusement. Ginny loved that smile. It suited him perfectly. A little mischievous yet still friendly enough to be trustworthy. And that was Harry. Cheeky and roguish but one of the most honest and reliable people she knew. “I may not be a striker like you but when I shoot, it’s on target.” 

 “That’s what all blokes say, but then they still miss the toilet bowl so forgive me for being skeptical.” 

 Harry choked on his own spit. “Jesus, Gin!” 

 Ginny merely shrugged. “Just calling it how I see it.” Then before he could come up with some cheeky comment that she wouldn’t be able to ignore, Ginny ran off towards the kitchen. 

 Her mother was pulling a tray of buns out of the oven when the screen door shut behind Ginny. Molly didn’t look up to make sure she had the right child before speaking. “Ginny, will you please grab the butter out of the cold box? I want it to have a chance to thaw before setting it on the table.” 

 Sighing, Ginny accepted her fate of being her mother’s helper for the next while. “Sure. Anything else from there you need?”

 “Hmm. We’ll need a lemon. I want to whip up a treacle tart. As you know it’s one of Harry’s favorites.”   

 Ginny couldn’t contain her snort of laughter. “If that boy could eat only one thing for the rest of his life, he’d choose your treacle tart.”

 “Oh, he’s such a sweet lad.” Molly practically gushed as she placed the sheet down on the counter. “I don’t understand how no one has snatched him up yet.” 

 An image of Harry unknowingly, yet still awkwardly, brushing off girls' attempts to flirt with him came to Ginny’s mind. She smiled down at her freshly collected lemon. “It’s a mystery alright.”

 “I mean really! Look at him! He’s handsome, polite, good with kids. What more could a girl want.”

 “You forgot to mention his tendency to knock things over and nearly handicap blindness.” 

 Molly huffed out an annoyed breath. “Those things don’t matter. Besides.” Ginny looked up to see the mischievous glint in her mother’s eyes. “He only seems to knock things over in your presence."

 Ginny sighed. She could hear the suggestion plain as day in her mother's tone. Molly Weasley was never good at subtle hints when it came to the idea of Harry and Ginny getting involved. From the first time Molly met Harry, she'd insisted he was perfect for her daughter. Of course Ginny had told her mother there was nothing going on between herself and Harry, but Molly had just smiled knowingly, winked before whispering, “Yet.”

 And here they were two years later, Molly still shipping them like her favorite people on a soap opera. 

 “Well, I’m not wrong,” Molly said in a sing-song tone. “There’s a reason a boy becomes a klutz in front of only one girl, and I think you know what that reason is.”

 Ginny couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Sure, Mum. Sure.”

 “The sooner you accept it, the happier you’ll be.” Molly moved beside Ginny, who had started to zest the lemon. “I mean just look at him out there with Vic and tell me you don’t feel something.” 

 Ginny glanced up at her dreamy-eyed mother before following Molly’s gaze. Harry was sitting on the grass, his legs crossed in front of him. Victoire, Bill’s one-year-old daughter, sat happily playing peek-a-boo with Harry. Every time Harry hid his face behind his hands, Vic would frown. Then the moment Harry revealed himself, the little girl would clap wildly. Victoire’s laugh carried through the kitchen window. 

 “Yeah, I feel something…” Ginny took a deep breath. “I feel bad for Fleur later when she tries to get those grass stains out of Vic’s white dress.”

 Molly huffed out an exasperated breath of air. “You’re impossible.”  

 “Actually, I feel bad for Bill who’s gonna have to listen to Fleur complain about getting the stains out.”

 Ginny smirked to herself as her mother just shook her head. When Molly walked away, presumably to collect the rest of the ingredients to make the tart, Harry suddenly turned to look at the house. When their eyes met, green and brown, a slow smile curled Harry’s lips. 

 She’d seen that smile a million times. Ginny recognized his dimple that appeared just under the small group of freckles he’d gotten from their weekend beach trip. It was the smile that showed only a few perfect teeth. So if she’d seen it a million times, why did it make her heart thump against her chest?

 Fuck!

 A lump formed in her throat as a shiver ran down her spine. No! No! No!

 Ginny looked away from that adorable grin. No, she couldn’t call it adorable! It was just a smile. She turned her eyes back on the lemon, which in her distraction she had brutalized. Fuck. 

 She’d only thought it was adorable in that way because her mother had influenced her. That had to be it. She’d never thought of Harry in that way before… unprompted into her mind, memories of that cheeky grin over the years made her heart flutter -- Again! 

 Mother fucking tits on a bull!

 Ginny put the zester back onto the counter before falling back into one of the kitchen chairs. What was going on? Why was the thought of Harry’s smiling at her sending her pulse into overdrive? She had known him for years and never felt that rush of… attraction. 

 That’s a lie, Ginny’s inner monologue argued. There had been that time they were at the park and he was pushing her on the swing. While soaring upwards, Ginny had looked over her shoulder and was greeted by a beaming Harry. At the time Ginny had contributed the swooping sensation to the gain in altitude, but looking back on it… 

 A wave of sudden nausea hit Ginny, making her put her head between her knees. She couldn’t like Harry like that. It would ruin everything! Ginny refused to lose her best friend because of some sudden fancy. Because no matter what her mum said, Ginny hadn’t seen any signs from Harry showing he had a… thing for her.   

 “Are you alright, dear?” Molly’s worried tone broke through the panicked discourse going through her mind. 

 She swallowed the lump that had lodged at the base of her throat. “Ye — yeah. I just felt a bit ill for a moment there.” 

 Molly’s hand was instantly pressed to Ginny’s forehead. “Well you don’t have a fever, but you’re paler than a ghost.” She tilted Ginny’s chin up with a finger. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit? I’ll send someone up to get you when supper is ready.” 

 Ginny took a deep breath. “That sounds good.” She rose slowly onto shaky legs. Taking small, precise steps, Ginny made her way up to her first-floor bedroom. The moment she reached her bed, Ginny plopped face down into her pillows. 

 Her mind couldn’t stop racing. Words like absurd and dangerous rolled around, then an image of his crooked smile would materialize and those phrases would give way to charming and gorgeous. 

 That damn smile! It ruined everything! 

 Ginny shut her eyes, blocking out the little light that broke through the sides of her pillow. She needed to get a grip! It was just a passing fancy, that was all! The next time she saw him, nothing will have changed. It will be him and her. Two Amigos, not one amiga pining after one amigo. 

 “Gin?” 

 Ginny’s eyes shot open as she rolled around to see Harry sitting on the edge of her mattress. Her heart fluttered against her chest as she stared into Harry’s concerned expression. He looked so… precious with that knitted brow and little frown. 

 Fucking hell. Even she couldn’t pretend the butterflies in her stomach were from the little fright he gave her. But it wasn’t because she loved the fact that all that worry was for her. Nope, not at all.  

 Maybe if she lived in a state of constant self deception all of this would go away. 

 His hand came to rest on her knee. The feeling of his thumb brushing back and forth… Get a grip, Ginny! “You feeling better?” 

 Ginny inhaled deeply, refusing to let her conflicted and confused thoughts come out in any shape or form. “I’m feeling… okay.” 

 “You want to come down and eat? If not I can make you up a plate for later.”

 If those butterflies could fucking stop fluttering in her gut, Ginny would greatly appreciate it! She cleared her suddenly obstructed throat. “No, I’ll come down.” 

 His lips curled in a delighted smile as he stood from his post. He offered her a hand up. It took Ginny a full five seconds to muster the courage to take his offer. He heaved her away from her comfortable bed. When he let go of her hand, his arm came to rest around her waist. 

 When she looked up at him, his smile was reassuring. “In case your legs are shaky.”    

 “How are you single?” The question blurted past her lips before her brain could explain why it was a bad idea. “I mean..” she started scrambling for the words to explain. “You do and say things that only boys in films and books do.”

 His brow knitted together as his lips curled in a confused smile. “Er… I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 “It is one.” Ginny could feel the heat expanding across her cheeks. She was thankful Harry’s focus was on the stairs they were climbing down rather than her glowing face. “I mean — you just always seem to know what to say.”

 “Only when I’m talking with you.”

 Ginny stopped at the base of the stairs, turning to fully look at him. “See! That’s exactly what I mean. If you said that to any girl they’d swoon.” Not a word of a lie there. 

 Harry snorted. “If you say so.” 

 She almost blurted how it had worked on her, but for once Ginny managed to bite her tongue. "Don't know why you said it in that tone, by now you know I'm always right." 

 His laugh was loud in the empty kitchen making yet another rush of fluttering wings beat rapidly in Ginny’s stomach. “How could I forget when you seem to remind me at least once a day.” 

