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zepskies · 8 months ago

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Wake Me Up - Part 3

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Get ready for some angsty, but fun attempts at memory jogging. 😅

Song Inspo: “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers.

Word Count: 4.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some...mature talk lol. Angst and hurt/comfort, fluff, PTSD, protective Ben, tinge of spice~

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 3: “When You Hold Me”

Those first few days were the hardest ones.

Marie ran out of paid time off, which meant she had to go back to work. That left you alone with Ben during the day.

He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, and glaring at you after you’d just pushed away the bowl of bland instant oatmeal he’d “made” for you.

“We’re not gonna have this discussion again. You need to fucking eat,” he said. “I could feed you, though I promise you’re not gonna like it.”

His surly, frowning face was annoying you. His deep voice was annoying you. His tall, ridiculous wall-of-man body in your line of vision was annoying you, clothed in the rumpled shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

Everything about him annoyed you right now.

But that could also have something to do with the pounding ache in the back of your skull, radiating forward and between your eyes.

“Bro, I’m on like, three kinds of medication,” you replied in weary irritation. “With what appetite do you expect me to eat?”

Bro? His eyebrow twitched. He saw the pain and tiredness written across your face though, and the way you were sitting hunched at the breakfast bar, arms crossed on the counter. He softened a little.

“Look, I get it,” he started to say.

“No, you don’t,” you snapped. Your eyes closed as the pain sharpened. You lifted your hands to either side of your temples. “You don’t know what this feels like.”

You huffed and dropped your hands flat on the counter in frustration. Your eyes opened, and you looked down at the various healing scars littering your arms. You knew there were a few more across your neck and chest, and even your thighs. No matter how you stood, sat, or laid, it was painful to move your body. Even your face still hurt, with the fracture and bruises.

“You’re not the one who looks like Edward Scissorhands had a party,” you said, gesturing at yourself as you glared up at Ben. Emotion began to rise in your throat. “Or for a reference you’ll actually understand, how about this: I’m the Bride of goddamn Frankenstein. A fucking patchwork quilt.”

Ben hardened again, even with the deep pit forming in his stomach.

“That’s enough—”

“And despite what little you, or my mom, Grace, Annie, or even the doctors have told me, I can’t even remember who did this to me or what the hell happened,” you said. Hot tears welled up in your eyes. You wiped at them furiously and turned your face away.

“So no, the indestructible supe doesn’t understand. You literally can’t!” You pushed away from the counter and did your best not to lose your balance when a wave of vertigo hit you.

Ben started toward you, but you held up a hand against him.

“Just leave me the hell alone,” you muttered.

It wasn’t the first time you’d ever said that to him, but somehow, this one cut into him worse than the last.

Over the next several weeks, you did begin to heal from your injuries. Your doctor even noted that you were healing better than she expected. Bruises faded, wounds slowly became scars, some of their stitches removed, and with the right topical medication, a couple of them began to disappear.

The memories remained—at least for Ben. Finding you in that dark, disgusting place, breaking your chains, seeing how thoroughly that piece of shit had worked you over…

It still made him angry at times. He’d broken a couple of mugs, and one near-empty beer bottle. (You’d only caught him once, though he’d given you some bullshit excuse as to why.)

Your memory, on the other hand, still didn’t return.

And you weren’t an easy patient. That episode in the kitchen wasn’t the first, nor was it the last. Often the pain made you crabby and irritable, whenever your medication wore off. The head injury was also causing vast mood swings that Ben could barely keep up with.

It was all he could do to stop himself from snapping back at you at times (and sometimes he failed). He wasn’t exactly Mr. Rogers.

Marie was the only buffer. At least, when she was home. On more than one occasion, she’d had to try and diffuse the tension.

She was working during the day though, which of course, left you with Ben.

You were prone to headaches and dizziness, so he was careful with you, more than he’d ever been. You were starting to notice how he sometimes had to correct himself before he touched you, or forced himself to be deliberately slow when he helped you.

Your mom had also been doting on you, laying out your clothes, brushing your hair, trying her best to cook for the three of you in the evening. Apparently, she’d been taking lessons, though she still couldn’t cook for shit. Ben often suggested takeout, since he was also no “Betty fucking Crocker,” in his own words.

Still, it was a foreign feeling to be taken care of. It often left you unbalanced, even after your vertigo settled, or your headaches eased.

