#Interst Rate Assignment Help

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter IV

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we are back! i really love where this is going, i hope you guys do too! feedback is very welcome as always (just don't be mean, i cry easily in case you can't tell from my writing). i have been to (the ruins) of the temple and the house of the vestals and have learned a lot about them so i hope i can strike the balance between making the fic intersting and adding some historic context, please let me know if this is working! also if you read this the day i post (december 3rd) happy bona dea hehe ♡

Mola Salsa – Ointment used during religious sacrifices Vale – Goodbye Salve – Hello Sacrosant – Untouchable (by law)

Chapter IV

“Have they assigned you for Bona Dea yet?” Severa is walking beside you, carrying a jug filled with fresh water from the sacred spring. Her step is light, even after the many hours she has spent at the temple today. The upcoming festival has been the talk of all of Rome, as it frequently is during the season where the air becomes colder and the occasional summer breeze turns into full-on storms. On the third of the last month, women in Rome celebrate the night of Bona Dea, the goddess that symbolizes chastity and fertility. A rare occasion where attendance is forbidden to men rather than women.

You nod softly in response to her question, turning the last corner before you reach the round temple of Vesta. “Yes. I am to help prepare the mola salsa. And I have been allowed to aid in carrying–” You pause, recalling that you are still in public. “Carrying the items to the place.”

Severa gives a nod, understanding the almost cryptic words. No one outside the circle, especially no man, is allowed to know which rituals you and the other priestesses undertake during the December night. At the mention of the assigned tasks, she falls into a one-sided but comfortable conversation, telling you her plans of preparation, though always being careful not to get too detailed. When you reach the steps that lead up toward the temple, she hands you the jug of water and bids you goodbye before heading the other direction. With her shift ended, she may retire to her quarters or spend her time however she likes. For you, the day has just begun–despite the sun already being halfway across the sky.

The smell of smoke and herbs greets you as you slip into the building, the only temple in the entire empire that holds no statue of its god or goddess. The flame is the only representation Vesta requires.

You start by collecting the rags you keep in a small cupboard off to the side of the large room, soaking them with the sacred water before kneeling down to begin cleansing the floor. Purity is more important for Vesta than anything, meaning that every day, the temple is cleaned, usually towards the evening when there aren't as many citizens coming to pray.

You work in silence, ignoring the way the cold stone hurts under your knees. It is a shift that requires much physical labor, but you are content to have the room to yourself today, the only company the shadows dancing on the stone walls beside you. You watch as they change, creating pictures and silhouettes that are gone before you can quite figure out what they resemble.

Your drifting thoughts are interrupted by the gentle thud of the oak door, followed by a small gust of air blowing through the room. You look up from where you are kneeling beside the flame, expecting one of the women that frequently come to pray with you. Instead, you feel your breath hitch in your throat.

Acacius looks a little lost, his broad frame dressed in his shiny golden armour, one that does not quite fit the space. He gives no indication of recognizing you, instead heading straight for one of the benches set out for the citizens. With an almost quiet grunt, he lowers himself into a sitting position and bows his head, his lips moving without producing any sound. He is praying.

You're not sure why you are so surprised. Maybe because you cannot recall ever seeing a General in the temple of Vesta or because his comments a few weeks ago did not make him sound like someone who prays much.

I prefer to put my trust in people.

You don't quite realize how openly you are staring at him until he raises his head just enough to glance your way. You bow your head so fast that you feel your muscles protest, the noises of the cackling fire joined by the one of you hurriedly wiping the floor.

You do not allow yourself another second of looking at him. Not a single one. Even when you stand and return the rag and jug to their respective places. Even when you gather a few pieces of wood in your arms and carefully add them to the flame.

It is not until you are standing with your back to the hearth, sorting some of the smaller twigs, that you hear him move. His voice is low when he speaks, like he is trying not to disturb the place around you and what it holds inside its walls. “Am I disturbing you?”

You are almost tempted to keep your back to him and give your response to the firewood below rather than him. But even the high status of a Vestal Virgin will not save you from punishment for disrespecting the General of the Roman army.

“No, of course not,” you respond politely as you turn around. “But I am afraid I do not have your will here. If you'd like to make further adjustments, I can locate it tomorrow and–”

“I did not come for the will,” Acacius says quietly, his brown eyes flying over your face. Once again, you feel like he can read you, like there is an inscription carved into your features the way it is below statues or over doors. Names, places, entire stories told in stone. It’s like yours is spelled out in a language only he can understand.

You pause, a moment of near silence passing between you. You are close enough to see the shadows dancing on his face now, the flame reflecting in his eyes.

“Then what did you come for, my General?” Addressing him sends a shiver through you again, the same way it did the last time you said goodbye. Calling him yours when he is so far from it.

“To pray.” A tiny smirk appears on his face and he looks almost … satisfied with himself. “It is what one does in a temple, is it not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly, despite the fact that you try and will them not to. “It is.” The next sentence tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “You took my advice then.”

Acacius raises a brow and you involuntarily hold your breath, awaiting what you expect to be a rather unfavorable reaction–when he laughs. Filling the temple that holds the most important hearth of the roman empire with a soft and gentle laugh. It feels wrong. It feels shameful and unfitting and yet, you feel like something stir inside of you at the sound. Slowly, his laugh dies down until you are left with a mere, gentle smile on his face as he looks down at you. “You are not as timid as you seem, are you now?”

Your blush deepens at that but a shy smile creeps onto your face nevertheless. “I was just–observing.”

“Yes. And do you do that often?” At your confused face, he adds: “Do you observe people often?”

“I did not say I observed people,” you half-whisper, suddenly realizing where this conversation is heading.

Does he know?

You have never considered that the conveniently short distance between your homes works both ways. Mainly because you can't imagine a man as important as Acacius interested in what the Vestals do. Maybe because you also can't imagine him as a man who simply observes–no doubt he finds what he longs for and demands for it. He is well known for his conquering of the southern areas.

“It is an imposing atrium,” he mutters quietly, his eyes carefully tracing your face. Waiting for a reaction. He’s about to speak again when you feel it.

The movement in your chest that felt comfortable until a moment ago, turns to ice. A shiver runs over your body and you step back so violently that your back hits the wooden cupboard and the jug that Severa had carried earlier, begins to sway. You feel Acacius brush past you, attempting to catch it but he is too late. His empty hand closes around air as the jug hits the floor and bursts into small pieces.

For a moment, you stay exactly where you are, your heart thumping as you fight against the cold dread that still fills your body. Acacius shifts beside you and you can feel his brown eyes on you. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you. Let me help–”

But you do not let him finish the offer. Instead, you whip around and lean down, beginning to gather the shards off the floor. “It is late,” you press out without looking up at him.

Now it’s the Generals turn to look confused. He pauses, blinking a few times. Before he can ask the question already forming in his throat, you motion toward the oak doors. “The sun will go down soon. Men are not allowed in the temple at night.” 

It takes a few moments before Acacius nods, sending you a polite smile that feels very different from the one that decorated his face mere moments ago. “Of course. I do not wish to keep you.”

He turns swiftly, his uniform moving gracefully around him as he crosses the small room and slips out of the temple. The door falls shut with a thud, signifying once more how very alone you are.

You try to hold back tears as you fold your dress in your lap and begin to collect the shards in it. The salt water so dangerously close to high tide. It blurs your vision enough to grasp one of the larger shards the wrong way, a sharp pain searing through your hand as it cuts into your skin.

He probably only meant to pray.

He has a wife, a home. An army, soldiers and their families. A responsibility like that could make anyone turn to the gods, that much you know. And you scared him off, simply because your body had started acting of its own accord.

Almost as if in a trance, you fully sink to your knees in front of the flame, bowing your head so low that you can feel the coolness of the tiles below. Whispered words fall from your lips. But they are not merely just prayers. They are pleas for forgiveness. You cannot name what it is Vesta shall forgive you. You have done your duty, have not acted in any way that would not honor your vows. And yet, you feel that there is something you should seek forgiveness for.

When you stand again, you tread quietly, almost like you are tiptoeing around something. Balancing your weight on the edge of a bridge, trying desperately to stay still. The wind may not carry you away, no matter how tempting. You do not have wings. You will not fly. The only way off the ledge is the fall. One that you would not survive.

You shudder at the thought as you finish your duties as quietly and quickly as you can. You finish gathering the broken jug, wipe the floor once more and replace the wood. A small sigh of relief leaves your throat when you finally hear the door being opened again–and the eldest of the Vestals steps inside. She surveys the room, pausing as she spots the cupboard. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you answer quickly. “The water jug broke, I was carrying it. My apologies.” You bow your head, sending another silent prayer to Vesta to forgive you the lie. “I will arrange for a new one.”