 “Only once? Sounds like I need to increase my quota.” Ginny was proud of the quick cheek. She’d been starting to worry that her usual quick wit was going to take a hit due to… whatever was going on with her. If she’d lost her fast commentary, she would lose a main part of their relationship. 

 They’d started to move out towards the garden table in a compatible silence. Harry’s arm still rested over her shoulder. Ginny could hear her family chattering the moment they stepped out of the house. At that moment, everything felt right to Ginny. She was with the people she loved most and the man beside her… 

 “Hey, Ginny!” George was the first to notice her. “Are you feeling better?” 

 Unconsciously, her eyes drifted up to Harry’s smiling face. A pleasant warmth spread throughout her stomach. “Yeah. I feel better.”

 “Great, because we want you to try one of our new sweets.”

 “No sweets before dinner,” Molly scolded from her end of the table. “We saved you two seats.” She gestured to the only remaining chairs. 

 Ginny took the corner spot while Harry took the chair beside Ron. Harry and Ron had instantly bonded the first time they’d met. They both had a love for sweets and when Ginny had introduced them (Ron had come to visit her at school) the two of them had gone off gallivanting to the local bakery while Ginny was stuck in class. When they’d finally returned to her dorm room, they were besties. They weren’t Harry and Ginny level, but Harry didn’t turn down the chance to get a pint with Ron. 

 As soon as her bum hit the cushion, a bowl was passed into her hands. Different conversations around the table merged so Ginny could only pick up bits and pieces. Her father and Bill were discussing the bank Bill worked at, the twins and Ron were debating who had the best chance to take the premier league, and Percy had somehow roped Fleur into listening about the new regulations he was trying to pass on tube seating. 

 “So, Ginny, are you excited for this semester?” Molly asked as she cut up a chunk of potato.

 Ginny nodded enthusiastically. “I’m getting to take quite a few electives this year. And Harry and I are trying to get into the popular botany class in the spring.”

 “Botany? Really?” Molly’s brow rose. “I didn’t expect you to be interested in such a class.” 

 “It’s supposed to be fascinating,” Harry chimed in, his head turned away from the premier league discussion. “And there is a really interesting educational trip you get to take at the end of the semester.”

 He leaned closer to Ginny, under the pretense of looking at Molly. While Molly oh and awed at the news, Harry’s lips came so close to Ginny’s ear that millions of little shivers ran up and down her spine. “Well, maybe not educational, but definitely interesting.” 

 Warmth hit her neck with every exhale of his lungs. Ginny’s entire back erupted in goose pimples as her breath seemed too shallow. God, she was losing it! She simultaneously wanted to run away and lean closer. 

 In her indecision, Ginny’s body decided to place her elbow on the edge of the table… or what should have been the table. The moment slippery butter cooled her arm, Ginny knew she’d fucked up. 

 Praying that no one noticed, Ginny snatched her arm back, letting it fall to her side. Fucking hell she was a mess!

 “What do you think, Ginny?” Molly asked, thankfully seeming to have missed her daughter’s mishap. 

 “Huh?” Ginny couldn’t focus on anything other than the weird slimy yet oddly dry feeling of her butter covered elbow. 

 “Your mum was just asking if you thought you would be able to help her out in the garden more after the botany class,” Harry supplied. Ginny felt something tickling her knee. She looked down, ready to swash whatever bug dared to challenge her, but only saw Harry’s fingers slyly passing her a napkin. He had noticed her incident… and instead of being a prat like any of her brothers would have been, he just quietly helped. 

 And like that, Ginny quit. She couldn’t fight the feeling anymore. The way Harry was causing her heart to race and her stomach flutter. She fancied him and there was no stopping it. When his hand came around, having successfully handed off the napkin, and gently rested on her back Ginny decided she didn’t want to stop it. 

 As she covertly cleaned off the butter, Ginny nodded absently at her mother. “Sure I can.”

 “That’s lovely!” Ginny stopped listening as Molly chattered, instead she glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eyes. He was smiling contently, seemingly focused on whatever Molly said. He was gorgeous, there had never been any doubting that. Plenty of Ginny’s girlfriends had said as much, but Ginny had always just waved them off saying it was just Harry. 

 Just Harry. That was it. He was Harry, her best friend. She honestly didn’t know a better man, except maybe her saint of a father. Ginny had always loved the way her’s and Harry’s relationship felt so natural… and now here she was going to fuck it all up with… feelings. 

 No! She couldn’t do that. Ginny’s heart sank into her gut. She couldn’t risk her friendship with Harry for anything. Ginny didn’t want to be without him, even if it meant she couldn’t tell him how she felt. But even if she couldn’t tell him how she felt, Ginny couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the feeling of his hand on her back. If she couldn’t have it all… well at least she would still have Harry. That’s all she’d had before and that was all she would need now. 

 But as his thumb rolled slow circles on the small of her back, Ginny knew she wouldn’t be able to fight her feelings for him forever. 

[starswornoaths]

GAME OVER

:3c

Aymeric was absolutely certain that he looked ridiculous, sprinting off after his dog down into Foundation in full Lord Speaker regalia. More ridiculous still because of how he had often spoken of how mild mannered and well tempered his companion was. 

“Vardr!” He called sharply in agitation when he realized the oversized, over fluffy dog was making a mad dash down into the Firmament. 

Exasperated, but at least grateful he had no other sessions to attend to today, Aymeric gave chase. As he trotted down the stairs his stomach sank as he saw Vardr barreling toward a peculiar but spacious looking cottage completely ensconced in a greenhouse. He prayed none of the glass would get damaged if Vardr charged at it—

His stupid, clever, stupid, stupid, too smart for his own goddamned good dog managed to open the greenhouse door with his paws and snout against the door’s handle, and promptly slipped inside. Already groaning in frustration, he picked up his jog again and scrambled to find a polite way to apologize for his dog’s breaking and entering. The door swung open wider when he drew near to reveal a woman in her front yard, tending to her vibrant, verdant garden.

The dread of his dog injuring someone gave way to curiosity when Vardr slowed to a walk at the sight of her, happily circling around her skirts and prancing for her. The woman, still facing away from Aymeric, knelt down to enthusiastically ruffle Vardr’s fur. He seemed delighted, promptly flopping down on his side in the grass and wriggled into the affectionate belly rubs that followed.

(Grass, in Ishgard, Aymeric mused. What a peculiar thought. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen it.) 

“Pray forgive me!” He said breathlessly once he had trotted up to the threshold of the woman’s yard, just outside the open door. “I thought him better mannered than—”

“He’s no bother— I’ve seen him around before.” She reassured him with barely a glance over her shoulder. He still could not make out her face. “Please, come in and shut the door, lest the cold hurt my plants.

Aymeric dumbly obeyed, stepping inside. When the door closed the warmth of the greenhouse enveloped him, there was a peculiar sense of nostalgia with it— a sense of coming home that he was absolutely...almost certain that he had never felt before. Without thought, he stuffed his hand into his pocket and rummaged for a key— 

A key? Why did he think he had a key? He did not live here.

When she lifted her head and turned to face him, Aymeric was bowled over with the peculiar feeling he was familiar with her. With mismatched eyes of blue and green and little pale blue flowers woven into the ebony hair she looked as a spring nymph but for the scars that had carved their way across her lips and down into her neck.

She smiled at him in a way that struck him to his heart. It felt as if she knew him.

Vardr, upset that his pets had been interrupted, sat up with a huff and nosed his head under her palm. Even as she didn’t look away from Aymeric she huffed a laugh and gently pet his head soothingly. 

“Are you well, my lord?” She asked gently— and he realized he must have looked ridiculous, gawking at her so.

“Quite— I beg forgiveness on Vardr’s behalf.” Aymeric cleared his throat and bowed deeply. “He has has never done something so reckless, I have not the faintest idea what got into him.”

The smile on her face turned wincing, and something deep and instinctual demanded he make that better, even as he had no clue why he felt so.

“He’s a spirited boy.” She replied, and he found he rather enjoyed the low alto of her voice, soft and soothing. “But really, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad for the company.”

The way she spoke was so familiar that for a moment he forgot they did not know each other— forgot, at least, until he made to say her name only to find he had no name to form on his lips. Or, rather, he shouldn’t. They had never met before— 

“Where are my manners— Aymeric de Borel.” He held out his hand in introduction.

The faint upset in her expression momentarily grew— she might have thought she had hidden it, and perhaps if he had not been studying her face to see how it was so familiar, he might have missed it, but it made that ache in his heart twinge. What was happening to him?

When she reached out to shake his hand, she instead gently grasped it, turned it carefully in her hold. With her free hand, she traced his knuckles with her fingertips. It struck him as odd, but he found himself unable to pull away.

“You’ll never be allowed to remember me,” she whispered, her smile gone. When she lifted her head again, her eyes swam with tears. “Will you, dear one?”