You considered it while you and Ben were channel surfing together from opposite ends of the couch in the living room. Your mom had just given you a blanket to cover your shoulders, before she went off to water your potted plants on the balcony for you. It was a Saturday, so she had the day off work.

You watched her go with a measure of disbelief.

“Look at Mother Theresa go,” you remarked. “You’d think they replaced my mom with one of the Stepford Wives.”

Ben snorted, because he actually knew the movie you were talking about. You’d forced him to watch it with you a few months ago, mostly to tease him.

“She’s never babied me this much in my life,” you said. “Not even when I was still old enough to be babied.”

Instead of commiserating with you, Ben just sighed, shaking his head a little. He glanced away from the History Channel on the screen to shoot you a glance.

“Maybe you should cut your mom some fucking slack,” he said. “She’s doing a hell of a lot for you. Even more than I am.”

You raised a brow at him. While you had a feeling that wasn’t so easy for him to admit, something about his words annoyed you.

“You clearly don’t know her like I do,” you said.

Your childhood had been no picnic. While you didn’t necessarily blame your mom (anymore) for staying with your father when you were a kid, you had never truly been a child. Your self-imposed job had been to protect your sister’s childhood, and sometimes, your mother too.

Ben gave you a more direct look.

“I know plenty,” he said.

And in his eyes, you saw that he did know something. Perhaps too much. You gathered the throw blanket closer around your body and sank further into your side of the couch.

The last thing you wanted to talk about was your messed up childhood, let alone your father. You couldn’t even remember his death, though Marie told you that you had been there. And so had Ben.

You snuck a look at him while his attention had returned to the TV. He’d settled on Ice Road Truckers. You weren’t impressed.

“Ugh. Can we watch something else?” you asked. “Something funny maybe, like How I Met Your Mother?”

Ben shot you a look. “Sounds like a chick show.”

“Not true! It has universal appeal,” you argued. Slowly you raised yourself from your corner of the couch, grimacing just a bit as it disturbed the delicate equilibrium of your still-fractured skull. It was healing, but that, of course, would take the most time. Your headaches would turn into migraines if you weren’t careful.

Ben knew that full well as he watched you move towards him across the couch. He couldn’t help but reach out a hand to steady you by your arm. You gifted him with a smile and grabbed onto him.

“Please?” you implored.

Ben tried to remain unaffected, but that smile of yours was endearing. Plus, it wasn’t often that you willingly reached out to him, touched him.

“I’ll do you one better,” he said, turning off the TV with the remote. You gave him a curious look. He turned to you with a smile.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Of course this man would have a Benz, you thought. The car was black and sleek with beige interior, and it was both comfortable and decked out with all the modern bells and whistles.

You wondered if he knew what half of these buttons did as you gazed across the dashboard, but the path of your eyes continued until you settled on the man himself. Ben was casually dressed in a burgundy sweater and dark brown slacks, a silver Rolex on his wrist. He had one hand casually on the wheel and the other resting in his lap.

Part of you itched to take his hand, but you decided against it. You could admit, if only to yourself, that you were warming up to him.

Maybe you even liked him.

You knew you didn’t always make it easy, but he had been as patient and gentle as he could be with you, for a man who clearly wasn’t used to being either for anyone.

Despite his gruff exterior, however, you knew he had to care about you to put up with all this. It made you more willing to trust him…and even more curious about him.

“What’s my favorite color?” you asked.

Ben gave you a furrowed look. “What?”

You crossed your arms over your blouse.

“We’ve supposedly been together for a year,” you reasoned. “You should know what my favorite color is.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“Come on,” you nudged his arm, trying to get him to smile. You succeeded, just a little.

“I don’t know…blue,” he guessed. Your mouth fell open in shock.

“How do you not know my favorite color’s red?” you said. “That’s the most basic thing ever.”

“What are you, five years old? Who fucking cares?” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I do!” you said. “Well, fine, Mr. Grump. When’s my birthday?”

With another shake of his head, he did correctly answer that question, at least.

“What’s my favorite food?” you asked.

“What’s with the goddamn quiz?” he retorted.

“I’m seeing how well you actually know me,” you countered. “Come on. Impress me.”

Ben slowed to a stop at a busy intersection. He’d been trying to jog your memory by passing certain landmarks he thought you might recognize, like the grocery store you two always shopped at, or the park where you liked to go for walks. So far, you seemed disinterested in the sights and more interested in grilling him.