She looks at you for a moment before nodding her head. “Very well. You may head back to the house. Walk by the potter and give word that we are in need of a new jug. I will stay until morning and have one of the girls pick it up in a few days time.”

“Of course. Vale.” Leaving a small bow and more whispered apologies at her feet, you step out of the temple, glad to put distance between you and the hearth.

It is by no means a far walk to the house of the potter that you task with everything the Vestals need. And yet, you'd much prefer to tread it while it is light. The city changes during the night, even in these safer parts of town. The streets are filled with those who wander the night and despite the fact that your palla demands immediate respect from those that cross your way, it is not a comfortable journey.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a few soldiers that seem to tail you and exhale a small breath, thanking the gods for sending men to protect you. You lose sight of them when you slip into the small alley that opens to the workshop of the potter. But the light inside is extinguished.

“Salve?” You give the door a gentle knock, waiting for a reaction from inside. But none comes.

With a resigned shrug, you turn to make your way back to the main road. It isn't until you have taken a few steps that you look up–and find your way blocked. The three soldiers have their eyes trained on you, their bodies wide enough that they cut off any chance of escape.

You feel your heart beginning to pound again but you force yourself to stay calm, giving a polite nod. They are soldiers. They are here to protect you. Then, the one in the middle opens his mouth.

“What business does a priestess have to be out at night all by herself?” He asks, cocking his head as his gaze shamelessly wanders over your body. The soldier to his right laughs in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Even standing feet away, you can smell the strong aroma of wine on his breath. There has not been any battle. Nothing has been won.

There is no reason for soldiers to celebrate.

“Why do they always pick pretty girls for Vesta?” The one with the foul breath complains. “True shame no one can touch them.” The other one laughs at the comment, taking a step toward you. You feel your back hit the wall. “Oh, you can touch them. You just have to demand for them to keep their mouth shut about it. I would really like to–”

You are spared the details of what this drunk man would like to do to you. Because in that moment, a voice booms out behind the soldiers, echoing slightly in the small alley.

“Soldiers. Step back.”

They whirl around and you think you see one of them ready himself to fight–that is, until the man the voice belongs to steps into the light. They may not respect a priestess. But they will respect Rome's General.

Yet, when they don’t move immediately, he barks out: “That is an order!” Their reactions are surprisingly fast for the state they’re in, the one on the right practically crashing into the wall in his hurry to obey.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asks, his voice so much lower and demanding than it was earlier at the temple. Any hint of the gentle, soft man you talked to is gone.

“We were worried for her safety,” one of the soldiers blurts out. What a way to spin it, you think to yourself. The only threat of your safety tonight has been them.

Acacius's eyes briefly meet yours and his face hardens slightly. He continues moving toward you, forcing the man next to you to step away hurriedly. “Move. And get back to your barracks, straight away.” They are halfway across the alley when he yells after them. “If I catch you bothering her again, I will make the battlefield seem merciful!”

Your knees quiver as you watch the soldiers turn the corner and a choked sound leaves your throat as you stumble. Being sacrosanct does not save you from being a woman. Nothing does.

“Hey, careful now.”

Acacius is by your side in an instant, his voice back to the gentle one you have gotten so used to. He bows down slightly and, without thinking and at seeing you sway, he gently places his arm around your waist, steadying you.

You do not move away this time. Heat radiates from his bare arms through the linen of your dress, igniting your skin below in a way that makes you feel like you are burning. But it is not uncomfortable. In fact, you find yourself leaning into the touch slightly as you catch your breath.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks quietly, a hint of anger still present in his voice.

You respond with a small shake of your head while Acacius carefully watches your every move. “No. No, they did not get a chance to.”

“They are damn fools,” he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief, rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb. “To even think about bothering you like that. A priestess doing her duty–” He turns enough to let his gaze wander over the abandoned street around you again. “This is not a way you should be walking alone at night.”

“The jug,” you whisper quietly. “I was to ask the potter to provide a new jug.”

A sigh leaves the General's lips at that, his grip tightening absent-mindedly. “A piece of clay is certainly not worth risking your safety, my lady.”

You bow your head, unsure how to respond. His fingers are still placed on your waist, still drawing invisible shapes into your stola. “I am sorry about–”

“You do not have anything to apologize for.” He mumbles, soft eyes gazing down at you. “If anything, I owe you an apology. Clearly, the gods are more trustworthy than men.”

Except, the gods did not save you. For the second time, you have a feeling that the person answering your silent prayers is not an ethereal being but rather a man made of flesh and bone. You shift slightly at the thought–and feel Acacius tense beside you.

“They did hurt you,” he whispers, not once hesitating as he lets go of your waist to kneel down and reache for your hand, his gaze focused on the red line that runs across your palm. “Let me see, please.”

“Oh–” You hold your hand up for him but you shake your head. “It was not them. I cut myself on one of the shards earlier, in the temple.” But his focus rests entirely on your hand. You feel a blush creep up your neck as he turns your palm slightly, running his index finger over the freshly scabbed line.

“You should have wrapped it. It may get infected,” he adds quietly and before you can so much as protest, he has reached down and ripped a shred of fabric from his undercloth. His calloused hands are careful and gentle as he begins to wrap it around your palm, tightening it slightly. “Does this hurt?”

You feel like your entire body is vibrating under his touch. His skin on yours, no matter how little, no matter how briefly. It has a fire burning in your chest, threatening to spill out from between your ribs or travel through your throat. The smoke of it blocks your airways and your attempt to speak fails. Instead, you just shake your head and watch as Acacius, at your signal, continues.

“There. Much better.” Your hand is still resting in his palms and he bows down slightly, as if to kiss your fingers. But just before he does, he stiffens slightly and quickly pulls back.

One does not kiss a Vestal's hand. One does not even touch a Vestal. And yet, you can so clearly feel the fire burn on every inch of your skin where his body has met yours.

Acacius clears his throat and nods toward the main road. “I will escort you home. I may not offer the protection of the gods but I can offer that of my sword.”

“Thank you, General Acacius,” you whisper, bringing your freshly bandaged hand back down. You walk beside him as you slowly make your way through the night air, avoiding the busy roads slightly more than you have on the way here. He knows his way around.

You have already reached the Forum when you finally speak, watching as the smoke from the temple rises to your left as you turn onto Via Nova. “I would like to apologize, for before.”

Acacius cocks a brow. “Before?”

“Before. When I sent you out of the temple. You are welcome to come and pray of course. I was–” You shake your head softly. “I was merely surprised.”

You watch as his face twists into a small smile at that and he nods. However, you both stay silent as he leads you toward the house of the Vestals. When you reach the columns that line the front of it, he stills, leaning forward in a hint of a bow. “Thank you for allowing me to see you back safely.”

“I have to thank you.” You respond quietly, turning to face him. You feel like you want to add something else but the words get stuck in your throat. His hand hovers again, the same way it did the time he welcomed you at his home. Always careful to keep a small, appropriate distance between the two of you. What happened in a dark, secluded alley suddenly seems miles and miles away.

“Good night, my lady.”

With that, Acacius turns and continues up the road.

“Good night, my General,” you whisper only for the cicadas to hear.

notes: thank you for reading. feedback, reblog and comments all very, very welcome ♡

[healthcarejobs]

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Agents expelled two under Title 42 and arrested the third migrant on unlawful reentry costs. Border brokers assigned to the Ysleta Station responded to the San Elizario residence and encountered 5 migrants. On Sunday, Texas Department of Public Safety troopers stopped a vehicle carrying two undocumented immigrants and a U.S. citizen on Interstate 10 close to Horizon City, Texas. Border Patrol agents assisted, and their investigation led to five migrants at a stash house in Clint, Texas. You can replace your MHVillage Account Information at any time.

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[globalmultiservices]

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[moverjunctionusa]

How to Find Best and Cheap Movers in New Hampshire

We discuss ways to find affordable moving companies in New Hampshire. Our tips will help you next time while moving home.

Thousands of people move every day in New Hampshire and there are hundreds of moving companies in New Hampshire to help them relocate. It’s nothing short of a miracle to find a perfect mover in New Hampshire. You may be surprised that every year Better Business Bureau receives more than 7,700 complaints and a majority of them are about damage or loss of goods, non-arrival at the time, and not honoring the estimate. Here we talk about finding the best moving company in New Hampshire. We are confident that this will help you the next time you plan to pack your home.

Get recommendations from friends and co-workers

One of the best ways to find movers in New Hampshire is to ask your friends and co-workers to suggest some good moving companies in the locality. They can help you with some good names. Either your friends would have moved recently or anyone in their acquaintance would have.

Check with real estate agents in your neighborhood

You can also ask real estate agents in the neighborhood as some of their clients would have recently moved in or out. Knowing the movers and their performance, they can suggest some names.