“Wh—”

His question died on his tongue in a cry of pain when the ringing in his ears started. A light burst forth from behind his eyes. His head felt as though something deeply intrinsic to him was trying to burrow out of his skull. He fell unconscious long before he had felt himself hit the ground.

There was a light overhead. He felt it press against his eyelids to fill him, that stubborn sunlight— and surely nothing more than sunlight. The first thing that struck him as he returned to himself was that he was warm, and lying in...grass? In Ishgard? How curious. When had he last felt grass here?

Aymeric forced his eyes open. When the sunlight streaming through the glass proved too much and he brough his arm up to shield him, it felt made of lead. Vardr nosed at him, and the wet cold of his nose helped Aymeric ground himself better. Despite the bone deep ache in his bones, he sat up slowly—

And his gaze fell upon a striking, heavily scarred woman. With eyes of sea and earth and forget-me-nots woven into her hair, she looked as a servant of Nophica, knelt at his side surrounded by such green and warmth.

“What—” He tried to ask when she graciously held up a hand.

“You were chasing your dog— he got into my greenhouse. You slipped chasing him, my lord.” She gave a nod, though the way she avoided looking at him confused him. “But I’m glad you’re unharmed.”

Vardr sat between the both of them, fluffy tail thumping on either side of him eagerly. Aymeric struggled to recall a time where his dog looked so pleased.

“Forgive me— and my dog.” He threw Vardr a wry smile as he forced himself to stand. “It would seem I could do to train him better. Pray permit remove him from your home and trouble you no further.”

“You’re both welcome over any time. It’s no trouble.” Said the woman. “It would be nice to have you over again.”

“It must have been the blow to the head— have we introduced ourselves? I’ve forgotten your name.”

“We did, Ser Aymeric.” The smile she gave him make his chest ache. 

Before she did, there was a...a moment, a recollection he couldn’t place flickered in the back of his mind, where he saw her— her, she has a name, you know her name, something in him insisted— strumming softly on a lyre, those scarred, full lips forming such beautiful music.

“Remember me, though I have to say goodbye,” that false memory of her sang in aching intimacy.

“Serella.” The woman replied, her gaze locked on Vardr.

Something about the name felt right and not. Correct, but not right. He could not place why. Ella feels better, his heart whispered enigmatically as he took in her radiance.

“A pleasure— though pray forgive me, I must be off.”

She nodded and bent to give his dog a few more pets. Vardr whined, bumping his head against her hand.

“Look after him. He’s a bit lost, but he’s noble and good.” Serella spoke— but still kept her eyes on Vardr.

Aymeric felt as though he were not the one being spoken to, and thus did not respond.

“Come, boy.” Aymeric patted his thigh, trying to shake the fog that was already beginning to filter in his head. The warmth of the greenhouse and the brightness of the sun was making him vaguely like taking a nap. When Vardr whined and tried to press flat against Serella’s leg when she stood, he frowned. Vardr had never done that with anyone before. “Vardr.”

Vardr’s harness and leash were still on— and normally when Aymeric took the leash in hand Vardr was ready to go. This was not normally; with a sad cry as though he were struck, Vardr pulled taut against the leash with everything he had to stay close to Serella— a perfect stranger!

“It’s alright, Vardr.” The woman shushed him, already turning to step inside. “Go on.”

Even after he’d stepped outside of the greenhouse, Vardr continued to whine.

“What has gotten into you, boy?” Aymeric asked sharply as he stuffed his hand in his pocket in search of a key.

Lock up before you leave home, some lost part of him spoke up in reminder.

He froze— why was he looking for a key to an unfamiliar woman’s greenhouse? That was ridiculous. He had never been here before.

By the time he made it back up the stairs from the Brume to Foundation proper, he forgot about the little corner of spring rooted into the very Firmament of Ishgard. Again.

[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds. 0|0|1|-, Prologue. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

It only stopped raining an hour ago. A handful of select CERCLIS staff, many of whom had half-stripped out of their neon yellow hazmat suits, lined up behind their leadership, awaiting further instruction in the intersection of a Level 0 street halted by media equipment, portable construction lights, and vehicles. One of the employees had not removed his suit, with unusual violet straps taping together every major seam, and more noticeably the hood he kept drawn was missing a visor shield altogether. He fidgeted in place. Galen had been requested to accompany Bensington today, but the one-eyed metahuman hadn’t expected his day off to go anything like this. There would be a billion Web eyes on him and he loathed the very idea of it.

Somehow, when the boom mic and reporter approached Bensington, and not him, it only unnerved him further. The heavyset Indian woman had removed her hood, and she checked the integrity of her snood-bun, while a makeup artist scrutinized the lavender eyeshadow which streaked uniformly from her orbits out to her temples. The camera lead gave her the green light, and they began.

“We’re speaking today with Yvpraksya Bensington, the regional executive for the Northeast and New England branches of the EPA.”

“Thank you, Alex. As many of you have come to know in the past few months,” Bensington announced, shoulders square but calm, “Tri-City’s foundations are slurrying. Seventy years or more of illicit disposal of industrial chemicals has resulted in the pollutants supersaturating the soil of Level 0. Investigations punctuate that the dumping evidence runs rampant throughout all levels which fall below city limits.”

“Miss Bensington, you said the foundations are slurrying. Does that mean you believe that Tri-City will get shorter?”

"The EPA has already launched remediation efforts to prevent it. We want to keep Level 24′s Mile High Club mile-high, don’t we?” She paused to smile at her own whimsy. “Since April, we’ve surveyed the extent of the damages wrought by improper disposal of these poisonous, highly reactive chemicals, in particular Wolfrin--ironically, the organochlorine responsible for much of fusion cities’ capacity for upward sprawl. Construction companies are estimated to be at fault for a majority of the chemical presence in the soil. We’re doing what we can to slow the chemical reactions with other wastes present in the Stalkers’ Quarter’s stalking yards.”

“The stalking yards are the city’s largest concentration of landfill plots. What does the sustained presence of the EPA in Levels 0 to 3 mean for the city?”

“Not to worry. E-cycling will not halt during this crisis. There is no threat to human life, so long as appropriate caution is taken. Our remediation efforts for this Super Fund will not impact city life, though it is strongly advised that citizens not sight-see the disaster and respect quarantine lines. The Agency can and will defend the quarantine by force. These chemicals are highly dangerous, and we can’t have trespassers distracting our cleanup efforts.”

“What is the EPA doing to, well, remediate?”

“We are isolating the contaminated soil, as well as separating solid from semi-solid and liquid wastes. Several sites have required the excavation of buried drums of waste. We’re neutralizing a majority of the waste on site. Cleanup requires extensive equipment and labor. In addition to the dozens of engineers and environmental technicians we have at our employ, we also have a specialist on site.”

“Miss Bensington, is that the specialist there, behind you?”

When the crowd of reporters clamored, Galen flinched to stand straighter, but he couldn’t help but turn his face from the camera lens. Bensington glowered at the reporter for putting so much focus on someone besides herself unrehearsed, and they pulled back to her. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

“--We have the finest on hand for this monumental undertaking. Our methods may prove a bit unorthodox, but the potential for catastrophe demands it. You can put your trust in the EPA to control and backpedal any damages irresponsible dumping may have done to this illustrious city. And I promise this city: I’ll get to the bottom of this myself, and locate as many perpetrators as I can. Good day.”

Bensington shooed the media cameras with an angry fat lip, and she pulled Galen along with her by the arm.

“Forgive them,” she started, walking briskly enough that he struggled to match her gait. “They’re scrabbling for any mote of interest. You stood out because you’re comfortable in your suiting.”

“S’the only clothes that really work anymore, Miz Benz. Y’know that--”

They stepped into an alleyway, so the leaden-pale ghoul could bestill himself.

“I apologize that you had to spend your day off this week doing something so... uncomfortable. I know you’ve never been too sociable. I appreciate you attending with me. I wanted my best represented.”

His immediate compulsion was to deflect the compliment, but he caught himself and replied with a self-conscious smile which she mirrored with a genuine one.

“I know there’s more going on with you than simple stage fright. I’ve had the impression that you’ve adjusted pretty well to your position with us. We’ve outfitted you with clothing tailored to your unique physiology, scheduled you according to your limitations, and arranged housing for you on Level 8. Be honest with me, Galen. Do we need to further adjust your accommodations? Just say the word and it’s yours.”

“I... i, i, it’s not just the things y’done for me. Y’already do so much.” He gnashed his teeth a spell, not making eye contact. “Y’said e-cyclin’s gonna continue unhindered. The EPA hasn’t shut down more than three yards at once, t’my knowledge. An’ you’n me both knows just how dangerous Wolfrin is. But... what I, I--” He flinched and flared his nostrils at himself, “tryin’ t’say is... the stulkers not been evacuated yet.”