Despite his longsuffering sigh, he had to wrack his brain in order to come up with something for you.

“The Beatles are your favorite band. Specifically the Abbey Road album,” he said.

That didn’t exactly answer your earlier question, but…he wasn’t wrong.

“Okay, you get a point there,” you said.

“And you fucking love Christmas,” he said, somehow with both annoyance and fondness. “Tacky as hell, with the…the ribbons, and the red flowers, and the jingle balls, and whatever the fuck else you can get your hands on. You love that shit. Because when you were a kid, that was the only time of the year your family got any peace.”

You were smiling at his description, but you sobered when he got to that last bit. Ben met your gaze.

“I know that you’ve had three boyfriends before me,” he said. Then, a smirk grew across his face. “But I’m the only one who’s made you come. Every time. Like a goddamn faucet.”

You gaped as your face grew red with a hot blush. “Excuse me—”

“You claim to like getting taken from behind the best. And you do. You’re all too happy to get bent in half for me. Hair pulling, ass-slapping, the whole sticky nine yards,” he continued, with an even fonder gleam of memory in his eyes. His hands caressed the leather wheel of his car, long fingers flexing.

“But you actually like it better when you can see my face, watch me work. I don’t blame you,” he added, smiling. “I mean, if there was an Oscar for laying it the fuck down, I would’ve taken that shit year after year. Would’ve beat out Burt Reynolds by a fucking landslide.”

You thought you were about to combust, whether from indignation, or straight up embarrassment, you didn’t know. (And you were going to ignore the little tremble of heat between your legs.)

But just as you were about to blow your top, figuratively speaking, Ben’s expression became more serious when his gaze returned to you.

“I know that you’ve had to take care of yourself. And that you’ve been alone all your life,” he said. Then a slight pause, before his attention went back to the road. “That’s something you and I have in common.”

The light turned green. Your anger and embarrassment settled, somewhat, into contemplation. You didn’t know what to make of this man.

He was infuriating, with all kinds of audacity. He was crass, and at times, he grated on your very last nerve.

But somehow, he knew you. He seemed to know the parts of you that you didn’t even want to know.

Sensing your angry gaze on the side of his face, he turned to you with a devil-may-care grin.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Ben, I’m not dressed for this,” you said, leaning in close to whisper to him.

He’d taken you to a nice steakhouse for dinner, on the even more affluent side of town. You still couldn’t believe you’d moved out of New York City to Scarsdale, of all places.

Ben wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you closer, enough for you to feel his body heat.

“You’re just right,” he looked down on you with a teasing wink. It made you blush, despite yourself, with a small smile.

You went with him to a secluded booth in the back, by his request with the hostess. They seemed to know him, so maybe he was a regular. Or more likely, both of you were regulars. This place was only vaguely familiar, but when you saw the menu, you knew you were going to get the salmon.

Ben snorted when you said so.

“Yeah, that’s what you always get,” he said.

He smiled though—at the fact that this little outing was helping you make progress after all.

He didn’t need the menu either. He always ordered the dry-aged porterhouse steak. You couldn’t drink on the medication you were on, but he ordered a glass of bourbon for himself.

When the meal eventually came out, you glanced at his enormous plate with wide eyes. That had to be the biggest damn steak you’d ever seen, along with a huge loaded baked potato and a side of broccoli. You doubted the greens would do all that much for him, nutrition-wise.

“Whoa. Did they cut up a stegosaurus back there?” you quipped.

Ben chuckled. He’d actually missed your sense of humor, no matter how dumb it was sometimes. He unwrapped the steak knife they gave him from his napkin and started to carve a big piece.

You raised your brows, but shifted your attention to your fish and mashed potatoes. It was delicious. Like melt-in-your-mouth good, and you weren’t sure fish was supposed to be “melty.” No wonder you two liked coming here.

But then, your thoughts were entirely derailed.

Hearing the sound of his knife hitting the plate, carving into the meat—it struck a discordant note in your mind. You looked over, and the sharp, silvery gleam of it caused a vision to flash across your eyes…

Of a blade sliding against your skin, over and over. Along with questions. The same questions being asked of you, over and over.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

“Tell me!” a man demanded. “Give me something.”

He grabbed your face, squeezed your neck until you choked on blood and spit.

“Hey!” a more familiar voice cut through it all. “Come on, sweetheart. Answer me.”

