punk befriends a raccoon on the set of Heels (he found his people)

He’s Never Been Like This

Prompt by @theworld-is-out-there: Drunk Carlos waxing poetic about TK to everyone Also on AO3. A/N: Sorry guys for being away so long.  It’s been a chaotic couple of months.  Hope everyone is staying safe out there.  Enjoy!

T.K. was sitting on the sofa flipping though Netflix for something he hadn’t watched yet while on medical leave.  He had finally been cleared to return to work and was getting extra rest before returning to his life of 24-hour shifts.  Carlos and Own both offered to stay in with T.K. that night instead of joining their friends.  However, T.K. convinced them otherwise, reassuring them that he would be just fine sitting on the couch watching television.

He finally settled on a baking show and picked up his phone to scroll through Instagram as the contestants on the screen were being introduced.  His feed on the app was flooded with images from his makeshift family seeming to have the time of their lives at the nearby bar.  Judd and Grace were laughing at a table.  Paul, Marjan, and Mateo were playing darts in the corner.  His dad was showing off his line dancing skills while surrounded by strangers.  Michelle and Carlos were talking at the bar.  T.K. sighed and glanced up at the television screen.  His plan of sitting around and watching Netflix was suddenly abandoned as he stood up.  He quickly flipped off the TV, slipped on his shoes, and headed out the door, grabbing his jacket and keys before pulling the door shut.

Upon entering the bar, T.K. immediately spotted Grace and Judd still sitting at the table, now munching on a basket of complimentary chips.  Grace saw him and waved him over, greeting him with a tight hug before letting him sit down.  

“What are you doing here?” Grace asked cheerfully as she reached out for a chip.  “Your dad said you wanted to rest up some more before heading back to work at the station.”  She looked at T.K. for an answer as she dipped her tortilla chip into the salsa.  

“I did,” T.K. admitted.  “But then I got online and saw how much fun it seemed like you were having.  Felt a little left out.”

“Just make sure you don’t over-do it,” Judd said, pushing the basket of chips in T.K.’s direction.  “The 126 isn’t the same without you.”

“No thanks,” T.K. said in response to Judd’s offer for chips.  “And trust me, I have no desire to do anything that would jeopardize going back to work.”

When T.K. began to look around the bar, Grace smiled knowingly.  “You looking for that handsome man of yours?”

T.K. blushed, having been caught.  “Maybe.”

Pointing towards the opposite side of the bar, Grace said, “He’s over there with Michelle probably going on and on about everything he adores about you.  He always gets pretty sentimental about you whenever he’s had a beer or two.”

T.K. raised his eyebrows, amused.  “Really?”

“Frankly,” Judd interrupted, “he doesn’t shut up about you.”

T.K. chuckled.  “He’s never had a drink when we’ve gone out.  This should be interesting.  Hop you don’t mind me leaving you guys.”

“Not at all,” Grace said.  “We’ll see you around.”

T.K. stood and made his way across the bar.  He waved at his teammates and dad as he walked towards the bar counter where Michelle and Carlos were having an animated discussion.

As T.K. approached the pair, a bright smile spread across his face.  “Hey there, Handsome,” he said, gaining his boyfriend’s attention.  “Having fun?”

At the sudden sound of T.K.’s voice, Carlos nearly dropped his beer.  Michelle stood next to him, shot glass in hand, laughing at her friend’s sudden clumsiness.

“That’s his third one,” the paramedic captain said, pointing to the bottle in Carlos’ hand.  “I’d say he’s having fun.  I’ll see you boys later.”  With that, Michelle rose from her stool and left to join Owen dancing.

Carlos set his beer down on the counter and moved to walk away from the bar.  “Had I known you were coming, I wouldn’t have ordered a drink, or three.”

T.K. put a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, directing him to sit back down on the barstool.  “Babe, I appreciate you not wanting to drink in front of me, but I'm never going to ask you to not drink when you go out.  If you have a drink or three, I’m not going to mind.”  T.K. sat in Michelle’s abandoned seat and motioned to order a mineral water.

“I won’t do it every time we go out.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I want to be supportive.  I also don’t want you to be the only one not drinking.  Anyway, I thought you were going to stay home and watch Netflix.”

“Changed my mind,” T.K. said softly as he reached for Carlos’ hand, linking their fingers together.  “I’d rather be here with you and the team.  You all looked like you were having fun.  Sorry I broke up your conversation with Michelle, though.”

Carlos smiled as he picked up his beer and took a sip.  “It’s fine.  She was getting bored with me anyway.”

“Really?  How could anyone get bored of you?”

“I’m not the most interesting person to talk to, especially right now.  Seems like everyone is following the rules, which is great, but it makes work boring to talk about.”

“I, personally, thought the call about someone dumpster diving only to find out it was a raccoon was hilarious!”

Carlos chuckled as he finished off his beer.  “Okay, that one was pretty funny, but I can only tell that story so many times before it gets old.”

“You want another one?” T.K. pointing to the empty bottle.  “I’ll drive you home if you do.  I don’t mind.”

“You just want to drive my car.”

“It’s a nice car!”

“It is.  But I think I’ve had enough.  I don’t drink much anymore.”

T.K. dropped his head guiltily.  A few seconds later, he felt a hand lift his chin.  He lifted his eyes to find Carlos looking back at him, eyes filled with care and compassion.

“Tyler,” Carlos said, voice barely above a whisper.  “I’m not going to lie to you.  Yes, I did originally cut back on drinking because of you.  However, because I did that, I found out how much I don’t like the way it feels or the way I act when I’m drunk.  Seriously, look over at Michelle and your dad.”

T.K. chuckled as he looked over to find his dad and Michelle stumbling through line dancing.

“They’re being fools,” Carlos continued.  “Did you know your dad assaulted Iris’ ex once when he was drunk?  And, one time Michelle had to call 9-1-1 because she was drunk off her ass and hit the pavement face first.  Guess which lucky cop got that call?  I don’t want to act like that.  God forbid I end up flat on my face and you end up getting called to that.”

“I would never let you live that one down.”

“See?  That’s exactly what I don’t want.  So please don’t feel guilty about me not drinking.”

“Okay,” T.K. conceded before changing the subject.  “So if work is so boring, what were you and Michelle talking about?”

Carlos ducked his head briefly as he blushed.  “Nothing much.”

“Oh really?” T.K. teased.  “Guess I’ll just go ask her.”

Before Carlos could reach out to stop him, T.K. stood and grinned as he crossed the room to where Michelle and Owen were attempting to line dance.  T.K. reached out and tapped Michelle on the shoulder causing Carlos to groan and set his head down on the counter.

“Oh, hey T.K.!” Michelle smiled as she faced the young firefighter.  

“Hey Michelle!” T.K. responded.  “So Carlos is apparently too embarrassed to tell me what you two were talking about when I interrupted.  I thought maybe you’d tell me.”

Michelle began laughing.  “That’s easy enough.  Anytime you aren’t around, he talks about you!  I’ve heard more about your pretty eyes, your hot and then awkward first hookup, and how head over heels with you my best friend is than I care to admit.  He doesn’t shut up about you.”

T.K. smiled softly as he turned to look back at Carlos whose head was still on the counter.  “He doesn’t?”

Placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, Michelle smiled softly.  “Nope.  I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

T.K. nodded a silent thanks to Michelle before making his way back to his boyfriend at the bar counter.  He gently placed his hand on Carlos’ back causing him to lift his head from his arms.  

“How bad did she embarrass me?” Carlos asked as T.K. reclaimed his seat.

“Not too bad,” T.K. answered as he chuckled.  “I love you.”

Carlos’ eyes widened.  “Are you sure?  I have no idea what she told you, but I never want you to ever feel pressured.”

“Carlos, calm down.  I don’t feel pressured at all!  You know, most people respond to that a little differently.”

Carlos reached over and laced his fingers together with T.K.’s. "I love you, too." He looked around and suddenly had no desire to sit in the bar any longer. "What do you say we get out of here?"

"Are you sure?" T.K. asked. "I don't want to ruin the night you had planned. That was not the plan when I showed up."

"You think I want to sit here and watch Michelle get drunk after you tell me you love me?"

T.K. shook his head. "No, I guess not."

Carlos smirked at T.K. "So let's get out of here?"

"Lead the way," T.K. said as he and Carlos headed out of the bar.

Memories

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader

Word Count: 2,227 words

Warning: Mentions of rape and self harm.

Author’s note: This was a commission by a friend, please be warned. This is very dark stuff so read at your own risk. 

Quirk: Brain. You can remember things extremely well and have an incredible iq. The only draw back of this quirk, besides remembering things you wished you didn’t, you get horrific migraines after using your quirk too long.

“Come on Mika.” You spoke softly as you shook your child awake. “It’s time for breakfast.” You said with a smile.

“Otay!” The three year old spoke, wrapping her arms around your neck for you to pick her up.

You pick up your child and bring her to the dining room, buckling her in the booster seat at the table. You placed a plate that had different sections in front of her. She smiled, looking down at the rice with scrambled eggs, cut up sausage, and some strawberries.

—Flashback—

You were walking back home from the convenient store with a slushee in one hand while your phone resided in the other. The sun was setting but it didn’t bother you much, being that you always went for late night walks to get your mind off of things, and also to get a cherry slushee from your favorite 24 hour convenient store. While walking, you hear some shuffling down an alley way. You look to your left but shrugged it off, assuming it was a raccoon. You started to walk again but felt as if you couldn’t move. You stood still, looking around while your head stayed still before you started to non-conscientious turn towards the alleyway.

‘W-what is this?’ You thought to yourself. You tried to speak but couldn’t, it felt as if you were out of body or paralyzed. A figured showed up in your vision as you continued to walk.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. What a beauty.” The mystery man said as his face came into view. You remembered that voice, he was some random guy at the store. When he walked past you, he placed his hand on your shoulder before apologizing about passing by.

“Oh will I have fun with you.” He said, as he pushed you against the brick wall. You came to the conclusion that his quirk had to do with control but he needs to touch someone with all five fingertips in order for it to work.

“W-.....why!” You were finally able to speak. “What are you doing?” You said in discomfort as his hands revenged your body.

“Don’t worry darling.” He said as he placed his chapped lips against your cheek. You cringed at the sensation, trying to remove yourself from him.

“STOP PLEASE. SOMEONE HELP! FIRE! FIRE!” You yelled out.

“Keep yelling, it only gives me more pleasure. No one will hear you because my friend created a sound barrier. No one will hear you so keep going.” The man explained. It went on and on, the touching and groping. After everything was done, you were left in the alley, stripped of everything you had: your clothes, your pride, your confidence, everything.

“Help...someone...please.” You laid there, sobbing, coughing up blood from the amount of screaming you did. You laid there for about an hour before pulling on the remains of your clothing. You walked home slowly, crying softly before pulling yourself into the shower. Sitting on the floor of the shower, you sobbed into your knees. You were sick to your stomach, causing you to vomit in the toilet. This process happened for about a week before you went to the doctor to tell them what happened. You filed a police report and went through the entire process of telling them what happened, when, where, and taking DNA tests. The doctors made you take a pregnancy test and once you got the results, it said you were pregnant. You were about 5 months into the pregnancy by the time you told your parents. You wore a lot of over-sized hoodies, that’s how they never noticed your growing stomach. You told your parents you were pregnant but they didn’t allow you to explain yourself and immediately kicked out.

“You’re such a disappointment to this family. Get out of my house you whore!” Your mother yelled at you. 