Try yellow pages

The best option to look for Movers in New Hampshire is to read yellow pages. Most moving companies will advertise there and you can connect with them at the phone number provided on the page.

Search online for movers

Search on the internet and you will stumble upon hundreds of movers in New Hampshire. Collect the names and details online and can connect with them. Check the moving quotes and decide whether the moving companies are affordable. Only after you find a moving company reliable, you should move ahead.

Do the initial screening

Once you have a list of recommended movers, do a quick background check. Call or go to the website of the Better Business Bureau (bbb.org or e-mail the American Moving and Storage Association (moving.org, 703-683-7410, info@moving.org) to check if a moving company is a member, which means it is reliable and charges an only reasonable rate. Though AMSA membership is voluntary, it plays a big role in reliability.

Are there any more ways to find if a mover is legitimate?

Visit the office address mentioned on the website or yellow page to confirm its authenticity. Make sure that the contact numbers mentioned on the website are functional. See how much a moving company is willing to negotiate. Also, you need to check whether the mover is ready to accept tweaks. Hire a moving company only once you find it meeting every demand or ready to accept the changes.

Watch out for red flags

One of the biggest concerns while you search for a mover is the presence of red flags. There are many bad apples but be vigilant to fall prey to their tricks. For example, a genuine mover will not demand a full deposit in advance and when you see a mover hungry for money, stay out of the deal. It’s something fishy. Also, confirm the punctuality and should ask questions until you are satisfied.

Hire a licensed moving company

As per federal law, every interstate mover needs to be licensed. Confirm your moving company in New Hampshire is licensed and has a U.S. DOT number. Do not hire a moving company that is not licensed.

Moving companies need to be hired with extreme care as you assign your complete home to it on a moving day. It needs to be reliable and trustworthy. Never hire a moving company in a hurry but take the time to understand the process. A thorough homework will help you find a perfect mover, promising a safe and secure relocation to a new home.

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 10

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go.  Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems?  As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 10 - Mutual Ambiguity

For Belle, sitting in the Lee of the wall where Jefferson, if that was truly his name, had told her to wait, time passed with all the speed of a snail, and every sound made her more and more tense. She could hear the altercation from outside of the gate, and told herself she didn’t want to know what was going on, but there were just as many sounds coming from her side of the gate, and they were sounds that made her jump at every turn. Each gust of wind that stirred the leaves of the trees sounded like a hand pushing aside vegetation to reach her; every rustle of an animal in the undergrowth was a footstep coming nearer.

As painful as it was, her hands still held tightly to the gun, still trembled around the grip,so much that she almost daren’t rest her finger against the trigger for fear of setting it off by accident.

She heard the sounds from outside of the gate and didn’t really want to imagine what they were, beyond the murmur of voices, the sudden crack and following thud; the sounds of a scuffle then nothing for a long held breath. The silence became a sussurating hiss, and then footsteps, and Belle held her breath so much that her chest hurt with the effort of it. If she didn’t breathe, she wouldn’t be heard, and then the gate opened, and all the breath burst from her with almost a popping sound as she could make out Jefferson slipping through the gate.

“Jefferson…” she managed.

“We’re good. It’s all good,” he said. “I’m fine, but we gotta go. We gotta go now.”

As he spoke he reached out to carefully close his large hand over the top of the gun and lift it from her hands. She heard a soft click from the weapon before he slipped it into his pocket and then reached out his hand again, this time to grasp her elbow and help her to her feet.

Without another word he ushered her through the gate and out into the street, and then she caught sight of the two FBI agents that were sitting, slumped against each other with their hands behind their backs. She took in a gasping breath and tried to pull away from Jefferson, but his grasp on her arm was too strong.

“What did you—” she began, but he interrupted her, stopping and turning to face her, grasping her by both arms and leaning down to look her in the eyes.

“Look,” he began urgently, “It was either me or them. I promise you there’s no lasting damage. They’ll both be fine.”

He let go with one hand and ran it through his hair. She couldn’t quite read his expression, it was something between frustration and contrition. It made her want to listen when he spoke again.

“You probably won’t get this, but those two men are not my people,” he said. “So, until I know whose side they’re on, this is the best I can do.” He nodded his head toward the two men to illustrate what he meant. “If I was wrong, I’ll apologize later, but right now. Right. Now. We have to leave. Get as far away from here as we can as quickly as we can. Okay?”

That was something that Belle could definitely get behind. She wanted to be anywhere but there, and for now, even though she still wasn’t sure of Jefferson, of his intent, she would go along with him. Perhaps more would become clearer later, and he certainly hadn’t done her any harm so far.

She nodded, but didn’t speak. Her gaze lingered on the two men on the ground as Jefferson led her across to the car, and helped her to get strapped in on the passenger side of the vehicle.

“You’re… stealing this car, aren’t you?” Belle accused as he slipped into the driver’s side, then watched his face as he contemplated the answer, as though he were trying to formulate an answer.

“That depends,” he said, and she could tell that it was an answer that he’d had to settle on, not necessarily the one he wanted to give.

“Oh?” hanging on to what little scraps of sanity and adrenaline she could muster, she injected a dash of sarcasm just as though she were mixing some kind of exotic cocktail. “Go on.  This should be good.”

“Well it all hinges on whether you believe those two men there truly are agents with the FBI. The car is is a Taurus, it’s clearly well maintained, and—”

“What the hell does the make of car have to do with it?” Belle snapped, finding mixology, and her skills at said art were not all they were cracked up to be.

“Well, if this is a Taurus, and they really are with the FBI—”

She cut him off again. He was going around in circles. “Is this. Their car?” she demanded, gesturing out of the window to where the two men were still in a heap on the ground, one of them, she noticed, had a slight scrap of lining peeking out of his pants pocket.

Jefferson looked at the men, and then back at Belle, and then at the men again with the same expression he’d had on his face when she first asked him. He pouted slightly, tipped his head to the side, and then looked down at the key fob in his hand.

“Don’t think it matters at this point,” he told her, pushing the key home into the ignition, shifting the car to reverse, and then half turning with his arm along the back of her seat as he set the car in motion, began driving it backwards at speeds she didn’t think were at all appropriate for the less than roomy width of the street, all but singing as he did, “This is a Taurus, they claim to be Feds, and I need a vehicle, so… No.  Not theirs. Mine.”

Clearly it bothered him, though, as he reached the end of the narrow road and swung the car out onto one of Boston’s lesser known side roads he huffed as he shifted the car into drive. Belle left him to his thoughts for a while until they had mingled into the anonymity of the heavier traffic around the center of the town, and then asked, “Where are we going anyway?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said, his eyes ever moving, checking traffic to their left and right, and watching for longer periods of time in the rear-view mirror. “North,” he added at last, turning right, and following a sign that promised Interstate 95.

They drove in silence for many miles, Belle contemplating everything that had happened, feeling her weariness and the pain of her injuries sharper now that she had time to stop and sit in relative safety. She thought about Jefferson too. His actions, his words, his unspoken sense of… she shrugged mentally, unable for the longest time, to find an appropriate word to describe what Jefferson was. He certainly seemed to mean her no harm; claimed to be taking her to safety, and yet he had been there, in the house, with those horrible men and women who did unspeakable things. True, she’d never actually seen him participate in those things, but…  by association, surely he was guilty. She supposed it fair to say that she’d had very little to do with him. He had never been assigned to oversee any aspect of her captivity, and she’d only ever seen him in hallways, or in passing - until today. In fact, she thought, he seemed to hold himself back, refuse to truly embrace the moral turpitude the others displayed. The more she thought about that; about the way he’d behaved since their escape, and about his clear discomfort after their earlier conversation, about the car, the more he seemed to her to be… well… ambiguous.

That was the word she had been looking for all along. He was ambiguous. His entire being was ambiguity incarnate, and while being with him now was a whole bucket load better than being a captive, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was any safer with him than she had been before, and as crazy as the thought sounded, as she spotted a sign announcing that a rest stop would soon be coming up, she decided she might be better trying to go it alone.

“There’s a rest stop ahead,” she told him softly, and raised an eyebrow when he glanced over at her. Then shrugged at him. “I couldn’t really use… well… little girls room, you know?”

He glanced at her again, then back at the highway and she watched as little furrows of thought creased his brow, and shifted the expressions on his mobile face, even into his hair. Then, as they sped past the one mile warning, he let out a soft sigh, and said, more gently than she expected, “Fine, but we’ll have to make it a quick stop for now. There’s no guarantee that someone won’t come looking for us, and I’d rather put a few more miles between us and Boston before we start to let our guard down.”

By the time he’d finished his explanation, the off ramp that led into the rest area was immediately on their right, and he pulled onto the roadway, the rumble of the tires a different cadence and inertia tugging her back from the seat as he applied the brakes. A moment or two later they pulled into the parking space out front of the building that housed the facilities.

