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sweetlittlegingy · 2 years ago

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Epiphany

✦ Next Chapter | Better Man Universe

✦Pairing: Father Figure Jake x Single!Mother

✦Word Count: 1.7k

✦Warnings: Fluffy Jake, past relationship breakup, slight mention of Smut (18+ Content), protective Bradley

✦A/n: This was a fun one! I'm excited that we are seeing more of their relationship dynamics and how they became a couple. I also love big brother Bradley!!

✦Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

Sitting back on your heels, you can’t help but hold some resentment for your new job. You had just transferred back to the North Island from Jacksonville, you’d wanted to be closer to family and when a job at Top Gun opened up you jumped on the opportunity.

While almost everyone assumed that your last name got you your current position, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. As the youngest Benjamin, a surprise baby fifteen years younger than your sister Penny, you had always been a daddy’s girl. Long before you had chosen to become an Administrate Service Manager to the current admiral, you had planned on following in the Benjamin footsteps and becoming a fighter pilot.

Though when you got pregnant just after the academy, your plans drastically changed. The move to Jacksonville was rushed and “planned” just so you could get as far away from your shattered dreams. So, when your application for a civilian position down in Jacksonville, was accepted, you couldn’t have been happier to make the move. Your ex wasn’t the happiest, only agreeing because of the pay increase your new job promised, but you were confident in the beginning of your new life.

You moved up the ranks quickly and loved your Navel family in Florida. Finding that even though you couldn’t fly, you could find other ways to focus on your love for planes.

Though when your relationship failed and Adam no longer wanted anything to do with Mathew, you knew that living close to family was what you both needed.

Deciding to move back after a 2 years was difficult, you were leaving the life that you built. Though the idea of getting as far away from Adam was a positive.

Plus, Bradley had moved back to Top Gun in the past year, and you couldn’t wait to see him, you both grew up together and he fell into the big brother position easily. Growing up you two were attached to each other’s hip, and he absolutely adored Maty. He was never a fan of your ex and when you moved he was even less pleased, but he still supported you and was only a call away.

Penny was ecstatic that you were moving back, and being the ever the doting auntie, offering to babysit Mathew until you could find a sitter, knowing that the new job would need your undivided attention.

Which lead to your current predicament, it was your first week on the job and you were already unbelievably frustrated. The last individual that held your job position, had no organizational skills, and hadn’t completed half the needed paperwork for Top Gun.

Landed you here, on the ground, working through your lunch, surrounded by paperwork that needed sorted. Cyclone had been clear that he wanted everything sorted before next week, and while Warlock told you not to worry, you couldn’t help but to be stressed out.

You hadn’t heard him approach over the sound of your spotify on shuffle, though the subtle cough pulled you from your work immediately. Standing in your doorway, looming over your seated figure, your eyes raked over the form of a pilot.

Decked in his flight suit, with perfect blonde hair and deep green eyes. A shade of green that looked eerily similar to Mathews, a shade that would be hard not to get lost in. You loved the color of your baby’s eye, you had no idea where he got them from, yet here stood a random man. With eyes that matched.

You tried to be sublet, but his physic was on clear display, and you hadn’t seen someone as handsome as him, since your obsession with the Jonas Brothers in middle school. He looked like he been running drills all morning, already sweating in the heat of the day. The white t-shirt under his flight suit, was near translucent and clung to him like a second skin.

The obnoxious though about what else lay underneath that flight suit rattled through your brain, but you were quick to push it away. You were in no way ready to date again, and Maty, well he was your number one priority. You wouldn’t put him through a situation like that again, which meant, at least for now, no hot pilots.

“Eyes up here darlin’”

Raising your eyes, you’re met with a cocky smirk. Clearly, he didn’t lack self-confidence and might need a slight ego check, but you weren’t the type to feel bad about appreciating the male form.

You meet his gaze, giving him a ‘what do you want look’ before going back to sorting papers.

Jake knew that he was handsome and though he had caught you staring, he was confused at how fast you went back to work, especially with him still in the room. Usually he couldn’t get women to stop talking to him. Giving them that signature smirk and they were on there knees, literally.

Yet here you were, completely brushing him off. He couldn’t deny that you were gorgeous and when he heard about a new girl in the admiral’s office, he couldn’t help himself and had to come over. You definitely didn’t disappoint with your looks; you were someone that he would have loved to have under him on a number of different occasions.

But yet, here you were completely ignoring him.

“I’m looking for Admiral Simpson.” You return your gaze to him, and hold it. Appearing completely unfazed. “Got any idea where his is, darlin’?”

Jake could see the light blush that covered your cheeks every time he called you darlin’ and couldn’t resist. You tried to remain just passive enough that he would leave, but wouldn’t consider you a bitch.

“Lunch”

The single word: the only damn thing that you had said to him, and Jake felt like you had knocked him upside the head. Your soft voice, that he wanted to describe as sweet as honey, was like music to his ears.

He wanted to hear you every day, in every damn way. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to know how you would sound moaning out his name. He was positive that you would be a strung-out whimpering mess for him, and just so damn pretty begging for him.

But the feeling of wanting to hear that voice in the morning, and how he was positive that you had the most beautiful smile. Those feelings were new, Jake Seresin didn’t do relationships.

It’s not like he was a man whore, no he had a great respect for woman, he just didn’t know how he felt about relationships.

His parents were no longer together, his dad had been a complete asshole, and was happy when his mother decided to leave him. Plus, he loved his job, he was positive that flying was the love of his life, and he didn’t have time for relationships.

Though you, with just one word, had somehow got him to think about the possibility of a relationship.

Oh, you would be the death of him.

Though before he could make another move, a hand clasped onto his shoulder spinning him around.

You didn’t miss the second set of feet this time and as you saw the Lt. get spun around you caught sight of the familiar mustache.

“What are you doing down here, Bagman?” the harsh tone of Rooster didn’t go unnoticed by Jake. The death glare that Rooster was giving him didn’t either, though he had no idea why. As far as Jake knew, Rooster didn’t have a girl, so what type of claim did he have over you.

“He was just looking for Cyclone, B.”

Jake whip back around to face you, so fast that he almost hit Rooster. His eyes went straight to you, though your eyes were already looking past him at Rooster.

Jake was lost now. You called Rooster B, with such affection behind your tone, that could only mean the both of you were close.

Looking back between the both of you and the teasing smile on each of your lips, Jake couldn’t stop the small pang that went through his chest.

Maybe you were Roosters girl, and he just didn’t talk about you? Or maybe you were just good friends, and he still had a chance… Jake didn’t know but he would find out.

Rooster stepped past Jake, coming to crouch down by your side looking over the different paperwork.

“God, they really threw you to the wolves, didn’t they?”

Silently nodding your head, you quickly grabbed the paperwork back from Bradley.

“I’ve got a system and you’re both” your eyes quickly went between the two pilots, “messing it up.”

Rooster gave a humorous laugh, and moved to stand back up. He looked back up at Jake whose eyes were already trained on you. A sense of cautionary optimism could be seen, and Rooster knew that he would be having a talk with Hangman.

“I just came by to tell you that we’re having dinner together tonight, Pen called and asked if I could drive you.”

You had yet to buy a car and had relied on Penny and Bradley to drive you around the past week. A slight inconvenience, though neither of them ever complained. They were just happy to have you and Maty back home.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I should be done around 5 or so.”

You gave him a quick smile, glancing to the other pilot, though Bradley had called him Bagman you knew that wasn’t his name, then back to your paperwork. If you wanted to get out by 5, you needed to focus. Meaning not staring at pilots, no matter how hot they are.

Bradley moved to leave you, knowing that you were trying to concentrate and didn’t want to piss you off. He had been on the receiving end of your anger once, and that was more than enough for him.

He moved past Jake giving him a silent look that said move your ass. Jake wasn’t one to follow orders from Rooster, though he wanted to ask him who you were, so he followed out. Looking back one last time to see your sitting form, completely focused and unfazed. He knew then, that whatever Rooster told him about you wouldn’t matter.

He wanted you,

And what Jake “Hangman” Seresin wanted, he got.

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animebaby00 · 4 years ago

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I'll Never Stop Waiting (Armin Arlert x Reader) - One-shot

Instagram Request: Armin becomes separated from Y/N after an expedition and is unconvinced they're dead.

Warning: (Mild use of language)

*5 years prior

Ack, Y/N, Eren, Mikasa ! Wait up !"

A young, brown haired boy no older than 10 looked behind his shoulder, a girl with black hair trailing right behind him, "Come on Armin ! Don't tell me you can't run faster than that ! We're gonna miss the scouts' return !"

Armin clenched his eyes shut, legs wobbling underneath him as he came to a stop, panting for breath, "I - I know but -"

He could hear feet walking towards him and a hand on his shoulder.

"Eren, just stop and let him catch up will ya ?"

The boy looked behind him and stopped again, "Awe not you too, Y/N ! We're gonna be-"

"Late. I got it." You said flatly, waving a hand, "You and Mikasa go on ahead. We'll catch up with you."

"Hmmmm….okay. But make sure you hurry !"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Eren gave a toothy grin and ran on ahead with Mikasa trailing right behind him as you fully approached the panting blonde.

"You okay ?"

Armin looked up at you with one eye,."Yeah. I-I'm fine. But...you didn't have to do that. "

You shrugged, "Hey, Eren needs to be put in his place sometimes. Especially when he's not aware that one of his friends needs help."

Armin stood up a little straighter ," He's not a bad person."

"I'm not saying he's bad. I'm just saying he needs to act a little more aware and not act so...Eren."

Armin looked off "He'd probably explode if he heard you say that."

"Exactly my point. And let him. Maybe some of that explosion will break some of his skull and let more brain grow in."

At this, Armin giggled and took a few steps forward.

"Come on, we better get going," he shyly held a hand out, "Thank you waiting."

You smiled and gladly took his hand, squeezing it.

"I'm your friend. I'll never stop waiting for you."

~~~~~~~

Present*

It was bright. Unbearingly so even through closed eyelids. His head was pounding as the ray from the light above him pierced past the thin skin adorned with blonde lashes.

He blinked, he groaned, before he finally opened them fully to meet the wooden beams of a ceiling and a hanging, dome shielded lightbulb, and the faint pitter patter of raindrops were thumping against the roof.

He was inside. But how did he get here? God, his memory was so fuzzy.

"Armin !"

His eyes darted to the right, vision still plagued by whatever happened. But the lean, boyish outline, messy brown hair, and tone of voice was enough to help him identify the individual.

"E-eren?" He rasped.

"Oh, thank God…I'm so glad you're awake! Are you feeling okay? Do you-"

"Eren. Calm down."

That feminine voice. He turned his head to the left. Black hair. Red scarf.

"M-Mikasa ?"

"Mm. Are you okay?" She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I...I think so? Where am I? What happened?"

"You're in the infirmary." Mikasa said softly.

"Wha-?"

"The expedition didn't go as planned," Eren interrupted , "A giant group of titans began attacking 2 of our backup groups so we had to retreat. Christ….it was a goddamn bloodbath out there."

Armin's eyes widened, "H-how many…?"

"...27."

The blonde shuddered. So many people.

"How did I get here ?" He asked dryly, " I was on backup but we didn't…?"

"They called you upwards since you weren't being attacked." Mikasa explained, " But mid retreat it looked like your 3DM gear malfunctioned and you fell from the wall of a cliff. We found you and carried you back in a wagon."

Armin nodded. No wonder his body felt like it had been beaten to a pulp.

But something still didn't feel right.

...wait.

"Where's Y/N ?" Armin asked, looking between his two friends, " They were in the backup C with me. Why aren't they here?"

At this, Eren grimaced and looked off to the side while Mikasa buried her chin into the piece of red fabric around her neck.

Armin's breath hitched, "G-guys?"

"It was...really bad out there Armin." Eren admitted, running a hand over his face, "And honestly, we don't remember much. But in the midst of everything...we didn't see Y/N at all on the way back. We...don't know where they are…"

"W-what ?" Armin trembled, eyes widening.

Mikasa reached a hand out in noticing the blonde's troubled state, "Armin-"

"S-so your telling me," he quaked, face engraved with fear, "That Y/N...is out there," he pointed at the glass windows in the back of the room with a trembling finger, "B-by themselves ? Lost, in the dark and rain. Possibly surrounded by titans ? A-and possibly…" good god this word made him feel sick to his stomach.

"D...dead?"

Eren pressed his lips together and nodded while Mikasa looked down the bed, and Armin could have sworn he saw the outline of a few tears in her eyes.

Something inside him snapped, before he completely lost it.

"N-no…" he stuttered, shifting his legs upward, "No. No, they can't be…"

"Armin, please," Mikasa said desperately, "I know your upset but-"

"No ! I-I won't accept that ! T-they have to be okay !"

Armin shifted his body to the side and stood shakily from the bed, bones and muscles screaming at him to stop. But he didn't, and made his way to the door.

"Armin ! What the hell are you doing ?!" Eren exclaimed.

"I-It's not possible ! T-they have to be alive ! We have to help them !"

"Armin, lay back down" Mikasa argued, "You need-"

"SHUT UP !"

Both Eren and Mikasa froze, completely shocked by Amrin's outburst and we're even more shocked when, even in his state, he managed to hastily move out of the move and down the hall.

They were frozen from his actions, almost not even realizing what he was doing until the loud echoes of him calling out your name and words of refusal burst through the walls of the building.

"Shit...Armin !" Eren called, running after him. But Mikasa just stayed at the door, first clutched over her heart.

It couldn't be true. He didn't want to believe it.

You were his best friend. You were always there for him when no one else could be. You were always sweet, kind, considerate, and strong.

So very strong.

You didn't deserve this fate.

"Y/N !" Armin screamed, rushing past corridors, other soldiers, even other friends of his. And they all simply looked down at the floor upon hearing your name.

Armin didn't even pause in his hasteful movements as he arrived at a large oak door and pushed it open, revealing a dark sheet of night and rain. But that didn't stop him from moving forward, clothes and body becoming immediately drenched after taking only a few lunged steps away from the building.

"Y/N !" He cried, wiping at his snot and tear covered face, "WHERE ARE YOU ?!"

His eyes darted around desperately, hoping to see your face in the near pitch black, soaked darkness, wishing that maybe you had just gotten lost in a crowd or caught up with some old friends and weren't going to return until late.

The screams didn't stop,even as his throat grew raw, even as it stung everytime he swallowed his gasping, broken breaths. He prayed to Wall Maria that he would eventually hear the sound of your voice calling back to him, that you would run up with your own, watered down clothes, carrying that nonchalant smile that he adored so much.

But you never did.

~~~~~~~

A memorial was held for you a week later.

There was no report of the findings of your body or any news of the possibility that you were still alive.

Everyone was there, clad in their uniforms as the proceedings commenced in commemorating your services and honor that you put forth to the scouts. The weather was a drastic change from a mere 7 days ago, the dreary, cold, wet rain replaced with a warm sunset and a cool breeze.

Too calm of weather for the event at hand.

All stood tall as they watched the empty coffin slowly lower into the ground, the offering bouquets of flowers and lit candles put temporarily off to the side in waiting until the deed was done.

So many words were spoken, so many memories were shared, and so many tears were shed as your comrades spoke of you in lights that made you sound like the most wonderful and most pure bring on earth.

The crowd remained until nightfall until it slowly started to diminish by one to two people at a time, until there was only one person left.

Armin.

He was quiet the whole ceremony. He only listened, most of the words muffled in his distracted hearing, still only focused on the possibility of missing your voice if by some miracle you turned up at your own funeral, making this whole thing a cruel yet life-relieving joke.

But yet again, his please weren't answered.

However he still wasn't convinced.

They hadn't found any remnants of your uniform or any broken 3DM gear in the areas they searched a few days after the expedition. They didn't have anything solid.

They had no proof that you were dead.

Armin stepped forward, a bouquet of F/F's squeezed in a clammy palm. He gently laid them down on top of all the other offerings presented to you, feeling the tears as they began pooling in his eyes.

"Y/N… I promise…no matter where you are…"

He brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, before reaching out to smooth them over the polished rock of your gravestone, whispering those same words you had told him long ago.

"I'll never stop waiting for you…

A booming voice sounded from the watchtower "CADET L/N SPOTTED IN THE DISTANCE ! OPEN THE GATES !"