“You have one month to get out of here...I’m sorry y/n.” Your father told you as you started to pack your things. Your father was always more caring towards you. He ended up helping you pack, allowing you to explain what happened. He ended up crying and holding you close.

“I wish I could change your mothers mind but you know how she is...I can maybe get you an extra month of time.” He said as he cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheek. You flinched lightly, pulling away from the contact.

“That’d help a lot dad, thank you.” You spoke softly, running a hand through your hair out of habit.

Two months went buy and this was happening during the summer but you were able to reach out to your teachers from UA, explaining the whole situation. They did a lot of talking but figured it be the safest to stay with Aizawa. You were going into your last year of school, so you weren’t going to be too much of a bother to them. By the time school had started back up, you had your child and were completely moved in at Aizawa’s place. The school year went on, allowing you to graduate and start a living. You became a teacher at UA. Aizawa wanted you to go into teaching because he didn’t want you to worry about finding a new place and taking care of your child alone. It was also easier for everyone, especially you.

—End of Flashback— 

“Mhm....morning.” Aizawa groaned as he trudged into the kitchen.

“I fixed you some coffee, it’s on the table.” You said quietly.

You’ve been at Aizawa’s place for three years now, meaning that it’s been two year since you graduated. Throughout your last year, people found out about your child but everyone let you explain and they all adored Mika. Mika loved Bakugo and Todoroki the most, her favorite part was their wild hair. She also loved Tokoyami because of his soft feathers. The students still visit you here and there and the girls were your saviors. They’d always babysit for you when you went to work.

“Thank you so much.” Aizawa said with a small smile. He sipped on the coffee, sitting down to Mika.

“Come on, eat up kiddo.” He said as he scooped some rice and eggs into her mouth. She smiled brightly, chewing her food before trying to give him a strawberry. You slide over to Mika and snatch the strawberry in your mouth before kissing her on the forehead.

“Moooommy!! That was for zawa!” She whined. You chuckled softly before sitting on the other side of her, across from Aizawa.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t want strawberries with his coffee.” You explained as you continued to feed her, swallowing your strawberry as you did so.

She looked over at him with a pout before handing him another one. He rolled his eyes and went to take it from her to eat.

“Nooo zawa!” She said pulling it away from him before putting it closer to his face. Aizawa looked at you, rolling his eyes again as he took the strawberry in his mouth.

“Yep, she’s definitely your kid, a stubborn, caring, cute, little brat who always gets her way but always makes you smile.” Aizawa said with a small smile. You chuckled softly, blushing in the process.

“She took all of it didn’t she?” You rhetorically asked. “Also, you think I’m cute?” You asked, getting all red in the face.

“Mommy, you look like a strawberry!” She said holding up the fruit. This caused Aizawa to choke on his coffee as he laughed out. You covered your face, laughing along with Aizawa.

“Well of course I think your cute. You’re a beautiful women y/n.” Aizawa said, looking down into his coffee cup that was half empty. This only caused you to blush more before shaking it off.

“It’s not good to lie Aizawa.” You said standing up, looking down at your feet. You picked up Mika, bringing her empty plate to the sink, washing her hands before setting her down to walk before washing her dishes.

“Who says I’m lying?” Aizawa asked as he stood up, looking over at you.

“Facts. Now it’s 7:24:32.” You said to him, reminding him he should get ready for work.

“Why do you need to tell me the seconds?” He asked with a groan.

“Because it’s habit and also my quirk remembers them time better like that.” You explained as you headed to Mika’s room to get her ready for daycare.

Aizawa shrugged it off before going get ready for work. You smiled as you dressed your child into some cute clothes. She twirled in her dress with a giant smile on her face. You brought her to daycare, watching her run off to her friends, before heading back home. You saw Aizawa was ready so you nodded over to the door for you guys to walk to UA.

“Why do you want me to stay here with you?” You asked with your head tilted.

“It’s safe. Also you cook really well.” Aizawa said with a straight face. You nodded and chuckled. That entire process was a daily thing but the conversation was always different.

One day, you weren’t feeling to good, mentally that is, so you took a sick day. Shouta was nice enough to bring Mika to the daycare before he went to work.

You laid in your bed, pulling your sheets close to your face. Today made three years since the incident, making you remember everything. You put your headphones in, listening to some music to hopefully drown out those horrible thoughts. To no avail, tears streamed down your face; you shook with a horrible chill before pulling yourself to the bathroom. You started to run yourself a bath, slowly pulling off your clothes, tears falling down your face. You looked at your scar-littered legs, rubbing over them with your thumb. Your phone had died so you placed it on the bathroom counter. Pulling yourself into the tub, you sank down being engulfed in the hot water. You sat in the water, crying softly as you could see everything so vividly. 

“Stop...please stop.” You mumbled to yourself, pulling at your hair, wishing it would trigger something in your brain to shut up. 

All while this happened, Aizawa was sitting in class, watching the students take a pop quiz. His foot tapped anxiously as he never got a response from you. He stepped out the class, calling you but got sent straight to voicemail. He knew what day it was and was extremely worried. He walked into principle Nezu’s office, explaining the situation and asking if he could take the rest of the day off to go check on you. Understanding everything, Nezu excused Aizawa for the rest of the day.

Once Aizawa got home, he quickly walked to the bathroom, knocking softly, hopping for the best. This took you by surprise causing you to gasp and pull your knees to your chest to conceal your body.

“Its me, Shouta,” Aizawa said with a sign of relief. “Can I come in please?” He asked in a calm tone. While he knew you had depression and PTSD, he didn’t assume you had self harmed.

“Y-...yes” You said in defeat. He walked in with his eyes on the ground. He pulled out a towel, holding it out as he helped you out the tub. He wrapped you up, holding you close to him as you cried into his chest.

“Please don’t leave...” You cried out. Aizawa held you tighter shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He spoke softly, pulling you to your room. He sat you on your bed and helped you get dressed. He couldn’t help but notice the scars on your thighs from under the towel. Aizawa brushed his thumb over the scarred skin, looking up at you. You avoided his gaze at first before being reconnected with it when he gently turned your head to face him. You couldn’t explain it but he looked at you in a way that wasn’t pity but almost like admiration.

“You’re so strong Y/n...” he said softly, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through but whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.” Aizawa explained, his hand resting at the nape of your neck.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten until your forehead made contact with his once you looked down. You looked up and nodded softly. You felt another tear fall before you felt Aizawa’s lips against yours. You kissed back and for once, you didn’t feel completely alone. Aizawa pulled away slowly, looking anywhere but your eye, ashamed that he kissed you without your consent. You noticed this, so you pulled him close, connecting your lips to his. The two of you then laid in your bed, cuddling as you listened to each other’s heart beat. 

A/N: I feel like I could have ended this better so if you want a part two, let me know. Also, REQUEST ARE OPEN! Feel free to request whatever you want( read the rules first please)

Shelter Chapter 1 by shawnie1718 (me) on ao3

Drummer!Lucas/Model!Eliott

Omega!Lucas/Alpha!Eliott

It’s that fateful Instagram story which helps connect a certain Omega and a certain Alpha.

(Someone asked me if I posted it on my tumblr because they couldn’t see the photos so here we are!)

———

It was that fateful Instagram story that Lucas’s friend Yann had posted which would later change Lucas’s life. It was only fifteen seconds long. The video itself was jerky and fuzzy, so it didn’t do much in the viewing department. But there in the center of the frame was Lucas, jamming out in the street with bins scattered around him. The jamming session had been totally unprompted. Lucas and Yann had walked up to a street performer as he was playing on his “set of drums.” Lucas had commented something which prompted the performer to ask “would you like to play?” Lucas hesitated and it was Yann who actually pushed him to perform. So Lucas got up there and began to play a simple beat, pretty soon mixing it up and playing more advanced rhythms. Lucas thinks he looks stupid in the video, with his backpack slung around his back and hair flopping around as he jumped. But Yann argues that “that’s what gives it character!” And of course his friend claims that he brought on Lucas’s rise to fame.

Lucas’s following on Instagram blew up when the video went viral. Everyone began wondering who the sexy drummer was that could create awesome rhythms totally unprompted. So, Lucas decided to feed a growing fan base a video of him playing the drums upside down. What else was a man to do? The internet went wild. Lucas didn’t really understand why, but he took it. Lucas then did a follow up video as a thank you, and decided to share with his fans his love for playing guitar and singing.

Thus, he earned the title of the “French Cutie Who Can Do Anything.”

Then came the night Lucas and Yann had been chilling in Lucas’s apartment (which he shares with two other people. Yann always gets upset at him for not getting an apartment of his own “since you have enough money!” But Lucas likes sharing a space. Plus, living with another Alpha and Omega is comforting.) He had been on multiple press tours by this point, and had just finished with his USA tour which hit the main cities such as LA and New York. But it felt nice to be back in Paris, in his apartment, nursing a crappy beer with a French TV show on in the background.

He was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, Yann doing the same but on the other side of the couch, when he suddenly got a notification. Lucas frowned, he thought he had his push notifications for Instagram turned off. He slid over to his messages and read the profile name. Srodulv? How do you even pronounce that? Sro-deulv? Shrodulvsjdn? Like what?

Lucas shoved his phone into his friends face, “do you recognize that name?”

Yann narrowed his eyes at the screen, “the ‘srodulv’ one?” Lucas gaped at him, how did he pronounce that so well? Yann continued, “nah, but you can click on the profile.”

Lucas was about to protest but Yann beat him to it, already tapping on the phone screen to pull up the account. Yann shoved Lucas’s phone back into his face before going back to continue mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Lucas went immediately to the profile picture and ho- holy shit this guy was hot. His eyes trailed down to the bio where it read “elite model/actor 🇮🇹” Ah well that explains the hotness level.

Lucas continued scrolling to look through the photos. It was obvious the guy was an Alpha, from his air of confidence to his rather dominant features, like how tall he was or his sharp jawline. I bet that jawline could cut glass... Lucas shook himself out of his thoughts and decided to start from the bottom. It started off with some odd posts that didn’t seem to really fit together, some drawing and some videos of old animations. But slowly it turned into more headshots and posts of that sort, probably as he became more into his modeling career. Lucas clicked on one post which caught his eye. Lucas wasn’t sure if he was drooling as he looked into the steely gray eyes. Jesus, is he even real?

Lucas meant to click on the exit button, once, twice. You liked the picture! Lucas felt his heart stop. Nooooo. He looked down to see the date. Lucas wanted to chuck his phone at the wall. Three years ago. Fuck. No getting out of this one.

Lucas began panicking and hitting Yann on the shoulder “bro, mec, ow abuse!” Yann yelled. Lucas ignored his friends remark and shoved his phone back into his friends hands. Yann took a few moments to catch up through evaluating the phone. There was no way Lucas could voice what he had just done. He was too busy trying to fold in on himself. He heard Yann laugh and mumble a “duuude...”

“No, no!” Lucas said frantically and grabbed the phone from his friend, “don’t ‘duuude’ me! HELP me!”

Yann shrugged, “I mean, he’s a model right? He probably gets thousands of likes a day. He probably didn’t even notice.”

That helped calm Lucas a little. Yeah, maybe he didn’t notice. His hopes were crushed, however, when we got another notification. @srodulv sent you a message!

Lucas hovered over the message for a few minutes, really it felt like centuries, before deciding to open it. He first saw the photo @srodulv had sent him. It was a drawing of a small hedgehog sitting at a set of drums, spikes going everywhere. And another small sketch of the same hedgehog with a guitar in hand. Lucas smiled at the photo despite his efforts to repress his smile. He then looked down to see the next message

@srodulv: like what you see?