Warmth filled her face while she formed a response.

“The Stalkers’ Quarter is one of Tri-City’s largest landfills. CTMHW prevents any fusion city from outsourcing disposal to nearby cities. And Tri-City accepts wastes from adjacent non-fusion cities. We can’t halt waste procedures in the entire metropolitan area just because this one landfill sector’s soil is leaching.”

Galen could feel a flush cross his face, and he backpedaled to a previous topic.

“...Forget me mentionin’ it. Th, there is the one thing y’could do for me, since y’mention it. Y’got me set up with a serial an’ a cred account an’ all that... but besides buyin’ my own groceries, dunno how ta be a Leveler. Used t’read a ton before all this happened. Told that ta the Fultonites an’ they brought me a reader. Y’can pro’lly guess ‘bout how long that lasted. Used t’read physical copies, back before all this. Lotta the books, I, I fished outta the yards myself. Sides that, Pretty much lived in the school library back when I, I-- was still goin’. Hopin’ maybe... maybe you’d get me a library card? For Central? Always wanted t’be able t’borrow somethin’ from Central.”

“You need enrichment. Entertainment. Of course. And you’re worried your habituations would risk any technology that came into your possession. Paper products aren’t among your nutritive sources, nor have I really noticed you crave it... If you’re confident you’ll be comfortable with a physical copy, then consider it done. I’ll call my contact at Central and have it arranged this afternoon.”

He hadn’t expected her to agree so readily, and his jaw slacked.

“Thanks, Miz Benz. Y’got no idea how much it means t’me.”

“Is there anything else? You’re doing so well with the Golbrook site. I’d love to honor your hard work with a little token of gratitude.”

His eye widened, and in one stunned motion he pushed his hood back to run his gloved hand over his slicked undercut.

“...Really, the library card’s huge. But if y’willin’ to negotiate the rules... Maybe ya’d lemme keep another... say, five pounds a copper? Been distractin’ myself in my apartment with lots a art. Gettin’ pretty good at it, to be fair.”

Bensington chuckled, relishing the notion he had begun purposing his sweat toward learning how to sculpt with it.

“You’re currently allotted a hundred pounds, correct? One-oh-five doesn’t seem unreasonable. That’s fine. I’ll notify the CERCLIS supervisor you’re working with this week.”

“Really, gosh, you’re the best. If a body’d told me workin’ for the city’d be anything as gracious as this, would’a been with it from the start!”

“I’m a rare employer, and you’re an even rarer employee. You wouldn’t find a better job arrangement than you have with the EPA.”

“--With you. I’ve. I. I got trouble talkin’ with the sup’s y’got me under. Nothin’ ‘gainst ‘em but... you. You listen. Really listen. Y’get it. Get me.”

She glanced to her reader, then returned it to her pocket.

“Well, right now, if that’s all we needed to discuss, what I’ve got is an appointment I have to be getting to. If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to communicate with me, all right? You’ll be transferring to your next site by next week. I’ll speak with you again when I liaison for you.”

“Hope it goes smooth,” he thanked sheepishly.

“As do I, your week.” She patted him on the shoulder, and started back to the media circus. “Enjoy the library. I’ll ping you when your account’s live.”

He waved her off, smiling strangely to himself, then excused himself as well. He passed the cred-chip embedded in the wrist of his left glove over the payment node when he loaded into the public lift back up to Level 3, and got more comfortable in the back corner of the car by rolling his coat down to his waist, affixing it with a reflective belt-and-brace harness he produced from an inner pocket. Beneath his gear, he wore a taut high-collar black compression top. He kept on his long black waxed leather work gloves. With a snuffle of the air, he snorted in nuisance that he could smell the product in his hair.

The EPA dress code regulation hadn’t required that he cut his hair, but they had insisted that he style the long part such that the undercut didn’t hang in his face.

As he switched off from the lift to a bus, he resolved to buy a tube of hair gel just to satisfy the desire to suck it out of his locks. He softened at the idea of deviating from his typical shopping list, and busied his mind enumerating all ilk of his comfort foods. By the time he let off at Level 8, he was whistling to himself.

“Miz Benz was right. Should treat myself. Gonna get the good weight oil today.”

[kaoticspoonie]

How do you train your service dogs to be calm and polite in public? I don't need one, but I'd like to teach my dog to not be a nutcase when I take him to dog friendly stores.

Lots and lots of practice mostly. The most important thing is not rushing them into the big things expecting them to behave. Imagine not being allowed to associate with anyone for weeks in anyway then going to a surprise party with strangers. So I teach being calm on command when at home, then in the yard, then at certain times on our rare walks, and slowly work my way up to the bigger things.Now it does differ depending on which pup I'm talking about. Kaos has never (since I've had him, my sister says he used all his energy up as a young pup) been hyperactive or hard to calm down. I got lucky with him in that way - though he is very hard to get excited...Emerson tends towards nervousness and anxiety which can result in him being hyper at the store. So I take it slow with him and have worked on learning his signals that he is overwhelmed, usually when he starts dancing and fighting between flight or fight responses. I can sometimes distract him with treats or toys enough to get him to behave.Mischief has an amazing settle, has since I picked her up from the shelter. She currently pulls - I let her pull on her harness and only use her collar when I'm certain I can pay her all the attention and work on training her. Dogs can be gear smart so for her harness = pulling, collar = loose leash. If she is pulling to much I'll put her in a settle. Also don't get caught up in what other ppl expect of your dog - train the dog you want and focus on what's important to you. If you want a perfect heel then work on that, if you just want a loose leash then focus there, if you don't care about the pulling but don't want dog reactivity then focus on that. Honestly though see if any dog trainers in your area have drop in classes or out on the town classes. We do a drop in class with one trainer and will be seeing another trainer to join his public Access classes (mostly in home Depot). If you can afford a trainer more often then do!

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

we’ve had foster pupper harvey for like, a week, and so far:

-i have endured more dog spit than three humans should ever deal with, i am lubricated enough to become a giant slug at all times

-covered in the bruises and scratches one associates with very stressed, hostile cats seeing the giant barking baby for the first time he couldn’t get to them, there’s an aviary door, but apparently that doesn’t mean they can’t lose their shit and climb you like a tree... three separate times

-has somehow wiggled his giant fucking body through the dog fence, in what family has referred to as ‘the closest thing you’ll ever see to birth, head first, one shoulder, the other and he slides on out’, which is a phrase i never wanted to hear... 

-just fucking took off like a racecar after the nearest wallabies once outside the fence, requiring everyone to fucking run through ass-deep grass squeaking toys in order to find him, he thought it was HILARIOUS... sibling caught him eventually

-once caught, offered pure Passive Resistance by flopping to the ground and requiring himself to be half-carried, half-dragged back up the hill to home, then had a massive nap after his cuts and scratches were dealt with

-has adopted a not-so-helpful stalking walk when he sights a cat, thinks this will make him less spooky so he can talk to them... does not work; still not allowed near them

-can no longer go out into the yard without someone with him, has to go out on a lunge lead, specially bought in a huge hurry from local horse store... 

-refuses to do certain bathroom activities whilst on the lunge lead, waits until no one is looking, has gone through an obscene amount of puppy pads in the last few days... literally, 110 pack, 5 left...

had to buy more. like, they’re $25 for a big pack (puppy pads are just blueys, like in hospitals, let’s be real) so some of us are very poor

-cannot be allowed to be alone in the house... will eat literally anything.  fucking ANYTHING, has chewed no less than three shaving razors to shreds, somehow avoiding causing any damage to his mouth??? also took out several dolls, a pumice stone, a plate, and several mad magazines... he’s a whirlwind

-has a cute little dance he doesw when excited, even when sitting his two front legs seem to tap out this pattern that always makes me think if the opening notes to Africa by toto

-still jumps up all the time, working on ‘down’, he gets it mostly. sometimes thwarts the rule by jumping up on the wall or nearby furniture, and falling back, into your arms. like some romance novel damsel in distress... who licks your face. lmao.

-have had to order a bunch of specialised items to work with him... so what we know about him after observing his behaviours over the last week is: -definitely ~8months, just very large -was a christmas puppy, who was originally very loved and always playing! -got too big, had no training or manners or boundaries -was clearly left outside, chained in a backyard for a significant length of time -his reactions when dealing with other animals, with people and how he responds on a lead have informed this analysis. whoever threw this boy away failed him, but at least he won’t spend his life tied up in a backyard desperate for love.