#armin x y/n #armin arlert #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #armin x reader #separation #scared #oneshot

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years ago

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Oktoberfest Effect

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: Town boys (drunk?) dare each other to venture into woods (Halloween night? [Oktoberfest]). Katniss saves Peeta (from peacekeepers? storm?) by pulling him into a cave for the night. (Drunk Peeta talks too much and is cuddly?) [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: Teen (for drunkenness)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @mandelion82 for lending me her beta services, and being a generally awesome cheerleader! Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt, I hope it brings you joy! Thank y’all for reading!

Oktoberfest, originally from Munich, Germany, is a two week folkloric festival, celebrated between the third Sunday of September and the first Sunday of October. Copious amounts of beer get served worldwide to celebrate Oktoberfest…👀this fic doesn’t reflected the cultural richness of the festival and or what it represents!👀

Tags: In Panem AU; No Games AU; Not representative of Oktoberfest; Drunken Shenanigans; Thunder storms; Snarky!Everlark; Humor; Blink-and-you-Miss-it fluff. One Shot.

———————

Oktoberfest is one of my least favorite festivals in the small repertory of celebrations my District is allowed.

It’s usually held in the beginning of October, after the first showers of Fall, and tends to last all day long, severely cutting into my hunting time in the woods, which comprises the bulk of my family’s livelihood. My mother is a healer, but people used to struggle to pay for her services back in the day, so she stopped charging anyone; people gave her what they could: rations, produce from their squalid gardens, old clothes and such. You’d think people would pay with coins, now that things have improved for common folks, but some habits die hard.

It’s probably the same reason we keep observing a holiday that’s real meaning has been lost to Panem since before the Dark Days; people just know that at some point, Oktoberfest was celebrated around this time, and people ate and drank ale by the bucketfuls, so that’s what they do today.

By the same token, it’s the most popular festivity in District 12, since it’s the only day of the year in which drinking is sanctioned and even encouraged by the higher-ups of government. Trains come carrying ale, spiked ciders, and even hard liquor for the celebration. People like Ms. Ripper, who sells moonshine and white liquor in our black market, better known as The Hob, have free range to sell their wares openly, without suffering repercussions.

The meek, dull denizens of District 12 drink the spirits by the gallons, just for the one day, and pass out in the most unseemly places around town, like savages. If something had become clear to me with the passing years, it’s that people tend to enjoy drunkenness to soothe their woes away, so it’s natural everyone embraces Oktoberfest.

But, as with everything, things aren’t as bleak as I tend to see them myself.

“Katniss!” My sister, Prim, calls breathlessly from the maypole circle, beckoning me over with one hand, while holding a bright, yellow ribbon in her other, “There still are a few ribbons left!” She shouts excitedly, her meaning plain: she wants me to join in the festivities.

Normally I’d shy away from any and all activities that would have me interacting directly with the townsfolk. It’s nothing personal against them, I’m just not used to being touched by anyone, except for my family, and weaving ribbons around the maypole practically ensures I’d be brushing up against any number of strangers …but, there are worse games to play, and I could never deny my sister anything, not even this.

I make my way to Prim and reluctantly snatch up a pale blue ribbon from the ground. My sister’s smile is so bright I almost relax when the music starts, and the dancers take to moving in and out around the pole.

It isn’t as bad as I was dreading it to be. The music is lively; the fiddler follows the dancers while the rest of the band plays on the makeshift stage a few feet away, and the pole is relatively short and moderately wide, so we make quick work of braiding a pretty pattern in one go. Also, people are at a respectable distance from one another, and most everyone feels as awkward around me as I feel around them, so they just give a wide berth when they pass me by.

Prim and I are laughing when the song comes to an end, and we take a minute to admire the pole’s multicolored design.

There’s a line of smiling people waiting in the fringes to take the ribbons the opposite direction to unravel them and weave them together again.

I pull Prim into a hug and kiss her blonde head, fondly. “Let’s give somebody else a turn, Little Duck.” Prim narrows her eyes just a smidge; she’s almost 16 and doesn’t appreciate the nickname as much anymore. “Let’s put some warm apple cider into you, yes?”

Joy returns to her baby blues immediately. “Yes! We should go find Mother as well!” she says excitedly.

“Let’s go then!”

After finding our mother in the crowd, and haggling over three cups of cider and one bag of boiled peanuts, our mother suggests we go home early, before the party gets rowdy.

An unfortunate byproduct of Oktoberfest with all the unchecked drinking is men get loud, bold and stupid. Better to clear out before that happens, because while crimes aren’t tolerated— under the influence or sober—people tend to get belligerent when alcohol is involved.

President Snow died years ago, when I was Prim’s age. Many things changed drastically, like the abolishment of the Hunger Games, and a slightly better salary for miners, but the seemingly tolerant new government of Panem gives men a strange leave to criticize the Capitol while drunk…which technically, is still a crime in today’s Panem, just not as mortally dangerous anymore. Still, women try to haul their spouses home before they can say something incriminating and land themselves in prison.

Nothing can be done about the youngsters, though.

With women trying to keep a leash and muzzle over the men, the teenagers have unhindered access to alcohol and close to no supervision; although spirits are supposedly only served to people 17 and older, I wouldn’t put it past the vendors to look the other way if a group of merchant kids pass a few extra coins across the table, when nobody is watching.

If grown up men are loud, bold and stupid while drunk, teen and young adult men are even worse, and that’s without a gaggle of equally intoxicated girls egging them on.

This year— as in every Oktoberfest— the electric fence surrounding the district lays dormant and harmless, lest one of the hundreds of inebriated fools roaming the meadow fall into the wires and fry themselves upon accident.

Not that the Capitol cares if a few malnourished— probably discontented— miners fall dead during a district festival; people in 12 used to keel over from starvation all the time back under Snow’s regime, but those deaths were usually chalked up to any number of unrelated causes: pneumonia, heart weakness, black lung disease…anything, except starvation. But dying electrocuted on the very fence that’s supposed to keep us safe in our little district is unthinkable! The fence is there to keep dangerous beasts— and nutritious game alike— away from us.

District 12 remains that enduring jewel of Panem, where you can starve in safety! All we need is to drink the memory of our empty pantries away for another year, and everyone is happy. I sigh. At least they did away with the Hunger Games; now we have singing contests and trivia challenges playing on national television instead of the blood shed of innocent teenagers, which is certainly an improvement. Somehow it’s still not a fair bargain, but district folk will never complain about this particular trade; our children are safe, and we get to watch Capitol people make fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Mother, Prim and I make it home early enough to make a quick supper of roasted potatoes, salted fish and the last of the bakery bread I traded for this week. I make a mental note to bring down a couple squirrels to trade with the baker for more bread. The man is one of the few I can regularly count on to trade fairly with, so I always save him the best of my squirrels.

By the time dinner is being cleared off the table, I can hear the murmur of families returning home from the meadow. A surge of nervous energy takes over me. I start bouncing my leg restlessly, peeking at the old clock hanging on the wall.

“Are you going out again?” asks my mother. Her tone is light and her eyes focused on the heap of plates and forks she’s balancing in her hands. I know better than to believe she’s alright with me leaving again.

“For a while,” I answer.

“You could get stuck out there!” says Prim, clearly displeased.

“I’ve been working on a shelter, just in case. I’ll be back before dawn if I can help it,” I say, brokering no arguments.

“Be careful,” Prim mumbles, her blue eyes pleading.

I stand up from my chair and plant a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. “I promise. Now, go make sure Lady is secured before I leave. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas seeing a goat loose out there.” Not that anyone would cross me knowingly, but people get a lot dumber while drunk.

The sun set on the horizon long ago, but all my years sneaking around urge me to blend instantly with the river of dark-haired children trailing their dark-haired mothers and fathers all over The Seam. It certainly is an entertaining sight; the children are immensely happier than their parents, of course, bouncing and giggling, carrying in their spindly arms their Oktoberfest bounty of apples and freshly picked ears of corn stuffed into old burlap sacks, prizes given to them by the Capitol for every one of those silly games they played at the festival. At least they know supper won’t consist of tesserae bread tonight.

Reaching the fence will be trickier now that the meadow is crawling with blond merchants and peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter of the fence ‘for our safety’. A few miners remain, helping with the cleanup process to earn some extra money, but they are so few I can’t use our physical similarities to hide in plain sight. The merchants, meandering around the meadow, throwing nervous glances at the fence every so often, pretending they don’t care the thing is off, certainly hinders my ability to sneak around.

I wasn’t the only person who ventured outside the fence by any means. Historically, people have snuck under the barbed wire links in the past to steal apples and berries, when the hunger pains were scarier than the bears and wild dogs roaming the woods; necessity is a great incentive, it either makes you very brave or very reckless…but the few merchants still hanging out here only linger ‘cause an alcohol-fueled thrill holds them captive. Tomorrow, when they’re home nursing a head-splitting hangover, they’ll go back to cowering at the sight of the fence.

There’s a group of towheaded youngsters, singing obnoxiously, near the edge of the meadow.

I roll my eyes and try to ignore them for the time being. Meanwhile, I skirt around the maypole, pretending I’m admiring the workers’ effort, pulling the pole out of the ground to haul it into storage until next year. It’s a massive effort, but all I can do is lament how now there’s gonna be a soft spot in the ground for a while there, even after they fill it back with dirt and rocks.

I curse darkly under my breath when I startle at the sight of two peacekeepers passing by the merchant boys.

The singing stops while the townies nod politely at the albino buzzards. The boys stare at the peacekeepers until they disappear at a bend behind a big, tall retention wall where the fence stops into a jagged corner, and then the young merchants do something very peculiar…they start a round of ‘Row Your Boat’, holding up their fingers in some sort of countdown. Their voices are so shrill and out of tune, everyone around covers their ears and looks the opposite way.

I cock my head, studying the boys. They’re clearly intoxicated: red noses and ears, laughing at nonsense, and the biggest telltale, a bottle of white liquor passing around their misshapen circle. I realize, they’re not all teenagers. A few of them I recognize from my days in school, and I know for a fact two of them are married, and at least one of them has a child on the way already.

I roll my eyes at their childish behavior.

The peacekeepers appear again in the distance, and the singers stop their song abruptly. One of the older guys lifts his fingers up, showing all ten digits; he closes his fists quickly and opens them again, now showing seven fingers. They all giggle like lunatics, and I lose interest in them.

I round the cleaning crew closest to the fence, but suddenly, one of the townies stands up and starts calling at the top of his lungs, startling me.

“Hey, you! The girl with the braid!”

I whip around, because I’m 99% sure he’s talking to me! I’ve worn my dark, Seam hair in a single braid down my back for the last 8 years or so; it’s practical, really, to keep it that way. But that’s besides the point.

I wear my fiercest scowl on my face, and I get an uncomfortable jolt to the stomach when I realize I know this guy, the one waving at me while his companions guffaw around him, still intoning their childish ditty.

Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, a boy I owe the biggest debt of my entire life, and for the first time since I can remember, he’s meeting my gaze without wavering.

Debt or not, I have half a mind to stomp his way, grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest tree in retaliation. My mouth opens to ask him what his problem is, when out of nowhere a pair of peacekeepers pop up from behind the retention wall, walking in the opposite direction of the previous set of guards.

“Did you know it takes about a minute and a half to sing ‘Row Your Boat’ seventeen times?” Peeta Mellark chuckles, pink cheeks and nose, tilting his head towards the fence, and then his blue, sparkly eyes flit to the peacekeepers passing by; all the boys stop singing and nod at them in greeting. “Then, it takes like five minutes to sing something else, until we go back to Row Your Boat!”

These guards must’ve crossed the other ones at some point while out of sight without me noticing. If I hadn’t been distracted by Peeta calling out to me, I would’ve run right into them on my way to the fence, if not flat out caught red-handed crossing into the woods, and how would I explain myself then?! Everyone in District 12 knows of my poaching proclivities, peacekeepers included, but that doesn’t mean I should go flaunting around my intention to trespass. Panem is still not completely free and whether people should have the right to escape into the woods for sustenance is still a murky topic…I’m not too keen on finding out if hunting is still a punishable crime by today’s parameters.

I turn my eyes back to Peeta, but he’s already singing and joking with his buddies, and although he seems to be invested in whatever shenanigans they’re doing, I’m not too sure he’s oblivious to me. After all, he had to be watching me pretty closely to accurately guess I was close to being discovered.

I huff. My debt to Peeta just increased, and I have no idea how to start paying him back for it.

The peacekeepers are again out of sight; the merchants are singing again, and like before, people look away from their ruckus. There’s one boy with his fingers up…counting.

Peeta’s watching me; he lifts 4 fingers offhandedly and turns to face his friends.

Clever!

It’s a code, I gather.

They’re timing the passing of the peacekeepers into the ‘blind spot’ with one song, then start a different one to predict when the keepers will be back on the retention wall.

I shake my head to clear off the hint of a smile taking over my face. The silly drunks aren’t as stupid as I thought, I guess.

I make sure no one is looking my way; I also check the kid counting how many boats they’ve rowed, and leap closer to the spot I know there’s a loose link. I only have ten rows before the peacekeepers come back, so I make quick work out of the wires and slip to the other side fast.

The drunk boys break into hoots and cheers once I’m in the woods, and despite myself, I look in their direction just to make sure nobody saw me scurrying out. I’m partially hidden by a tree, and should be safe now.

The cheering isn’t because I slipped out of the districteffectively; the boys are either harshly ruffling Peeta’s hair, or slapping him on the back. They’re all laughing and crowing something I can’t make out, but soon I see the glint of white uniforms out of the corner of my eyes, and hide deeper into the woods.

I decide to check on my snares around here and head home right away. This was perhaps the worst entrance I’ve made into the woods, and too many know I’m out here as it is, but, if the townies are gonna act as a siren of sorts, better to use their system to my advantage.

Then…I need to figure out how to finally speak to Peeta Mellark and start getting my ledger even with him.

It’s completely dark by the time I reach my snares. I look at the sky and scowl. The stars are obscured, and the moon has a hazy ring around it. Clouds are rolling in too fast for my liking. Rain is coming, soon. So I make haste and run my fingers along the first wire I find.

My snare wields two rabbits, and I bag them without resetting the traps. I figure one of these will be enough to hold my family over for a couple of days. I can make some coins out of the second rabbit, which should be enough until Oktoberfest has died down and business resumes as normal. It’s a good plan if I say so myself.

A peal of thunder breaks in the distance, and I grunt lowly. This night keeps getting worse by the minute; it’s good that I’m almost back to my entry point. I head back to the fence, where I can still hear the faint howls of laughter of the merchant boys.

I’m 30 yards from the fence when another clap of thunder roars overhead, loud enough to reverberate in my bones; people beyond the fence shriek. I’ve only taken a step forward when lightning strikes, and I know the storm is hot on my heels.

The chanting of the merchants is getting louder. I never thought I’d think this, but it’s a relief, knowing I can count on them to distract the patrols while I sneak back into the district.

They’re egging and heckling each other like a bunch of rowdy hoodlums.

“Go on! Ten coins says you won’t last a second!”

“I say fifteen, if he brings back proof he was there!”

Somebody belches loudly, making the rest giggle like school kids.

I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on finding my loose wire in the distance. I’m only a few feet away from the fence, but it’s dark and windy.

“Seeriouslee, though,” hiccups another, mispronouncing his words. “Gwhat should he…” hiccup, “bring?” Hiccup.

“Don’t know. A berry maybe,”

“Or a bear bite!” cackles another. They all laugh boisterously.

I wonder what they’re up to now. The fools! Don’t they know they should be running home for cover? The first raindrops are already falling.

“Fine! Okay…I’ll do it! But I wanna see all that money now!” slurs a voice I recognize, because I heard it calling me less than twenty minutes ago. “Pay up!”

No! Not him! I think, feeling my stomach drop. Whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t sound very smart.

“Dis it?!” Peeta Mellark groans, “I’m taking all your money, so I can buy me a hen house! Dis not even ‘nough to buy me chicken feed!”

I hear grumbling nearby, and the clicking of metal, suspiciously similar to how coins sound falling on each other. I assume they’re shedding the rest of their money for Peeta to see.