Lucas wanted to go run...somewhere. No, what he really wanted to do was to just crater in on himself until he was nonexistent.

“Shit, he just messaged me again.” Lucas finally mentioned to his friend.

Yann huffed and sat up from his position on the couch to look over at the phone.

“So? Message him back?”

“Are you crazy?” Lucas squeaked.

Yann laughed, “uh, no. I mean, he’s a model right? Maybe being his friend could help boost your career!” Lucas eyes his friend, “also not that I’d date him, but man those eyes...”

“Okay, okay, get off me.” Lucas said grumpily and shoved his friend off his shoulders.

Lucas hadn’t really been into anyone ever since his crush on Yann. He still wasn’t out to his friends, or the internet. (Though he will say the internet is onto him. They are much smarter than his friends. The internet has speculated that he’s actually an omega despite the fact that he uses suppressants. They help him appear more beta like, especially in person.) He’s come to terms with his sexuality and secondary gender himself, but taking the step into the public eye is a large step. Well, more like a large jump. Especially with how much his life is on display to the world.

When he first presented as an Omega at 15, he was scared. He saw what happened to his mom, who was also an Omega. He loves his mom, he really really does. But he just doesn’t want to end up like her. So, he started taking suppressants. Luckily, his dad wasn’t against getting the prescription, because he was ashamed of having a male Omega as a son. So they agreed to keep that secret between them. That is, until Lucas moved in with Mika. He had to tell him about his secondary gender mainly because of his heats. That would have been a rude awakening for Mika if he were to walk in on Lucas. Lucas usually forces himself into heat, which means he stops taking his suppressants every couple months and sets aside a week for it to happen. He hates his heats. He hates how he becomes so needy, but at the same time he wishes he had an Alpha who could actually satisfy that neediness. Braving heats alone is not an easy task. Every time, it feels like his inner Omega is trying to rip itself from his skin, clawing at it, whining constantly. But it’s better than having an Alpha to control his every move.

Lucas pulls himself out of his thoughts and glances at his friend who is back on his phone, watching...is that a compilation video of dogs catching frisbees?

Lucas takes a deep breath, opening up Instagram.

@lucallemant: well I like the drawing. I suppose the artist isn’t bad to look at either.

He sets his phone to the side, heart pounding. Suddenly, his phone bings. He wasn’t expecting a response so quickly.

@srodulv: I would hope not.

Lucas felt like punching himself in the face he was so anxious.

@lucallemant: so...why a hedgehog?

@srodulv: maybe because someone always has such unruly hair. And maybe because someones nose just looks so boop-able.

Lucas is glad @srodulv let’s the change of subject slip by. But did he just say his nose was...boop-able?

@lucallemant: excuse me, what did you just say?

@srodulv: I think you heard what I said.

@lucallemant: heard? I didn’t hear anything?

@srodulv: you know what I meant! You’re mean... :(

@lucallemant: haha I’m sorry I’m sorry.

@srodulv: so do you accept my compliment on your nose?

Lucas smiled to himself, pretending to rub at his lips to make it seem discreet.

@lucallemant: I suppose I have to. And may I have the honor of knowing the name of the person who gave me such a nice compliment?

@srodulv: where are my manners?! I’m Eliott

@lucallemant: Lucas. Though I suppose you already knew that.

@srodulv: at least I know now for sure that your name is really Lucas. Not just “French Cutie Who Can Do Anything.”

@lucallemant: oh god that is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?

@srodulv: haha I’m afraid so.

Lucas pauses before saying: so you’re a model then? What’s a model doing drawing ME of all people in fan art.

@srodulv: cmon if anyone deserves fan art it’s you!

Lucas blushes and tries to swipe it away before Yann sees.

@srodulv: I suppose I draw because it’s an outlet of some kind.

@lucallemant: that’s awesome. Well, since my fursona is apparently a hedgehog, do I get to know yours?

@srodulv: haha you know I would like to think of them more as soul animals, but thanks for that thought. My “fursona” is a raccoon.

@lucallemant: a raccoon?

@srodulv: yeah! They wear masks. 🦝

“Dude, quit smiling at your phone like that. You’re freaking me out.” Yann mumbles from beside Lucas, pulling him out of his little Eliott and Instagram bubble.

“Sorry...” Lucas said before letting his gaze trail back on his phone. He saw Yann roll his eyes, but Lucas just brushed it off.

@lucallemant: so how did a model such as yourself stumble upon me?

@srodulv: I couldn’t let a pretty face like yours slip away, could I?

@lucallemant: try again, this time without flirting.

@srodulv: ouch getting called out lol. But I suppose I was in a rough patch and your video sort of helped pull me out.

@lucallemant: which video?

@srodulv: that’s a surprise ;)

Lucas lets a smile take up his lips. His eyes drifted up to the time. Holy- it’s already 1:30 am? He’s gotta go to bed. Classes tomorrow. Thanks college.

@lucallemant: I have to go :( classes early tomorrow.

@srodulv: aw man, you’re still in high school?

@lucallemant: college actually

@srodulv: oh! What are you studying? (Last question for the night and then I’ll have to come to terms with our conversation ending D: )

Lucas snorted a laugh: I’m a bio major. (And I’m sorryyy! I wish I could keep talking too)

@srodulv: then show me how sorry you are. Meet me in Paris when I get back from Japan?

Lucas chewed at his bottom lip. Should he trust this guy? He is an Alpha...

But what’s the worst that could happen...right? Eliott seems like a nice enough guy. Lucas lets his inner Omega instincts take over on deciding what to do.

@lucallemant: sounds like a plan. When do you get back?

@srodulv: it’s a date! I get back in a month!

@lucallemant: looking forward to it. Goodnight, E.

@srodulv: goodnight, Lulu.

Lucas hugs his phone to his chest.

It’s a date!

Diptember2018 Week 4: Family

Mabel: Whenever I get cold, I steal someone’s jacket, but then I forget I have it. I have at least seven jackets in my room that aren’t mine, and the others are starting to complain.

Dipper: The other friends?

Mabel: The other jackets.

In which Mabel and Dipper care for a family of magical living jackets!

Dipper stopped typing and looked up.  He could've sworn he heard a faint scratching noise.  Then again, he'd been working on editing his latest Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained episode for hours and it was now 2 AM, so he might've just been hearing things.  He went back to typing.  

Scrit, scrit.

He looked up again, frowning.  That time there was definitely a noise.

He got up and stepped carefully over Waddles, who was asleep on the floor. Mabel was snoring in the top bunk.  He tip-toed over to the closet, turned the doorknob veeeery slowly, and then swung it open in one big rush.  

There was nothing there.

Dipper grabbed a camera stick and poked it into the clothes.  All he saw was the usual mess – his vests and orange shirts, plus all of Mabel's sweaters and a few jackets she'd borrowed from her friends.  He even checked the shelf above the clothes, but his paranormal paraphernalia was undisturbed.

He yawned, closed the closet door, and went back to bed.  Definitely time to actually go to sleep.  Maybe he'd just imagined it.  

The next two nights, though, Dipper heard the exact same weird noises coming from the closet.  And it was definitely coming from the closet, not the roof, which ruled out stuff like raccoons or rats from outside. Finally, Dipper set up nighttime recorders so he could catch whatever it was in the act.  

Saturday morning found him setting up his laptop to watch the feed while he ate his breakfast.  Mabel walked in just as he was pouring himself some cereal, with Waddles following close behind, oinking sleepily.

“M-m-moooorning, bro-brain,” she said, yawning hugely.  “What fantastic nerdery are you up to today?”

“There's something in the closet and I'm going to find out what it is.”

She grinned. “There are so many jokes for that I don't even know where to start!  Let's see, is there a wozzet in the closet?  Or perhaps a skeleton – figurative or literal?  Oh!  How 'bout a monster?  One with shaggy blue fur and purple polka dots!”

Dipper sat down at the table and pressed slow fast forward on the recordings. He took a spoonful of cereal and munched it, still listening to Mabel with half an ear.  A flicker of movement on the film caught his eye. He hit play –

“PHHFFFF!”

“Ew! Dipper!  Spit takes are much cooler without chunks of chewed Cheerios!”

“Mabel Mabel LOOK!”

He grabbed his sister's arm and pulled her close, jabbing a finger at the screen.  Mabel gasped.

One of the jackets she'd borrowed from her friends was moving!

And it wasn't like there was anything in the jacket, either.  As the jacket slowly raised its sleeve, the angle of the camera clearly showed that there was nothing at all moving around inside it.  The sleeves of the jacket, both totally empty, just raised up on their own, appeared to stretch on the hanger, then shook themselves out.  Then the left sleeve reached out and tapped the jacket in front of it.

And the other jacket moved, too!

Mabel squealed, grabbed Dipper's shoulder, and shook him vigorously.  “OH MY SWEATER SOCKS, ARE YOU SEEING THIS!?”

“I'm seeing it, I'm seeing it!”

They watched as all seven of Mabel's borrowed jackets come to life, stretching and yawning with their necklines as though they'd been asleep.  The first one, which had faded red roses stitched up both sleeves, hopped off its hanger and started swinging on it like it was an acrobat.  The jackets next to it, including a denim jacket covered in little round anime buttons, were pushed against the door, creating the scritch scritch noise that Dipper had been hearing.  A very puffy green jacket flapped its sleeve at Rose Jacket until it stopped, then checked to make sure Buttons and the other jacket were alright.

“Awww, it's like the mommy jacket!” Mabel whispered.

“Or the dad.  Do jackets have genders?”

“Probably not!  OOOH!”

The smallest jacket, which was black denim with bright aqua rhinestones stitched into its collar, had reached over and was shyly tugging on the sleeve of a heavy-looking pink jacket.  The pink jacket pretended to resist, but after a moment scooched closer on its hanger and hugged Rhinestones, the cuffs of their sleeves folding together.

“They're in love!” Mabel leaped away from the table and went bounding down the hall.

“Mabel, where –”

“I MUST MATCHMAKE MY JACKETS, DIPPER!”

“Shh, Mom and Dad are still asleep!”

Dipper caught up with Mabel in their room, but when she opened the door the jackets were perfectly still.

“Aw, c'mooon,” she whined.  “It's okay, we totally know you're secretly alive!”

No response.

“Very well, you leave me no choice!”  She began pulling everything out of the closet.

“Mabel, what are you –”

“Silence, mortal!”

Dipper knew better than to mess with her when she got like this.  Instead, he took out his camera and started filming.  

In about ten minutes, she'd made a huge pile of knitted sweaters in the middle of the carpet.  (It was actually taller than Dipper.)  She pulled a quilt off of her bed and folded it so it covered the closet floor, then got all the buttons out of her sewing kit and sprinkled them around.  Finally she went to get all the lint rollers they owned from the hall closet and threw them in a pile on one side of the closet.  

“There!”

“A...jacket nest, I'm assuming?” Dipper asked.  

“Exactly! Now for just one final touch...”  She took the sleeves of the jackets and started tying them in loose knots, pairing them up. Rhinestones went with Pink, Buttons went with Polka Dots, Bunny went with Rose.

“What about the puffy green one?”

“They're a strong, independent jacket, who don't need no jacket!”

“Riiiight. Aren't your friends going to ask for their jackets back, though?”