+he’ll need a ‘halti’ or however you say it. Special harness that allows you to control a large, powerful dog without having your arm wrenched from its socket... +getting a clicker, to reinforce training (has ‘sit’ and ‘down’ and ‘come’; about half the time. his emergency carers taught him ‘sit’ in a week, and we’re following on with more intense work) +special teeth-cleaning treat ball... for one, he’s a smart boy who would love a treat ball, but also it’ll be a good challenge + good for his mouth. +slow-feeder bowl. Harvey eats like the offspring of a vacuum cleaner and a leafblower, desperate and exploding it everywhere. He is under the impression it will disappear if he doesn’t get it immediately... (Harvey requires puppy food, but given how small the puppy food kibbles are, and how he eats at current, we have to give him regular optimum, just because the kibbles are larger... also they absorb water a little easier, which is how we slow his feeding down at current)

+a screaming chicken toy, he loves anything that squeaks, and will come immediately 

+stronger dog seatbelt

we already had a bed, bowl, blanket, handful of toys, harness, collar, etc. waiting for him, but it tends to amass to more once we meet the new doggos, and learn their specific needs.

-he is desexed, so that’s one less thing to worry about. 

-he is not currently adoptable, and likw Willow before him, will be with us for some time, just to learn how to calm down and accept affection without being so anxious. he’s a lovely boy, who is also a little shit, but we love him.

-he’s going to get bigger. Harvey has no fucking clue how big he is, or that suddenly licking someone up the leg/on the butt is not ‘cute’ and rather ‘sweet motherfucking christ what was that?!’  but he’s only 8 months and we think he’ll grow larger soon enough. he was a surprise when we got him/we were told ‘puppy’ and got a 26kg animal who could put his front paws on your shoulders and lick you on the forehead

-likes to chew on electrical cords, has given me a heart attack more than once

-can crawl through or over any barrier, #demon

-likes to fall asleep with his head on your feet/resting against your ankle, or with a paw touching you. very affectionate.

-can be supremely frustrating, but then, so are kids

-has to be reassured when put in bed/crate for night, or in the bathroom (bc it’s easier than trying to move another dog outside with him free)

-ww’ll have to create a run and reinforce the fences before he can run free

-has been known to pull clothes off the line, for fun. doesn’t ruin them, just... takes them off. has no concept of ‘games’. will chase a thrown ball, but does not think to retrieve it. willow had the same issue, she learned to play when socialised with the other dogs living in the household, but he’s not ready for that yet. soon.

-loves all the other dogs 100% does not understand jumping on them (esp. blind foster doggo Debbie) does not gain their love (he is pure puppy, no training, no manners, nothing but continuous frantic need for approval... working on calming him down, he has done really well since arriving, able to sit and have little naps, and one-on-one training/affection)

-he will be the perfect addition to a family soon enough, he’s soft and loving, very energetic, playful and fun. just needs to stabilise, grow reassured that he doesn’t need to be so desperate for affection and anxious, and learn to sit/stay/play. etc.

it’s been a big week and money should grow on trees, gdi

[bloojayoolie]

9/11, Animals, and Children: Rouge ID# 31775 Waiting on Love Staten Island ACC idno Me Quiet and Friendly little Sweetheart. Very Affectionate and Calm. Loves to snuggle, to be petted and played with. Friendly around other dogs. Is a top notch ball player and the sweetest little Mama. 3yrS old, 56 lbs TO BE KILLED 9/11/18 BACK FROM FOSTER and BACK ON THE KILL LIST :( Quiet and Friendly Sweetheart. Appears to interact well with children <3 A staff member writes: Rouge is such a cutie! She is a sweetheart. Rouge is a 3 year old dog. The first thing you will notice about her is her adorable ears. One stays up and one stays down. Rouge loves to play in the yard. She loves nothing more than to be petted and played with. While her previous life is unknown to us, we can tell you that Rouge has shown herself to be a top notch ball player! She loves to play fetch! But the best thing about Rouge is how affectionate she is. So stop by our Staten Island location to meet Rouge, you'll be glad you did. A volunteer notes: Rouge was brought to us because her owner was evicted and the family member was unable to keep a large dog in her apartment. She is a sweet girl that appears to interact with children well and gently took treats from them. Another volunteer notes Staten Island Shelter Dogs Rouge is very calm and loves to snuggle. She's a star so let's not let her down! Rouge was found as a stray, and it appears that no one is looking for her. She's in adoptions now, and is the sweetest little mama! VIDEO <3 https://www.facebook.com/sishelterdogs/videos/471120066649937/ Rouge ID# 31775 Brooklyn ACC (was in Staten Island Animal Care Center before) 3 yrs old, 56 lbs BLACK / WHITE FEMALE Large Mixed Breed Cross Green Medical Behavior Intake Date: 06-19-2018 Foster End: 08/27/18 Currently on a DOH Bite Hold (no further information provided what happened) Rouge is now New Hope Only determination. She has deteriorated in care center and is now showing behaviors such as lunging and snapping. She should go to an experienced environment prepared to help manage these behaviors and leash reactivity. There are no medical concerns for her at this time. Means of surrender (length of time in previous home): Stray, no known history Date of initial: 19-Jun-2018 Summary: Friendly, allowed all handling IN SHELTER OBSERVATIONS: 6/25/2018: Rouge seems to be declining in her kennel. She is barking more frequently and it is becoming more difficult to get her back in the kennel. Outside of the kennel Rouge keeps a loose and wiggly body. She is not bothered when lifting her paws. She ran back and forth happily, keeping a loose and wiggly body. She was not interested in toys. When going back into her kennel, she will gently jump on you, seeking attention but she easily goes back into the kennel. 6/24/2018: Rouge participated in an interaction with a family of potential adopters. She approached them and allowed them to pet her. She was very tolerant of the children (aged 10, 12, 14). Rouge had no issues giving them her paw and would sit for them. Rouge also gently took treats from them. Rouge was calm with the family and then calm when returning to her kennel. 6/19/2018: While in kennel Rogue backed up a little upon approach, licking her lips a few times. She approached gently and calmly came out of the kennel. While in the yard, Rogue had a loose and wiggly body. She was not bothered when handler attempted to lift paws. She continually followed handler back and forth, wagging her tag. Rogue did not appear interested in toys. She wagged her tail and maintained a loose body while handler pet. Behavior Assessment Date of intake:: 6/19/2018 Spay/Neuter status:: Yes Means of surrender (length of time in previous home):: Stray, no known history Date of assessment:: 7/3/2018 Look:: 1. Dog's eyes are averted, with tail wagging and ears back. Allows head to be held loosely in Assessor's cupped hands. Sensitivity:: 1. Dog leans into the Assessor, eyes soft or squinty, soft and loose body, open mouth. Tag:: 1. Dog follows at the end of the leash, body soft. Paw squeeze 1:: 1. Dog gently pulls back his/her paw. Paw squeeze 2:: 1. Dog gently pulls back his/her paw. Toy:: 1. No interest. Summary:: Rouge was energetic and active during the assessment, but also highly social toward her handlers. She showed no behavior concerns on this handling assessment. Summary (1):: Rouge was surrender as a stray so her past behavior with other dogs is unknown. 7/12: When off leash at the Care Centers, Rouge is tense and slow moving when she first enters the pens. After several minutes she is slightly social and persistently greets the novel male dog. She bursts into a few bounces with her rear tuck and her ears back. Date of initial:: 6/19/2018 Summary:: Friendly, allowed all handling ENERGY LEVEL:: We have no history on Rouge so we cannot be certain of her behavior in a home environment. However, she is a young, enthusiastic, social dog who will need daily mental and physical activity to keep her engaged and exercised. We recommend long-lasting chews, food puzzles, and hide-and-seek games, in additional to physical exercise, to positively direct her energy and enthusiasm. IN SHELTER OBSERVATIONS:: 8/25/2018 At an adoption event, Rouge was being walked by her foster when they approached an owned dog. The dogs had an altercation and Rouge bit the owned dog on the face drawing blood. The owned dog was rushed to the vet as a result. 7/12/2018:Rouge displayed soft and social behavior with the handlers during playgroup today. She solicited attention and accepted pets. Her kennel presence however remains concerning, barking, lunging, snapping when approached. 6/25/2018: Rouge seems to be declining in her kennel. She is barking more frequently and it is becoming more difficult to get her back in the kennel. Outside of the kennel Rouge keeps a loose and wiggly body. She is not bothered when lifting her paws. She ran back and forth happily, keeping a loose and wiggly body. She was not interested in toys. When going back into her kennel, she will gently jump on you, seeking attention but she easily goes back into the kennel. 6/24/2018: Rouge participated in an interaction with a family of potential adopters. She approached them and allowed them to pet her. She was very tolerant of the children (aged 10, 12, 14). Rouge had no issues giving them her paw and would sit for them. Rouge also gently took treats from them. Rouge was calm with the family and then calm when returning to her kennel. 6/19/2018: While in kennel Rogue backed up a little upon approach, licking her lips a few times. She approached gently and calmly came out of the kennel. While in the yard, Rogue had a loose and wiggly body. She was not bothered when handler attempted to lift paws. She continually followed handler back and forth, wagging her tag. Rogue did not appear interested in toys. She wagged her tail and maintained a loose body while handler pet. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: NEW HOPE ONLY Behavior Asilomar: TM - Treatable-Manageable Recommendations:: Place with a New Hope partner Recommendations comments:: Place with a New Hope partner: Due to the severity of the damage that was inflicted on the dog that Rogue bit combined with her propensity to react towards passing dogs on leash, we believe Rogue may be best set up to succeed if placed with an experienced placement partner who can further assess her behavior in a stable home environment. Force-free, reward based training only is advised as well as appropriate management when walking Rogue. Potential challenges: : On-leash reactivity/barrier frustration,Kennel presence Potential challenges comments:: Kennel presence: While we cannot be certain if this behavior will appear in any other contexts, in highly emotionally charged or stressful environments Rouge may show behavior similar to what she is currently demonstrating in her kennel. We recommend potential adopters be comfortable managing this behavior and keeping themselves safe in any similar future situations. See In Shelter Observations for more details. On leash reactivity/barrier frustration: Rogue was observed to react towards another dog while on leash, escalating rapidly to biting. Rogue may need positive reinforcement, reward based training to teach her to look at you rather than other dogs and novel stimuli that may startle her. We recommend a front clip harness or head halter to help manage this behavior. The behavior department recommends exercising safe and appropriate management when handling Rogue in the presence of other animals. MEDICAL EXAM NOTES 25-Jun-2018 Progress Exam Subjective: recheck exam for diarrhea; started on metronidazole and proviable; per ACS stool is better today Objective BCS 6/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam: mild dental calc PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupneic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: Female, no spay scar seen, prominent vulva, no discharge seen MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Assessment diarrhea- R/O dietary vs infectious vs other; improving hx of intermittent right forelimb lameness- none seen today Plan: continue metronidazole and proviable 23-Jun-2018 Tech Exam Diarrhea seen in cage As per Dr.1516: 500mg Metronidazole BIDX5 days Proviable, 1 capsule SIDx5 days I/D food 22-Jun-2018 Progress Exam Subjective: intermittent right forelimb lameness noticed by ACS Objective BCS 6/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam: mild dental calc PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupneic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: Female, no spay scar seen, prominent vulva, no discharge seen MSI: No lameness seen on exam, no pain on palpation and manipulation of right forelimb, superficial abrasion at right front paw pad, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Assessment intermittent right forelimb lameness- R/O pad abrasion vs soft tissue injury vs elbow dysplasia vs other Plan: limit exercise on rough sufaces and monitor for now, recheck if continues or getting worse 21-Jun-2018 DVM Intake Exam Estimated age: 3 years History : stray Subjective: Observed Behavior - friendly Evidence of Cruelty seen - no Evidence of Trauma seen - no Objective BCS 6/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam: mild dental calc PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupneic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: Female, no spay scar seen, prominent vulva, no discharge seen MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Assessment appears healthy Prognosis: good Plan: SURGERY: Okay for surgery 19-Jun-2018 LVT Intake Scan positive 985112007462792 BARH AMBx4 Friendly,allowed handling Female~3yrs EENT:WNL No fleas seen Nosf TO FOSTER OR ADOPT: If you would like to adopt a dog on our “To Be Killed” list, and you CAN get to the shelter in person to complete the adoption process *within 48 hours of reserve*, you can reserve the dog online until noon on the day they are scheduled to die. We have provided the Brooklyn, Staten Island and Manhattan information below. Adoption hours at these facilities is Noon – 8:00 p.m. (6:30 on weekends) HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! *PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! ** STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://newhope.shelterbuddy.com/Animal/List Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)nycacc.org HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU *CANNOT* GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications.