She tried to unclip the seatbelt and get out of the car before he could do the same, but the stiffening of her injured hands prevented it, and he had opened the passenger door, and was reaching in to help her, then to take her by the elbow and tug her out of the vehicle, keeping a hold of her in what felt as though it was meant to be a supportive manner, and after closing the door behind her, led her into the building, and almost into the ladies’ room itself.

“Um…” she reminded him softly, nodding her head toward the sign beside the opening.

“Right,” he muttered, and then cleared his throat, but sounded uncomfortable still as he said, “Sorry.”  He let her go then, and she faltered slightly, before she began to walk into the designated rest room.  She hadn’t counted on him being quite so attentive, and cursed herself under her breath, trying to think of a way to get him to be anywhere but hovering outside waiting for her return.

“You… you think this place has any kind of… vending or something?” she asked, turning back to him, where he was waiting, leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulder against the tiles, feet crossed at the ankles.

“I’m sure it does,” he answered. “Why?”

“Feel like I need something sugary… you know?” she answered, trying not to blush or give anything away as he gave her a long, steady look.  Finally he nodded, and it was all she could do not to let out a huge sigh or relief.

“Five minutes,” he told her. “Meet back at the car.”

“Five minutes,” she agreed, and suddenly she felt guilty for the way she intended to betray his trust as soon as he was out of sight.

[spndystopiabang]

SPN Dystopia Bang 2019 masterpost all stories and art

The 2018-2019 round of the SPN Dystopia Bang has finished. We've had an amazing crop of stories and art this year and we invite you to check out the following story and art links below to see for yourself. (Find the AO3 collection here.)

Until next time. ~ hit_the_books and Enoliel

here at the end of all things

Author: chestercbennington / remy Artist: blueeyesandpie / sunny Rating: teen Length: ~40k words Pairings: gen Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, torture and its aftermath

AU from Season 12 onwards. The British Men of Letters win in the USA,  and slowly manage to establish their bases and authority over the whole   country. They also capture Sam Winchester and keep him prisoner for   eleven months, experimenting on him regularly before wiping his memories  so that he has no idea what has been done to him. Even after   Dean rescues him and they begin planning to get revenge once and for   all, the niggling doubt at the back of Sam’s head remains – what did   they do to him? Why won’t his anxiety get better? And what is it that   he’s missing?

Link to fic Link to art

Lebanon, Postilla

Author: smalltrolven Artist: kuwlshadow Rating: Explicit Length: 11,679 Pairings: Sam/Dean Warnings: None

After the Great Deluge, the Postilla, or the Afterward begins. In   2030, Sam finally has the time to write the story of the end of their   world and what came next. The Winchesters manage to find some solace in   what they’ve long denied themselves. Cas and Jack are presumed gone in   the Deluge, but then tales reach the brothers of approaching beings   killing with only their voices.

Link to fic on AO3 or LJ

Link to art on tumblr

The Melancholy Waters Lie

Author(s): anyrei & mugglerock Artist: Hitori Alouette Rating: Explicit Length: ~90k Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester; (Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester) Warnings: Minor character death, Attempted Rape/Noncon, Drowning

Merifi had always been the guardians, the angels of the sea. The balance in their world, the light to the sirens’ darkness. As with time and   industrial growth, humans became aggressive, dangerous, uncaring in   their endeavor to put all life in the sea at risk. Unable to combat it,  the merifi and many other creatures went into hiding within their   kingdoms.

That was, until the fateful period in which humans  created such mass destruction, pollution, and chaos; the earth warmed  and the sea levels rose.

Humans who survived were forced to reside  in Teloah; the City of Death, and the sea was returned to its rightful inhabitants. Despite the shift, merifi of the Kingdom of Basgim were instructed by their King to never venture to the surface. But Castiel,   the youngest of the King’s three sons, had never been good at listening.

Fascinated by humans and the things they created, Castiel too often found himself   nearing the surface in curiosity, but never drawing too close, never   interfering in the affairs of humans on ships. That was, until a fateful night during a terrible storm, when a handsome human was flung from  the  safety of his ship.

It wasn’t like saving one human could possibly change his life. Right?

Link to fic

Link to art

Under the Nothing Sky

Author: malmuses Artist: anyreiart Rating: Explicit Length: 78k Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel (Background Sam/Eileen and Gabriel/Kali) Warnings: Minor Character Deaths (No Winchesters or Castiel),  Homophobic   Society, Canon typical violence, Torture, Imprisonment, Angst  with a   Happy Ending, Spaceships, Big Explosions, Drinking and Dancing.

Welcome to the Glass City.

Its   citizens live perfect, orderly lives. Controlled by the barcodes upon   their arms, they are quietly assigned jobs, spouses, accommodations…  whole lives. Some families rank above others, but that is just the way   it is. The way the Council demands it to be.

Lieutenant Colonel   Castiel Novak is the shining star of the Glass City’s Academy, mere   weeks away from graduating and being titled Commander of his own ship,   his own crew.

Castiel is very good at obeying.

Until he meets a man with green eyes, a cocky smile, and no barcode.

Link to fic

Link to art

I Will Always Find You

Author: Hunter Kin Artist: amberdreams Beta: jdl71 Word Count: 31,217 Rating: Explicit Pairings: Dean/Sam Warnings: barebacking, swearing, violence, spoilers for Season 8

When Sam realizes that his brother had been blasted to Purgatory after   killing Dick Roman, he takes a back door through Hell to save Dean.   Only  his brother won’t leave without Castiel. And as each day passes,   it  becomes more and more clear that the angel just doesn’t want to be   found.

Link to fic: LJ | AO3

Link to art: LJ

Not Without You

Author: jscribbles Artist: bees-are-awesome Rating: Explicit Length: 57,000 Pairings: Dean/Castiel (a little of Castiel/Hannah, a non-con Meg/Castiel) Warnings: various non-con   situations, dub-con situations, cruel and unusual punishment, graphic   depictions of assault and violence, humans put in solitary confinement,   forced ejaculation, drugs and substance abuse, use of barbiturates,   imprisonment, mentions of forced breeding, torture, sexual situations,   eugenics, emotional and physical abuse by authority figures

There’s   a virus spreading across the globe, rendering 80% of men infertile. In  a  rush to contain the spread of the virus as a viral hotspot arises in   South Dakota, the government implements forced fertility testing for  all  men, and a mandatory breeding program. The borders close, all   communication both interstate and across borders is shut down, and a   state of national emergency is put in place. The fertile   twenty-percenters are being redistributed to breed with society’s elite   women—moguls, celebrities, geniuses, CEOs. The eight-percenters are   being sent to work on farms or sent back to their regular jobs,   distributed via lottery. Dean and Castiel are not one of the lucky ones.

Victims   to cruel medical procedures, routine sexual assault, and other   atrocities under The Facility’s authority, Dean and Castiel quickly find   comfort in each other. They—especially Dean—scheme and plot their   escape with the help of Dean’s laywer brother, Sam, who is states over   but somehow instrumental in their plan. They find strength and love in  each other, but how long will they live in a facility that executes   rebels, and how long will they last when Naomi discovers that separating   them makes them weaker?

Link to fic

Link to art

Moon-kissed

Author: FogsRollingIn Artist: MidnightSilver Rating: Mature (for dark themes) Length: ~28,000 Pairings: Sam/Dean (unrelated) Warnings: Dark themes, slavery, mentions of past abuse, graphic violence

Leviathans   led a successful global assault on humanity twenty years ago. The  resistance is made up of surviving humans and Luna-borne creatures such  as weres. Dean, a Marrow Pack werewolf, runs missions to take down   leviathan strongholds and rescue those imprisoned and enslaved there. On   this particular mission, Dean is shocked to discover one of the young   slaves is a werecat, a species so rare that most weres thought them   extinct.

Link to fic

Link to art

I Dreamed A Dream

Author: MidnightSilver Beta: wendibird Artist: Angel Rating: Gen Length: ~21,000 words Pairings: none Warnings: Canon level violence, some gore, angst, despair, child death - minor characters,

Six beings stand alone as the world crumbles and gasps it dying breath  -  a world of death from sickness and starvation; a world where  monsters   walk the day without fear; where the living wait for death  only to find  Death is no comfort.

Above this world sits the  Archangel who was  its architect. Below it waits the Vessel who could  not let go - who  laughed as it burned. And somewhere unknown is a man  lost to his family.  He fights, though his strength is almost gone. The  one who was looking  for him is broken - his hope destroyed. And the  last Angel is not  enough. He was never meant to stand alone.

This world is nightmare - but when you are alone in the terror of the night who can lead the way to salvation?