Mabel laughed.  “Are you kidding?  My friends have long since accepted that they will never rescue their clothes from the sweater vortex that is my closet!  Now set up your cameras, nerd-bro, and let the matchmaking commence!”

Dipper diligently sketched and recorded the jackets as their little handkerchief babies grew up.  First the handkerchiefs simply got bigger bigger.  Then, when they were about the size of dinner plates, they began spontaneously growing pockets, embroidery, even zippers and buttons.  Dipper's personal favorite was a baby jacket decorated with light pink rhinestones in an intriguing spiral pattern, while Mabel doted on a mini-jacket covered in rose-red bunnies in a field of golden grass.  

Then, after nearly a week of observations, Dipper and Mabel woke up one morning to find the Button jacket on the floor of their bedroom.  Waddles was absently chewing on one button.

Mabel gasped.  “No, Waddles, that's not a chew toy, that's a friend!” She practically flew down the ladder and rescued the jacket.

Dipper sat up, blinking himself awake.  “That's new.  Isn't this the first time a jacket ever left the closet?”

Mabel clutched it to her chest.  “What do you think happened?  Do you think it wanted to escape the suffocating confines of domestic life? Did it want to pursue its dream of adorning the greatest matchmaker in history?!”

“I doubt it was the last one,” Dipper said, but Mabel was already slipping it on over her nightgown.

“Fear not, Buttons Jacket!  I, Mabel Pines, shall grant your request!”

Dipper looked toward the closet with a frown.  “Well, I guess we'll have to wait to watch the tape after school.  But I would put it back in the closet if I were you, Mabel.  You don't want your friends to take it back, or let Waddles chew on it.”

Reluctantly, Mabel agreed.  

But when they got home from school that day, not only was Buttons Jacket back on the floor, it had a few small tears on its sleeves.  

Mabel gasped.  “I thought they were asleep during the day!  Waddles must have chewed it!”

“I don't think so, Mabel,” Dipper said, opening the closet.  There were similar tears on three other jackets.  “At least it looks like none on the babies got hurt.”

Mabel was practically in tears.  “What's happening?  Is some supernatural monster attacking the Jackets?!  We have to do something, Dipper!”

“Okay, hang on.”

He set up the video on the floor of their room.  Mabel took out her sewing kit and immediately started repairing Buttons.

“You guys are next, don't worry,” she told the other jackets.  

Dipper started the video at 10:00 PM and hit slow fast forward.  But the video had only gone through thirty minutes when they saw a flash of rapid movement.

Mabel grabbed his arm.  “Wait, go back, that was it!”

“I know, hang on...”  Dipper quickly manipulated the film until it was back to the beginning of the movement.  “Okay, starting.”

The two of them leaned forward intently.  But as they watched the screen, identical looks of horror and dismay dawned on their faces.  

It took about ten minutes.  Then it was over.  Dipper hit pause.

“Oh, no,” Mabel whispered.

Dipper glanced at her, worried.  “What do we do?”

“We can't do anything,” she said slowly.  “But I think I know who can.”  She gave him a meaningful look.

Dipper understood instantly what she was getting at and held up his hands. “Yeah, okay, no.  Seriously.  That's probably a reeeally touchie subject, and I don't think our grunkles –”

“Dipper, trust me on this.”

“But...”

“Look at Buttons, Dipper!”  Mabel held it up by the shoulders.  A button with a smiley face on it was hanging by its pin, upside-down. “Sewing needles can only help so much.  If we don't do something, the whole Jacket family could be torn apart!  Literally and figmentally!”

“Figuratively.”

She ignored him.  “Even if it's hard to ask, we really need their help.”

Reluctantly, he agreed.    

Dipper stayed up until 11:00 PM, the best time to catch their grunkles, if they were awake.  Mabel sat next to him, Button Jacket in her lap. She had repaired the seams of every jacket, but somehow even her nearly-invisible seams looked like faint scars on Button's sleeves.  

Dipper gathered his nerve, opened the Skybe app, and called their Grunkles.

It didn't take long for them to pick up.  Stan and Ford appeared on the screen after just a few rings, sitting at the table in the Stan O' War. Ford was wearing his usual navy jacket, but Stan was wearing a bright green sweater with an octopus on it, courtesy of Mabel.

“Hey, kids!” Stan greeted them, holding up a massive lobster shell. “Guess what?  We ran into a lobster that told riddles and I won so I got to eat him!”

“He was spouting limericks for the last hour, but I think it's wearing off,” Ford told them.  “What've you two been up to?”

“About that,” Dipper started, and he gave his Grunkles a quick run-down of the Jacket family saga (with comments from Mabel).  Stan was intrigued at the idea of turning the jackets into a traveling roadshow at $50 a head, while Ford asked several dozen questions about the jackets, right down to the kind of thread Mabel had used to fix them.

“Fascinating,” he said, scribbling furiously on something just out of sight.  “I wonder if the introduction of a foreign material will affect the jackets' ability to animate themselves.”

Mabel looked worried.  “I hadn't thought of that.  D'you think it'll be okay?”

“We'll know in about five minutes,” Dipper said, checking the time on his laptop.  “They usually come to life around 11:30, but never in front of us, so we might have to set up cameras and wait 'till tomorrow morning to know for sure.”

“We can't wait that long, it could happen again!” Mabel cried.

Ford looked up.  “You mean the sudden evidence of an attack?”

“Just lay down some rat traps or somethin',” Stan said with a shrug.  “The way Mabel packs all those weird snacks under her mattress, I'm surprised you guys haven't had an animal problem sooner.  Well, a rodent problem, anyway...”  He shot a dark look at Waddles, who was flopped behind Mabel, snoring loudly.

“It's not a rodent problem,” Dipper said.  He'd relaxed when telling Ford about the jackets, but now that they were coming to the problem, his gut was starting to tense up again.  “Um...I got a video of what happened last night, so you can see it.  Hang on.”

He clicked a few times and a video screen popped up in the bottom-right corner of both computers.  He hit play.

He'd placed it at the start of the event.  The jackets woke up like usual – and then Polka Dots and Buttons immediately started fighting.  The handkerchief babies around them fluttered in a panic, and Puffy Green one tried to stop the fight, but several of the pins on Buttons had come open and tore Puffy Green's sleeves with a loud rip.  Two other jackets tried to intervene with the same result, and finally Polka Dots wrestled Buttons to the door, shoved it open – and then threw Buttons out.  The closet door slammed shut, with Buttons outside on the ground.  Buttons flapped its sleeves angrily, started to pull itself away from the door, then stopped.  After a moment it flopped over on its back and slowly, soundlessly, collapsed.

The video ended.  

Ford's face had become perfectly still and emotionless.  Stan looked a little nauseous.

“So?” Dipper asked, not quite meeting his grunkles' eyes.  “I – I didn't really want to ask, but –”

“We have to help them!” Mabel cried, pressing Button to her chest.  “They just fought and then they threw Buttons out – twice!!  I don't speak jacket but I'm sure everyone's got a huge tear in their little fabric hearts!  Please, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, you guys have been through this before – you've gotta talk to them before they spend thirty years miserably pining for each other!”

“Well that wasn't an obvious reference at all,” Dipper muttered.  “Look,” he said to his grunkles, “I told Mabel this might be a little...sensitive...so if you guys don't want to –”

“No, no,” Ford said quickly.  “I don't mind helping you with your fieldwork, Dipper.  It's simply that Stan and I have never properly...er...”

“We don't do squishies,” Stan said flatly.

“But you guys have made up already!” Mabel protested.  “I mean, you have, right?”

Stan shrugged.  “If we haven't, we'd have killed each other by now.  I'd like to see you try bein' on a boat with only this guy for company for several weeks straight.”

“Hey!”

“Point is, we just never really talked about it.  I mean –”  Stan leaned back, gesturing to the small, warmly lit living quarters of the Stan O' War.  “We got the ocean, the boat, and I got my nerdbot back. Plus a few mermaid babes who may or may not want to date me.”

“If they ever forget that you stole their crown jewels,” Ford muttered.

Mabel sniffed and her eyes brimmed with tears.  “But...they're supposed to be a family...”

“Alright alright, geez!” Stan said quickly.  “Dipper, quit making your sister cry!”

“Wh – I didn't – !”

“So you'll help?” Mabel asked, sniffing.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“We should look at this as an exciting opportunity!” Ford said, somewhat brightly.  “Unless I'm mistaken, which I never am –”

Stan coughed something that sounded like “Bill”.

“– which I rarely am, these jackets are actually sentient clothes from Dimension 212^, where a fashion faux pas could mean a life sentence as a cleaning rag!  I was practically de-vested of my trench coat upon my arrival, but this multigenerational mini-community presents a fascinating opportunity to study them at close range!”

“Great!” Stan got up.  “Welp, have fun nerding out, I'm gonna go –”

“Sit right back down,” Ford said loudly, grabbing the back of Stan's sweater and yanking him back.  “I can and will find another riddling lobster and see how you like listening to 'There once was a Nerdbot from Jersey.'”

“Well there was.”

Mabel smothered a laugh.

“Fine, then I get to go first,” Stan said.  “Alright you fashion wannabes, here's the deal: I don't care who started it, suck it up and make up or I'll take a pair of scissors to you the next time I visit the gremlins.  Capiche?”

Ford rolled his eyes.  “How characteristically mature of you, Stanley.  You can't just 'violence' a problem away.  ”

“What? I'd like to see you do better!”  

“Well – it would help if the button jacket admitted that he'd made a mistake. And,” he said, holding up a hand as Stan opened his mouth.  “It would also help if the polka dot jacket sorted out its priorities. However justified the polka dot jacket may feel, it appears to have had a very close familial relationship with the buttons jacket. There is very little in the world more important than family, and nothing worse than losing it.”

“Can't argue there,” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse.   “Alright, so the Button thingie may have made a mistake.  It might've just – not wanted the dot thing to know about it.  Or leave.  But it shoulda been thinkin' about the dot thing, since they're family, and how to fix it up so that they were both happy, instead of just one of 'em...”

Stan and Ford continued in that vein for a solid thirty minutes.  Then Mabel put Buttons back in the closet, Dipper checked to make sure his cameras were still set up, and they closed the closet door.  They had about half an hour more before the jackets usually became active, and even though it was late, all four of them wanted to stay up to see if their attempts at reconciliation had had any effect.

“I'm sure it did,” Mabel said confidently, hooking her chin over Dipper's shoulder (they were sitting on her bed).  “After hearing Grunkle Stan's story about the New Jersey Devil, there is literally nothing that could make me believe in family more!”

Stan grinned and wrapped an arm around Ford's shoulders.  “You shoulda seen this guy, kids!  It was like somethin' outta one of those detective comics.  He tracked it down like it was nothin' – and then gave it all up!”

“Gave it up for you,” Ford corrected, grinning back and nudging Stan in the ribs.  “Which, in retrospect, was probably a mercy to the NJD.  You probably would've tried to make money off of it as some carnie attraction!”

“Darn right I would!”

Scritch, scritch.

“Wait!” Dipper whispered.  “D'you guys hear that?”

“Do the thing with the video!” Mabel urged, and Dipper clicked on the camera icon at the bottom of the screen.  As before, when he'd shown their grunkles the video, a square popped up in the corner of their Skybe.  It showed a live feed of what was happening inside the closet.