[savetheblackpaladin]

Hey I love your blog! It's my favourite! Could you do a Shiro imagine where it's years after Voltron and him and his s/o have children and it's all cute and fluffy! 💖💖💖

ok, so I got a lot of this type of request so I’ll just do random HC’s, yeah? Mostly because if I broke these all up they would probably be extremely similar

Shiro’s got twin girls and he’s Blessed™ every morning he gets to see their beautiful faces

we’re continuing with the twins from earlier posts: Astrid and Hayden

if you didn’t think he cried when he got his first ‘#1 Dad’ you’re fucking wrong because this man bawled

it’s his favorite mug

until his daughters grow up more and start making him one every year, then those are his favorite

also he loves the crazy ties they choose for him each year. 

you thought he was romantic before marrying him? Well buddy, i have some news for you

takes every opportunity to say “Wifey” any time he possibly can. You are his ‘wifey’ and he loves saying it.

or ‘husband’ if that is what you prefer. every time. “Hey Husband.” what is your name? Husband.

flowers/chocolates/food/gifts weekly. just because he likes the look on your face when he comes home

you know that Roseanne post where dan gets her flowers? Yeah, that’s him

date night every wednesday (bc Fridays are busy) and sometimes it’s fancy, other times it’s not (”What do you mean Panda isn’t romantic? This is peak romance right here.”)

randomly massages parts of your body without asking

“What are you looking at Shiro?” “Only the most beautiful person in the universe.” “You’re a loser.” “But a loser who’s in looove~”

*soft sigh* “How did I get so lucky?” you’d think you’d be used to this, but it still makes you blush years later

“You’re so perfect, absolutely perfect.” “Shiro…I’m picking up dog shit.” “Yeah~”

has pictures of you, your daughters, and your pitbulls (3) all over his work area

there’s a small voltron dedicated area too, but it’s tiny compared to his family area. Lance is appalled.

“You won’t believe how cute my girls were this weekend!” proceeds to whip out the new 63 photos long album on facebook

speaking of, amateur Dad Photographer Shiro

he’s got a fancy Cannon with a bunch of different lenses

weekend daughter photoshoots are a hoot

your girls grow up loving it, being dramatic, imitating tyra banks, wearing ridiculous outfits, they are owning that back yard

they continue pretty much until the girls are like 13, because “It’s embarrassing dad!” “Ok, but I’m supposed to be embarrassing?” 

Soccer Mom Shiro

he’s got shirts that say his daughter’s names and numbers for every sport

he’s got noise makers and flags

the obnoxious parent who heckles the refs

“Hey ref! Did you come from FootLocker!? Because that was BULLSHIT!”

“oH SCREW YOU COACH! YOU WANT ME TO COME OVER THERE AND SHOW YOU HOW A REAL ELBOW GETS THROWN??!!”

he gets red carded, a lot.

you don’t even fight it anymore

the team loves him though because he’s super supportive of the other girls and he brings some killer snacks

not homemade though, he can’t cook for shit

remember his Expedition? He finally traded her in for a new version and is the official Mom Car™ for team/friend trips

let me repeat, he can not cook for shit. but for some reason he can throw it down of the barbecue

convinced it’s a perk you unlock after childbirth

very protective of his daughters, but respects their right to privacy and right to do their own things

but he taught them how to fight, so every fuck boi within a 10 mile radius knows not to fuck with the Shirogane Twins

he chugs that Respect Women Juice

wants to break a kid the first time a daughter cries over a romantic partner. but then he remembers murder on Earth is illegal. 

overly supportive in whatever his daughters and you choose to pursue

just overly supportive in everything really

he basically lives for you guys 

doesn’t get sick for some reason, so whenever someone is sick in the house, Nurse Shirogane/Dad is on it

“Who wore their shoes in the house?? Seriously?”

*pinches his nose with a deep sigh* “I’m sorry, my daughter punched Travis. But frankly, he kept harassing her even after she told him to stop snapping her bra strap. So the question we should be addressing here, Principal, is why your teacher allowed this sexual harassment to continue and did nothing to help my daughter?” Guess who got detention? Not his daughter.

Wants to cry a bit when his daughters start asking questions about sex

but he’ll be damned if they don’t know everything

it was actually a good family talk, after the initial awkwardness

The Hot Dad

his daughters’ friends all have a crush on him and he can’t figure out why

it’s totally not because he’s hot

or that he’s actually interested in what they have to say

or that he does yard work shirtless

or that he remembers random facts about them that they thought he would forget

nope

his daughters are grossed out

you think its hilarious because you get to tap that

drops off his girls at school

“Have fun! I love you! Make good decisions! I miss you already!”