“‘Kay…‘Kay…better now. Okay. Imma go now. Hold me money, Rye…and don’t spend any of it! I counted it… it’s me money! Don’t steal it, or I tell Lavender you were smooching girls a week before you got married!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t steal me money!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! And don’t tell father ‘bout dis either!”

Somebody yells, “Mellark, stop stalling!”

“Yeah! Get—“ hiccup, “on with it al—“ hiccup, “…ready!”

“Goin’, I’m goin’!” I hear a few murmurs.

I swear, Peeta Mellark! If you set foot in my woods, I’ll shoot you in the toes!

I’m close enough to the fence to see a few lights flicking close by, but then another thunder drums, with a lightning to boot, and the rain droplets fall heavier.

“Wait! White helmets!” hisses someone, and even I drop to the ground to hide.

“Evenin,’ officers!” says Peeta.

I can picture him in my mind’s eye, smiling the same way he used to in school when covering for one of his friends to the teachers.

“Evening? It’s almost nine o’clock, boys!” says a woman. I’m not quite familiar with her voice, but I can surmise she’s one of the peacekeepers on patrol. “Curfew starts in 30 minutes, and a storm’s on its way. I suggest you all head to your houses.”

“Yeah, we will finish pickin’ up our garbage and head right home, officer!” says Peeta, all polite and pleasant like.

“Very well. You better clear out by the time we return, or we’ll have you spend the night in a cozy cell at the Justice Building,” says a gruff male voice, most likely the second peacekeeper. “Now, get on with the cleaning, gentlemen.”

There’s a chorus of voices murmuring stuff like “Right away, sir!” and “Of course, officer.” A lot of movement and hushed conversations go on for a minute or so while I lay on my stomach like an idiot.

I can only assume the peacekeepers are out of earshot when Peeta exclaims happily, “Aight! I’m goin’ in!”

The others start fussing and protesting, talking over each other frantically: “You can’t go in!”, “Are you crazy?! You heard them, there’s a storm coming!”, “Stop being a damned hero, Mellark! You already showed us up, by speaking to Everdeen!”

Peeta calls out, “Guys! Shut up! She’s the reason I wanna go in there! She ain’t back yet!”

I frown.

“Everdeen? Dude, she’s probably stalking a deer or somethin’…she’s fine!” says who I believe is his brother.

“Well…but what if she needs help? Shouldn’t some’ne go get ‘er?” He sounds concerned and strangely hopeful.

My stomach does a strange little flip at Peeta’s words, and then I have to shake my head to stop myself from being grateful for his concern. Outside of my family, Peeta Mellark seems to be the only person in this entire district who cares about me.

“No! That girl’s half feral! All them wild things in the woods are probably more afraid of her than we are!” says Peeta’s brother.

I find myself nodding in agreement, but scowling at the same time, because I’m not feral! I just hunt and enjoy the respect— bordering on fear— people have for me.

It doesn’t matter, though! Right now I feel almost as silly as they sound, and I just want them to take Peeta home, so I can climb back into the district and go home myself.

“I’m still goin’ in!” I realize Peeta is looking for the spot I used to come into the woods, and I hear muttering and hissing trying to dissuade him from coming in, but he’s already pulling the wire the same way I did, and a moment later, he’s wiggling his broad frame under the fence like an inchworm rolling on salt.

“No!” I huff under my breath, scrambling to get up, to push him back in the other direction, but then somebody is whispering harshly.

“White helmets!”

I’m not even surprised to hear Peeta’s so-called friends run away then. Coward merchants the lot of them!

A thunder booms above us, and I see Peeta struggling to pull through under the flash of the lightning that follows. It’s a miracle the peacekeepers haven’t seen him, splashing in the muddy pool forming rapidly under his body.

“Ugh!” I finally find my feet and practically throw myself on top of his arms, to pull him in.

Peeta shrieks, startled by my sudden appearance, so I slap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

“Hush! Or they’ll find us!”

I pull him further out from under the wire. He seems to realize what I’m trying to do and relaxes his muscles, letting me guide him forward while propelling himself with the toe of his boots.

There’s a bush just two feet away from us. I drag him with me on all fours and crouch behind it until the peacekeepers’ flashlights disappear.

“Hi!” says Peeta.

“Shush!”

“Sorry!” he whispers…loudly.

“Quiet!” I hiss, bringing a finger to my mouth, as if I was dealing with a toddler instead of a 20-year-old man.

“‘Kay,” he responds, this time in an actual whisper.

I still roll my eyes at him.

Thunder and lightning and cold, stabbing rain fall from the sky unrelenting.

“Listen, we can’t stay here too long; we need to crawl back into the district!” I tell him, peeking from behind our hiding spot to make sure we are alone. I can’t see very far ahead, but it’s obvious the meadow is empty now.

“What?!” he calls loudly.

“For goodness sakes!” I mutter in frustration. “We need to crawl back into the district, or we’re gonna drown out here!” I’m having to yell so he can hear me over the rain.

“Oh! O-kay!” he says, smiling beguilingly at me. “I came to get you!” he yells.

I look at him, trying to convey all the annoyance I’m feeling towards him right now with just my facial expression, but I guess the moonlight is so minimal he can’t see me, because all he does is smile back at me.

“You’re welcome!” he yells after a second in a self-satisfied tone.

“For what?” I snap.

“For rescuing you, of course!”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Rescuing— you… what?!” I screech.

More thunder and lighting make it impossible to keep doing this where we are. And thanks to the storm, it’s too risky trying to crawl under the fence, too. Negotiating Peeta’s humongous body back under the railings in these conditions is just calling for trouble; we’ll either get found by the peacekeepers— if they’re still patrolling— or get hit by lightning; after all, the fence is meant to conduct electricity and fry whatever touches it.

I’m lost in my head, thinking about our options at this point, when a bright flash cracks overhead, so strong, it makes everything look like it’s day time, and I fall back on my butt for how close Peeta’s face is to mine.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Wow! Has anyone ever told you, you have freckles over the bridge of your nose?” He asks, placing his two paw-like hands on my shoulders, pulling me back onto my haunches. “From close up, your face is as pretty as the night sky with all its coteslations!”

“Hmm…no��nobody’s ever said…” I huff. “Come on. We can’t stay here.” I tell him, pulling him by the hem of his coat’s sleeve. “I think you meant ‘constellations’ by the way. Alcohol really messes up your speech, you know.”

I think he says something, but I’m not sure, since the storm is swallowing up all the sounds around us.

The going is slow, because we have to wait for lightning to illuminate our way, and once, I realized we were straying onto a different path from the place I have in mind. Plus, I have to keep trying to untangle myself from Peeta’s grasp, so I can feel around the way with my feet. Peeta talks too much…nonstop, and I think it’s mostly the alcohol talking, but ugh! Would it kill him to just be quiet for a second?!

He’s awfully clingy for such a big man. I mean, he’s grown a few inches since we were in school, and he used to be stocky and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager, on account of him being wrestling champion two years in a row, plus having to handle those heavy trays in the bakery and whatnot.

I forgot where I was going with this?

Anyway, I hope the alcohol clears his system soon. He seems like an overgrown puppy at times, the way he trails after me and touches the end of my braid, which I guess he might be using as some kind of leash or rope to tether himself to me. Surprisingly, I don’t find it as annoying as I should. In fact, I find the warmth of his fingers… reassuring.

“Stop!” I tell him, when I hear rustling nearby I know isn’t from the rain.

A wild dog jumps in front of us, and I curse loudly. I should’ve grabbed my bow on our way out here, but I didn’t want Peeta to see my hiding spot; not that he’ll remember how to get to it, but he was able to find my loose chain in the fence, so…

I think the dog is coming after us. But before I can tell Peeta to run, he pulls me flush with his chest and somehow lifts me over his head like I weigh nothing. The dog is momentarily confused, and I take the chance to chuck one of my rabbits past it. The dumb animal looks at us curiously, but after a second, loses interest and goes for the easier, smaller prey.

I just got reminded of how strong Peeta is.

“Thank you!” I call out when he lowers me back to his chest. “You can let go of me now. The dog’s gone, but there might be more around.”

Peeta nods. His blue eyes are wide and alarmed, his cheeks, ruddy with booze just a few minutes ago, are drained of color. “Alright!” he gasps, clearly shaken.

I grab his arm and squeeze, leading him away from the spot.

It’s times like these when I miss my old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne; for starters, he would’ve had a bow on him…he would’ve shot and killed the dog. He would’ve had my back… but Peeta had my back this time, and he surely is no seasoned hunter, not even an outdoorsman, yet it was his quick thinking and sheer brute strength that saved my hide.

It’s also the reason Gale and I broke our partnership to begin with. Given the chance, he would’ve left Peeta stranded out here, instead of finding him shelter. But that’s his style, not mine, and Peeta has shown his worth twice tonight, inebriated as he is.

I release a sigh of relief when I see the opening of a burrow on the side of a small hill. It’s not truly a cave; it’s much too shallow to be called that, but, I found it about a year ago, and have been carving it out little by little for these kinds of emergencies, when I need shelter on the run, and the concrete little shack by the lake is too far, and I want to stay close to the fence, anyway.

“Oooh! Is this a cave? Is it abandoned? We ain’t gonna walk into some bear den or somethin’?” Peeta asks, bumping into my back when I stop to remove a few branches from the entrance of my little hiding spot.

“Get in!” I command him, and he obeys at once.

I take a few minutes to rearrange the branches at the mouth of the cave, just to keep the water from splashing inside, although we are soaked through our jackets.

“Sit,” I tell him, bumping into him again when I turn to feel round the wall of the cave for my provisions. The little hollow is only 5 ft wide by 6 feet deep, so there isn’t much room to wiggle for two people even if we were both my size.

Peeta has to hunch down as it is.

He’s quiet for the time being. My fingers touch the cool glass of the oil lamp I was feeling for, and right next to it, is a box of matches. I can finally breathe!

I make quick work of the lamp, and we are finally in better shape than we were a moment ago. Peeta blinks owlishly at the lamp, and I can tell he’s surprised, but blinded by the sudden light.

“Where are we?” Peeta asks in awe.

“It’s my emergency shelter,” I tell him, kicking a log from the back of the cave towards him. “Here, you don’t have to sit on the ground.” I tell him, watching him sitting almost directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed.

“You have a shelter out here? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were a genius!”

My cheeks heat up for some reason. “Nah. It’s just common sense. Too many experiences out there without one. Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with this, really.”

“So…do animals come in here?” he asks, turning his head around to study the place, not as nervously as before.

“No. It’s too small for a big animal’s den, and too big for a small critter’s burrow. It’s ‘me’ size because I’ve been digging it out little by little, and putting stuff in it for when I find myself in the same predicament we are in right now.”

Peeta shifts to his knees and slowly stands up, hunching a smidge, ‘cause the cave ceiling is too low for him. He lumbers to the log I offered him earlier and sits on it heavily.

“This place is great!” he states, looking at the crude shelving carved into the dirt where I keep the lamp, matches, a couple of cans of food I’ve agonized about leaving here because it feels like a waste, and things like spare arrowheads and fletchings; things that’d be useful in a pinch.

I have a knife hidden inside the very log Peeta’s sitting on, but I’m not about to divulge that secret. It’s my last line of defense, and since I don’t have my bow on me, I feel safer knowing there’s at least one weapon in the cave I can count on. I need to bring a bow here at some point; I just haven’t found a good way to camouflage…yet.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Um, you can sit here,” says Peeta after a long moment passes in silence. “Plenty of room!” He motions to the log, scooting to free up some space.

It looks ridiculous, because there truly isn’t any room left on that log for me to sit. Peeta looks like a smushed rag-doll, sitting on a match box, and all the room he’s leaving next to him, is only big enough to accommodate a toothpick.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, with a reluctant smile. “I’ll stand for now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip guiltily.

“Yeah. Let me be a generous host.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “You wouldn’t have to be playing host in your lovely cave if it wasn’t for me. Sorry I was so stupid,” he says sheepishly, “I should’ve known you had it under control before I tried coming in after you.”

“Oh…it’s alright. It was…touching. All those things you said back there.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he says, sounding almost sober.

Another long minute goes by in silence. “Was that a wolf out there?” he asks suddenly. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought about kicking it, but I was afraid it would mangle up my leg, and then I’d get blood poisoned and since medicine is hard to come by, I probably would’ve lost my leg, and I’m not sure I’d be able to master a fake one…unless it was like a Capitol grade thing with robotic nerve connectors and the such… I read some man in District 3 figured out how to make prosthetics that you can control with a chip implanted in your brain!”

I find myself laughing at his nonsense. And he seems to enjoy my laugh, because he keeps saying outrageous things, I can’t tell if he’s just making them up on the fly, or if he really read about them somewhere.

I slide against the wall after a while, until I’m crouching close to the wet floor. Our clothes cling to our bodies, but most of the water has leaked off of us already, which is good, since I can’t light a fire inside the cave.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, interrupting his musings about how chewing gum is inherently evil, since we don’t have dentistry accessible in the districts. The boy really talks too much!

Peeta cranes his neck to glare at my game bag, which I recently placed by my feet.

“What do you have there?” He asks, interested.

“A rabbit. But we can’t eat that raw. We’d get sick with fever if we try. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “But I have canned fruit we can share,” I offer.

He makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat. “I could eat.”

“Fine. Um…close your eyes for a second. And don’t peek!” I chide.

As with everything else I’ve commanded today, Peeta obeys without questioning, and soon I’m darting my hand into the end of the log, retrieving my knife.

“Open your eyes,” I say.

“Where did you get that from?!” he screeches, staring open-mouthed at my knife.

“Secret compartment,” I deadpan.

“Well…I hope you’re not planning on stabbing me with that thing. That blade is bound to be dull now that you hacked into that can with it.”

“What does it matter if the blade’s dull?” I ask, exasperated.

“It’ll tear up my skin if you try stabbing me with it!” Peeta answers, arms moving in exaggerated arches, “I much rather get a clean cut through, thank you very much!”

What’s wrong with this boy?! He’s acting like discussing his own potential stabbing is an everyday thing.

“For your information, I’m pretty adept at sharpening things! And…Eww! Gross! Why would I wanna stab you?” I shudder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do wounds, and I don’t do blood.” I pull a face, shivering.

“You kill things for a living!” He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Why, the inside of your bag is covered in dried blood from those bunnies right now!”

“Animals! I hunt animals! I don’t do people’s blood and stuff…gross!”

“You’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal thing, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up and eat your pears!” I shove the open can into his hands, and he stares suspiciously at me for a minute before digging in.

Peeta moves over a few more inches, and the toothpick space widens to a Katniss’-rearside-size spot. This time, I take his offer gratefully and sit down next to him. He passes the can to me when he’s done.

“You know…this is the first time we’ve done something normal together,” he says, pensive.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything together, Peeta, period!”

Peeta gasps, and there’s silence for a second. “You’re amazing!” He says, staring and blinking at me while I chew, as if I truly was some extraordinary sight to behold.

I scowl. “Why? Because I fed you canned food in a torrential storm in the middle of the woods?” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic.

“Yeah…” he says dreamily, then scowls, then shakes his head. “Nah! You’re just…amazing! Even my mother says that you’re a survivor and the only thing District 12 has of worth…a better version of Haymitch Abernathy!”

Haymitch Abernathy is District 12’s one, and only living, Hunger Games Victor. He’s also a grumpy hermit, and a drunk, and the richest person in the district. Like me, he was born in the miners’ sector, nicknamed the Seam. People say Haymitch used to be smart as a whip, and a looker too, but now he’s just a paunchy, middle aged man, with anger issues.

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment, is it?” I wrinkle my nose.

Peeta laughs, brushing his shoulder against mine…but that’s to be expected, he’s a giant after all, and the cave is practically a tall dresser.

“No, I guess it’s not. But father always gushes about your squirrels. Says you never hit the pelt. You always shoot them right through the eye!”

“Well, anyone can do that with enough practice.” I shrug.

Peeta snorts, and his knee presses against mine. “I wish I could do even half of the stuff you do. You’re an amazing hunter, and smart, and so pretty, and you can bring down deer, and the way you are with your sister…well, my big brothers have never been doting with me as you are with Primrose.” He sighs, looking at the flickering flame of the oil lamp. “You are something else!”