Puffy Green Jacket was the first one to move.  It reached out and put one sleeve firmly on Polka Dot's shoulder, as if to hold it off from attacking Buttons.  Buttons, meanwhile, had re inflated itself – but hung on its hanger, stiff as if it had been badly starched.  The other jackets looked equally tense, waiting.  Handkerchiefs and baby T-shirts fluttered around the bottom of the closet, sensing the weight of the tension like a thunderstorm.  

Buttons' hanger started to rattle.  That's when they noticed it – the jacket's shoulders were shaking slightly.

“Oh, no,” Mabel whispered.  “Is it...crying?”

But before Dipper could answer, Polka Dot tore away from Puffy Green Jacket, launched itself at Buttons and began waving its sleeves forcefully, gesticulating so harshly Dipper could practically hear it yelling.  Buttons took it in silence at first, then started gesturing back, and Puffy Green Jacket moved in to stop them just as both jackets came flying at each other, sleeves extended –

– and then Polka Dots wrapped both sleeves around Buttons, squeezing it tightly.  Buttons froze, then hugged back just as fiercely.  Around them the other jackets breathed a collective sigh of relief.  

“It worked!” Mabel whispered.  She grabbed Dipper's shoulder and started shaking him. “It worked it worked it really hey what's that?”

A weird light was coming from nowhere and everywhere inside the closet. The baby handkerchiefs and T-shirts climbed up from the floor and the other jackets scooped the babies into pockets and inside their chests.  The jackets grouped themselves together, sleeves wrapped around each other in a giant group hug.  Then, slowly, Dipper realized he could see the back of the closet right through Pink Jacket.

“They're disappearing!” Dipper exclaimed.

Ford sighed.  “Your closet doesn't happen to run through a ley line, does it?”

“A ley – what?”

“Simply put, it's a line of interdimensional, magical energy.  212^s are nomadic, and they use ley lines to travel from dimension to dimension.  My guess is there was a surge planned for tonight, and this is when they're returning home.”

“Buttons would've been left out of the closet,” Dipper realized.  “They would've been separated from their family.  We got through to them just in time.”

The Jackets had nearly disappeared altogether by now.  Just before they faded out of sight, Buttons turned to Dipper's camera and waved one sleeve in farewell.  Polka Dot clutched Buttons all the more tightly, and together the pair of them vanished in a soundless flash of light.

Mabel immediately hopped off her bed and opened the door.  “They really are gone,” she said.

“Oh, Mabel,” Dipper said, but she turned around with a smile on her face.

“They left together,” she said, smiling wider and wider.  “They stayed a family.  Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford – you guys are the best, sweetest gross old men ever.”

“Er...thank you?” Ford said.

“No, no, she meant it as a compliment,” Dipper assured him.

Stan grinned.  “In that case, can I get thirty copies of all these videos you made?  I can sell 'em online at fifty bucks each!”

Jalil Cayda 

HUMSS 12-C

CREATIVE WRITING

A SHORT STORY BY: JALIL CAYDA

Once upon a time there lived a woodcutter and his wife.  Their early days were lived in bliss in a small wood cottage with their two children, Hansel and Gretel. These two children grew up to be wise beyond their years.  Hansel was smart, soft, and charming where Gretel was poetic, cautious, but quick-witted.  The two children loved to skip stones in the lake half a mile over. Hansel and Gretel spent most of their time finding the perfect, flattest skipping stones.  Their collection of stones was large, as they spent more time collecting than actually skipping the rocks.  Over time, they had acquired a strange companion – a bird, who would steal their stones and hide them in various places all over the land – though Hansel and Gretel knew not why. At the peak of their childhood, a great famine struck the country where Hansel and Gretel lived.  It left the rich secluded from the middling and poor classes; the merchant class fought to survive; and the poorest of the poor plummeted into utter starvation.  The woodcutter and his wife, along with Hansel and Gretel eventually struggled to stay fed. The reoccurring moments of starvation gradually caused the woodcutter’s wife to go choose selfishness.  One evening, after Hansel and Gretel had been tucked in bed, the woman approached her husband. “We must survive the upcoming winter… We must…” she started.  “We cannot feed everyone in this small house… We cannot…” “Well, what are we to do?” the woodcutter asked. “We must leave the children alone in the wooded forest.  That way we will only have to feed ourselves,” she replied. “If we leave them there, they will surely starve!” he cried. “And if we keep them here, we will all surely starve,” she replied. Little did the woodcutter and his wife know, Hansel and Gretel had been listening to their whole conversation. “Our Mother does not want us anymore,” Gretel wailed. “Shh, Gretel!  Father will not allow her to get rid of us,” Hansel replied, attempting to calm Gretel down. “Oh, but what will Father do once we are left alone with our Mother?” Gretel asked. “I think it through,” he replied. Now, Hansel was very smart.  His plans of action were always calculated and efficient.  The next day, before they were ordered to start on the household chores, Hansel ran half a mile down to the lake.  He gathered dozens of skipping stones. When he returned home, Hansel could see that his mother and sister were packing up for what looked like a normal journey into the woods – though Hansel knew that this time their mother had different plans for them. He held his sack of skipping stones tight as he approached his mother. “Times are tough, my dear children.  We must venture into the forest to help your father with his work,” she declared. “But –” both children started. “No 'buts'!” their mother scolded. And so, Hansel, Gretel, and their mother journeyed into the thick-wooded forest.  It was as eerie as thick fog on a stormy night: the sky was a dark grey, and the trees were black and gloomy. Luckily, Hansel had remembered to drop the shimmering stones on the ground every few feet – so that they could follow them back on their return home. “Hansel, what is it that you think you’re up to?” their mother shouted impatiently. “Mother!  Mother!  Look at those squirrels in the tree.  I swear they are dancing as if they are fit for the ball!” Gretel called, using her quick-wit in order to distract their mother. Gretel knew exactly what Hansel was up to. She pieced it together as she watched her mother's face scrunch up. “Where?  I see no squirrels!  I see no dancing!” their mother exclaimed, now confused and distracted, giving Hansel time to catch up. “Oh, hurry on up.  We only need to travel a little bit further,” their mother grumbled. “Where are we going, Mother?” Hansel asked.  With no response, the children’s worst nightmares were confirmed.  Their mother was going to leave them in the forest. Hansel dropped another rock. Gretel heard it fall. They traveled for a while, Hansel occasionally dropping stones, until they reached a small clearing.  Their mad mother ordered Hansel and Gretel to sit on a dead log. “I am going to gather wood.  Stay here, and I will come back for you shortly,” she lied. The children stayed seated, reluctantly.  They waited and waited AND waited, but their mother never returned for them. Hansel began to worry for their safety.  He cried to Gretel:  “What if we are attacked, or eaten?  What about wolves?  Bears?  Cougars?  Raccoons?  Gretel, oh Gretel – what are we to do?” “I will feel it out,” she replied, getting up from the dead log.  She took Hansel’s hand, and the two followed his trail of stones.  Their flat surfaces shimmered in the moonlit night. Hansel and Gretel finally arrived back home at the break of dawn; however, they were so tired that both immediately fell asleep right in front of their cottage door. They awoke tucked in their beds to the sounds of the woodcutter and his wife arguing. “How could you leave our beloved children in the forest all alone?” they heard their father ask sadly. “We will… We will all starve, if they stay here!  There are too many mouths and NOT enough food.  It is the only way… the only way…” she replied. Now Hansel and Gretel surely knew their luck was over. Hansel tried to think of a way to get the two of them out of this mess.  He looked all over in search of their skipping rocks.  Since they were nowhere to be found, Hansel figured the mischievous bird had stolen them all. Hopeless, Hansel and Gretel went back to their beds and waited for their mother to come and take them to the forest. Sure enough, the woodcutter’s wife made her way up to their room to retrieve them.  She ordered Hansel into his walking boots and Gretel into her washing clothes. Off they went once more. Before they left, however, the woodcutter secretly slipped Hansel a small loaf of bread.  Hansel saw the look of despair on his dear father’s face. Hansel slipped the bread in his pocket, crushing it into mostly crumbs and sadly followed behind his mother and beloved sister.  Every few feet, he dropped these breadcrumbs on the ground. Soon their mother grew suspicious of Hansel. “Hansel, what is it that you think you’re up to?” she shouted. Gretel, hearing this, quickly came up with a way to distract their mother: “Mother!  Mother!  A wild forest fairy just flew into your hair!” Panicked, Hansel and Gretel’s mother began to shake and squirm; she disheveled her hair and screeched with fear. This gave Hansel time to catch up. "You children will be the death of me.  Hurry along NOW," their mother grumbled. They travelled for a few more miles until they came to a very small clearing – even smaller than the previous. "I am going to find a good place to chop wood.  Both of you, STAY PUT!  I will come back for you shortly," she commanded and declared.  So, the children waited and waited AND waited, but their mother never returned for them. Hansel offered Gretel what little bread was left. "This is not what you have been dropping on the ground," Gretel remembered. "I dropped most of our skipping stones last time.  Mother led us down a different route today and that stupid bird must’ve stolen all of those stones.  The breadcrumbs will be here in the morning and we can follow them on our return home," Hansel replied. "In the morning? Hansel!  I will not stay here overnight," Gretel stated. Then thinking about Hansel's panic last night, Gretal began, "What about wolves?  What about –" "Okay. No wolves, bears, cougars, raccoons, muskrats, or squirrels will get us. I get. Lets just promise we will get out of here," Hansel said, interrupting his sister. They promised each other and then relaxed in the very small glade, resting their feet and playing guessing games.  Suddenly, their noses were filled with an oddly sweet aroma.  The children followed the wonderful scent – it grew stronger and more delicious. Mouths dripping with drool, Hansel and Gretel finally reached it. In front of their eyes and noses sat a house made entirely out of the most delicious looking sweets. The roof was coated with fluffy white icing; pink, sticky syrup drizzled and dripped along the sides of the dark chocolate exterior; a gum drop door frame was sopping with sparkling icing sugar; a frothy milk chocolate river flowed under a gingerbread bridge that led to a gingerbread door; and a lollipop garden sat in front of a large crystallized sugar window. Hansel and Gretel stood stunned for a moment, and then, without caution or hesitation, they ran to the house and began stuffing their faces full of candy. "What little pretties have come to my house today?" screeched an odd voice. Hansel and Gretel stopped short and stared at one another – each was messy and covered in candy. "Ugh!" they whisper-shouted in unison. "Oh, two little ones to enjoy!" the voice screeched again.  Hansel and Gretel turned and stared at a very small woman with scraggly hair wearing a long pink dress.  She was very strange looking and smelled quite funny – a little too sweet. The old woman then invited Hansel and Gretel into her house. "There's more candy in here!  Fresh candy, my sweets!" she called to them, motioning them inside her house. Hansel immediately ran into the candy house despite Gretel's cautious protests.  After a while of standing outside, the old woman popped her jagged-toothed head out from the little house and beckoned Gretel: "Come in, come in.  My, my, you are very pretty!" With this, alongside her idea of Hansel stuffing his face in the interior of the house, Gretel eventually followed inside. When Gretel entered the house, she immediately heard the gingerbread door shut heavily behind her.  She turned around and noticed that the entire inside of the candy house was made of solid steel.  Inside the house were bags and bags of brilliant gold coins. Gretel whipped her head back around to see that Hansel was locked up in a cage hanging directly overtop of a boiling pot of water!  This woman was no woman at all - she was an EVIL WITCH! "Now, go sit at the table, little pretty," the evil witch commanded Gretel. "Help me slice up those chops.  We are going to fatten him up!" she exclaimed excitedly, pointing over to Hansel. Now Gretel understood the evil witch's plan: she had used her candy house to lure them inside so that she could eat them up for dinner! Gretel thought all hope was lost as she sat at the large metal table slicing meat.  She sobbed and sliced; she sliced and sobbed.  Gretel filled three large buckets full with the fatty food for the old woman to cook in her large boiling pot.  Poor Hansel sat anxiously thinking of a way to escape.  He watched as Gretel threw the scraps and bones into a separate pile beside the buckets of sliced meat. Suddenly, Hansel was struck with a brilliant idea: he started to cough violently - in an attempt to attract Gretel's attention. "Oh, quit your hacking!  You best not be sick if I am going to snack on you!" the evil witch shrieked.  All the commotion caused Gretel to look up in Hansel's direction.  He motioned her to distract the evil witch.  Seeing her poor brother's desperation, Gretel scoured her brain for a way to distract the evil witch. After a moment of thought, Gretel cried and dropped her knife: "Oh my!" she cried. "What do you think you're doing?  Get back to work!" the evil, selfish witch shrieked once more. "I think I saw a...  I think I saw a...  A DRAGON outside!" Gretel cried, convincingly.  Hansel held back laughter since Gretel’s claims were getting a little more and more ridiculous. "A DRAGON you say?" the evil witch questioned. "Oh, goodness.  That was most definitely a dragon I saw!  It will surely burn down the forest with its fiery breath and then your candy house will be revealed to all the grown ups in the land!"  Gretel declared.  "How will you ever catch children if your candy house is not secret to the grown ups – who can no longer smell the sweetness of the candy?" Gretel questioned with her voice sweet as the syrup that dripped from the roof. With this, the evil witch unlocked the steel and/ or gingerbread door and ran outside in search of the supposed dragon. Hansel quickly motioned Gretel to hand him one of the bones lying in the scrap pile.  Gretel held up a large bone, but Hansel shook his head; she held up a thick bone, but Hansel shook his head; and then, from the bottom of the pile, Gretel found the thinnest bone of all and brought it over to Hansel's cage for she knew what he would be using it for. He told her his plan just in time for them to hear the evil witch hustling back. Just as Gretel sat down at the large metal table, the evil witch stormed in the house looking puzzled. "Well, no dragon in sight!  Not even the tip of a tail or the smell of smoke!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps he smelled you coming," Gretel replied frankly, continuing to slice the chops. "Dragons have a sharp sense of smell, you know," she said curtly. "Hmph... Chop larger!  The larger the better, little pretty!" the evil witch demanded, closing the steel door but forgetting to lock it. As the evil witch focused on Gretel's slicing, Hansel quietly maneuvered the thin bone around in the keyhole of his cage: CLINK!  CLICK!!  DING!!! Slowly and quietly, Hansel removed the bone and waited patiently for his plan to unfold. Once Gretel had finished her slicing, the evil witch walked it over to the pot located directly underneath Hansel. "Well?  What are you waiting for, little pretty?  Help me get this food in the pot!” the evil witch ordered Gretel. "Hmm.  That pot doesn’t look quite hot enough," Gretel said. "I will dip your little feet in and we can check," the evil witch sneered. "How can you trust that I will say it is hot enough?  I will surely lie and then the food will never be cooked for my brother to eat," Gretel replied. The evil witch furrowed her brow and looked from the pot to Gretel and back again. "Oh, I suppose you're right.  Stay there.  I will check to see if the water is almost at a boil," the evil witch huffed. Gretel remained behind as the evil witch approached the pot. Gretel waited for Hansel's signal. Just as the evil, selfish witch brought the tip of her long, crooked nose to the boiling water, Hansel kicked his cage door open.  This gave Gretel the signal to push the evil witch into the boiling pot of water.  The evil witch toppled over into the pot just in time for Hansel to land right on her head, avoiding the hot water beneath his feet.  The heat from the water melted the old witch into sweet, gooey syrup. The children ran out of the house once they had gathered the sacks of gold that the evil witch had stolen over the years from the other children that came by her candy house. Hansel and Gretel followed the path from which they first smelled the candy until they reached the very small glade where Hansel had last dropped bread crumbs; however, the children found that their bread crumbs had been eaten and replaced by their favourite stolen skipping stones by none other than the rascal bird that had stolen them.  The bird chirped happily as it finished its last breadcrumb. Apparently, the bird had been hungry too! Hansel and Gretel gathered their skipping stones in the bags of gold and made their way home. When they arrived, they ran into the embrace of their father, who had become a widowed man after their mother had, ironically, died from food poisoning. Their father welcomed them home and apologized for letting their mother’s selfishness overcome him. They took care of him with pity until his death from a slower, more subtle, and unfortunately more painful food poisoning shortly after. The two siblings lived in happiness together for the rest of their days sharing their newfound wealth with the land and, of course, skipping stones in the lake half a mile over while feeding their naughty bird breadcrumbs.