Link to fic

Link to art

Between Promise and Purgatory

Author: CR Noble Artist: hit_the_books Rating: Explicit Pairing: Gen, background Ketch/Gadreel Word Count: 26K Warnings: Major   Character Death, Dystopian AU, Human trafficking, self-harm, graphic   depictions of violence, imprisonment, uneducated!sam, resistance, caste   system, torture, noncon, medical procedures, eugenics, minor character   death (multiple)

In a post-apocalyptic   world where the rich have control of everything, including the people,   and the poor don’t even own their own bodies, people with superior   genetics are sold as breeders for the Gentry to keep their immortal   bloodlines growing.

Dean has lived in Purgatory his whole   life, trying his best to protect his younger brother from the hideous   truths of their existence, especially since their parents died while   they were teenagers. So, when Sam is taken to be sold as a breeder, Dean   doesn’t have a choice.

With the help of the underground society known as the Network, Dean must face impossible odds if he is to save his brother.

The risks are great, but he’ll do anything to save Sam. No matter what it costs.

Link to Fic

Link to Art

[thegremlinofransei]

Welcome to the Family | Ch. 1

Resident Evil 7 AU

Fandom: Split, Glass

Rating: M for strong language as well as gory and disturbing violence (it gets worse)

Word Count: ~3K

Summary: It's been three years since Kevin disappeared. However, when he sends Casey a cryptic email detailing his location, she's thrown into a long night of pure, grim horror.

--------------------------

Why the hell am I doing this? It's clearly a scam, Casey thought to herself as she chugged along the interstate in her beat-up station wagon. He's probably dead, why would he show up now?

   You're doing this because he was your shoulder to cry on throughout your uncle's trial, her conscience replied. You're doing this because you fell in love with him, he's supported you since that day you met on the senior trip to the zoo, you discussed a long-term future with him, and damned if you won't try to bring him back.

   There's no turning back now, I suppose, Casey conceded, and she flipped the right-turn indicator for her exit. As a precaution, though, she took out her cellphone and hit the second speed dial option. A low, friendly voice asked confusedly, "Hello?"

     "Hey Marcia. It's Casey."

     "Hey girl, you alright? You didn't show up to Claire's party the other night. We were talking about it during Prof Staple's lecture and you seemed really thrilled about going!"

     "Yeah, no, I'm fine...it's Kevin. I don't think he's dead."

     Marcia's voice jumped an octave. "Wait, they actually found him? How? What happened?"

     Casey sighed. "I...I don't know how...but he's back somehow. Maybe it's a prank, he wanted me to come pick him up and bring him back to Philadelphia."

     "Well, where is he?"

     "Dulvey. In Lousiana."

     Marcia was stunned. "Hon, that's really far! Besides, it's been three years!"

     "I know, I know!" Casey exclaimed, her voice shaky with nervousness. "But...what if it is him? I just...I need to find out what happened. The zoo's been covering up the details of his caretaker assignment since he disappeared, and I need some answers. Best if it comes from him."

     Marcia sighed in exasperation. "All right. But you better be back as soon as possible!"

     All Casey could muster as she pulled up to a tree-shrouded driveway was a subtle "mhm," and she hung up. She shifted the car into park just off the road, shut it off, and stepped out into the oppressive bayou humidity. Examining the address written on the e-mail printout crumpled in her sweaty palm, she knew that this had to be the right place.

     She started up the overgrown trail and continued until she came to the front iron gates of a dreary, looming house. A rusted intercom was perched on one of the rails, and she tried the 'call' button, to no avail. She then tried to yank at the gates themselves, but they were tied together with a chain.

     "Well, shit," Casey muttered as she looked back up at the house. She turned to walk back to the car when a side trail, curved around the gates of the estate, caught her eye.

     This is a dumbass idea Cooke, her conscience screamed, trying to go back on its conviction to rescue her boyfriend. However, her curiosity won out, so she strengthened her resolve and began to follow the path.

     As she journeyed on, she found a dilapidated white van parked- or, rather, broken down- by a busted-open side fence. Whose van is this? she wondered as she cautiously approached it. The door, albeit crooked and beaten in, slid open easily to reveal an interior furnished only by a manila folder.

     Casey plucked the folder up and examined it. The words SEWER GATORS were emblazoned across the front, accompanied only by the caption, Sneaking into a Louisiana ghost house. The folder was full of scripts and jotted notes and half-baked ideas, but the red writing on the back of the folder sent a chill down her spine.

     JOIN US.

     Shivering, she took a step back from the van. Nothing was stopping her from turning back. And yet...she couldn't. It may have just been that the van resembled the one that Kevin drove for the zoo, but she remembered her purpose and steeled her nerves. Stepping toward the fence, she made out another cryptic phrase scrawled on a piece of plywood in a substance resembling mud:

     ACCEPT HIS GIFT

     I can't do this, I can't do this, Casey screamed internally. This is way too fucking creepy, why is he at an abandoned house like this? Was someone else looking for him too? Her mind raced in terror, attempting and failing to process all of the blatant red flags.

     And yet, her legs moved her along with a mind of their own, fueled by all of the memories. The initial awkward smiles as you bumped into him at the tiger exhibit. Holding his hand in the courtroom. Him helping you study for your Intro to Zoology final. Curled up in his apartment under the zoo because Marcia kicked you out for her date night, Casey recalled, trying desperately to think about anything other than the van and persuade herself to trek onward.

     The swarms of insects grew thicker, and Casey became increasingly unsettled by the overgrown path and that ever-notorious feeling of being watched. Every time she turned her head to absorb the scenery, she thought she saw something- or someone- just out of the corner of her eye. However, when she whipped back around to look, it always vanished.

     After a few more minutes of paranoia and reminiscence, she was snapped back to reality by a murder of crows darting out of an alcove. She peered in and saw that they had been feeding on a deer carcass. Used to the sight from hunting trips with her father, she shrugged off the initial shock and pivoted back to the path.

     Casey regretted her entire train of thought up to that point, horrified by what she saw next. A wreath of cow legs was strung up from every angle on the tree branches and rocks, and circular saw blades dangled from it like disturbing Christmas ornaments. She brought her left hand up to her mouth and gasped, attempting to hold the vomit at bay.

     Come on, Casey, she told herself as she lowered her quivering hand. Tears were forming in her eyes, and she had to force her trembling jaw to close so as to prevent bugs from entering her throat. You're in redneck country. There's a lot of weird shit like this. Just keep going…

     She gingerly approached the monument of flesh and, careful not to touch the rotting carrion, grabbed an exposed rope to duck underneath. All was calm again, until she happened upon a scattered murder of freshly dead crows in the trail. She gulped down her fright, slightly numbed by the eccentric wreath from earlier, and pushed forth.

     The trail ended at a small ledge, which overlooked a dead clearing adorned by mangled trees, steaming puddles, and a small house. Casey almost turned away from this obvious event horizon until it caught her eye.

     Kevin's Philadelphia Zoo backpack.

     It was the first sign of him she had seen in this seventh circle of Hell, and, acting against her better judgment, she hopped down. She ran to where the backpack was rather haphazardly lying against a boulder and unzipped it. Sure enough, Kevin's driving license was on top, except it was covered in black mud.

    Wait, this isn't mud, Casey thought. What the hell is this? Wait…this was what was on that sign at the fence…

     She dropped it in disgust, jumped back, and looked to the house. Thick ivy had trailed all the way up the chimney, and the forest seemed to have claimed the roof. Seeing as there was nowhere else to go, she made her way to the porch and stepped up. All of the sunlight that lit her unsettling amble prior to this seemed to disappear, as the porch had been draped over by the omnipresent ivy. The only light she had to see by was anything that filtered through and a dim, cone-shaped lamp perched on the wall just to the right of an open door.

     Through the door, Casey could only see an old window shutter leaning up against a worn wall. Everything else was pitch black, so she took a few steps inside to get a better look.

     creeeaaak- WHAM!

     Casey nearly jumped out of her skin as she was plunged into a total abyss of darkness. She fumbled at her belt with her flashlight, clicked the button on the end, and whipped back around to the door, now firmly shut. She ran into it full force, trying to ram it with her left shoulder, but nevertheless, it stayed. Moving the flashlight up to her teeth, she proceeded to shimmy and tug the doorknob with her trembling hands, trying to push the door back open, but it refused to budge, and the doorknob wouldn't turn, indicating that it was locked.

     "FUCK!" Casey spit out as she slammed her right arm against the door one last useless time.

     She turned back to the room. There was only one other door and an empty corner to curl up and panic in. Knowing it could be her only chance to find an escape route, she puffed her chest and strode up to the other door.