“OmG DAD GO HOME!”“GROOOOSSS!”

goes to pick them up and has a little sign like people do at the airport that says “Shirogane” with like glitter and hearts and shit

the twins are embarrassed each time but they secretly love it

threw up the first time he had to change a poopy diaper

he did it though. he did it.

sings around the house a lot, just little random song parts or to the dogs

“Where oh where are my pup-py dogs~?” the dogs come slipping and sliding around the corner every time you guys come home

*badly and purposely out of tune* “And there’s the love of my liiiiife!!!~” “Oh stop it Shiro!” “She thinks I’m talking about her~. but I’m talking about the noo~odles~” *you throw a noodle at his head*

accompanied by bad dance moves

speaking of puppy dogs, has 3 pitbulls that look vicious as hell but they’re just as sweet as him

they are wonderfully trained and big babies

his ‘other children’ 

wouldn’t hurt a fly, but ain’t nobody fuck with you guys on walks

Their names are Mr. Murder (Murds for short), Cupcake (Cakey), and Rebel (Bells). He didn’t name them. The girls did.

There is also a grumpy house cat that nobody knows how old it is or how you acquired it. The Captain has just, always been…

Cappy showed up one day and never left

he’s a solid grey Blue Russian/Siamese mix with green eyes that rules the dogs

only loves Shiro and tolerates everyone else (he loves you guys really, but Shiro is his person)

Shiro baby talks him, “Who’s a good murder cat? You are! Yes! You!!!”

the house cleaner, his house and yard is spotless.

once broke out a ruler to measure the grass. you made fun of him.

“I swear to God, if Jim’s nasty ass tree grows over the fence this year, I will cut it down. I don’t give a fuck.”

fond of power washing

hot mechanic, does his own car work

head kisses for everyone! you are a well kissed family

also you’re the couple that’s always got your hands linked, arms wrapped around each other, or just leaning against each other

you’re always touching. always.

family Halloween costumes

Halloween is his JAM

lives for Halloween decorating

watches House Hunters religiously

The one who drags the family to World Market and Kohl’s for house decor

the house is definitely decorated for every major holiday

and he’s actually really good at decor? Like, you wouldn’t think so given with his clothing style and bad hair cut, but wow. you’ve got a nice house. (yes, i’m dragging Shiro)

you’ve come home routinely to the girls doing is hair and makeup and nails

“Hey honey, look how pretty I am. Didn’t the girls do a wonderful job?” “Just…marvelous dear.” “Right? Your turn is next.” oh no…

doesn’t wash off the nail polish, nobody makes fun of him. nobody.

tries to make you breakfast in bed on your birthday and valentine’s day

he can only make harboiled eggs and toast

when the girls get older, it gets more elaborate because they can help

super excited to teach the girls how to drive, but worried about dying

screamed more than once in the car and tried to slam on his invisible break

“Please…stop… you’re making my hair whiter…”

“I said SLOW, THIS IS NOT SLOW!!!”

Hands are pressing on the roof of the car and he’s twisted in the seat trying to brace himself

one day he figures out how to work the crockpot and can now contribute to family meals

loves taking you guys camping

tent camping, because RV camping ‘isn’t real’

a pyromaniac

everyone needs a personal bear mace and a dog at all times

the cat goes too, on a harness

family snuggles in the hammock for star gazing. including said pets. it’s a big hammock. 

everyone has an absurd knowledge about space. he was an astronaut and lived in space for a few years, so yeah

routinely uses Scary Aunt Allura as a threat

selfies!!! he has a lot of surprise ones where he just comes up and kisses you and takes the picture

the girls are selfie queens too family pictures happen. a lot.

“Family selfie!!” “We’re at Albertson’s????” “Don’t care, get in here.”

just, embarrassing but totally authentic dad!Shiro melts me

~*~If you enjoyed this or any of my other works please consider donating to my Ko-fi or Digital Tip Jar!~*~

[anowlstale-blog]