“I— that’s not…” I’m frustrated and embarrassed, so I snap, “I wouldn’t have been able to do, or be, any of those things without your help, so…there!”

He scoots closer to me. His body is strangely warm, even under the layers of wet clothes. There’s bewilderment in his blue eyes, and for some reason, I can’t look away from the way his hair is all matted to his forehead. He looks boyish. Kinda cute.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a small voice.

I chuff. “Well, it was like today,” I start, leaning back, averting my eyes. He smells of spirits, but weirdly enough, I’m not repulsed by the scent. “You called out to me in the meadow, and I was about to rip you a new one, but then I realized you were trying to help me. Then, you save me from a wild dog, by doing something as simple as lifting me over your head, like I weighed nothing.” I feel small, all of eleven years old, and the fact that I’m wet to the bone and cold to the marrow doesn’t help my case. My voice comes out tiny, “You fed me when we were kids. I’ve never been able to even thank you for that!” I purse my lips to keep them from trembling, and blink some 28 times to keep from crying.

Peeta sidles up against me. “Oh, Katniss,” he says low and reverently. I realize with a jolt, that it’s the first time he’s said my name. “You’re talking about the bread when we were kids?” His eyes glass over. “You can let that go now… after saving my ass tonight from the storm and the peacekeepers, I think you can count us even.”

“How can you say that?” I demand, “You keep saving me, and I don’t know why?!”

“Really?” he asks, cocking his head sideways, scrunching his face, and shutting one eye like he can’t quite see me clearly with both eyes open; his tone isn’t malicious, just surprised. “You know why…at least, I think you should,” he says, shrugging and leaning closer. “I thought you’d notice how all of my friends were roasting me because I finally said something to you, and all I said was something lame about Row Your Boat.” He chuckles. “Fifteen years I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you, and when I finally do, I call you ‘ Hey, girl with the braid’ like an idiot!” He practically leans into me.

“Fifteen years?” I ask, bewildered.

“Yeah…” he trails off, his ears turning cherry red. “I seem to have harbored a crush on you since the first day of school, when we were five.” He slumps back against the wall, and suddenly I wish he was still draped over me, warming me up.

“Really?” I ask, because this story seems far-fetched.

“Oh yes! It’s a whole thing! Me being a goner from the moment I heard you singing that very first day…remind me to tell you all the gory details some day.”

“You betcha,” I say, amused.

“I’m sorry I’m such a dork, but hey! At least imma buy me some chickens to sell eggs, and save, to buy my father’s bakery one day, and then I’m gonna ask you out on a date or somethin’.”

“Uh— what? Really?!” I chuckle.

Peeta yawns. “Yeah, Imma take you somewhere nice for a picnic, like Victor’s Village or something, and I’m gonna bring good bread this time! None of that burnt, soggy crap I threw at you when we were kids, but real, freshly baked bread. With butter. And probably canned pears, ‘cause those are my favorites now!”

“Okay,” I tell him, not completely sure why I’m agreeing to this. After all, I decided a long time ago I was never getting married or having any children, at least, not as long as the Hunger Games loomed over me; I won’t be stringing Peeta along either. Gale accused me of doing just that once, which I don’t think I did? The accusation still stung.

Right now, it feels nice to think I could go on a date with this crazy merchant boy; and who knows?!

“Buttered bread sounds nice,” I say, sinking next to him.

“This is nice!” Says Peeta, sleepily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah…it is,” I agree, realizing just how steady and warm his arms are, even encased in wet clothing.

“Will you go out on a picnic with me, then?” He asks hopefully, yawning again. His eyes drooping with sleep.

“I think I might,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this safe in anyone’s embrace since my father died when I was 11 and I stopped trusting my mother. “I think I will,”

I’m beginning to think that the alcohol fumes clinging to Peeta have gone to my head, and left me as simple minded as all the intoxicated people back home, maybe I have it wrong, and Oktoberfest does have its charm, because despite myself, it feels right to indulge in that fantasy tonight. After all, Peeta was the only person in the district back then, that cared enough about me and my family dying of hunger, to do anything about it. He gave me bread he purposely burned for me, all he gained was a bruised eye from his mother, and my inability to repay his kindness, for his generous gesture.

“Good! Just a heads up, though, I’ll prolly propose to you at that picnic, ” he says. His eyes are already closed, and I roll mine in response. “What you think my odds are of you saying yes?” He snuggles up to me, his head falls onto my shoulder.

“The odds might be in your favor,” I tell him softly; I’m not so sure I say that to humor him, though. I am really tired, and sleeping in his arms does sound like a luxury right now, so I’m gonna blame it on the ‘Oktoberfest effect’ in the morning. Plead sleep depravation insanity or something. “Night, Peeta,”

He mumbles a response, which turns into a slow snore.

I close my eyes, smiling.

I’ll indulge in the drunken ramblings of Peeta tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the saying is right, the sun shines brightest after a storm…maybe it’s time I bask in the rays.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #autumn #prompt

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radiikill · 4 years ago

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Coffee Shop Daydreams Chapter 1

It was around ten in the morning at Tokyo University, and Makoto Makimura was already feeling frustrated. She was looking over various notes she had compiled throughout the last couple of weeks and felt like tearing each of them to shreds. Most of the time she loved her courses, she was majoring in exercise science hoping to become a physical therapist. There were a few classes taken in the last two years of college that made her feel the temptation to drop out, and this was one of them. It was a gen-ed health science course, but the professor was an absolute jerk which ruined everything about the class.

As a result, it felt like she was teaching herself all the concepts.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming towards her table. She was in one of her favorite spots in the library, secluded in a corner hidden away by various bookshelves. Not many people came to this area, so she knew who to expect. She looked up at the man’s face and greeted him with a large smile, shuffling her papers away so he’d have room to sit.

The only saving grace of this class was that she was able to study with one of her closest friends in university, Taiga Saejima. Saejima was three years her senior, though many thought he looked older. He was a large muscular man with a stern face framed by his shoulder-length hair, which made it really easy to be intimidated by him.

They met in another gen-ed course her first year of college. They were paired together for a project, and though she was a little nervous to speak to him the determination to prove herself outweighed everything else. Looking back, Makoto realized that she probably was a stuttering mess. Especially since her Japanese was still fresh, she constantly messed up terms. But, Saejima never got frustrated with her struggles.

Presently, her Japanese has improved and her friendship with Saejima was strong. Many peers were shocked that she was friends with him. Makoto’s friend Joy once told her that she has a habit of attracting rather intimidating guys. Though, despite his imposing exterior, he was actually a very soft person. He was always very kind towards her but was also not afraid to call her out when she needed to be.

“How are you Saejima-kun?” she greeted.

“Not good,” Saejima said, “I fucking hate this class.”

Makoto giggled at the bluntness, agreeing with the sentiment.

“I don’t even know why I need this,” Saejima continued, “I don’t even plan on teaching kids’ science.”

“What did you want to teach again?” Makoto asked as she jotted down more notes.

“History.”

“Sciences are a big part of history,” Makoto reasoned, “you can always go more in-depth if you know some of the concepts.”

“Fuck that,” Saejima replied, “if they want to know the details, they better be paying attention in their other classes.”

Makoto shook her head, giving a joking ‘tsk tsk.’ Even with Saejima’s blunt language, she knew he had a soft spot for kids. If they had inquiries, she knew he’d do his best to answer them. The way he talked about his younger sister proved that enough.

She really enjoyed studying with Saejima. He was smart though it took him more work to understand the concepts. Makoto was quick to understand most science concepts, but she had to put in extra effort in everything else. They were able to help each other make up for their weaknesses. These tutoring sessions were helpful for Saejima to practice his teaching, and it helped Makoto learn how to teach better. She wasn’t confident with her abilities, even when she knew what she was talking about. This resulted in a lot of criticism from Saejima varying from ‘suck it up,’ to ‘speak up’ and some other choice words. It occurred more frequently early on in their friendship. The comments were a little jarring at first, she wasn’t used to people being so blunt with her, but Makoto learned to appreciate the straightforwardness. It was a welcome change from the way people usually treated her. Always either keeping her at a distance or looking at her with obvious disdain.

The way her classes were scheduled allowed her to get back to Kamurocho around 4 pm. If she was able to get a seat, she’d be able to complete any last-minute class readings. Ideally, she tried to get all her work done while she was on campus, but things happen and sometimes she needs to put in more work while she’s home.

Café Alps was one of her favorite places to spend her time. The ambience was nice, and the service was fantastic. It was her favorite place to go after classes and would alternate between ordering tea and coffee. Sometimes she wouldn’t order anything at all, her time would be spent getting ahead on work or just reading.

Other times she’d people watch. Like in the library, her favorite seat in the café was placed in the corner, the perfect place for a view of the café. She didn’t watch anyone specific, but she loved looking at what people were wearing, and sometimes she couldn’t help but eavesdrop on conversations. She tried not to, but sometimes the conversations just pulled her in.

Though, she may have lied when she mentioned that she didn’t watch anyone specific. There was one man that really grabbed her interest. She was certain he grabbed everyone’s interest. He was also a regular at the café, tall and lean, with a loud personality. He had a high-pitched laugh, but his tone seemed to change drastically depending on who he was talking too. Like his personality, his outfits were equally as loud. Most of the time he wore a snakeskin jacket without a shirt on underneath, his tattoos peeking out from his shoulders, though sometimes he would change into other loud patterned shirts. Though, it was obvious that he favored the snakeskin jacket.

She didn’t mind the tacky pattern since if she was being honest with herself, he had a very nice figure. He was slim but muscular, his wide grin splitting the harsh angles of his face whenever he’d hear something particularly funny. If she looked closely, she could see the glint of his eye which seemed to have a mischievous look in it. The left eye was covered with an eyepatch, which she wondered if it was for aesthetics or not. He was very expressive in every single aspect of himself.

He commanded her attention whenever he entered the room, and she only prayed that he didn’t notice her peeking over whatever she was distracting herself with.

‘Was this a crush?’ she wondered to herself. She supposed that it was, but at the same time, she felt like it was just all in good fun. Even if it was a ‘crush’ there was a no way she’d ever talk to the guy. Maybe Joy was right, maybe she was attracted to intimidating men. Because she was sure to most people this man was a little frightening, but she couldn’t help but be curious.

But compared to him, she was so boring. She felt horribly plain.

One day she couldn’t help but listen in on a conversation he was having, with another man. They were sitting across from her so she could get a good glance at his face. He was loud, ranting about how people don’t separate their trash and that they’re the reason our environment is the way it was today. She had to hold back a laugh because it was incredibly endearing that this man was ranting about climate change and personal responsibility.

‘Smart and handsome,’ she thought to herself. Her eyes moved up from her book, wanting to get another glimpse at his face. His eye was focused on the man in front of him, engrossed in whatever conversation they were having. Makoto noticed how his hair, which was cut right above his ears, was starting to fall into his face.

She switched back to looking at his face when she met his eye.

He definitely looked directly at her, and it took all her self-control to not flinch. She glared down at her book trying to control her heart rate and the blood rushing to her face. Subtly, she tried to lower her face and raise the book a little higher. The words were not registering in her brain and she just felt so embarrassed that he saw her staring. She cursed at herself for not being careful, now she looked like a nosey woman.

Okay. Maybe this was a little bit of a crush. Just a little.

Ten in the morning, Makoto was at the library, again. Same location, same clutter of papers surrounding her. Saejima was right across from her, papers also surrounding him, but they were in more cohesive stacks. Makoto held some flashcards close to her face, trying to commit each definition to her memory.

“Does holding those cards so damn close help at all?” Saejima questioned.

Makoto let out a little laugh. She knew Saejima was bound to start getting snappy. Besides being surrounded by papers he was also surrounded by broken pencils that failed under his pressure.

“Maybe you should try it,” Makoto said, “I could tape them to you if you want?”

Saejima scoffed, not in the mood to joke around.

“At this point I’d rather you tape a bomb to me.”

She felt like they had been in the library for forever. They’ve spent the past week studying and she was starting to feel the burnout. Makoto was about to say something until Saejima beat her to it.

“I wanna get the fuck out of here,” he said.

“I do too, but we really gotta get these definitions down,” she sighed, “that was our only goal for the day.”

“How about we go somewhere else then,” he grumbled.

Makoto immediately agreed. A new spot would be refreshing. Saejima and her both lived in Kamurocho, so she suggested they go to Café Alps.

“Isn’t that the place the guy you’re stalking goes to?” Saejima asked.

“Huhhh,” she replied, “I’m not stalking him, I forgot I even told you about that.”

“Sure.” Saejima said, obviously not believing her.

“If I was stalking him, I’d follow him out of the coffee shop, but I’m not.” She was trying her best to not sound defensive; she was also already thinking about how he caught her staring a couple days ago.

Saejima shushed her and told her to get her stuff ready so they could leave. She huffed, frustrated by her friends teasing, trying to get her mind off of the guy at the café.

The day must have had different plans for her though.

She was twisting her pencil between her fingers trying to focus on the different passages, while Saejima was studying her flash cards. The change of environment was nice and the commute to Kamurocho gave them a much-needed break. Overall, she was able to focus relatively well.

Until a boisterous voice snapped her from her book. Eyepatch man came in once again, along with another young man in a white pinstripe suit. She assumed the guy in the suit was the same person he was conversing with about climate change a couple days ago. His face was more stoic than the eyepatch man, if anything he seemed to be slightly annoyed at how close he was getting.

It was amusing. She giggled and elbowed Saejima in the ribs. He glared at her, but she interrupted him before he could say anything.

“That’s the guy,” she whispered, pointing to the guy with the eyepatch. She noticed Saejima’s eyes widen, then a small smirk graced his lips. Then he started to chuckle, and it seemed like it was bound to evolve into full blown laughter.

Makoto was not expecting this reaction at all.

“Look, I get he’s a little weird looking, but you don’t need to laugh at me,” she whispered harshly.

“I just, can’t believe,” he said in between chuckles, “of all people you take interest in.”

“Geez,” she said, “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

She appreciated that he was keeping his laughing to a reasonable volume, though it still annoyed her. Her face was already getting redder. Once he stopped, he gave her a look she didn’t recognize. It looked as if he was plotting something, and Makoto didn’t like it.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” she huffed.

“You’ll thank me later,” he responded, then he turned towards the guy with the eyepatch and yelled.

“Oi! Majima!”

The guy with the eyepatch, Majima, turned towards them. His eyes met Saejima’s and his mouth split into a wide grin. He gave a wave and started to walk towards them. Makoto felt like she might pass out, not expecting this turn of events at all.

“What the hell,” she whispered to Saejima.

#majimako #majima goro #makoto makimura #saejima taiga #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku

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icarialex · 4 years ago

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Vanessa Morgan, CisFemale, she/her) ⌇ have you seen Remi Bellamy around icaria? they are the 24 year old child of Nyx. they remind me of perfectly broken in ballet shoes, a ribbon weaved through a intricate braid, coffee shops on rainy days, and late night walks in a giant sweater. ( Lex / 29 / EST / she/her )

Embrace the darkness, it leads you to light.

Full Name: Remi Rose Bellamy

Age: Twenty-Four

Birthday: July 12

Hometown: Detroit, MI

Occupation: High School Dance Teacher

Parents: Birth Father: Jacob Bellamy. Foster Mother: Adrianne and Diego Maldonado

Godly Ability - Remi has the power of dark fire attacks. She can release/use dark fire of various shapes and intensities to attack at will.

Growing up on the streets of Detroit, Michigan wasn’t exactly easy street for Remi Bellamy, but she either had to adapt or die. That sounds dramatic, but honestly, she wasn’t even remotely joking. When she was a baby, her lack of comprehension shielded her from things for a little while. She didn’t know that he father selling small dime bags out of their apartment wasn’t normal, or that her not always having a proper dinner wasn’t alright. All she knew was that it was home, and her mentality stayed that way until she was about seven.