A SPOKEN POETRY BY: JALIL CAYDA

Eto na ang huli” 

Eto na ang huli Na gagawa ako ng tula 

Eto na ang huli 

Na ikaw ang paksa 

Eto na ang huli Na mamahalin ka 

Dahil pinipili ko ang magpaalam na 

Pagod na rin akong ipilit pa, 

Na baka pwedeng ito’y maayos pa 

Kailangan ko na rin sigurong tanggapin 

Na pinagpalit mo na’ko sa kanya 

Kaya sisiguraduhin ko Kung eto na ang huli 

Di na to mauulit muli 

Tatanggapin ko Na 

pinili mong itapon ang tatlong taon 

Para sa lalaking halos nakilala mo lang kahapon

Halos kahapon lang 

Pero nagawa mo agad akong bitawan, 

Tatanggapin ko 

Na sya na at hindi na ako 

Sya na ang magiging kahawak-kamay mo 

Dahil binitawan mo na ako 

Tataggapin ko na hanggang dito nalang to 

Dahil nagsimula na ang istorya niyo 

Pero sana sa pagtanggap ko 

H’wag ka magsisi sa bago mo 

Dahil balita ko Batikang manloloko yang pinili mo 

Kwento pa nga nila, 

Habit niyan ang magkolekta, 

Masakit man sa’kin 

Na ang itinuring kong prinsesa 

Ay pipiliin ang katulad niya 

Ilang ulit kong tinangkang bawiin ka, 

Pero tinaboy mo lang ako sa harap niya 

Siguro nga, 

may pagkukulang lang ako 

At sakanya mo yun nakita 

Pero sana Hindi ka nagkamali 

Sana naging tama ka 

Na pinili mo sya 

Kung mangyari man yun 

Mga sakit at hapdi’y titiisin ko 

Dahil alam kong napunta ang prinsesa ko sa tamang tao 

Tatanggapin ko na mahal 

Na sa susunod na gagawin kong tula 

Ay hindi na tungkol sayo 

Dahil eto na ang huli 

Na hahabulin ka, 

Pagkat alam kong sa kanya ka pa rin sasama 

Eto na ang huli 

Na aalayan ka 

Kaya mahal Paalam na 

Alam ko namang masaya ka na 

Sinimulan ko ng tanggapin 

Na wala na nga 

Eto na ang huling beses na sasabihin ko

 ‘to “I Love You”

 Pero ngayon mas mahal mo na sya 

Kaya pinipili ko nalang 

Na panuorin ang inyong istorya 

Kahit sobrang sakit sakin na makitang mas masaya ka sa kanya Tataggapin ko na hindi ko na magagawang hawakan ang palad mo 

At hindi ko na mahahagkan ang matamis na yakap mo 

Masakit man mahal, Pero “Mag-enjoy sana kayo ng bago mo

WANNA KNOW HIM MORE? CHECK HIM OUT! :) https://www.facebook.com/jalil.cayda

How to Get Rid of Rats

By Cynthia Smith (Veterinarian in Washington) – I hate rats. I hate the way they dig dirty holes in my nice clean barns. I hate the squishy way the floor feels when there’s a rat tunnel underneath it. I hate the sick feeling I get when I see a rat whisk past my feet as I open the barns in the morning. I hate their furry little brown disease-carrying bodies that make me feel like my backyard chickens are a menace to all the neighborhood and like, any minute, the next Black Death will descend upon the world and all because I just had to raise poultry. My hatred of rats and their presence on my property lead me to search for solutions on how to get rid of rats.

Act 1: The Discovery

I feel like rodents are the dirty little secret of the poultry world. The one thing we hate to discuss or admit to (like having fleas on your dog or cockroaches in your house); acknowledging that you have seen a rat in your barn is like saying you are a bad person — one with really crummy hygiene. My son, Rob, has been well-trained never to say the word in public. (The last thing I want the neighbors to know is that the cute little backyard farm next door might be less than perfect, let alone a potential reservoir of disease.)

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Indeed, when I told Rob I was going to write this article, his first words were: “I hope it’s going to be anonymous!” I didn’t always hate rats. I had the pet white variety as a child and saw them occasionally in my practice as a veterinarian. It was only after I acquired chickens (about eight years ago at the age of 43) that the loathing began.

Our first order of chickens on my son’s birthday arrived in a cheeping little cardboard box from the Murray McMurray hatchery. While they grew inside of a puppy pen in the house, my husband and 8-year-old son labored to build a raccoon-proof coop in the backyard. Feed was stored in the next-door shed (which had an elevated floor).

All went well, as far as we knew, until the following summer when my husband reached to the upper shelves of the shed and pulled down last year’s nylon swimming pool. The blue plastic came down in a heap, along with the rats that had been nesting in it. As furry bodies rained over my husband’s head and shoulders, an impossibly high-pitched shriek emerged from his masculine throat and my son was witness to a burst of profanity the likes of which he had never heard his Christian father utter. “Mommy, Daddy swore!”

After the gnawed plastic and gruesome tale were revealed to me on my arrival home, I began my first foray into the business of extermination and researching how to get rid of rats; not something a veterinarian is particularly well-trained in. My husband proudly brought home electric traps, a tip he’s received when researching how to get rid of rats. They were supposed to give a quick painless death to the rat when it stepped on the plate. Either they didn’t work, or the rats never touched them. Nary a body did we ever see from those expensive devices. Then there were the glue traps. Guess what, the glue isn’t sticky anymore if it gets anything on it, like dust or shavings. Strangely, my coops were not dust-free. Then there were the good old-fashioned oversized mouse traps designed for their rattish cousins. These at least got some action. We found them exploded six to 10 feet from where they were set, but again, both bait and rat-free. I need not even mention the “humane live catch” trap (it was sized for mice anyway, who seem to be a lot dumber than rats). The plan was that mice could get in but not out again, so one was supposed to check the trap daily and humanely release Mickey and Minnie back into the wild. My husband only tried this once. He forgot to check the trap for two weeks, after which there were multiple cannibalized mouse corpses in the trap; the aftermath of a rodent-style Hunger Games and clearly not a humane way to die.

At this point, I felt there was no option except to try poison as a means of how to get rid of rats. All my efforts to employ natural ways to kill mice and rats were unsuccessful. I never wanted to use rat poison. Goodness knows, we see enough dogs and cats poisoned either by the poison itself or by consuming the poisoned animal. Years before we ever had poultry or had thought of using poison, we lost a pet cat to DeCon poisoning.

An excellent mouser, she would bring back just the tails and line them up at night for our admiration. Twice, she must have eaten a poisoned animal. The first time, we pulled her through. The second time, we were too late. So I know the risk of poison to the animals nearby. Unfortunately, I also understand the risk of a rat incursion in a populated area, both to property and to health. Something had to be done.