Swords of a Master, Chapter 1

Long ago there was a Master, in whose hands no sword was adequate.  They traveled the world, learning the swordplay and smithing techniques from every country and village they visited.  Their skill with a hammer and forge was every bit the equal to their skill with a blade, and when they finished their journey, they produced swords of such perfection that even the gods recognized the skill.  Each sword was blessed with a unique ability the likes of which had never been seen before.  Over time, the Master’s name and identity were lost.  The only thing left was the legacy left with the Swords, whose power and mystique shaped the world into what it is today.

~~~

An impossibly large construction of wood floated easily across the sky, soaring above the sparsely wooded plains in the early morning.  It was a ship, the masts on the sides, and the deck largely flat.  Though the size of a palace, the entire assembly weighed little more than a few pounds.  The ship’s buoyancy in the dry air was thanks to a large quantity of “skystone,” a baffling metal that, as far as anyone has ever been able to determine, has a negative weight.  The skystone borne airship, Mountaintaker flew in much the same way as a kite, with hundreds of yards of canvas sails catching the wind to keep it aloft. The sails came off of masts, three on each side of the hull, and supported by ropes and rings of skystone.  Each mast had a narrow walkway, allowing a crew of airshipmen to walk along the length and pull, slacken, or tie down ropes that manipulated the sails.  It featured a wooden figurehead that was carved into the image of the mother goddess Lithis, with her pregnant belly a globe of the earth.  She was wrapped in the arms of her husband, the god Lanus wrought in shining skystone.

The airshipmen were the only ones awake through much of the night, taking it in shifts to man the masts, it was their job to keep the ship from crashing to the ground.  As light as the skystone made the ship, a rough touchdown could still be catastrophic.  Even worse still, though, would be for the ship’s weight to drop too far.  An airship not heavy enough to return to the ground could easily become stranded in the sky.  The only solution would be to release the skystone, but as it was far and away the most valuable substance in the Tharan Empire, most captains would do this only as a last resort.

As the sun rose over the improbable contraption, men stepped up to the deck from its belly.  Some were airshipmen come to take their shifts, but most were the soldiers who were the Mountaintaker’s cargo.  They had been allowed to sleep through the night in anticipation of landing at their destination this morning.  Sure enough, as the soldiers gathered at the bow they could see the mountain that the ship was meant to take, close enough to make out individual trees now.  Most of these soldiers were young, new recruits, or those only tested by drills or peacekeeping duties.  The Empire’s peace had shrunk its military until only very recently, when campaigns started pushing toward the mountains in the north.  The natives called themselves Dan Hurmding or, so the Tharans understood, “Children of the Mountain.”  They had previously left the mountain range quite seldom, and their interactions with the rest of the world were rare for centuries.  Even the Tharan colonies in the foothills provoked no reaction.  It was when an ambitious company in the area tried to garrison one of the Dan Hurmding’s villages while exploring the mountain that the entire political situation broke in a way no one had predicted.  Now the mountain was safe for few outsiders, a situation that the imperial Tharans found unacceptable.  

And so it was this company’s mission to storm the top of the mountain, the place that the Dan called King’s Rest.  The Tharans understood it to be their capital.  Or, at the very least, it was where their “Rhee,” a leader chosen and succeeded by violent and deadly fights, lived in some barbaric sort of wealth.  By the Dan’s own laws, whoever killed the Rhee took his place, and it was Emperor Caelus Tharas’ intention to test this law by having one of their own kill him.  The man for the job was Admiral Yllicus, who stepped out onto the deck already dressed as if for combat.  His bronze chestplate shined, visible through the part in his bright yellow cloak.  He wore his helm tipped upward on his head, in a more cavalier and comfortable position.  When pulled down over his head it would cover his face, with a T shaped slit for his eyes and mouth, and slots on the sides to leave his ears free.  The front extended all the way down past the chin, to protect his face.  It was decorated with yellow dyed horse hairs in a crest on top.  

The Admiral surveyed his troops.  They were, by and large excited at the prospect of the upcoming battle.  That was good in Yllicus’ book.  He liked spirited soldiers.  The young men around him were mostly the olive skinned, coarse haired Tharans, but he spotted a few Osmads.  Their dark brown skin and tall stature made them stick out.  It also, Yllicus lamented, made a phalanx difficult when a short Tharan stood next to a tall Osmad in formation.  Also dotting the growing crowd at the bow, though more difficult to pick out, were the Illuim, who were pale of skin but jet black of hair.  Most of the troops were still half naked, and as they saw that their commanding officer was in full regalia it seemed to strike home what they were about to face.  A wave of sobriety swept through them, but it did not temper their confidence.  

Yllicus stood at the bow with his men and watched the mountain approach.  

As the ship advanced, it turned to the east, flying along the mountain range rather than directly towards it.  Airshipmen on harnesses dropped off of the masts and hung as the ship descended until their feet could touch the ground.  They touched down hard, and walked under the slowing vessel with their ropes.  In the wilderness, the best way to moor an airship was to sturdy old trees, and so they had aimed their course to a clearing near the forest, and the airshipmen in charge of mooring carried extra ropes to start tying several lines with. The weight of just the six of them leaving the ship was enough to tip ship’s overall weight to less than nothing, and it hung in the air, pulling gently on the ropes now holding it to the ground.  The trees creaked and groaned as the mooring lines were reeled back into the ship, lowering it to the ground.   The ship was unable to lay flat on the slope so it rested bizarrely on its bow, the rest of the vessel’s length hanging into space off the side of the mountain.  It wasn’t an ideal landing location, but it was strategically important.  The mountainside here wouldn’t be visible from the King’s Rest, allowing the troops to sneak up on their target, but only if they struck soon.

A stairway unfolded from the side, near the bow, but the company could not disembark at once, as the loss of weight would cause the ship to rise, ripping the trees right out of the ground.  Instead, the mooring mates, aided by a small group of other airshipmen, began collecting stones to use as ballast.  They handed the stones up the stairs, where their mates distributed them carefully across the deck to keep the ship balanced where it lay.  When the weight was great enough, a handful of soldiers came down, Yllicus among them, as well as the ship’s captain, Vern.  

Most of the soldiers went about helping the airshipmen, so that their brothers in arms could disembark as well, but Yllicus, Vern and an Osmad sailor called Orun stayed to set up the tactical camp.  Vern and Orun carried between them a table, which they placed on the most level stretch of ground they could, meanwhile Yllicus stood to the side, staring intently at the naked blade of his sword.  Vern produced a map that he unrolled onto the table, holding it unfolded with a stone at each corner.  He checked a compass and placed a small model ship on the map, about where he supposed they were.  Next came a miniature castle, which he placed some distance from the ship.  He had a small handful of other carved models that he placed onto the map to represent troops or known villages.  Yllicus spared him a glance as he worked and smiled at the captain’s eccentricities.

Vern turned when he was finally done and asked, in a tone as if Yllicus had walked in on him, “Well what do you see, then?”

Yllicus looked into the reflection of his sword a moment longer.  He had not one, but two curved scimitars that shared a scabbard.  They were among the number of swords blessed by the gods.  In the left hand blade, the wielder could see the past.  In the right, the future, as much as it could be seen.  Yllicus held these swords by the grace of the Emperor, who was meant to entrust them to the greatest of his military commanders.  There were some, when Yllicus was first presented with the swords known collectively as Seer, who cried nepotism.  It was well known that Yllicus and Caelus Tharas were long time friends, and quite close.  These rumors persisted, spurred on by Yllicus’ rivals among the military elite, and by Caelus’ among the aristocrats of Lan.  Today would prove them wrong, and he saw as much in the reflection of the sword now.  

“Victory, by and large,” he said, sheathing his blades, “By sundown the host under their Rhee will have come back to their hovels and drunk themselves into a stupor.  We will come upon them then, and slaughter them in droves.”

“Dirty,” Vern said, not disapprovingly, “But handy.”

“It’s hard to see much more,” Yllicus continued, “Knowing the future makes it unstable.  I’ll take my company, and leave the rest of the soldiers under your command.  We’ll need to leave soon to make the prophecy.  Where’s your man Orun gone?  Is the ship clear to be disembarked?”

Vern looked about for the Osmad.  “Not sure, working I suppose, he knows what needs to be done.  I guess telling you to be patient won’t do me any good now we’ve got a ‘prophecy’ to meet,” he punctuated the word by raising his hands in a mocking gesture.  “But if my sailors are half as good as your soldiers - and they’re at least twice that - they should have the ship nice and balanced.  We’ll keep loading ballast, but for now the ropes should hold us to the ground well enough.  Order your men off.”

Yllicus looked up to the bow, where some of his men, now fully armed and armored as well, were looking down.  He gave a grand hand gesture and one of the men shouted back across the ship.  The shout was met with a roar from the crowd of soldiers, and they began disembarking down the stairs, two by two.  The soldiers formed automatically into ranks five across and five deep.  Each was cloaked in yellow wool, and had a sword on their hip and a shield and spear in either hand.  Their helms were down over their faces and they marched as if at the ready.  Yllicus took a place at the head of the first formation, and began marching immediately.  He didn’t look back to bid the captain farewell, or to check as his troops formed.  Each new rank followed on and soon they were marching in a great line up the slope.  The thunder of their marching feet filled the air, as the great wave of yellow cloaked men ascended the mountain. Not one man looked back toward the ship as it slowly shrank smaller and smaller behind them.  

The first indication that something was wrong was a stirring of dust  around them, and by then it was already too late. Men and women bearing swords, axes and spears, rose from the loose earth at either side of them, and struck. The outer side of the first three formations fell before the men on the inside were aware that they were under attack. Yllicus pulled his helmet down over his face, drawing his swords out to defend himself. He looked into their reflections as he fought, and saw each attack seconds before it came, parrying and dodging without fail. But he was already cut off from his men, as the ambushers surrounded him. There were piles of dead already, but the soldiers behind him had raised their shields in a much practiced phalanx to keep the attackers at bay.

"Retreat! Back down the mountain," Yllicus called to his men over the din, "Regroup at the ship!" He did not know why, but the prophecy had broken already. He knew it wouldn't be perfect, but this much change was outside of his experience with the swords. He didn't understand it, and would not tempt fate by persisting.

The phalanxes started moving down the mountain, harassed on all sides by the barbarians, but Yllicus couldn't move. Every inch of ground he moved back was taken instantly away from him. He was locked in combat with a vast hoard, only surviving because every move he made was guided by prophecy. Before long, he couldn't even see his men in the distance, and his limbs grew tired from the never ending melee.  Countless lay dead at his feet, and he knew he would collapse soon, but was determined to kill as many as possible.

"Stop!" a voice called out from above. It was a woman's voice, strong and confident. The second she spoke, the hoard around Yllicus froze, as if they were statues. Could the gods have come to his rescue? he wondered.  Was this the very voice of Lithis?  No, he saw.  Up the mountain, there was a woman of black hair and austere beauty.  She was draped in furs to fight off the cold, and Yllicus could see a sword at her hip. He fell to the ground, looking up, wondering if this was a rescuer or another fiend.

As she drew a wicked, curved blade, he knew which.  “Kneel,” the woman commanded, “And throw aside your swords.”

“I will not,” Yllicus spat back at her.  He held both hilts tightly, glad of even these few seconds to rest his limbs.  

“Stupid Tharan pride.  Don’t you see that I have you already?  You can’t harm me, and you can’t harm my soldiers.”

“What would you call what I’ve done to half of them?” he quipped, not letting her have the satisfaction of seeing him beaten,  “Gentle prodding?”

“I see no corpses.”  

Yllicus chanced a look to the ground, where there should be dozens cut down.  But every one he had hacked and stabbed still stood.  Wounds gaped, limbs hung and entrails fell to the ground, but not a man or woman had stayed where they lay.

Yllicus recoiled, and in that moment hands wrapped around him from behind, and the horde enclosed and pinned his arms to his sides.  

“I know this horror,” he said to the woman.  

“Good,” she said simply.  “Now kneel.”  

The hands that held him forced his body down, relentless despite his struggling, until he was on his knees.  Some tried to grab his swords by their blades, but he would not release his grasp, even now.  He looked up at the woman as she advanced.  She was short, and had the olive skin and dark hair of his people.  What she was doing among the fair Dan Hurmding he could only guess.  

As she stood in front of him, she looked down at her sword instead, refusing to gaze upon him.  It was a short blade, curved outward more like an axe.  Something meant for hacking rather than slicing or stabbing.  Yllicus knew its shape, and he knew it’s perverted power. It was a sister to his own swords, and the fourth blessed blade he had seen in his life. But he had only heard of this one through old inked illustrations.  As far as he knew no one had known where it was for almost as long as it had existed.  Those who fell to it rose again, forced to do the bidding of whoever held it.

“The Rhee, I think,” she spoke now, still not looking at him, “Would like to take your swords.  Sisters, as they are to the ones both he and I wield.  But,” she continued, finally gracing him with her cruel eyes.  “I don’t think anyone can use it so well as yourself.  I think I’ll let you keep it.”  

“And I suppose you think I’ll tell you prophecies in exchange for my life?”

“No,” she said, dropping to her knees and thrusting her blade into the inside of Yllicus’ thigh. He began to feel weak as his life’s blood drained from the severed artery.  Vision narrowed, darkness enclosing in from the edges of his eyes.  Would he see Osmados, the very face of death, before coming back to serve the Witch?  No, he saw as the light returned to his vision.  The chance to curse the god of death for bestowing this wretched sword on the world was taken from him, and the only face he saw was that of this Witch.  

“Don’t move.” she said, and he found that he couldn’t.

[cohenjulia1992]

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