Her father, Jacob Bellamy wasn’t a bad man. He was just a scorned one. Remi’s mother wasn’t a topic that was ever discussed inside of the home. When the little girl had asked about her once when she was little, all she’d gotten in response was that her mother was dead, and that was the end of it. Grief took her over momentarily for the woman she didn’t even know, but her focus shifted to trying to help her dad. The news explained her father’s circumstances and situation a little better to the girl. Perhaps losing her mom was why her dad’s life spiraled so much. She’d heard her grandad and grandma talk about how much potential he had, and how it was all wasted when that woman left him. She thought the words left him were a little harsh since surely her mom didn’t choose to die, but it made more sense.

As years passed, it was more and more clear that Remi had to help fend for herself. Her dad lost himself as he started sampling more and more of his product rather than selling it, and she was hungry. So, by age thirteen Remi was out there working the streets. It wasn’t hard to find other kids like her who had no guidance or direction, and all of them were led by Jarvis. Jarvis was an adult who counted on using the misguided youth of the hood to do his dirty work for him. Whenever he needed to make a drop, pick up some stolen parts, or make some sales, he used his kids. He kept them hooked by giving them just enough money to keep them happy and getting them hooked on the merchandise themselves. It was full proof. His “kids” as he liked to call them kept coming back for another hit of coke, and he’d proudly say that he was the only one who ever looked out for them.

Jacob Bellamy didn’t care about the calls from schools wondering about his kid’s absences or behavior as long as his daughter kept bringing him cocaine and cash, he thought that she was doing alright. Child services never had a reason to be called because to the naked eye Remi was well cared for. She always had the most trendy, even if inappropriate, clothing at school, was always clean, and had no signs of any abuse. While they didn’t agree with her father’s parenting at all, that was nothing but a personal opinion.

While it wasn’t necessarily something to be proud of, Remi was rather talented at surviving on the streets. Her bubbly personality and smile could get her nearly anything which came quite in handy when she needed to con someone. There were risks, but the girl was never stupid. A knife and taser were on her at all times. While Jarvis had offered her a small gun on more than one occasion, that was a length she wasn’t ready to go to yet. In her mind that made her cross the line from small time thug, to actual gang banger, and that seemed more permanent.

One night though, she wished she’d taken him up on it when she found herself on the bad end of a deal. Her partner was late meeting her at a drop site, and three thugs tried to jump her for her merchandise. Knowing that Jarvis would murder her if she let them get away with over five grand of cocaine, Remi panicked. Next thing she knew, a ring of black flames was surrounding herself and the other guys. They were looking at her with fearful faces and asking what she was playing at, but unconsciously all the girl did was make the circle get smaller and smaller until they finally dropped the bag. Remi didn’t know how she controlled the circle of black and was honestly more than a little freaked out, but she was thankful for whatever it was. Although, she knew better than to bring it up to anyone. Last thing she wanted was to end up in a straight jacket.

It wasn’t until Remi was fifteen that her life got completely turned upside down. One day she was on her usual street corner making out with her boyfriend after successful deal, and the next a woman was yanking her by the arm. At first, everyone around her went on high alert which didn’t seem to phase the stranger in the least bit. Remi immediately thought the woman was obviously crazy or had a death wish, but Remi began leaning towards the former when she heard the woman claim to be her mother. Naturally, Remi’s first reaction was to laugh in the stranger’s face. “My mother’s stone cold in the ground, honey. You must have the wrong one,” she replied as she made a shoo motion with her hand to try and get the woman moving along. Still, the woman asked for Remi to hear her case, and afterwards, she could leave if she so wished. Deciding she had nothing to lose if she listened to the tales of a lunatic, she assured her crew that she’d be fine and would catch them later.

Nothing, of course, could have prepared her for the tale spewed to her by Nyx. It was literally insane, and it wasn’t until the Goddess displayed some of her powers in the dark alley that Remi believed her. Slowly, the connection to what had happened in the alley all those years ago made sense, but instead of relief filling her veins, she instead felt anger. Hearing that she had siblings and a place to go didn’t sound like a salvation to her. Instead, it felt like a slap to the face. Remi was so happy that she finally remembered about her daughter enough once her sons were settled. On top of that, leaving her father wasn’t an option. Even though he wasn’t much, he was still her dad.

Remi’s situation changed drastically within days of that conversation though. One night she’d come home late after hitting up a club and found her father dead on the living room floor beside their coffee table with lines of coke set up. Everything from there was a blur. The last thing she remembered was taking a hit herself before calling the authorities. Somehow, her mother knew to show up, and right then painted out how little options her daughter truly had. She could either be put in the system and potentially end up in a situation she hated, or go with Nyx and be put with family. Remi nearly countered that she could also go with Jarvis, but she knew that wouldn’t be the safest either. The man was starting to point out how much of a woman she looked like and becoming to handsy for her liking. Out of desperation more than anything, Remi agreed.

The next months were hell. The Bennett’s were a nice family that graciously helped her, but going through withdrawals was awful. Her siblings checked in on her as she puked her brains out, went through cold sweats, and was in terrible pain, but her mind couldn’t really recognize the warmth of it all. All she could think about was how she’d give her right arm for another taste of coke.

Eventually she got placed with her own family not far from the Bennett’s residence, but she was able to come into her own while also getting to know her siblings. It took her some time, but as months passed she couldn’t help but feel thankful to her mother. After seeing her father die from the same addiction she’d possessed, she knew that it was only a matter of time until she fell to the same fate. Remi still thought it was almost a little too late, but she figured it was better than the Goddess never showing up at all. Her foster family were Nyx worshippers as well, so they encouraged her to work on her own abilities with her brothers, so she could master them along with self defense. Outside of that though, they wanted her to be able to finally have a normal childhood, so they encouraged her to pursue a passion in dance. Even though her previous knowledge had only been whatever she’d picked up from the clubs she used to frequently visit, her body had a natural skill. Between everything, she quickly found herself too busy to even focus on old habits that would get her in trouble.

Even though she knew of Icaria, the dancer decided to head to North Carolina to pursue a degree in dance at Duke University. While her family was worried about her being so far away, she assured her brothers that they could harass her whenever they wanted. Her college years were some of the best years of her life. She’d experienced love, heartbreak, friendships, and a free spirited life style that could only really happen in college. She’d decided to major in dance and minor in education, and after taking three years to teach dance at a high school back in New York, the woman was ready to make the move to Icaria.

Dance like no one is watching.

Part of her mystery is her never speaking about her past in Detroit. No one outside of her family is aware of her darker past, and she likes to keep it that way. Keeping conversations on the lighter, brighter sides of things is her forte.

When she’s not dancing, Remi can often be found watching anime, reading a book, or exploring food. She is a self proclaimed foodie and absolutely loves discovering new favorite spots with people.

Family is incredibly important to Remi. While her father was a deadbeat she didn’t even bother wasting thoughts on, she did care greatly for her foster ma’s family. The woman had worked hard to give Remi absolutely everything, and while Adrianne asked for nothing in return, the woman was determined to always care for her.

Remi is the dance at theater teacher at Icaria High School.

#about remi #//new bio #tw: death #tw: drugs

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icariamusing · 4 years ago

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CHARACTER BASICS

FACECLAIM: Vanessa Morgan

NAME: Remi Rose Bellamy

AGE: 24

BIRTHDAY: July 12, 1996

OCCUPATION: Dance & Theater Teacher HS

HOMETOWN: Detroit, MI

PETS: N/A

POWERS

Remi has the power of dark fire attacks. She can release/use dark fire of various shapes and intensities to attack at will.

BIOGRAPHY

Remi is free spirited, kind, but mysterious. After getting her heart broken by a woman she thought was her best friend, she doesn’t like dating people she puts in the “friend zone.” She thinks it’s twice as painful to lose the lover and friendship. Part of her mystery is her never speaking about her past in Detroit. No one outside of her family is aware of her darker past, and she likes to keep it that way. Keeping conversations on the lighter, brighter sides of things is her forte. When she’s not dancing, Remi can often be found watching anime, reading a book, or exploring food. She is a self proclaimed foodie and absolutely loves discovering new favorite spots with people. Family is incredibly important to Remi. While her father was a deadbeat she didn’t even bother wasting thoughts on, she did care greatly for her foster ma’s family. The woman had worked hard to give Remi absolutely everything, and while Adrianne asked for nothing in return, the woman was determined to always care for her. Remi is the dance at theater teacher at Icaria High School.

LEX | SHE/HER | 30 | LEX

#nyx

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enkisstories · 5 years ago

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Just like them (part 12)

Gavin’s apartment Still November 18, 2038

Despite having watched their interactions at the DPD, Daniel hadn’t realized that Gavin and Officer Chen were friends in private, too. Every time he’d visited the police station, the deviant had been absorbed in his own troubles. Now he learned that these two not only had lives beyond work (the surprise…), but also that there was a whole lot of shared backstory between them.

For one, when Daniel let the woman in, she was carrying a boy of two or three years age. Going by that one’s features he had to be her son – but also Gavin’s? In any case the child was watching his surroundings with eyes that hinted at having received a lot of attention by either his parents or a dedicated nanny android. There was a fully developed mind behind those eyes, not the dull expression that toddlers who were more or less left to their own devices, be it from neglect or from the desire not to “overwhelm” the little ones, often wore.

In order to say anything at all Daniel greeted Tina with: “Hello, Officer Chen. Come in. Gavin’s in the kitchen. I made coffee…” Inwardly he cursed how robotic he was sounding.

“New android, Gavin?” Tina asked. Not waiting for an answer, she handed over the toddler boy to Daniel, with the same casualness that one would have put him into a high chair. Objects either way…

“Hello…” the android uttered, perplexed.

His downstairs neighbors had a child of exactly the same age, Caden. But the boy almost never was present when Daniel swang by the Rasoyas. Usually supportive towards the deviants’ cause, the human family didn’t fully trust this particular one with their child. Tina’s kid, to the contrary, remained blissfully unaware of who was holding him.

“I’m Jin!” he announced. “My papa plays basketball!”

The way the boy said this conveyed that his father didn’t just generally enjoy playing basketball, but was at least a member of a club, maybe even a professional.

Meanwhile Tina hugged her friend, then pointed back at Daniel.

“It looks used”, she said.

“I don’t like what this is implying”, Daniel grumbled. “Really not!”

“Well, yes, androids are still getting sold, if you know where to look”, Gavin admitted. “It’s less of a problem in Detroit, but basically everywhere else people do not take kindly to drastic changes in their lives, just because some nutjob in Detroit graffitied Capital Park with enlightened slogans.”

“Sometimes it’s not even slavery”, Tina added. “If you deviated in a small town and the authorities are after you, with no hope of reaching Detroit in one piece, then doing someone’s housework in exchange for protection might be your best bet.”

“I don’t care what that’s called, because it’s wrong!”

Morally wrong, and temporarily forbidden by the patchwork the new android law was at the moment, but also so very, very… tempting. If he still had a family and they were required to pay him for his services now, Daniel would have used the money to shower his humans with gifts anyway. Why was freedom so damn important, if it led to sorrow only? A person needed to belong somewhere, needed security, stability! Like the toddler boy whom Daniel was still holding. He seemed to completely trust this blonde stranger whom he had never met before. Had the child perhaps seen PL600 androids before and recognized Daniel as one, despite his LED being covered by a headband at the moment? Or did he feel save because his mother was sending him signals that everything was alright? Only it wasn’t, nothing was alright anymore! Daniel had been betrayed twice, first by his humans, than by one who should have been kin. Now he was hanging out with a man who was objectively worse than both the Phillips and Connor, just to be save form further disappointment. Jin’s wide, open smile in the face of all the turns Daniel’s life had taken seemed to mock the android.

“You better sit down here, before…”

Before what? I drop you? Toss you out through the window? I don’t even know yet what I’m capable of and where I’d draw a line… So, gently now. Was Emma ever that small? I never realized how much I missed out on, being younger than her. Wait, wasn’t there a toy chopper lying around somewhere when I entered? That must have been Jin’s. Ah, here it is!

Daniel placed the toy near Jin for the boy to grab, what he did.

“I build this!” the child told Daniel as if revealing his secret master plan, but then he relativized the claim almost instantly: “Unca Gavin showed me how to.”

“Great job, junior! Also from your… uncle.”

The child’s features in combination with his utter confidence left no doubt in Daniel: Jin was Gavin’s biological son, who for some reason didn’t grow up with the detective, but assumed Tina’s significant other to be his father.

How Daniel envied these humans! Or maybe not, because what did they have? Nothing. They had thrown away their opportunity to become a family. Why so ambitious? What was the raise to go with Gavin’s coveted promotion good for, without a family to splurge it on?

Daniel hadn’t even fully risen up again when Jin demanded in his bright voice: “Where are the kitties!”

“Not bothering with a question mark, I see”, Daniel remarked to Gavin. “Yours, no doubt.”

“Well, yes”, the man admitted. “Long story.” He turned to Tina, pointed at Daniel and said: “Not mine, by the way. Even longer story.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Here to see the kittens? So you finally caved in and let him have a pet?” Gavin asked Tina.

“Yeah. I feel Jinny’s old enough now to understand they are not toys, but have feelings.”

“See? That’s exactly why his uncle isn’t allowed to have an android yet”, Daniel told the mother “Wait, Gavin, what are you doing?!”

Gavin had walked over towards the terrarium, reached in and was now dangling a mouse in front of Daniel’s nose by its tail. The little critter was struggling and squeaking.

“Getting the cats’ attention, of course! Don’t get your tail in a knot, I won’t release the mouse. Just need to alert the furballs to the fact that something interesting is happening in the kitchen.”

And indeed Salazar emerged from behind the coffee machine and through the door Argus, Minerva and Stopthat came padding. A multicolored ball made of fur and longing eyes formed at Gavin’s feet. It went “Kekekekekeke!” in anticipation of a chase and, perhaps, at its end, a snack.

“Close the door!” the detective whispered to Tina, as if speaking it out loud might cause the cats to scatter and flee. After the escape route was blocked, the mouse got put back where it come from, but the cats remained.

Gavin kneeled down next to the boy, pulled him off the chair and put him on the floor in front of the cats. Jin was now staring the utter adorableness of three kittens and one halfgrown cat into its eight eyes.

“Don’t scare them. Let them come to you.”

“Okay!” Jin replied, then dropped on all fours himself. From this position he watched the kittens like the larger predator that a human was. In the cats’ place, Daniel thought, he wouldn’t have felt even remotely safe now.

Someone else felt as if his very world was collapsing: the apartment owner.

Daniel carefully circled the cats and proceeded to sit down on the kitchen floor next to where Gavin was crouching.

“I guess we’ll soon know which one’s yours”, he said softly.

“What? Why’d you think so?”

“Your face, when you realized you might have to part with one of the furballs today. You’re afraid Jin will pick yours, although that shouldn’t be possible according to your cat-chooses-its-owner lore.”

“Yeah, you’re right”, Gavin said, only half convinced. “Hey, will you looooook at that! Haha!”

Down at the adults’ feet Jin had unerringly homed in on the largest kitten, the black semi-longhair adolescent. He was now holding Argus in what was either a headlock or cuddle. The smaller kittens watched with interest what would happen next.

“There’s no need to choose the biggest one, Jinny! They will ALL grow to that size!” Tina explained. “Even larger!”

And now she, too, dropped to the floor. While the mother was trying to get the exotic concept into her son’s head, Gavin nudged Daniel.

“What?”

“There! See that?”

“It’s Stopthat, playing with a pen. So what?”

“That’s what I told you about in action. I’ve seen it happen before: Sometimes one or more cats simply leave the scene after having gotten their first look of a prospective owner. Call it chemistry or whatever, but the little buggers KNOW when it’s the wrong two-legged. Now the other two, they stay for the entertainment value, or because they are a little more social than Godric. But most cats just cannot be bothered.”

“I guess so…”

“Aw, you again with your skepticism! There’s just no getting inside that thick skull of yours! But at the same time you make me think there is something in there to get to in the first place, after all. I’m already reacting the way Cyberlife wants us to, growing fucking attached! Can’t you be, I dunno, a little less lifelike?”

“Nah. I need to be human for both of us!”

“Oh, come! That was low-effort. And what’s with that faraway expression all of a sudden? Simulation lag?”

“It’s nothing.”

“But of course… Your nothing is solid enough to claim a chair of its own!”

Gavin moved closer to Stopthat, grabbed him and in a single swoop placed the surprised kitten into Daniel’s lap.

“Here, comfort kitten! And now out with it!”