Intermission: Safe Rat Control Options

A word here must be inserted about what is certainly the most natural and safe of rat-control options: the domestic or farm cat or, perhaps, a rat terrier. People swear by this option for how to get rid of mice. The terrier was right out as, in my experience, dogs that kill rats also really enjoy killing chickens. But what about a cat? I counted. We have had 12 cats in the past 29 years. Of those, three were excellent mousers. Two of three died before they attained late middle age (about eight years), presumably because of their outdoor lifestyle. We are responsible citizens and have our pets spayed and neutered, so frequent replacement was not an option. The two cats who currently reside on my bed would not dream of soiling their precious paws with a filthy rodent. If you have a healthy supply of competent barn cats and are reading this article thinking what a dangerous poison-wielding idiot I am, my hat is off to you.

Act 2: Back to the Rat Story

Let us return to the saga. I contacted our Washington State Poultry Vet at the lab that does necropsies on poultry. If you do not have the access to a brilliant poultry resource like Dr. Roccio Crespo in your state, you have my pity.

Dr. Crespo informed me that I needed to buy little locking plastic boxes that hold the poison tightly confined on stakes. In this way, the rat must eat the poison in the box and cannot carry a chunk away to possibly poison another animal. I bought Tomcat boxes and bait at the local feed store. They were easy to use. The poison disappeared, dead rat bodies appeared and were immediately disposed of. There was no collateral damage in birds or other animals. Whew!

Fast forward to our move from our little house on a small lot to our littler house on a large (1.3-acre lot) a few years later. In the classic reverse market savvy that runs in my unhappy family, the real estate market crashed mere weeks after the papers were signed. Our new house was immediately worth much less than we paid, the mortgage was underwater and our old house unsalable unless at a very great loss. Doggedly, we muscled on as have many ethical Americans in the same situation. Refusing to renege on our word because circumstances had changed, we paid for our now overpriced home and prepared to become landlords as our old house was now vacant. Another rat crisis worsened our situation. When we abruptly removed every bird to our new barn on the new property, the current invisible rats grew and hungered. They went looking for food. They found it in grass seed stored in the garage, in camping food locked away in the attic, in water and food stores stored in plastic 24-hour kits. Before we knew it, we had rats that had moved uptown: highfalutin rodents living high in the attic and sporting top hats and monocles. The traps were again a failure. Once again, we were forced to resort to the poison. It worked, but with a small side effect. These rats did not do us the courtesy of quietly dying in their holes underground.

Noooo, they went to the far reaches of the attic and vents to die. It was summer. Chanel Number Fur permeated the house in several unexpected areas: the master bedroom, the hall closet, and the pantry — open these doors and prepare to run. All searches for their desiccating bodies proved futile. The house was, most certainly, not fit to go on the market. Eight months later, in the depths of winter, eau de rodent being but an unpleasant memory, we could finally begin to make preparations to lease out our money pit.

Act 3: The Return to Chickens

We had by now narrowed our focus to breeding only show varieties of bantam Polish and Araucanas. Some of our old flock remained as pets, along with turkeys, geese, and ducks acquired variously as lawn candy. Most birds were free range on our 1.3 acres, with the show birds confined to covered pens. A locked poison box was kept in each pen and rarely needed emptying. All was well. There are several other people in our neighborhood who keep a few birds, including a lovely next-door family who acquired nice birds and joined our 4-H club.

Suddenly, the rat population swelled. Poison boxes were still full but the Tomcat poison seemed barely nibbled. An experienced friend recommended, “Just One Bite,” a tasty looking poison with embedded grains. The rats loved it. The poison disappeared again and so did the rats. I diplomatically (I hoped) donated poison to my chicken-keeping neighbor. Whew. Back on track.

In 2013, the situation changed yet again. My neighbor went back to school and I offered to place her birds for her. Once the birds were homed, hungry rat hordes moved to the nearest source of food: us. This was the worst ever! On one night I saw six — count ’em, six — rats running around like they owned the place. (And I was taught that, if you see one, there are 10 more you didn’t see.) Neighbors down the street also discovered rat damage under their houses. Exterminators were called. I felt like Typhoid Mary.

The poison boxes were once again loaded and distributed. Chicken feed and water disappeared, but the bait stayed pristine. My friend was again consulted. Take out the feed so they have to eat the poison, she advised. Laboriously, every night we lugged feed out of all six pens, refilled the bait boxes, and lugged feed back out in the early morning before work. Chicken chores were becoming less fun and my teenage son was far less enthralled with his feathered friends. It worked (sort of), as the bait disappeared.

Indeed, we went through 24 pounds of bait, both the Tomcat and the Just One Bite, in the following three months.

However, while the bait was gone, the rats seemed totally unaffected. Fat rats, baby rats, all cavorting with seeming impunity in and among our birds. Then it hit me. Every morning I had to refill, not only the feed, but all the water! Full waterers at night were empty in the morning. My two remaining tired neurons finally made the connection: what did I put in my water? Apple cider vinegar. What does the vinegar contain, among other things? Vitamin K. How does rat poison work? By destroying the body’s vitamin K stores, thus causing them to slowly bleed to death.

Excellent, I’d spent three months administering the antidote along with the toxin. Fine work indeed. The darn poison itself was getting a lot harder to acquire too. The FDA had decided to ban sales of most of the really effective products to regular consumers. My local Del’s feed store and local hardware store no longer carried them. I was forced to pick up the Just One Bite in 8-pound cases from a feed store 120 miles away. I had to sign for it too. This would be OK except that it still wasn’t working well. Now I was carrying birds’ water and feed out every night and every morning, a feat which required I give up an extra 45 minutes of sleep before the work day and stumble around in the dark loaded with water that poured all over my shoes. Oh, I was loving raising chickens, you betcha.

An example of a safety trap, that keeps the rats from dragging poison into places also shared by pets and poultry.

We found a few dead rats, to be sure, and the Just One Bite was disappearing nightly by the pound, but the influx of baby rats playing fearlessly in my show cages convinced me I was still fighting a losing battle. To make matters worse, I had a deadline approaching. Soon I would have abdominal surgery, which would necessitate me turning over all the care of the birds to my son Rob for a while. No way was he going to be able to spend that kind of time lugging feed and water before his 6 a.m. Bible Study and 7:30 a.m. school. What to do?

Several things came to light in my frenzied research on how to get rid of rats that did not involve going back to a life without birds.

1. Visits to the affected neighbors informed me that their exterminators had tracked their rats to a neighborhood sewage drain source. (I was so worried they’d target me!) These people paid premium prices for professional exterminators who did exactly what I’d been doing: Put bait boxes all around the areas and when finished, advise their clients to buy their own boxes and keep them full as further sewage incursions were a certainty. (Whew! I wasn’t going crazy: there were indeed plenty of rats coming in faster than I could kill them.)

2. I discovered that the United Kingdom is experiencing a serious outbreak of poison-resistant rats in their sewage system. While I found no such reference in the U.S., it does not seem a far reach to assume that we, too, have rats that have evolved to be able to eat the stuff with minimal damage.

3. I decided I was quite unwilling to try the newer poisons that do not antagonize vitamin K. These poisons have no antidote whereas, with a $9 bottle of vitamin K given daily for a month, a pet that one presumes may have been poisoned can be saved. (I found my own cat eating a single rat this summer, and considering her incompetence, felt that there was no way she would have caught it unless it was already dying. A pill a day for a month and she lives to purr on my pillow for years to come.

4. There are many variations on the vitamin K antagonizing poisons. The trick, I decided, was to find a poison these rats had never seen before and that was tasty enough to compete with the feed. (We continue to put away the vinegar-enriched water at night, though.)

I found that product in First Strike Soft Bait. These soft packets must be stuck tightly on the stakes so the rats cannot carry them away, but they must taste delicious and we’re finally seeing corpses everywhere, even though we’re leaving the feed in at night. I am confident that, for a while at least, the vermin are in retreat. First Strike uses an ingredient called Difethialone at a concentration of 0.0025 percent.

As I mentioned, a product that I have really liked in the past is Just One Bite, which has the active ingredient, Bromadilone.

The bait stations (locking boxes) that I use are made by Tomcat, the Tomcat poison sold with the trap contains bromethalin and has the added advantage of being waterproof if you need to keep bait stations outside. It does seem to be considerably less palatable than the other two, so rats with a choice of goodies may not go for it.

And that’s it. As you may understand, I have written this article with great trepidation, not wanting to be branded as the chicken breeder with the rat problem. Please be constantly aware that, if you do have to treat with poison boxes, animals may still be at risk if they eat poisoned rats. Keep a sharp watch and immediately dispose of dead or dying rodents. Consult your veterinarian immediately if you suspect your pet has been poisoned, and bring a copy of the package so the doctor may ascertain proper treatment.

A recent visit to two admired breeder’s facilities convinced me that I am not alone in having trials dealing with these pests. I hope that my information may prove helpful, or may at least make you feel smug that you don’t have that disgusting problem or that your cats are competent. (If so, you have my envy.) I have written this article in good faith, hoping to save others some of the trials we have been through. I would prefer not to receive a ton of hate mail from PETA members who adore their little rat friends or from naturalist believers who are sure Diatomaceous Earth and probiotics can cure rats, rickets, rabies and a rainy day.

My wish for you: May the words, “Oh, Rats!” come out of your mouth only when you drop the feed bag on your toe.

What other ideas for how to get rid of rats would you add to this list?

 Originally published in Backyard Poultry June/July 2014 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

How to Get Rid of Rats was originally posted by All About Chickens

How to Get Rid of Rats

By Cynthia Smith (Veterinarian in Washington) – I hate rats. I hate the way they dig dirty holes in my nice clean barns. I hate the squishy way the floor feels when there’s a rat tunnel underneath it. I hate the sick feeling I get when I see a rat whisk past my feet as I open the barns in the morning. I hate their furry little brown disease-carrying bodies that make me feel like my backyard chickens are a menace to all the neighborhood and like, any minute, the next Black Death will descend upon the world and all because I just had to raise poultry. My hatred of rats and their presence on my property lead me to search for solutions on how to get rid of rats.

Act 1: The Discovery

I feel like rodents are the dirty little secret of the poultry world. The one thing we hate to discuss or admit to (like having fleas on your dog or cockroaches in your house); acknowledging that you have seen a rat in your barn is like saying you are a bad person — one with really crummy hygiene. My son, Rob, has been well-trained never to say the word in public. (The last thing I want the neighbors to know is that the cute little backyard farm next door might be less than perfect, let alone a potential reservoir of disease.)

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Indeed, when I told Rob I was going to write this article, his first words were: “I hope it’s going to be anonymous!” I didn’t always hate rats. I had the pet white variety as a child and saw them occasionally in my practice as a veterinarian. It was only after I acquired chickens (about eight years ago at the age of 43) that the loathing began.

Our first order of chickens on my son’s birthday arrived in a cheeping little cardboard box from the Murray McMurray hatchery. While they grew inside of a puppy pen in the house, my husband and 8-year-old son labored to build a raccoon-proof coop in the backyard. Feed was stored in the next-door shed (which had an elevated floor).

All went well, as far as we knew, until the following summer when my husband reached to the upper shelves of the shed and pulled down last year’s nylon swimming pool. The blue plastic came down in a heap, along with the rats that had been nesting in it. As furry bodies rained over my husband’s head and shoulders, an impossibly high-pitched shriek emerged from his masculine throat and my son was witness to a burst of profanity the likes of which he had never heard his Christian father utter. “Mommy, Daddy swore!”