You blinked and caught yourself mid-gasp, staring into the deep green of Ben’s eyes.

Your head was resting on his shoulder, his hand pressed to the side of your cheek, which stung slightly, as if he’d had to try and wake you. His arm was wrapped around your waist in the booth.

He was gentle in sliding your hair away from your face, but his own was hard and almost angry, as his brows were knitted together. His gaze then traveled across the room, and you realized that there were other people in the restaurant now watching you and Ben. Even the servers stopped what they were doing at the sound of his shout.

He gave them all a pointed glare.

“What? Nothing to fucking see here,” he snapped. Most of them were wise enough to turn away, back to their meals and conversation. Ben focused on you as you caught your breath. You were finally able to support yourself, though you stayed leaning on his shoulder. He wasn’t about to let you go either, until he got some answers.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. You frowned at his gruff tone, until you met his eyes. Somehow, you could see that there was worry there.

You glanced down, and you closed your eyes when you saw it. You pressed your face into his arm to steady yourself.

“The uh…the knife,” you whispered. “It made me see something…remember something.”

“What did you remember?” he asked quickly. You sucked in a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

“Nothing good,” you whispered.

You felt him pause. You heard the shuffle of silverware, a thump on the table. Then his hand came up and cupped your cheek.

“It’s okay. I put it away,” he said.

Tears burned behind your eyelids, and you buried your face harder against his chest. At this point, it wasn’t just about seeing the knife. It was knowing that whatever had happened to you, it had truly been hell. Unlike anything you’d ever been through before.

“You want to go home?” came Ben’s voice, deep and steady in your ear.

You sniffed and nodded, as your tears seeped into the fabric of his sweater. He rubbed your back, holding you more securely.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Unfortunately, the episode at the restaurant led you to a migraine. Ben carried you to the master bedroom and laid you down, helped you undress down to your underwear, and gave you a shirt you liked to sleep in. He turned all the lights off and made sure the curtains were closed tight.

Marie brought you your pain medication with a glass of water. Ben hoped there was enough in your stomach that the pills wouldn’t make you nauseous as well, like they occasionally did.

After you took the meds, you curled up on the bed and closed your eyes tightly, trying not to whimper like a child. You’d dealt with pain before; that was nothing new. But this was getting ridiculous.

Ben gave Marie a certain look. “I’ve got it from here.”

She gazed at you with sympathetic tears in her eyes, but she nodded and touched his arm.

“If you need anything, just call for me,” she whispered.

Ben nodded, but he closed the door behind her and began by taking off his watch, then his shoes, pants, and sweater. He changed into a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt.

You were too busy hugging your pillow and pressing your face into it. You didn’t realize he was still with you until the bed dipped behind you.

Ben turned you around and gathered you into his arms. You inhaled sharply, but then you clung to him. His chest and middle were warm, a bit unnaturally so.

“You’re hot,” you muttered, splaying a hand against his chest. “Like a radiator.”

Ben quirked a smile. “Yeah, you tend to complain about that.”

You shook your head and pressed yourself closer to him. “Not today.”

He wiped the tears from your cheek and laid a kiss on your forehead. He held you that way for a while, just silence and the sound of your breathing covering the room. Eventually, the pain medication began to kick in, helping to ease your pounding skull.

You pulled back enough to see Ben’s face. He was still awake, but he opened his eyes and met yours in the dim light. You reached up and touched his bearded cheek, hesitantly.

“Why can’t I remember?” you asked, in a broken voice.

Ben’s brows furrowed. He curled his hand around yours and let out a breath.

“I don’t know,” he said, but all he wanted was for this to be over.

“I could take this from you,” he said. “What’s the big fucking deal about a blood transfusion?”

Your fingers stilled against his cheek. Your tearful eyes averted from his, but you weren’t as opposed to the idea as you were before.

“The last time, it healed me?” you asked.

“Within the hour,” he said. His hand tightened a fraction on yours. “It’ll be like it never happened. And your memories could even come back.”

You sighed, briefly closing your eyes. Your hand fell from his cheek, but you nodded.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” you said.

Ben’s frown remained, but at least it was a step in the right direction. He took your chin and slowly tilted your face up to his. You stared up at him with shining eyes. He didn’t like the pain he still saw there, but he did like the way you glanced down at his lips.