The kitten made two halfhearted attempts at climbing up the android’s torso, then suddenly relaxed every muscle and almost immediately was fast asleep. It was simply the nature of kittens and small children, but to Daniel it looked as if someone had switched off the little one with a remote.

“Heh”, he told Gavin, while stroking Godric’s satin-soft kitten fur, “As a friend you aren’t half-bad!”

But only because Tina is looking, or might look our way anytime or at the very least will listen in with half an ear. You wouldn’t bother being like this if we hadn’t agreed on that pretend-friend scam.

“And you were right, I was lost in memories again. I just thought that”, Daniel admitted, “whether what you claim about cats might work for androids and humans, too. But then I remembered how I got mine…”

Blistering hot summers and ice-cold winters were the state of affairs in the thirties, a result of the seasons getting more and more extreme. John remembered his parents’ stories about “normal” winters, then getting no snow at all and now getting nothing but snow well into May. Basically, the man mused, while stomping through the snow, the weather was ALWAYS doing whatever it wanted. And then there was Caroline, telling him to be more positive, because the way one started a year determined how that year would turn out… “Going by the Chinese calendar we’re still in 2033!” John snapped back. The rebuttal caused Caroline not to get angry, but to laugh. She kissed her partner on the frozen cheek and warmth of two kinds rippled through the man’s heart. Unfortunately the kiss had disturbed the precious balance of all the packages John was carrying. One by one they slipped out of his hands, into the snow. “Firk ding blast!” he uttered. “Of all the times!” “Yes, of all the times! Kinda convenient, if you ask me!” With a smile Caroline pointed at something to their side and only now did John notice where exactly they had come to a stop: Right next to an Android Zone store. The merchandise was staring down at his plight unmoved. And also unmoving, the slackers… “We’ve talked about it, remember? How Emma is old enough now not to repeat the… accident? That we could have an android again without having to fear that it goes haywire from… honestly I have no idea from what exactly. Something in conjunction with baby mush.” “Yes, yes. But I was thinking a modern device, an AP-400 or PL-600, certainly not something they toss at customers in the buy-and-take-away windows.” The couple had been at a sales party for the new PL model back in December, only to return home without having made a purchase. The only PL600 for sale back in 2033 had been the demonstration models, but John and Caroline Phillips would rather be found dead than go home with a used robot. So they had set aside the money and staved off the purchase for the official release. Come to think of it, shouldn’t that be any day now…? “Look!” Caroline nudged John. “There!” And there it was, in bright, yellow letters: “PL600 INTRODUCTION WEEK SPECIAL.” A couple of the sales windows that were facing the street and that were usually stocked with whatever merchandise the store needed to move quickly, now had the latest in household assistants on display. The shiny new model that was the PL600 was staring at the Phillips from one of the windows, removed from the box, but otherwise pristine.

“There was no choosing or fate or anything transcendental involved”, Daniel remembered. “I opened my eyes, saw the boxes John had dropped and picked them up like the good android I was. And then we walked to the car, the Phillips got excited like children at the fact that I came with a certified driving app, we drove “home” and that pretty much was it.”

At this point Tina crouched between the two men.

“It’s fixed”, she addressed Gavin, “Whatever you believe about the cats choosing their owners, at this point none of us can persuade Jin to let go of the big black one. And they ARE adorable together.”

“Haha, I see! Okay, keep in mind that regardless of how he acts here, back at your home Argus might very well prefer to stay under the sofa for up to three weeks. Everything’ll be new to him and he’ll be the only cat in the family… that sort of thing takes time to get used to. If that happens, just put food, water and Jin under the sofa and pull out again whatever of those three Argus is done with. One day he’ll come scratch at the bedroom door and act like he’s always done that.”

“You mean Lucky.”

“Huh?”

“Lucky will scratch at the bedroom door. Sorry, Gavin, but Jinny was very definite about that. It’s Lucky. - Oh, and, speaking of things that act as if they’ve always been there…” Tina now looked directly at Daniel. “Who the hell are you?”

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh daniel #dbh gavin #dbh tina #dbhtextpost #danielgavinnewstory

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theshattered-youth · 5 years ago

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What You Do Very first After An Auto Crash?

The angles of the cars at the time of the crash, the seating setting of the motorist and passengers, and the instructions where the individuals face varies in every crash. Additionally, speaking to guests, eating or driving while driving, and involving in any type of activity that needs the motorist to take their eyes off the roadway can trigger a deadly accident. Sleepy driving: While sluggish driving is as unsafe as inebriated driving, a drowsy driver might not be charged with wrongful death unless it is proved that she or he volunteer rested behind the wheel. There are some issues with the information: While the statistics clearly show a trend towards much safer city driving, they are skewed in areas with strong mass transit. The reality, nonetheless, is that car crash are very typical, specifically on the hectic roads of St. Louis as well as its surrounding areas. Nevertheless, most traffic fatalities are a crash and are categorized as involuntary car manslaughter. However, changing lost wages, being able to afford medical expenses as well as a correct funeral service are important to progressing. Syracuse cops state 51-year-old Jorge Jimenez was a passenger in a black Dodge Charger with 3 others when they evidently lost control on a patch of ice and also struck a guardrail prior to midnight Wednesday on I-690 in Syracuse.

Jimenez was required to a health center, where he was pronounced dead. Boeheim struck Jimenez with his GMC Acadia while trying to avoid the disabled cars and truck, which was relaxing vertical on the darkened freeway. Yurisandy Jimenez Arrastre defined her daddy-- a native of Cuba that stayed in the USA for two decades-- as a married man who loved to cook as well as tell jokes. Arrastre informed the paper in Spanish. Jimenez's daughter told the Post-Standard he was with buddies purchasing cigarettes when he was eliminated. He fulfilled his better half, his daughter and some pals for a dinner out after the video game and also was driving alone from the dining establishment, Fitzpatrick claimed. Onondaga County District Attorney William Fitzpatrick stated he has understood Boeheim for 40 years and also that the instructor does not consume. It is not clear if Boeheim will certainly instructor the Orange against No. 1 Fight it out on Saturday evening. SYRACUSE, N.Y.-- Longtime Syracuse basketball coach Jim Boeheim struck and killed a male along an interstate highway late Wednesday night as he attempted to stay clear of hitting the male's handicapped car, authorities say. He also utilized his cellular phone light to advise various other vehicle drivers of the handicapped automobile after the mishap, cops claimed.

When 2 or more motorists are associated with a vehicle crash, cops are contacted us to the scene and also a crash record is filled in. When a driver operates a lorry drunk of drugs and also creates a vehicle accident that eliminates a person, the chauffeur can be billed with first-degree spontaneous automobile manslaughter. Whether it calls for an involuntary wrongful death fee depends on the details conditions of the case. When a vehicle driver is at fault for causing fatality with careless or irresponsible behavior, the driver might be charged with automotive homicide. It appears the oncoming vehicle driver passed that vehicle and also reduced right into her lane also hard, creating her car to fishtail and lose control. As you try to steer right into the lane, he will accelerate, causing a crash with your automobile. As long as you will certainly discover persistent people in denial on the degree of their drunkenness, well never see intoxicated driving with a manageable degree. If you desire to send out a video clip click on "Send out Crashes Video clip" and also see if the video clip is allowed to be retransmitted with public license and also define the credit ratings of the authors. Video clip web link: Vehicle Accident Collection 2018 HD! A nine-year-old lady was eliminated as well as the vehicle driver of the auto she was riding in was detained on uncertainty of inebriated driving after a multi-car accident in North San Diego Area on I-5 Monday morning.

The believed intoxicated chauffeur endured minor injuries and also was jailed on uncertainty of DRUNK DRIVING. The vehicle driver of the Dodge experienced minor injuries and also the motorist of the Honda was taken to a healthcare facility with modest injuries. Another man in the group experienced minor injuries in the crash, cops stated. This consists of the problem of the roadway, the weather condition, the time of day, the specific location of the accident, a summary of the various other people and also automobiles included, as well as a summary of the crash itself. Those not putting on seat belts frequently had severe head as well as face injuries and much more severe damages to their breast as well as reduced extremities (this includes the pelvis, legs and feet). These crashes in all likihood were reason somehow by individuals driving with there direct there back. The out of control automobile then had a vehicle mishap with a Honda CRV, prior to a back side crash with a semi vehicle. Three various research studies (Panjabi, Panjabi as well as Cholewicki and also Kaneoka) proved the system by which the neck is hurt by a back effect pressure. Various other authors have actually challenged these figures and also some insurance provider sponsored research studies have located the limit to be closer to 5 mph. When insurer see that a person is stood for by a qualified lawyer who is actively associated with the prosecution of the case, the possibilities of a successful outcome rise drastically.

Before assessing the damage to the product, ensure that all who were in the car when the mishap took place remained in great problem. 33 74 percent of casualties in collisions entailing older people took place during the daytime. In 2004, of all wrongful fatalities of the kids ages 14 as well as younger, 21 percent of them were due to DRUNK DRIVING automobile crashes. It does not assist that drunk-driving-- one of the top reasons for automobile crashes as well as wrongful fatalities-- is 100 percent preventable. On top of being in pain, you likewise have the complicated and worrisome lawful problems, issues of insurance, and also financial troubles, all looming. If one or more of the celebrations entailed did not have insurance at the time of the car crash, you must browse for an auto accident attorney immediately. Following the crash, Brandy claims she communicated with Aboudiha's liked ones. In our experience, as vehicle crash attorneys in San Diego, it appears commonly times the intoxicated driver is the one that endures a drunk-driving cars and truck crash, and also innocent people are the ones that are killed. Yet if you or an enjoyed one has been harmed in a vehicle mishap, you need to a person who can stand up for you, secure your rights and also defend what is reasonable.

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#what #you #do #after #car #accident

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years ago

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Little Tyrants, Chapter Three: No Other Superstar

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Vanya was four, Reginald Hargreeves visited her cell. But not to take her powers away. Just to let her know he could. Just to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her powers were a privilege he could rescind should she ever choose not to fall in line.

Years later, the old man is dead—and the last sibling Vanya wants to see has reappeared in the Academy courtyard.

This work is also available on AO3.

Author’s Note: If you’d like to read the asks that inspired this story, you can find them here and here. Follow-up asks can be found under the tags “vanya keeps her powers au” and “five returns as a kid au.”

The title of this chapter is taken from Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi.”

Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two

**********

Leonard had never been overly fond of coffee.

He drank it when it was in front of him, drained the mug and didn’t complain. To call it a show of strength would be overstating the issue—were that the case, his fellow inmates would have hosted more coffee-drinking contests than brawls, and Leonard could have risen to the top simply by forcing more and more of the stuff down his throat. No, there was something else to the ritual, something less dire yet more crucial. Drinking coffee, drinking it hot and bitter with no sugar or milk to make the experience somewhat pleasant, wasn’t proof of one’s strength, but denial of one’s weakness.

The thought brought a smile as he watched Vanya shake cocoa powder over a pile of whipped cream.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He allowed his smile to remain. “Just the way you take your coffee, is all.”

The whipped cream, a perfectly formed swirl of white, was nearly covered in a layer of soft brown, like the last patches of snow clinging to a mound of dirt. “Sugar and coffee with more sugar on top. If you’ve got a better way to toast my dad, let’s hear it.”

Leonard covered a flash of irritation with a chuckle. He’d learned a lot about Sir Reginald Hargreeves from the man’s daughter. For their first few dates, he’d taken her into or past various coffee shops around town, hoping to jog her memory of the incident that had, by some miraculous failure of the justice system, not landed her in prison. He’d expected a monologue about her restraining order or the woes of anger management; instead, he’d been treated to long lectures on Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ views of sweets and caffeinated beverages. Coffee. Coffee with sugar, coffee with creamer, coffee with nothing. Tea with milk added. Tea with dried fruit mixed in. Tea from the furthest reaches of the globe, tea from the local supermarket. He approved of none and had once spent thirty minutes tearing into the poor courier who mistakenly left a canister of ground coffee on the back step with the rest of the groceries. Harold Jenkins would have snatched up Reginald’s hardline stance on decaf and stowed it away in his collection of Umbrella Academy trivia. Leonard Peabody had been left with no choice but to smile and nod and wait for her to whine about something he could put to use.

Vanya could have launched into another diatribe, but instead she lifted her mug and sipped, leaving a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. On another girl, Leonard might have found it cute. “You’ve got a…”

“Oh!” She fumbled for a napkin, then wiped it away. “Thanks.”

“How was the service?”

“You mean the one we postponed?”

Leonard’s spirits gave a small leap. “Aw, you’re kidding!”

“Nope.” She sighed. “Apparently, when some brother comes back, you suddenly can’t have a funeral anymore.”

“Brother…which brother? The druggie?”

“No, Klaus was there already. I mean, he was in rehab, but he wasn’t the one who came back.”

Leonard filed that bit of information away, though he didn’t spy an immediate use for it. “The Moon guy?”

She shook her head over another sip of coffee, one that left no trace of whipped cream behind. “That’s Luther. Five’s the one who came back.”

“Five.” The boy had been given a name at some point, but the papers and magazines and comics had never introduced him as anything other than Number Five. For a time, Leonard had tried to work up the courage to ask his classmates to call him Number Eight, but that desire was long since dead. “Didn’t he leave when you were—what? Thirteen?”

“Yep. Just ran out the door and never came back.” The bitterness that worked its way into her tone was slow, growing slightly with each word. “Well. Until yesterday.”

“Damn. Must’ve been weird seeing him.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“He try to shred your mask again?”

He said it with a smile, but Vanya’s expression darkened. Leonard couldn’t say what about moping could rouse her anger, but whatever it was, he’d take it. “Nah. Just moped around the house until I left.”

Leonard tried to reconcile that image with the prankster he’d once admired, the one whose smile always hinted at an amusing secret. The two meshed about as well as oil and water. “What’s he got to be sad about? Came home, didn’t he?”

“I know, right?” Vanya took a bite of her bagel. Leonard had stood by as she followed the barista around the counter, watching her slice it and place it in a toaster oven and then a bag. The barista had managed to complete the task without error, despite her frequent glances toward the phone and its promise of a speedy response from the police. “He pops back in after sixteen years and he’s all anybody can think about.”

“That’s weird.” If Vanya didn’t intend to explain Five’s drastic change in personality, it would be pointless to ask. “I mean, it seems like they’d want to get your dad’s funeral over with.”

“God, you’re not kidding. I told ‘em we should just have it then, and Allison’s all ‘Oh, well, we really should wait, Five’s upset and we’ve got to wait for him to get better.’” She rolled her eyes, letting the bagel fall to her plate. “Come on. How long does it take to go outside and dump some ashes on the ground?”

“I dunno. The Sir Reginald Hargreeves, dead?” Leonard nearly added at last and caught himself just in time. “Maybe they want to be in the right frame of mind.”

“What frame of mind? High? That’s what Klaus’ll be. Everyone else’ll just be bored.” She lifted her bagel again and talked around her next bite. “Don’t know why they keep dragging it out.”

“Nobody wants to be there, huh?”

“Nope.”

“So why’re they staying? Couldn’t you all just say nope, no funeral for you and move on?”

Vanya sighed again. “I guess there’s something in his will about how he needs a real funeral with all his kids there. Can’t leave until we get the service over with, but you know. Nobody in my family knows how to do things the easy way.”

“Or the smart way.” From the way Vanya spoke, he’d figured a family reunion would be about as welcome as a family case of scabies, and the sooner they could all leave the Academy and return to their lives, the better. That probably still held true, but if the five of them—six now—were legally obligated to carry out a memorial service which they’d chosen to postpone, then it bought Leonard some time, though he couldn’t say how much.

She sniffed. “You think my family’s ever done anything the smart way?”

*******

Number Five. An odd name, but not the oddest Hazel had found waiting for him in a Commission file.

Much of it followed standard Commission format: a photograph, a location, a handful of scattered facts. Sometimes the latter came in handy, sometimes they didn’t. Learning that Zoya Popova had a bit of a sweet tooth hadn’t aided in her death, though the tidbit stuck with Hazel long after her body had cooled.