     On the other side was a long hallway scattered with lattice and wallpaper, lit by the exposed part of a window covered mostly by a worn-out wardrobe. Every board creaked underfoot as Casey proceeded to the end of the hall. She entered a cluttered kitchen and regained hope for escape when she saw an exposed pair of windows. However, they were only a few inches from a ridge outside upon further inspection, far too tight to squeeze through, and she was back to square one.

     The table behind her held a closed soup pot and a newspaper. She reached out to lift the lid from the pot, and, upon seeing the slimy, rotted contents, nearly added a new ingredient to the disgusting concoction. The experience was only worsened by a cockroach skittering over her hand by the rusted lid. She let out a small shriek in disgust and hastily flicked her wrist at the opposite wall a few times until her unwanted partner came free.

     Casey moved back to the wall housing the tormenting windows and continued to poke around. Reaching the fridge, she pulled on the handle, but the door only opened the slightest bit. She wrapped her other hand around the door itself and, with one hard pull, threw the door open. The inside was coated with a disgusting goo, and she let the hinges do their work to pull the refrigerator shut again, opting to look at the newspaper back on the table.

     Over 20 Missing In Two Years

     Casey's mind began to spiral with hopelessness as she backed away. This was a fucking mistake. Kevin's dead. I'm going to die here. She whipped her head around to look at the next set of windows. Boarded up. I should have brought someone with… wait! She went to pull her phone out of her pocket, but terror dawned on her as she realized that it wasn't there. I put it back in my pocket...didn't I? Oh my God, it must have slipped out when I jumped into that clearing.

     Keep moving, the panic will make things worse, she reprimanded herself as she continued into the next room. A set of stairs was immediately to her right, so she chose to ascend. 

     The room at the top was as dilapidated as everything else in the house. A button with the word Stairs carved on the metal plating above it sat crookedly on a support pole. Casey pressed it, praying for some miraculous stairway to the roof so she could slide down, but it didn't respond. She rounded the corner of the room and found a lonely oak dresser donned with a crooked lamp and a VCR tape. She picked up the latter, frantically turned to look around the room for anything else of use, and dejectedly went back down the stairs.

     To her right as she descended was another hallway, so Casey began to investigate. Her search took her to another door leading into a sitting area. The furniture was pointed every which way, and papers were strewn all over the floor. As she entered, she noticed two things.

     One, there was a fuse box with one fuse missing.

     Two, there was a TV turned on, set to play from the VCR.

     Casey turned the tape over in her hands, crossed her fingers that it had even one iota of useful information for how to get the hell out of there, and pushed it into the player slot.

     A man resembling a rat wearing a suit looked exasperatedly at the camera, then back to his producer, who towered over him. "Where did you find this guy?" he asked.

     "Give me a break, Joseph."

     "Hey! I only work with professionals. Speaking of which, make sure the sound is right this time, I don't want a repeat of Amarillo."

     "That was two fucking years ago!"

     "I don't do ADR."

     The producer waved to the cameraman to follow him and Joseph, and they hustled up to the derelict house. The cameraman could hear Joseph bitching about him to the producer mixed in with spouting ideas for what shot to use for an intro. Their humble band of three journeyed along the veranda to the closed door.

     "Are we rolling?" Joseph asked impatiently. The cameraman gave a thumbs up, and he finished, "Alright. Let's go."

    The door was locked, but with one swift kick, the producer gained the motley crew entry. Joseph pushed his way past and asked, "Why are we in hell this time?"

     His producer rubs his head in exasperation. "Do you ever prep?"

     "What is there to prep? Shitty house, spooky sounds. Ooh, is it haunted?" Joseph grunts in disgust. "I was an anchor, you know."

    "Weekend sub, Joseph. Not anchor."

     Indignantly, Joseph turned back to his producer and asked, "So, what's the story, Jai?"

     "Abandoned farm house. Missing family. Foul play suspected. The usual. Been vacant for three year-"

     "Fletcher, get a shot of this! It'd make a great cutaway. So, Jai, Hillbilly Joe and his family go-"

     Jai scoffs. "Not hillbillies. The Smiths. Dennis and Patricia Smith. And they were quiet, not backward. Lot of bad rumors about their son, Luke." He took off into the next room while Joseph stayed behind to whine to Fletcher about his shoes. However, when he started calling for Jai again and no reply came, Joseph only grew more pissed.

     "I swear to God, this is the last time I work with that guy!" Joseph exclaimed as the pair ventured down the hallway to the sitting room. "I mean, producers come and go, but...a good cameraman like you, Fletcher? Y-you stick with me."

     Joseph reached the door to the sitting room just as a raucous clanging sounded from the other side, sending him into another furious outburst. After he cooled down, he reached gingerly for the doorknob and pushed it open.

     "Jai?" Joseph called. "Where the fuck is he?" They ventured around the helter-skelter furniture and Joseph crouched by the dusty fireplace. "What the hell?" he exclaimed, tugging at a hidden handle. After a few creaks in the walls, a secret door opened across the room.

    "A-alright, new deal. We find Jai and go," Joseph grumbled in a quavering voice. The men crouched and ducked through to the hidden room. Apart from a few crates, the room was notable only for a ragged hole in the floor and a ladder down through it.

   "You first," Joseph whimpered out. "Need a nice hero shot of me c-coming down the ladder." Fletcher let out a quick huff, shoved his camera and flashlight into his sweatshirt, and proceeded to descend.

     Retrieving his items, Fletcher slowly turned around to find Jai standing like a pillar, facing some pipes along the wall. He reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but Jai's body was limp, and turning him around revealed that his face had been smashed against the pipes as he had a considerable gouge through his right eye and blood poured from his broken teeth.

    Fletcher screamed as he fell back, bringing Jai on top of him. The camera began to cut out, and the last shot featured an approaching person in heavy workboots, followed by more shrieks.

    Casey didn't have the willpower to hold in her vomit anymore. Assuming that whoever murdered the men in the video wouldn't mind even more filth in their already decrepit home, she stumbled over to the furniture and emptied the contents of her stomach underneath the coffee table.

     After wiping her mouth with a crumpled sheet of paper, she weighed her options. She could take a chair to the front door, but it was obvious by this point that she was being deliberately trapped. She could also try to pry open a window, but who knew if her captor is watching from every angle. Hell, she could just give up and await certain death…

     But Jai specifically said three years ago. If Kevin is here, I need to know.

     Finally, she begrudgingly turned her head to the fireplace.

     It was the only way.

---------------------------

A/N: This is my first time ever actually writing a fanfic, AU, et thetera so please leave constructive criticism! Please also reblog, like, give me credit, whatever y'all gotta do! I will update this as I have time to do so. If you want to be on the tag list, just drop me an ask specifically asking to be and I'll add you! 😘

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@heavens-in-my-mind

[listoriented]

2018 wrap-up

not a misprint

Happy New Year friends, followers, list-presents and list-absents, misclicks and acquaintances. Having hit a point of burnout, or something like it, I've been on a self-directed break since January 1. I've been trying to write and think as little as possible, play through a few games, get outside (when the air-contaminant level isn’t rated as hazardous, anyway), see a movie or two, generally decompress, not dissolve into a pool of anger and despair re: so much of Australia being very much on fire. So, while it might be another week or so before we resume “the schedule”, in the haphazard tradition of this blog let me present a 2018 wrap-up that I wrote but, for reasons now as forgotten and irrelevant as most of the content to follow, never got around to posting during a time when 2018 was still something that people talked about. 

2018 was a pretty disappointing year for this blog, if we (meaning me, author, and you, reader) can pretend for a second that this blog is a separate entity from myself. Which I suppose it is. The blog marker moved incrementally from 'Br' to 'Bu'. We (meaning I) got through twelve games, which is eight less than the year before, which was itself down three from the year before that. Of these I 'completed' just five. Then again, I moved interstate twice, went through a break-up and a family tragedy, and started a PhD, so, at least my excuses are fairly good.

To recap: The (list) year began in March, with Braid, and ended with Bulletstorm in December. Joy was scarce, though the sample size was small. Bulletstorm and Brigador were good (albeit mindless) fun, my surprise finds of the year. I also mostly enjoyed my run through Broken Sword 1. Writing wise, I'll acknowledge that most of my posts probably reflected some despondency/antipathy towards games, particularly later in the year. Broken Age made me the most sad, though Breach & Clear was objectively the worst. Although I wasn't happy with it at the time, annoyed at my inability to focus down my thoughts into a single thesis, upon re-reading my Braid essay I’d shrug that it does (mostly) effectively communicate my overall feelings about the game, even if it does try to cover too much ground. At present, I can't quite bring myself to look over the Critical Compilation I collated on the same game for Critical Distance, though that certainly exists too. Nor can I bear to watch or even listen to the Bramblelash video that I made with the help of Camden, though it's probably notable enough to warrant this mention in that it's the first time such a deviation of mediums occurred, here, in this imaginary realm where we favour written text, for some reason. Try everything once, they say.