He took a chance, and he leaned down to meet you with a kiss. What first was a gentle touch, soon became heady as your hand slid up his arm and into his hair. He brought you flush against him and deepened the kiss, when his tongue swept past your lips and brushed against yours. You welcomed him in with a surprised moan.

He hadn’t tasted you in so damn long, it was like indulging a craving he’d been denying himself. It was even harder to slow down and ease away from your lips.

You rested your forehead against his chest afterward.

“Wow,” you breathed. “Okay.”

Ben chuckled. But unlike the movies, a kiss didn’t break the spell. You were his, but not completely.

He wanted nothing more than to show you how much you could be…but your body was still weak. He would have to continue protecting you, even from himself.

“I want to stay here tonight,” he said.

Despite his earlier thoughts, he didn’t think he could take one more night of not being with you in this bed. He could control himself. He just wanted to make sure you were all right, and safe with him.

It took you a moment to decide, but you nodded.

“You can stay,” you agreed, with a more teasing smile. “I don’t think your old man back can handle the couch anymore.”

He snorted in amusement. There was some more of your sense of humor peeking through.

Meanwhile, you still weren’t totally convinced that him sleeping in the bed with you was a good idea. A good part of you craved his nearness, and how he made you feel safe…but you also weren’t sure if you were ready to continue being so vulnerable with him.

Just when you were about to put some distance here between you and tell him to stay on his side, Ben rolled you back around so that your back was pressed to his chest. He slid a warm, strong arm around your waist. His lips pressed to your bare shoulder. The sleep shirt you wore (one of his old shirts) had ridden down your arm.

“Just relax,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

And you actually believed it.

You felt comfortable and secure in his embrace. Soon enough, you relaxed into him.

Sleep wasn’t easy, but you got there in time. It even lasted for a while.

Just not long enough.

In your dreams, there were flashes of things that didn’t make sense. They were jumbled together like white noise on a TV, occasionally screeching with color, and mostly red with blood.

You woke up shaking and sweating.

Ben was a light sleeper at best. He was startled awake in confusion, disturbed by how you had been tossing and turning and making sounds of distress. He turned toward you and moved his arm to make room for you, but he decided he would let you come to him this time.

You didn’t disappoint him. You reached for him and buried your face in the crook of his neck for a while, trying to ground yourself in him. He held you and rubbed your back until you calmed down.

When you pulled away slightly, and spoke his name in the dark, Ben looked into your eyes. For a moment, he could’ve sworn you were there. The real you.

“Thanks for staying with me,” you whispered.

Ben was disappointed. This wasn’t you remembering. But at least, this was you being you, thanking a man like him.

He just nodded and guided you back into his arms. You let him hold you for the rest of the night.

AN: So close, but yet so far. 🥲

But just wait for the last part...

Next Time:

You brushed your fingers over that picture in wonder. You didn’t remember that day, even though you were sure you must have been there…

It was so odd to see so much of your life in pictures, yet it was all still so fuzzy, or entirely blank in your mind.

You paused, blushing once again when you saw the picture of you getting out of the shower with the towel barely wrapped around your body. Why the hell would this be in a photo album?

You quickly moved on. Though you stopped next at a picture of you and Ben in what looked like a dark nightclub. The way he was holding you, looking at you like he was ready to devour you, and the way you were looking up at him, with a smile that said he’d better damn well try…

It made a sharp pain lance behind your eyes.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 4 (Finale!)

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD/Series Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

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theunaestheticstudyblr · 1 year ago

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Some of my favorite easy and fast foods/snacks for $5 or less that aren't ramen and spaghetti:

Couscous. You can get boxed couscous for like $3 and it's enough for 2-3 side dishes at least and takes literally 5 minutes and no extra ingredients. You can get large containers of it for like $5 at Walmart too so you can season however you want. A nice grain that's easy to digest and pairs well with almost anything.

Popcorn. Everyone's favorite healthy junk food that can satisfy most cravings. You can usually get a box for like $4 or a jar of kernels for like $6.

Oats. Whole oats. Extremely versatile. Put them in smoothies, make cookies, granola, snack bars/balls, brownies, oatmeal, etc. Truly the best bland fiber and filler out there. You can even easily make your own oatmilk for super cheap by blending them with water and straining!

Frozen veggies. Last for months in the freezer and usually under $2 a bag. Not great if you prefer raw veggies, but if you are fond of sautéed or roasted ones, save some money and just get them frozen.

Chocolate chips. Cheaper than chocolate bars and you get a lot more chocolate. Perfect for those cravings!