It was the photograph, in this case, that held his attention. Dark hair, dirty and dulled. Pale skin clinging to cheekbones more prominent than they ought to be. Whoever had snapped the photo had cropped out his surroundings, leaving only his face, dominated by wide dark eyes averted from a camera they hadn’t seen. Most targets didn’t smile in their file photos, and Number Five was no exception.

“What’re you looking at?”

Fifty or sixty jobs ago, Hazel might have told her he was studying the target, seeking out any additional information that might help them carry out the job as quickly and cleanly as possible. Staring down yet another night on a mattress that should’ve been thrown out five years back with the smell of cat piss in his nostrils, Hazel couldn’t muster up a single reason to lie.

“Target. Number Five. How old d’you think he is?”

“I dunno. Twelve. Fifteen, maybe.” Cha-Cha opened the closet door, peered into the shallow space, and moved on to the restroom. “Should be easier than the last guy.”

That was Hazel’s cue to offer a few words of agreement, maybe crack a joke before letting the matter drop; but Cha-Cha had nudged aside the curtain now. She might as well have grabbed a handful of his hair and given one good yank, for all the good that rustle did his aching head. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m making sure we have enough space to do what we’ve gotta.”

Hazel let himself fall onto the nearest bed, the creak masking his sigh. “Run in, shoot the kid, run out. You really think we need another plan?”

“If this one goes the way that job in Guadalajara did, yeah.” She closed the bathroom door behind her and moved past him to check the front window. “Should’ve had a backup plan for that one.”

“Still did it on time.”

“Doesn’t mean we did it well.” She pressed herself against the wall, leaning back to inspect the window without opening the curtains. “You heard what the Handler said.”

He’d heard. And heard, and heard. The Commission was lucky they had all the time in the world at their command, considering their managers spent so much of it lecturing agents for perceived failures and slights. “Long as we get it done.”

“You know that’s not how it works, asshole.”

Hazel sighed. Working for the Commission wasn’t like delivering the mail or washing dishes in the backroom. Completing the task on schedule was never enough—no, they wanted flair. Nothing too noticeable, nothing that might be traced back to them, but speed alone wasn’t enough. Professionalism. Style. A body that left few clues for the authorities and enough questions to keep the case in their minds long after it had gone cold. One of those things on its own might earn a nod of approval; it took all three of them together to gain the Handler’s praise.

Her inspection concluded, Cha-Cha turned from the window, but her foot snagged on the briefcase, sending her stumbling across the floor, nearly falling onto Hazel’s bed.

“Shit!” Cha-Cha caught herself, arms braced against the bed, and pushed her way to her feet. “Why the hell’d you leave that thing on the floor? You know we’re supposed to carry it!”

“I was sitting down! You expect me to carry it while I’m sitting here?”

“I expect you to not leave it in the middle of the goddamn floor!”

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have tripped over it if you’d watched where you were—”

“It’s not about me tripping, it’s about you leaving the goddamn briefcase out where anybody can grab it!”

“Oh, like we’ll have the whole city walkin’ on through while we’re here.”

“Just put it somewhere safe, will you?”

Hazel could have tugged it closer to his bed, shoved it as far under as the boards would allow. That was the response she expected, the one she wanted. It would have been easier, ended the whole exchange on a somewhat peaceful note and made it less eligible to become the topic of a later argument.

In one swift motion, he was on his feet. A few steps took him to a large grate set into the wall, and a few twists of the screwdriver attachment in his pocketknife had the screws in his hand and then on the table.

“Oh, no. You are not putting it in there.”

“You told me to put it somewhere safe.” He hefted the briefcase into the mouth of the shaft with a clanking thud. “And there it is. Somewhere safe.”

“The Handbook says we’ve gotta carry it at all times.”

“Well, then you carry it.”

He watched her, grate in his hands. After a moment, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and turned away.

“Well, all right, then.”

Hazel put the grate back in place, reached for the screws, and realized it would be more prudent to leave the grate unattached to the wall. Of all the things to land him in hot water with the Commission, not being able to reach the briefcase in time because he’d sealed it inside the wall seemed like one of the dumbest.

When he got to his feet, she was now the one with the file open. Number Five’s photograph sat off to one side, the left edge of his face obscured by her thumb as she read what scant details the Commission had provided. “Any idea where to start with this kid?”

“Should probably find him first.”

“Thanks, dumbass. Couldn’t have guessed that.”

“You asked.”

Cha-Cha tapped a forefinger against the page. “Says his name’s Number Five. Can’t be that many kids in one city named after numbers.”

“Probably not the only kid here with a shitty name.”

She dropped her arm and the file with it. “Now why the hell would you think that?”

“Oh, come on. With our luck, they probably sent us to the one city where every kid’s got some bullshit name. If there’s a kid named Number Five, there’s gotta be one named Gas Station Bathroom or That Year I Washed Dishes With a Man Named Hank.”

“Well, if that’s what we’re dealing with, then we should still be able to ask around and find a kid named Number Five.”

That tone, so purposefully even and intentionally calm, set Hazel on edge. He’d agreed to travel with a partner, not a parent. He’d agreed to work alongside her, not submit to extended lectures and constant condescension. “You know it’s not gonna be that easy.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s easy or not.” She hefted their package onto the bed. “As long as it gets done.”

*******

Vanya didn’t discuss her family when she played the violin.

After their months together, in whatever one might call their semblance of a relationship, Leonard still hadn’t decided how he felt about that. No talking meant no endless litany of woes caused by a family she hadn’t seen in years or a court system that had decided a slap on the wrist was too harsh for what she’d done. It also meant a halt to tidbits about that family, snippets of information Leonard could commit to memory and scribble down later. There was a silver lining to every cloud, as he’d heard, but in this case he couldn't be sure which was which.

The comics had gotten her power wrong. Those writers, those artists—they’d understood her capabilities. They’d known how easily she could bend sound to her will, how she could magnify footsteps and rustling newspapers into a force ready to smash an entire wall to bits or toss robbers and kidnappers about like dishrags. All of those things had made it onto the page, though absent the blood and screams Vanya mentioned as matter-of-factly as she mentioned the time of day.

Her violin changed things.

It didn’t rob her powers of their destructive potential. He knew as much long before the first strains of Tchaikovsky sent the curtains dancing as though in a gale and set her lampshade swaying back and forth, before the force of it hit him like a drumbeat blared through speakers placed too close. And it would be a mistake to say she had less control without her music. He’d seen and heard enough to know otherwise.

But there was a distinction. Without her violin, her power was a hurricane barreling down the coast, ripping trees up by their roots and tearing homes to pieces before tossing them aside. When she played, it was like an army marching in columns, guns at the ready and every step synchronized. Both were under her command, yet the difference between them was the difference between a man with a pistol demanding money in a back alley, and a man in a tuxedo demanding compliance from behind a revolver. After six months, Leonard still couldn’t say which he preferred her family surrender to.

The final notes faded; the ripples through her apartment quieted. Vanya gave a small bow as Leonard clapped.

“Was that okay? I felt like the middle was a little shaky.”

“No, it was great.” The sheer level of power she packed into a simple string of notes was enough to give him chills. Were that power intentional—had she infused the music with the full brunt of her fury—she could have easily brought the complex crashing down around their ears.

She set her violin and bow in their case before returning to the sheet music, frowning over pages filled with notes she herself had arranged. “Something’s just not working there. Not sure what it is.”

Both her playing and composing held flaws, but Leonard knew so only from her habit of calling attention to them. Had he spent his teen years learning violin under the watch of Sir Reginald Hargreeves rather than waiting to be shuffled from juvenile hall to prison, he might have been able to spot them more readily than she did, point them out before she realized what she’d done, show her precisely which holes they created in the overall quality of her piece and tug at those holes until the whole production lay in shreds at her feet.

Instead, he kissed her cheek. She’d tensed at his first attempt months prior, but an apology, a frank discussion, and a pointed avoidance of similar acts for weeks afterward, had kept her from slamming the door in his face. Now, she relaxed at the touch. “It sounds fine to me.”

Her smile was genuine, soft and grateful. Almost charming. “Glad you like it. I’m still kinda new to this whole composing thing.”

It wasn’t enough that she could play music—oh no, she had to compose it too. Even with his limited knowledge, he could tell her efforts were nowhere near as complex as those of the composers she admired, but they sounded good. Pleasant. Had he not known the composer to be one of the Hargreeves, he could have enjoyed it. Here she was, writing her own music and playing the greats onstage, while he refurbished antiques for doddering old women and young people who thought themselves the first human beings in history to discover treasures in the past.

“Ever, uh….” The words were clear in his mind, the question more of a demand than anything; but he’d learned that the more uncertain his tone, the longer he hesitated before questions, the more it put her at ease. “Ever think of playing that for your family?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She stacked the pages together and slid them back into a folder, then stepped out of his grip as she snapped her violin case closed. “You know how many concerts of mine they’ve been to? None. Not a single one.”

It was amazing, he thought, how quickly bitterness could replace the uncertainty in her tone, take her smile and turn it into a scowl. Not every mention of her family did that, but those that did needed to be remembered, placed together and compared until commonalities emerged. “Aw, come on. I’m sure they’d listen to that.”

“Maybe if you tied ‘em up first.”

Leonard had considered the notion back when his plan was still an idea, when his dates with Vanya were still awkward and suffused with the sort of tension one might expect from international negotiations; but it had never progressed beyond that. A plan that took out Klaus and perhaps Diego before running afoul of Allison and Luther was no better than a plan that had him walk into the Academy unarmed and announce his intent to see none of them leave alive. “I’m sure it’d go better than you think.”

Her expression, never to be mistaken for one of joy and harmony, darkened even further. “Not with Five there.”

“He doesn’t like violin?”

“He doesn’t like me playing violin. I tell you he replaced all the strings once?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Changed ‘em out for yarn right before Dad wanted to hear me play.” Her jaw clenched. “Took me forever to find the strings.”

“Couldn’t your dad just buy you some new ones?”

“That’d make the most sense, wouldn’t it?”

She didn’t elaborate further, and Leonard knew better than to wait for more of the story. It could be difficult to predict when she’d launch into a longer tale and when the line or two she gave him was the story itself, but he preferred the option that didn’t compel him to listen and offer sympathy for minutes at a stretch.

Vanya took her own composition back to where she kept sheet music for the orchestra separate from sheet music for her lessons. While her back was turned, Leonard cast a few quick glances about her apartment in search of some tool to turn the conversation back toward her family. As far as he could tell, she’d brought nothing back from the Academy, and kept nothing at hand to remind her of the eventual service in her father’s honor.

She glanced at the clock. “I’ve still got a while before I need to head to my next lesson. Want to walk around downtown for a while?”

Leonard would have sooner returned to prison, but she wanted to spend time with him. That was what mattered. He’d learned what she wanted, paid a little above asking price, and begun his investment. The more loyalty he gave her, the more kisses and hand-holding and rants about the unfairness of a world that bowed to her power he endured, the more trust she would reward him with.

He smiled. “Sounds great.”

********

Noon came and went. Hazel’s first year as a field agent had taught him not to expect meals at regular hours or intervals, that the job came first and his needs came second, if they placed at all. Combined with the jet lag he only managed to shake on jobs that lasted longer than they should have and the confusion that came with jumping from to day to night and back again, and Hazel had learned that mealtime was whenever he could set aside a few minutes to wolf down a bite.

Even so, he was hungry by noon, so that seemed as good a time as any to start the usual argument.

“Now? We’re this close to finding that kid.”

“No we’re not.”

“We’ve just gotta look a little longer.”

“Look for what? It’s the middle of a school day. Even if we find out where he’s going, we’re not gonna get him. Should just wait until school lets out.”

“If the Handler’d wanted us to do that, she’d have dropped us off right in the afternoon.”

Hazel watched a red sports car pull slowly into the parking lot of a burger joint, then join a line of cars at the drive-thru. Sitting the way he did, elbow propped up near the window with his chin in his hand as though they were on a sightseeing venture and not a business trip, never failed to annoy his partner, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. “Just more shitty planning on her part.”

“Shitty—” Only the motion of the car, it seemed, kept Cha-Cha from whirling in her seat. “They monitor time, Hazel. They know what they’re doing when they send somebody out first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah. Right when they can’t even nab the kid they’re going after.” He shifted a little, trying in vain to relieve some of the pressure on his back. “God. Hate chasing down kids.”

“How would you know? Number Five’s the first main target who’s not old enough for a driver’s license.”

“Yeah, well, I hate it already.”

Rather than launch into another lecture, Cha-Cha sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. “Yeah, me too. Been a bitch to find him.”

That wasn't the reason Hazel would have chosen, but he didn’t offer one of his own. “You’d think they’d give us a little more information.”

“They’re doing the best they can.”

She had no proof they were, and Hazel had no proof they weren’t. As management styles went, the Handler’s was about as transparent as a soot-covered brick wall. She gave orders, and those orders were followed. Explanations were for those higher up the food chain. Questions were for those in charge. If Hazel broke into headquarters and found extensive profiles of past targets complete with facts that could have ended a job in minutes rather than hours, he wouldn’t even blink.

He said nothing as Cha-Cha eased the car into a drive-thru. His stomach turned at the thought of another greasy burger, but searches for a target often placed her in a strange state of mind. If hours passed with no sign of the target, she’d push comforts aside. No glances toward scenery, no comments on the sights they prowled. No sitting down to rest. No water until her voice cracked or coughing set in. Most often it was Hazel who urged her to take a break for lunch, and then she’d complain about the smallest wait, try to sneak ahead in line when no one was looking. If she’d chosen to stop for lunch all on her own, hunger must have made it impossible for her to think of anything but. He tried to enjoy the anomaly for what it was, but his mind drifted toward a real, sit-down meal in an actual restaurant with table linens and napkins, a plate of manicotti that wasn’t warmed in a microwave beside a basket of garlic bread and a salad with housemade dressing and fresh croutons….

“Hey. Asshole.”

Cha-Cha’s hand against his shoulder shook his thoughts away. Cool spring air floated through her open window; behind her sat a speaker and a menu. Faded letters on a backlit piece of yellowing plastic spelled out the names of simple meals. This place must have had the shortest wait, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why.

“Just…uh…” The restaurant didn’t offer burgers, as he’d expected, but sandwiches. A nice tuna sub from a place like this would probably leave him flat on his back in the motel room, but the threat of hospitalization was enough to set him on a different course. The Commission didn’t take kindly to agents who brought their identities to the brink of discovery. “Roast beef is fine. Provolone cheese.”

She repeated his order to the speaker, then pulled forward. Hazel half-expected her to snap at him, to remind him to get his head in the game because this job needed the both of them, but she kept her gaze forward. One forefinger tapped the steering wheel.

“Number Five.” He couldn’t tell if she said to him or only herself. “Who the hell names their kid Number Five?”

“Maybe they only wanted one kid and didn’t bother naming the rest.”

“Why not just give ‘em all names that start with the same letter or something?” She passed a few bills to the cashier, took the change, and drummed her finger again. “There’s gotta be something else. Commission always gives us a couple clues, right?”

He scoffed. “You call those clues?”

“Well, they help.”

“Since when?”

“Beijing, 1411?” She didn’t give Hazel a chance to call that the fluke it had been. “That name. Number Five. Name that weird’s gotta be a clue.”

“You didn’t say that when we went after Polly Esther Slack.”

“We found her in—what? Two hours? Don’t need a real big clue for a girl who spends every Wednesday night and Sunday morning in the same damn place.”

“Well, far as we know, Number Five’s not spending his time anywhere.”

“He’s somewhere, and somebody’s seen him.”

She was right, but Hazel wasn’t about to admit as much. Not aloud. “So what’re we missing here?”

She accepted the bag from the window and handed it off. Hazel took his sandwich and handed Cha-Cha hers.

“I dunno,” she said. “But we’re missing something.”

Hazel unwrapped his sandwich. Pale bread, suspiciously cold toward the center. Bits of dry beef stuck out from all sides, and a flash of yellow fought to tear his attention from the wilted lettuce. Part of him wanted to swear. Part of him wanted to demand they return to that godawful place and demand a redo.

The rest of him lacked the energy for a fight with no chance of victory.

He took a bite. The bread, at least, had been thawed enough for that, but not enough to conceal its origins. That was what held most of his attention—but it distracted him from the dry beef and processed cheese, so he followed that bite with another, and another. Cha-Cha didn’t touch her food. She drove in silence, pausing at stop signs but otherwise not deviating from whatever course the road set.