If it was a bad year for list-games, at least it was an unusually (by my standards) good year for enjoying games that were freshly released. Earlier in the year I went through a bit of a strategy phase, as happens from time to time, having another go at the snowy maps of Cities: Skyline for a couple of weeks and playing through most of the campaign of slow and wintery and slightly apocalyptic RTS Northgard, before reviewing the even colder, more apocalyptic city-builder/survival hybrid Frostpunk and the wonderfully replayable, futuro-apocalyptic Into The Breach.

For a month or two of Canberra's autumn I also made weekly day-long forays into Destiny 2 with DT and K, and while I found it an effective time-passer during a period of escalating post-move angst and loneliness, I'm struggling to remember much of the feel of it with any clarity, beyond the vaguely pleasant grind and the constant bewilderment with regards to the game’s writing. I uninstalled it when I moved to Melbourne, and even now that the whole machine has moved to Steam I have no particular desire to go back to it, especially as other friends seem to feel similarly.

I bought Celeste for the Switch, and it ended up seeing me through a period of travelling to Melbourne to look for a place to live in May, sleeping in lounge rooms and studies, and then a return to Perth in July where I began to feel more pronounced internal lows. Something about the simple motions of fluid timing through space with the game's own uplifting mental health narrative made it the right game for this time. Back in Melbourne in August, I bought Rocket League for the Switch, meaning I no longer had to get out of bed to play it, which became a bit of a problem in and of itself.

What else? I quite enjoyed Unforeseen Incidents, a point & click I probably wouldn't have known about had it not turned up in Gamecloud's inbox. I bought Hollow Knight on Switch for my second go at it and got a decent few dreamy hours before abandoning it, accidentally. I reviewed Dark Souls Remastered (also on Switch) and had a blast, before getting somewhat stuck in a pitch-black warren of massive skeletons and abandoning that, too. I finished off the year clattering through Katamari Demacy - also new to the Switch - bumbling along to its wonderful soundtrack, in a much better headspace than I had been a few months prior.

In summary: games in 2018 (for me) were dominated by review assignments for Gamecloud, re-releases of older games on the Nintendo Switch, and a fair bit of overlap between the two. But it was productive, in a sense, even if it was a turbulent year in other ways. The sense memory of it is largely positive, despite what I was writing at the time.

[mostly-history]

Joyce Secciani, a WASP pilot from 1943 to 1944 (USA).

Information on Secciani (x):

Joyce had always wanted to fly - probably from the day she was born, which was December, 1921, in San Diego, California, where she lives today. She spent all of her school years in El Centro and upon graduating from high school, signed up for the government sponsored Civil Pilot Training program at Central Junior College.

Joyce was really serious about flying. She sold her horse and stopped studying piano so she could devote all her energies to flying. After getting her private license, she joined a flying club with 10 members and shared a 65 h.p Interstate plane. After the attack at Pearl Harbor, private flying was not allowed within 200 miles of the U.S. coast. So, with the wings removed and secured along side the fuselage, Joyce helped another member of the club transport the plane on a trailer to Arizona.

As soon as she heard about Jacqueline Cochran's program she applied in January, 1943, and headed for Houston, Texas where the training program began. There Joyce joined Lois Brooks, Lois Hollingsworth, Betty Deuser, Emma Coulter, Mabel Rawlinson, Marcia Courtney, Florence Knight and others in class 43-3. There were no military quarters, so they lived in a motor court or what is called a motel today. On May 16, 1943, the trainees flew all the planes from Houston to Avenger Field, Sweetwater, Texas. They joined the rest of class 43-4, which had replaced the last of the male cadets.

After graduating in July, 1943, Joyce and several classmates were sent to New Castle Army Air Base, Wilmington, Delaware. They were not there long enough to start flying when the received orders to report to General Hap Arnold's office in Washington, D.C. After a few days of orientation and training, the group was reassigned to Camp Davis (now Fort Davis) as part of the Tow Target Squadron near Wilmington, N.C. They trained and towed targets in front of the firing line for anti-aircraft guns to shoot at. They also flew tracking missions at night so the artillery could practice spotting planes with searchlights.

Unfortunately, classmate Mabel Rawlinson was killed when the engine failed in her Douglas A-24 and she crashed in the woods. Just two days later, Joyce also had engine failure in an A-24. According to the Army accident report, Joyce and the instructor managed a belly landing, the engine was detached from the rest of the plane, the plane caught fire after stopping, and both Joyce and her instructor suffered minor injuries but no burns.

In January, 1944, Joyce, Marcia and several others were transferred to Liberty Field, Camp Stewart, Hinesville, Georgia, where they trained and flew missions with radio controlled targets. The targets were modified Culver Kaydets, PQ-8's and PQ14's, which were controlled from the copilot seat of a UC-78 or AT-11. They also flew administrative flights taking personnel or equipment from one base to another.

In April, the Lois's, Betty, and Emma, were ordered to Biggs AAF in El Paso, Texas, while Joyce, Florence Knight, Mary Nelson, Gertrude Brown, Dorothea Shultz were assigned to March Army Air Base in Riverside, California. At March, there were about 40 WASP pilots in the Tow Target Squadron. They supported artillery training and radio controlled target planes at several California locations. Most were at Camp Irwin (now Fort Irwin) where they flew off a dry lake bed called Bicycle Lake. Other flights were from a field in Van Nuys where Joyce flew 100 miles out to sea to support RADAR tracking missions. While flying in southern California, Joyce also checked out in a P-63 King Cobra. It was then that she met SSgt. Mario Secciani, who maintained these and other fighter planes. As a fighter, the P-63 was a single seater, so after studying the aircraft manual and getting some advice, Joyce took off on her own and had the thrill of flying that beautiful aircraft.

During the month of June, Joyce attended Army Airforce School of Applied Tactics in Orlando, Florida. Unfortunately, there was no flying involved.

After the WASP were disbanded on December 20, 1944, Joyce was sad to leave, but proud to have served with this great group of women pilots. In memory of this service, she designed and carved from wood a small statue of a WASP returning from her last long mission. She was in her flight suit with goggles, map in hand, and a parachute slung over here shoulder. The pedestal bore the inscription "Mission Completed". Later in life Joyce learned how to cast bronze copies of the carving.

Meanwhile, Joyce got her civilian pilot ratings for single and multi-engine planes, and for commercial and instrument flying. In 1945, she and Mario got married and she found a job with Flabob Flying Service at a small airport in Riverside where she flew charter flights, checked out returning military pilots transitioning from fighters and bombers to the light civilian planes, and helped out in the office and hanger.

Soon Mario was discharged and they moved to Chicago for a short time. But with so many military pilots returning to civilian life, she found that flying jobs were hard to come by. After five years, they returned to California and settled in El Cajon, near San Diego, where they built a house and raised two children, Lynn and Lee.

When the kids started school, Joyce went to work as secretary to the principal for the school district. It was great having the same schedule as Lynn and Lee.

Since then, she has been active in promoting the WASP story. She helped set up the WASP exhibit at the San Diego Aerospace Museum, which was gutted by fire at one point. The museum moved to a new location and a new display was installed. In 1992 she supported an oral history of the WASP by Gail Gutierrez for California State University in Fullerton. Now, May, 2003, she enjoys retirement with Mario, Lynn and Lee, the 5 grandchildren, her garden and her bicycle.

[ukbesttutor]

Companies and other forms of organizations are always looking to ensure that there will be growth of current assets and working capital management at lowest cost possible. As such, finance managers will have to ensure that they pick important skills and knowledge from courses which provide Interest Rate Assignment Help to gain understanding of the impact of interest.

[supercheapmoverssingaporewo-blog]

Cheap Movers Singapore

Nowadays, a large number of people relocate to a new house or new city in any given year. The process is almost always planned well in advance, providing ample time for detailed planning to move objects within the house or the house in itself. The services of house Movers are in high demand and are available all over Singapore.

Moving a house is a significant responsibility and requires professional help at different stages of house moving. House movers are equipped with a wide range of tools and devices that are needed to move a house from one site to another. Several companies work when 50 percent of the entire fee is paid in advance before moving and the rest upon relocating.

While moving a house, it is essential to realize, that along with the edifice all its contents need to be moved safely. House movers packing and loading crews help to organize the entire procedure. New packaging systems help protect fragile goods and eliminate the chance of breakage. However, to be on the safe side home, mover companies may even offer insurance schemes for transportation.

Most home Moving Company Singapore provide calculators that help estimate the weight of goods that are to be shipped. It is mostly calculated based upon the number of furnished rooms and additional rooms. These calculators compute an approximate weight of the entire shipment, based on the information provided, be a homeowner. It is advisable to search for a home mover service as soon as one gets the inkling of shifting. It will allow people to conduct a market study and use a service that is economical and credible.