After the gnawed plastic and gruesome tale were revealed to me on my arrival home, I began my first foray into the business of extermination and researching how to get rid of rats; not something a veterinarian is particularly well-trained in. My husband proudly brought home electric traps, a tip he’s received when researching how to get rid of rats. They were supposed to give a quick painless death to the rat when it stepped on the plate. Either they didn’t work, or the rats never touched them. Nary a body did we ever see from those expensive devices. Then there were the glue traps. Guess what, the glue isn’t sticky anymore if it gets anything on it, like dust or shavings. Strangely, my coops were not dust-free. Then there were the good old-fashioned oversized mouse traps designed for their rattish cousins. These at least got some action. We found them exploded six to 10 feet from where they were set, but again, both bait and rat-free. I need not even mention the “humane live catch” trap (it was sized for mice anyway, who seem to be a lot dumber than rats). The plan was that mice could get in but not out again, so one was supposed to check the trap daily and humanely release Mickey and Minnie back into the wild. My husband only tried this once. He forgot to check the trap for two weeks, after which there were multiple cannibalized mouse corpses in the trap; the aftermath of a rodent-style Hunger Games and clearly not a humane way to die.

At this point, I felt there was no option except to try poison as a means of how to get rid of rats. All my efforts to employ natural ways to kill mice and rats were unsuccessful. I never wanted to use rat poison. Goodness knows, we see enough dogs and cats poisoned either by the poison itself or by consuming the poisoned animal. Years before we ever had poultry or had thought of using poison, we lost a pet cat to DeCon poisoning.

An excellent mouser, she would bring back just the tails and line them up at night for our admiration. Twice, she must have eaten a poisoned animal. The first time, we pulled her through. The second time, we were too late. So I know the risk of poison to the animals nearby. Unfortunately, I also understand the risk of a rat incursion in a populated area, both to property and to health. Something had to be done.

Intermission: Safe Rat Control Options

A word here must be inserted about what is certainly the most natural and safe of rat-control options: the domestic or farm cat or, perhaps, a rat terrier. People swear by this option for how to get rid of mice. The terrier was right out as, in my experience, dogs that kill rats also really enjoy killing chickens. But what about a cat? I counted. We have had 12 cats in the past 29 years. Of those, three were excellent mousers. Two of three died before they attained late middle age (about eight years), presumably because of their outdoor lifestyle. We are responsible citizens and have our pets spayed and neutered, so frequent replacement was not an option. The two cats who currently reside on my bed would not dream of soiling their precious paws with a filthy rodent. If you have a healthy supply of competent barn cats and are reading this article thinking what a dangerous poison-wielding idiot I am, my hat is off to you.

Act 2: Back to the Rat Story

Let us return to the saga. I contacted our Washington State Poultry Vet at the lab that does necropsies on poultry. If you do not have the access to a brilliant poultry resource like Dr. Roccio Crespo in your state, you have my pity.

Dr. Crespo informed me that I needed to buy little locking plastic boxes that hold the poison tightly confined on stakes. In this way, the rat must eat the poison in the box and cannot carry a chunk away to possibly poison another animal. I bought Tomcat boxes and bait at the local feed store. They were easy to use. The poison disappeared, dead rat bodies appeared and were immediately disposed of. There was no collateral damage in birds or other animals. Whew!

Fast forward to our move from our little house on a small lot to our littler house on a large (1.3-acre lot) a few years later. In the classic reverse market savvy that runs in my unhappy family, the real estate market crashed mere weeks after the papers were signed. Our new house was immediately worth much less than we paid, the mortgage was underwater and our old house unsalable unless at a very great loss. Doggedly, we muscled on as have many ethical Americans in the same situation. Refusing to renege on our word because circumstances had changed, we paid for our now overpriced home and prepared to become landlords as our old house was now vacant. Another rat crisis worsened our situation. When we abruptly removed every bird to our new barn on the new property, the current invisible rats grew and hungered. They went looking for food. They found it in grass seed stored in the garage, in camping food locked away in the attic, in water and food stores stored in plastic 24-hour kits. Before we knew it, we had rats that had moved uptown: highfalutin rodents living high in the attic and sporting top hats and monocles. The traps were again a failure. Once again, we were forced to resort to the poison. It worked, but with a small side effect. These rats did not do us the courtesy of quietly dying in their holes underground.

Noooo, they went to the far reaches of the attic and vents to die. It was summer. Chanel Number Fur permeated the house in several unexpected areas: the master bedroom, the hall closet, and the pantry — open these doors and prepare to run. All searches for their desiccating bodies proved futile. The house was, most certainly, not fit to go on the market. Eight months later, in the depths of winter, eau de rodent being but an unpleasant memory, we could finally begin to make preparations to lease out our money pit.

Act 3: The Return to Chickens

We had by now narrowed our focus to breeding only show varieties of bantam Polish and Araucanas. Some of our old flock remained as pets, along with turkeys, geese, and ducks acquired variously as lawn candy. Most birds were free range on our 1.3 acres, with the show birds confined to covered pens. A locked poison box was kept in each pen and rarely needed emptying. All was well. There are several other people in our neighborhood who keep a few birds, including a lovely next-door family who acquired nice birds and joined our 4-H club.

Suddenly, the rat population swelled. Poison boxes were still full but the Tomcat poison seemed barely nibbled. An experienced friend recommended, “Just One Bite,” a tasty looking poison with embedded grains. The rats loved it. The poison disappeared again and so did the rats. I diplomatically (I hoped) donated poison to my chicken-keeping neighbor. Whew. Back on track.

In 2013, the situation changed yet again. My neighbor went back to school and I offered to place her birds for her. Once the birds were homed, hungry rat hordes moved to the nearest source of food: us. This was the worst ever! On one night I saw six — count ’em, six — rats running around like they owned the place. (And I was taught that, if you see one, there are 10 more you didn’t see.) Neighbors down the street also discovered rat damage under their houses. Exterminators were called. I felt like Typhoid Mary.

The poison boxes were once again loaded and distributed. Chicken feed and water disappeared, but the bait stayed pristine. My friend was again consulted. Take out the feed so they have to eat the poison, she advised. Laboriously, every night we lugged feed out of all six pens, refilled the bait boxes, and lugged feed back out in the early morning before work. Chicken chores were becoming less fun and my teenage son was far less enthralled with his feathered friends. It worked (sort of), as the bait disappeared.

Indeed, we went through 24 pounds of bait, both the Tomcat and the Just One Bite, in the following three months.

However, while the bait was gone, the rats seemed totally unaffected. Fat rats, baby rats, all cavorting with seeming impunity in and among our birds. Then it hit me. Every morning I had to refill, not only the feed, but all the water! Full waterers at night were empty in the morning. My two remaining tired neurons finally made the connection: what did I put in my water? Apple cider vinegar. What does the vinegar contain, among other things? Vitamin K. How does rat poison work? By destroying the body’s vitamin K stores, thus causing them to slowly bleed to death.

Excellent, I’d spent three months administering the antidote along with the toxin. Fine work indeed. The darn poison itself was getting a lot harder to acquire too. The FDA had decided to ban sales of most of the really effective products to regular consumers. My local Del’s feed store and local hardware store no longer carried them. I was forced to pick up the Just One Bite in 8-pound cases from a feed store 120 miles away. I had to sign for it too. This would be OK except that it still wasn’t working well. Now I was carrying birds’ water and feed out every night and every morning, a feat which required I give up an extra 45 minutes of sleep before the work day and stumble around in the dark loaded with water that poured all over my shoes. Oh, I was loving raising chickens, you betcha.

An example of a safety trap, that keeps the rats from dragging poison into places also shared by pets and poultry.

We found a few dead rats, to be sure, and the Just One Bite was disappearing nightly by the pound, but the influx of baby rats playing fearlessly in my show cages convinced me I was still fighting a losing battle. To make matters worse, I had a deadline approaching. Soon I would have abdominal surgery, which would necessitate me turning over all the care of the birds to my son Rob for a while. No way was he going to be able to spend that kind of time lugging feed and water before his 6 a.m. Bible Study and 7:30 a.m. school. What to do?

Several things came to light in my frenzied research on how to get rid of rats that did not involve going back to a life without birds.

1. Visits to the affected neighbors informed me that their exterminators had tracked their rats to a neighborhood sewage drain source. (I was so worried they’d target me!) These people paid premium prices for professional exterminators who did exactly what I’d been doing: Put bait boxes all around the areas and when finished, advise their clients to buy their own boxes and keep them full as further sewage incursions were a certainty. (Whew! I wasn’t going crazy: there were indeed plenty of rats coming in faster than I could kill them.)

2. I discovered that the United Kingdom is experiencing a serious outbreak of poison-resistant rats in their sewage system. While I found no such reference in the U.S., it does not seem a far reach to assume that we, too, have rats that have evolved to be able to eat the stuff with minimal damage.

3. I decided I was quite unwilling to try the newer poisons that do not antagonize vitamin K. These poisons have no antidote whereas, with a $9 bottle of vitamin K given daily for a month, a pet that one presumes may have been poisoned can be saved. (I found my own cat eating a single rat this summer, and considering her incompetence, felt that there was no way she would have caught it unless it was already dying. A pill a day for a month and she lives to purr on my pillow for years to come.

4. There are many variations on the vitamin K antagonizing poisons. The trick, I decided, was to find a poison these rats had never seen before and that was tasty enough to compete with the feed. (We continue to put away the vinegar-enriched water at night, though.)

I found that product in First Strike Soft Bait. These soft packets must be stuck tightly on the stakes so the rats cannot carry them away, but they must taste delicious and we’re finally seeing corpses everywhere, even though we’re leaving the feed in at night. I am confident that, for a while at least, the vermin are in retreat. First Strike uses an ingredient called Difethialone at a concentration of 0.0025 percent.

As I mentioned, a product that I have really liked in the past is Just One Bite, which has the active ingredient, Bromadilone.

The bait stations (locking boxes) that I use are made by Tomcat, the Tomcat poison sold with the trap contains bromethalin and has the added advantage of being waterproof if you need to keep bait stations outside. It does seem to be considerably less palatable than the other two, so rats with a choice of goodies may not go for it.

And that’s it. As you may understand, I have written this article with great trepidation, not wanting to be branded as the chicken breeder with the rat problem. Please be constantly aware that, if you do have to treat with poison boxes, animals may still be at risk if they eat poisoned rats. Keep a sharp watch and immediately dispose of dead or dying rodents. Consult your veterinarian immediately if you suspect your pet has been poisoned, and bring a copy of the package so the doctor may ascertain proper treatment.

A recent visit to two admired breeder’s facilities convinced me that I am not alone in having trials dealing with these pests. I hope that my information may prove helpful, or may at least make you feel smug that you don’t have that disgusting problem or that your cats are competent. (If so, you have my envy.) I have written this article in good faith, hoping to save others some of the trials we have been through. I would prefer not to receive a ton of hate mail from PETA members who adore their little rat friends or from naturalist believers who are sure Diatomaceous Earth and probiotics can cure rats, rickets, rabies and a rainy day.

My wish for you: May the words, “Oh, Rats!” come out of your mouth only when you drop the feed bag on your toe.

What other ideas for how to get rid of rats would you add to this list?

 Originally published in Backyard Poultry June/July 2014 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

How to Get Rid of Rats was originally posted by All About Chickens