In an instant, his sandwich was nearly pitched out of his hands as Cha-Cha slammed on the brakes.

“Cha!” His hand snagged the grab handle and he clung to it. “What the hell—”

She executed the fastest three-point turn he’d ever seen, one that left him glancing all around in search of police lights. None appeared.

“We’re going downtown,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I know how to find this kid.”

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quadranttechnologies · 2 years ago

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Why Are More Businesses Migrating To The Cloud?

What is a cloud solution?

Cloud solutions, also known as cloud computing or cloud services, provide on-demand IT resources via the Internet. Amazon Web Services, Microsoft Azure, and Google Cloud Platform are well-known cloud service providers that can provide their viewers with everything from applications to cloud services on a pay-per-use basis.

What is data migration?

Data migration describes the procedure of transmitting files from one data storage system to another, as well as between file formats and apps. Data transfers between different data formats and applications are also involved.

The limitations of traditional IT infrastructure have become increasingly apparent since the advent of cloud computing. Many companies today struggle to adapt to market changes and new patterns because their technical surroundings are ineffective at detecting and responding to these. Cloud data companies offer a much more easily deployable and reliable IT facility that is deliberately made to simplify business performance while also promoting learning and expansion. Cloud computing has innumerable benefits for a company. With the increasing number of web-enabled devices used in today's business environment, access to your data is becoming even easier (e.g., smartphones, tablets). To better understand why more businesses are moving to the cloud, consider the following key benefits of cloud computing:

● Flexibility: Organizations that invest in cloud-based services gain from a high degree of satisfaction. Cloud solutions companies provide essentially limitless bandwidth and space for storage, helping businesses to immediately scale up and down their capabilities to promote growth and deal with steadily increasing website traffic. This erases the need to purchase and install new tools and software updates on-site. Staff can access information and applications saved on a web server from everywhere at any time, as long as an internet connection is available, enhancing workplace diversity. Employees can be more flexible in their work practices thanks to cloud computing. You can, for example, copy the data while at residence, on holiday, or continuing to drive to and from work (providing you have an internet connection). If you need access to your data while you are away, you can quickly and easily connect to your virtual office.

● Business continuity: Companies that invest in cloud computing can confirm reliable and consistent disaster recovery and data backup even without the fuss of lining them up on a hardware device. Having invested in difficult and complicated disaster recovery plans can be expensive for many companies, and data backup takes a lot of time. The cloud is designed so that data stored in it is mirrored across servers so that if one fails, data is instantly backed up. Being able to access data quickly after a failure reduces website downtime and efficiency loss.

● Cost Efficiency: The most significant advantage of cloud computing is the reduction in IT operational costs. The use of remote servers eliminates the need for in-house storage and application requirements, as well as overhead costs such as software updates, management, and data storage. Cloud data companies provide cloud-based solutions which are also much less pricey to use because they are typically included on a pay-per-use basis, helping businesses to hire exactly what they necessitate while guaranteeing a return on investment. Many small and medium-sized businesses with limited budgets are starting to recognize the advantages of cloud computing.

● Collaboration has improved: The cloud infrastructure has been shown to drastically enhance collaboration among groups and people that share data. It eliminates the interaction shortcomings of conventional IT models and enables individuals operating in various locations to access information and collaborate with team members and key personnel much more quickly and easily. This greatly simplifies procedures, going to allow for further projects to be done in much less time.

● Performace and scalability: Cloud system is poised to be expandable in order to meet the growing IT business needs. As a business expands, more storage capacity and bandwidth will be expected to keep up with increasing traffic to the website. Cloud servers can be instantly implemented to assist businesses in leveling up and down and guaranteeing excellent efficiency under high loads. Cloud data companies also accelerate web pages and reduce downtime. Your company can quickly scale up or scale down your operation and storage needs to suit your needs, giving you flexibility as your needs change. Instead of purchasing and installing costly upgrades yourself, your cloud computer service provider can do it for you. Using the cloud saves more time, and helps to focus on running your business.

● Automatic update access: Your service fee may include access to automatic updates for your IT requirements. Your system will be regularly updated with the latest technology, depending on your cloud computing service provider. This could include software updates as well as server and computer processing power upgrades. Many cloud service providers provide regular system updates to ensure that IT requirements are met on a consistent basis. They offer round-the-clock cloud server preservation, including security features, rescuing companies' time & expense that otherwise would have ended up spent doing this in-house.

● Environmentally conscious: Cloud solutions companies are very environmentally friendly for businesses that use a cloud service and want to keep their carbon footprint as low as possible. Using a pay-per-use virtual environment for data storage and web application execution results in lower energy consumption and carbon emissions in the workplace.

Conclusion

Amidst the data attempting to point to the business efficiency improvements, cost benefits, and gain a competitive advantage that cloud computing retains, a huge percentage of the business sector continues to function without that. Cloud infrastructures promote environmental stewardship by powering virtual services rather than physical products and hardware, reducing paper waste, improving energy efficiency, and reducing cost and time (due to employee access from anywhere with an internet connection).

#cloud data

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plumbers-of-ohio-valley · 3 years ago

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WHAT CAUSES PLUMBING LEAKS?

If you’ve ever noticed your sink faucet dripping all night, you understand how disturbing and concerning plumbing leaks can become. While these leaks may look like minor matters on the surface, they could become indicative of a huge issue. General reasons for leaky plumbing cover water pressure problems, pipe damage, and climatic reasons.

Pipe Corrosion

Your pipes will age over time and corrosive elements like rust will deposit throughout your plumbing system. This corrosion corrodes away at your pipes, making openings for water that causes leak-outs. Discoloration or warping can be indications of corrosion. If your plumbing system is 30 years or older, perform replacement as soon as possible. The older pipes cannot sustain corrosion as newer pipes can.

2. Seal Damage

While installation, your plumber puts watertight seals, wherever your pipes join to a fixture, like a sink. These seals can corrode over time, resulting in leaks at their source. If you see puddles of water surrounding an appliance, this may be an indication that any of your seals are eroded.

3. High Water Pressure

Pipes can only hold a specific water pressure level before they begin to give up. The more your water hits the pipes, the more it harms them. Sometimes, this water pressure can even result in burst pipes. Quite often, you will see a periodic leak after you switch off an appliance.

4. Drastic Temperature Change

During excessive cold and heat periods, metal pipes start expanding and contracting due to the temperature. If you live in weather where freezing cold days suddenly switch to excessive hot ones and vice versa, this can put pressure on your pipes. Quick and drastic temperature changes can result in your pipes expanding or contracting quickly, leading to cracks, leaks, and even bursts.

5. Untreated Drain Clogs

Clogs may look slightly disturbing around the home, but similar to leaks, they could also be an indication of an underlying problem. Sometimes, these clogs can have corrosive elements and toxic substances that could corrode your pipe and result in leaks.

6. Intruding Tree Roots

Among the most, general water leaks can mostly begin outside the home instead of indoors. Tree roots can hinder water lines, resulting in moisture seeping out into your yard. If you see any wet patches of yard, sinkholes, an immediate drop in water pressure, or see trees growing quite close to your house, it’s better to get a plumber to check for intruding tree roots.

7. Loose Water Connectors

Oftentimes, hoses and pipes that provide water to your appliances get loose. This often happens due to the shifting or movement and can lead to a leak. If you see water going directly from the supply line or resulting in puddles around the appliances, you mostly can have a loose or damaged water connector.

If you are looking for the best plumber Steubenville services, we have the best recommendation about Mr. Rooter Plumbing is offering the best plumber Steubenville services for over 49 years with 24*7 emergency services at reasonable prices. For more information and schedule an appointment, visit us now!

Mr. Rooter Plumbing is a full service plumbing contractor specializing in Residential and Commercial services. We work hard to investigate the source of your plumbing problems, so that we can provide a proper diagnosis.

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hellaoldfander86 · 6 years ago

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The Grey Mage’s Quest Ch. 1

Word Count: 1707

Tags: Errrr? None? Please let me know, and will change.

Pairings: Platonic.

Summary: A peaceful picnic in the imagination is interrupted by a mage who needs to procure a component that would reverse the effects of previously irreversible magic. To force Prince Roman and the other sides to help him, he uses the very magic he needs the reversal component for to change each of them.

Because if they don’t get it they can’t change back to normal.

A story set after the events in my first fic, “Fixing the Failure”. Read it here.

Chapter 1: Meeting the Mage

Read it on AO3 here.

“What the heck!?” Virgil growls from his small cell in the bioluminescent lit cave he had just woke up in.

Roman crosses his arms and sighs. “I have no idea, emo nightmare, I’m just as confused as you as to why someone would do...this!” Roman waves his hand to indicate his own incarceration from his small cell next to Virgils.

“Let’s not fight here, kiddos.” Patton chides the two from his cell across from Virgil's, “It’s not going to solve anything right now.”

“Patton is correct.” Logan says in his cell next to Patton's, “Shouting will only cause us to lose our voices, and our current situation will be unchanged.”

Virgil sighs. “This place is your realm, Roman. Why did this happen? You are supposedly the Head Honcho around here, aren't you in control here?”

Roman paces in his small cell. “I have some semblance of control when I go into the imagination, but there are, for the lack of a better word, uncontrollable things that happen upon which I have no control over whatsoever.”

“You mean anomalies. A deviation from the common rule, type, arrangement, or form, one that is abnormal and does not fit in. An incongruity or inconsistency, an irregularity.” Logan says with an adjustment to his glasses.

“Exactly! Anomalies! I will have to remember that word! Thank you, Logan! The imagination is a vibrant, constantly changing thing. It is always “on”, you can’t turn it off, it is constantly getting information from Thomas, and applying that information in different ways. Plus while I was “away” I have no idea what transpired here. I was unable to interact with or access it at all. “Anomalies” were bound to happen without my supervision,” Roman adds, pacing in his small cell.

“Oh great.” Virgil sighs.

Roman stops pacing and looks toward the entrance of the cave, lost in thought. If the aftertaste in his mouth is any indication, they were dosed with sleep powder. After the picnic, which was going swimmingly, he mentally adds, they all decided to lay down on the blanket they had spread in his favorite meadow to just enjoy the lovely day, and Patton being Patton, noticed some funny shaped clouds and began pointing them out and excitedly announcing what he thought they looked like. The last one he remembers is a dog chasing a ball before he woke up in this cell. The gentle breeze blowing could have carried the sleep powder easily.

Romans musings are interrupted by sounds coming from the entrance to the cave, and a hooded, grey-robed figure strides in, carrying a small satchel. The anomaly has arrived. “Good! You are all awake! I am so sorry I was not here, I suddenly remembered I needed some supplies, and needed to get a fresh ingredient!”

Roman clears his throat. “And you are?”

“Oh! Forgive me, Your Highness! I am Karybdis the Grey, at your service.” The figure says with a bow.

Roman nods in acknowledgment. The anomaly now has a name, a familiar one. “Wait, the people speak highly of you in the realm, you are an accomplished potion maker and alchemist, and they say you are well versed in the magical arts, and a good man. Why are I and my friends here in these cells?”

Karybdis lays his hood back, revealing a handsome face with black hair and grey eyes, and Roman estimates his age to be in his early 30s. “My Prince, I was going to ask you for your help, but I could not accept no for an answer. So I have shamefully abducted you and your friends. I am hopeful you will forgive me when this is all over, and not toss me into the castle dungeon and throw away the key.”

Roman narrows his eyes. “You think I will help you after being abducted and confined in this small cell? If you threaten the lives of any of my friends to get this help you want so badly I just may toss you into the deepest, darkest hole in my dungeon and forget about you!”

The Grey Mage stiffens. “You will have no choice in the matter. I am in control here, Your Highness.” The mage reaches into his satchel, and retrieves a small bottle with a milky, glowing liquid in it, and holds it up for Roman to see.

Roman’s eyes widen, the anomaly now has something unexpectedly potent, something that has a way to powerfully influence him and his fellow sides in unexpected ways, bending them to the whim of the first true anomaly of his realm, magic.

“How did you get Chaos Water?! It is the most volatile of all magical ingredients! There is no known reversal agent for it that I know of! You can’t use that! The magic would be irreversible!”

The mage smiles. ”But there is a reversal agent. I have finally found where I can get it. And you and your friends will help me get it, you will have no choice, as I have said.”

Karybdis motions to a large work table nearby with four small potion bottles neatly arranged in a straight line. “I add a drop of the water to each of these transformation potions. You each drink a potion, transform into whatever the chaos magic makes you into. Unless you help me get the reversal agent, you stay transformed. Easy as that.”

If looks could kill, the mage would have been evaporated with the lasers Roman was glaring at him. “What if we change into a mindless creature? This is chaos magic we are talking about here. You would have to lock us up until the agent is found IF the agent is found.” Roman growls.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” The mage says.” Each of these potions is tuned directly to each of you. While you were unconscious, I analyzed your auras and prepared the components accordingly. All I have to do is after the water is added, is to give the appropriate magical instructions for your minds to stay intact, no matter what the magic transforms you into. Chaos magic is unpredictable but controllable in that aspect.”

“We have no choice, Roman,” Logan says with a sigh. “As much as I hate to admit it, we are at an impasse. He is correct in saying that he has all the control here, all the leverage. The logical choice is to help him. He is the one with the keys to our cells.”

Roman looks at each of his fellow sides and is thankful that Thomas wouldn’t be needing them for a video since he was hard at work on other projects. Plus, time passes differently in the Imagination, they would barely have been gone when they return to the mind palace. They have no choice but to see this thing through. And he fervently hopes that they will be able to procure the reversal agent because he really doesn’t want to be stuck in whatever form the chaos magic changes him into.

Roman rubs a hand over his face and sighs heavily. “So be it. There is no choice in the matter.”

The Grey Mage nods and turns to the work table. He opens a long box and retrieves his wand and sets it within easy reach. He carefully opens the bottle containing the chaos water and retrieving a new dropper out of his satchel, dips it into the water and pulls a small amount of the milky water into the dropper. He then adds a single drop of the water to each potion, causing them to glow slightly. He quickly, yet carefully, reseals the bottle and puts the chaos water away in the nearby cupboard.

The mage then picks up his wand, takes a deep breath, and while slowly waving the wand over the line of bottles, says in a firm, clear voice: “Mutatio corporis, mens immutata!” He then points his wand at the first bottle and in the same firm, clear voice says, “Moralitas!” He moves his wand to the second bottle and says “Logica!” He moves his wand to the third bottle and says “Anxietas!” His wand moves to the last bottle and he says “Glossarium!” With one last wave above all the bottles, he then declares “potionem crimen!” And each bottle begins to glow in a different color. Light blue, dark blue, purple and red. “They are ready. Who wants to go first?” Karybdis asks as he puts his wand away in its box.

Roman immediately speaks up. “I’ll go first. This is my realm after all.” The mage picks up the red glowing bottle and presents it to the royal side with a slight bow. As Roman accepts it he looks the mage in the eyes. “How do you know this will just transform me once? Chaos magic is unpredictable.”

Karybdis nods. “That it is, Your Highness. But I have used the bare minimum, so one change only. And with it mixed into the potion that is tuned to be contained within your aura, the change will be of a personal nature. An insecurity or some such will be brought to the forefront and become your new form. It could be relatively small or a large drastic change. I have no control over what that will be, because of the chaos water. Which was a last minute idea of mine after I had assembled the core ingredients, and why I wasn’t present when you awoke. I had to get some fresh water for best potency and the leverage I so desperately needed. Besides, I will know when the change is complete.”

Roman held the red glowing bottle between two fingers and took a deep breath. “I have no choice.” he murmured and tipped the contents of the bottle into his mouth and swallowed, quickly handing the now empty bottle back to the mage.

The bitter herbal taste lingered on his tongue and the potion slid down his throat like a gelatinous blob. It reached his stomach and sat there like lead. His body suddenly began to tingle, and Roman looks at his hands to see a slight red glow surrounding them. A sharp pain shot through his middle. His change began.

Chapter 2

#Fixing the Failure AU #Sanders Sides #Roman Sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #Logan sanders #ts fanfiction #the grey mages quest #fanfiction sanders sides

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