Engage The Best Moving Company For A World Class Experience

Moving out can be quite a hassle and generally takes a lot of time and effort. Usually, people are cautious when packing, arranging, and organizing their possessions, but they are not very careful when it comes to the most critical aspect of moving: choosing the best moving services. Though everyone who walks wants their possessions to be handled by the best moving companies available at an affordable cost, they lack the general idea of how to find one.

Also, the defining factors of the best moving companies also differ mildly from individuals to individuals.

Our House Moving Services include:

♣ Skilled human resources and the means of transportation.

♣ Placing of all items at designated positions at your new location.

♣ Furniture Removal

Optional House Moving Services:

♣ Packing of personal effects into the carton box

♣ Unpacking of personal effects (includes placing items into cabinets and shelves)

♣ Temporary Secure Storage when your destination is not ready for move-in yet.

However, there are specific standard parameters that you can look for to define the best moving companies. Quality moving services, reasonable prices, reputation, and consumer grievance handling are a few of these parameters. Some might be looking for local movers that operate only in the select area.

Here are a few steps you can take to pick the best moving service according to your choice.

References and the Internet

Most people you know have moved at least once in their lives. Ask for their opinions as well as their experience with the professional House Movers Singapore. It can be the right way of coming up with some reputed and ethical moving companies. Most moving companies have an online website where you can run a background check, look at their service history, and their area of operation as well as a few rough moving rate estimates.

Get a quote and moving estimation

After making the list of preferred moving companies, get a few quotes. Some companies charge on an hourly rate basis, some others by estimated volume based on the rooms, and some by evaluating what types of furniture and goods need to be moved. However, most movers give moving quotes by the estimated weight of the load to be moved. A trustworthy moving company will never deny sending estimators to clients' homes to put together a quote.

Choose the best moving company according to your needs.

After finalizing the movers based on reputation, estimates, and services, ask some crucial questions before signing the agreements about their experience, even for customer referrals, some people assigned to your move, company's insurance cover and claims protection, as well as its extension.

Moving has become an essential part of various families and company owners. People relocate simply because they wish to make so or some move with an obligation to move. People have multiple reasons to move or relocate. Finding opportunities, not comfortable with them, and many more such reasons are behind the relocation of several families and corporate offices.

Depending on your requirements, there are several kinds of moving services that you can enjoy. Some companies are specialists in offering local moving services, and some hold expertise in providing long distance moving services. If you need to move your office, then you need to contact a service provider that is an expert in corporate relocation and similarly, for home relocation you need to contact an expert company in home relocation. There are cases when a single company offers all the services, and you can benefit yourself.

Moving services are highly beneficial for us as they not only help us in relocation with ease but also make your move fun. Local moving companies offer services to carry our loads within a distance of 100 miles, and you can also ask them for packing, storage, and transportation services. You can prefer local moving companies for moving services when you need to relocate to a nearby place as they charge less for local.

Long distance moving companies are efficient in offering long distance moving services. Such companies are preferred for interstate moves etc. They are also known to provide packing, storage, and various other services if you need. They have skilled staff members who are proficient in the methodologies of packing and storage techniques. By hiring such a service provider, you can cut down your efforts and headache that are associated with the long distance move. You need not worry about the safety of your belongings as they can handle and pack any delicate and heavy item with much ease.

The companies charge according to distance traveled and the load that they are required to carry. So you can save your bucks by cutting down the weight of your belongings. You can donate unused items, or you can also sell the things that are not in use. If you are not willing to take the packing services, then you need not pay for that, and you can save some more money.

But you need to be conscious about the safety of heavy items that you cannot pack with care on your own, and it is better to avail the services in this case. Moreover, you can quickly and efficiently relocate your office, irrespective of the volume, consuming very less time by taking advantage of the moving services. The Moving Service Singapore is highly advantageous for your pocket and, most importantly, for the peace of your mind.

Try this website for getting more information related to House Movers Singapore.

[gibsongibson92-blog]

Your Manhattan Beach Movers Moving Company

Your Manhattan Beach Movers Moving Company

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Don’t make the shifting process more demanding then it has to be and rent our movers and it’ll be as easy as 123! It's best to rent NBR! Hermosa Seashore . Hollywood Huntington Seashore . An skilled workforce of relocation specialists All of our Manhattan Beach movers are company males, clear-reduce professionals who've spent years working within the business. Nick's Moving Company (independent) in Somerville. Covan World-Huge Transferring, Inc. (independent) in New Orleans. Out Moving & Storage, Inc. (independent) in Lincolnwood. Makes OHIO Impossible - The "solely handle it once" rule of productivity goes out the window when you are multitasking. Stresses You Out - Remember the cursing? However, with our website, we will join you with a number of Manhattan Seaside local movers that may provide you with quotes and step-by-step instructions about transferring to your new residence totally free. Name our workplaces for special “no hidden cost” transferring quotes. With years of expertise, we perceive the very fact that each transferring job could be very different and thus, requires a special therapy.

Spam postings usually discover their manner on to free online job boards, however that's not the only downside he is discovered. Residential Transferring: Leave it to the professionals to get you to your new dwelling - safely and stress free! Higher Enterprise Bureau. For more information about what makes us a leader among Belmar shifting corporations or in your free transferring quote, call North American Van Strains at this time! Yet, they cannot spend extra because we're already in debt. Oceans and seas border a few of the most desirable locations on Earth, and these communities that are made of new Newport Seashore luxury homes are no exception in Southern California. Based on US Census information, Manhattan Beach holds the rating because the second most educated city in Los Angeles County and the fifth most educated city within the state of California. Manhattan Seaside is a South Bay city in Los Angeles County. Be taught more about our South Bay moving company as we speak. And the more crucial considering that is required for the duties, the higher the error for mistakes.

Luckily for you, Manhattan Beach movers corresponding to Cross Nation Moving Company is here to assist you progress to and from anyplace within the US and make your transfer as straightforward and snug as attainable. Listed below are the only five ab exercises you will ever want. Just imagine, you could possibly truly stay here and be a part of it. As part of our impeccable buyer help, manhattan beach movers we offer unfastened no obligation estimate to you. From Enterprise: 1983 Jacob Binstok started JB Shifting & Delivery with the shopper in thoughts. The land in Manhattan Beach was previously sand dunes. Pre-transfer coordination and organization Our Manhattan Beach movers work with you to create an inventory of each item being moved. I knew that this was potential I simply by no means heard of it being carried out before. We imagine in providing our shoppers with the very best storage facilities doable. You’ll want to keep away from hidden prices and add-ons as much as doable. With a thriving community, Manhattan Seaside is residence to some of essentially the most impressive properties along the West Coast.

Whether or not you’re shifting domestically, long distance, or someplace in between, Attention 2 Detail’s movers are your Manhattan Beach movers. Name Consideration to Element. Imlach Movers of Ft. Our storage movers will make a guidelines and a full stock, plus we'll undoubtedly label all containers. Want pool desk movers? And for those who need them reinstalled we are going to come to the brand new location and provide you with recommendation on lighting and make it easier to greatest decide the place the chandelier needs to be put in. You need to inform us, in order to organize all the things in time. We provide quite a lot of professional services which vary from dwelling, office to business switch. Oz has a clean report with the NYS Department of Transportation and the better Business Bureau. Added to the mental pressure is the physical facet of packing, loading, unloading and organizing. I found it helpful and unfortunately relevant to the current market many of us are attempting to survive.

Your entire beds will likely be disassembled and pack, whereas your grandfather clock and armoires are wrapped to prevent scratches and another harm. Let us do everything from the packing to re-assembling the beds in your new dwelling. The containers and packed items are labelled in accordance with the room they belong to, with the contents also famous. A surveyor first inspects all of the objects and lists them on the idea of importance. As soon as I can get a full-time perm job, that's my first step. Commercial Storage: We are able to tailor your commercial storage program to your small business's requirements. Often might be quite unpopular in our darkish instances. Exadallia, I don't know who you're speaking to but they're unsuitable. It’s chargeable for writing and imposing laws and legal guidelines that lengthy-distance shifting firms are obliged to comply with. ] of over eighty businesses” The town is host to a number of different corporations such because the fry’s Electronics, target and Macy’s. Emerging from white, encasing cloud over the green corrugated topography of West Virginia and Kentucky at 37,000 feet, the twin-engined, t-tailed jetliner paralleled the road of cottony nimbus which had tied itself collectively along the eastern seaboard. The Elm Road Route, proposed in 1897, became the chosen one and entailed trackage from City Hall and the Brooklyn Bridge Terminal to Knights bridge and the new York and Putnam Railroad Station on the Upper West Side.