Powdered potatoes. I know I know but if you ignore the package directions and put some butter and milk and seasonings in it, you can't tell. Ready in like 2 minutes and you get a shit ton of mashed potatoes for like $2.

Vegan Mac and cheese. I'm lactose intolerant and so I will forever be thankful for the vegan movement of the early 2010s for making nondairy products easier to find and more affordable. Vegan Mac and cheese literally tastes the exact same and bakes so well. Annie's so far has been my favorite brand and they have other pastas with sauces too like squash which is so good.

Crepes. You can make your own batter for cheap but who likes all them dishes? You can find pre-made crepes for like $3 for 10.

Apples. You can find 2lb bags of these for $3 at a lot of places. I never knew they were so cheap and I go through phases where I'll eat like 4 a day.

Lunch meat. Packs of turkey cost like $4. I use turkey on so much. Bagels, omelets, salads, sandwiches, wraps, croissants, etc.

Ready to bake pastries. I'm not a big bread person but croissants ready to bake have my whole heart and cinnamon rolls can really help make a bad day a little better.

Pretzels. I'm an absolute whore for Pretzels and eat so many of these things. They're so easy to pack for snacks for class or anything really. I can't go two weeks without them.

Rice crisps. Rice cakes are great but they're big and crumbly and get stale if you don't close the bag JUST right. But little Rice crisps??? Elite. They come in so many flavors and are super crunchy and they're just super cute too and they're bogo a lot at publix.

Frozen potstickers. You can get them for so cheap and I have a giant bag of them in my freezer right now that I got for like $7. I usually get smaller portions for $4 or so though but decided to splurge and get 3lbs of them cus why not.

Frozen shrimp. A bag of extra small Frozen shrimp is about $5 at Walmart. Eat them thawed and cold or put them in pastas or rice or Soups. They're a staple in my house.

These are just a few I could think of off the top of my head. Please add to the list!

#study blog #student #student life #studyblr #productivity #school #study hard #studying #school advice #food mention #food and drink #foodie #food #groceries #cheap #save money #frugal #college student

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lying-on-floors · 1 month ago

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Attack On Titan - Hogwarts AU

What I think these characters would smell in a love potion...

"Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them."

- HP Wiki

Jean K.

* Fresh baked oatmeal cookies

* New parchment paper

* Marco's hair, specifically after a quidditch match

Marco B.

* Crisp morning air

* His favorite shampoo (Oatmilk + Honey)

* Jean's favorite cologne [peppery + musky notes]

Reiner B.

* Bertholdt's hair

* Something akin to cigarette smoke but more unique

* Cranberry

Bertholdt H.

* Saffron

* Reiner's lavender scented bodywash

* His old ballet studio, where he first fell in love with the dance

Ymir B.

* Historia's perfume [soft and light floral notes]

* Cinnamon gum

* Strawberry fields that remind her of the summers where she and her family would pick fresh strawberries

Historia R.

* Her cherry scented lip gloss

* Ymir's shampoo [White Bergamot]

* Wildflowers

Porco G.

* Leather polish

* Colt's bodywash [Vanilla + Peony]

* Spiced apple cider

Colt G.

* The smell of acrylic paints

* Caramel latte

* Porco's Cologne [Woody + warm notes]

Annie L.

* Aloe Vera

* Wood polish

* Roses mixed with fresh dirt [Hitch]

Hitch D.

* Annie's vanilla scented lip gloss

* Her favorite rose scented lotion

* Fresh mint

Armin A.

* New book smell

* Mikasa's raspberry + vanilla scented body wash

* The body wash he and Eren share

Eren J.

* Armin's hair

* The waxy smell of Mikasa's lipstick

* A metallic smell he can't place, but it makes him think of the old playground next to his house where he met Armin and Mikasa.

Mikasa A.

* Eren's Cologne [citrus + clean notes]

* Armin's shampoo [tea tree oil]

* Her favorite perfume [rich + warm notes]

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wexhappyxfew · 6 months ago

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whispering prayers into her hair

(a/n): requested by @sunny747 for Annie x Brady and ‘wrapping arms around the others neck when standing behind’. ie — annie and brady being two adorable people in a horrible situation and all their deepest thoughts seem to surface underneath a cold sun. and oh. annie wants to be a mom (distant sobbing). please enjoy this rather sad piece and commentary on two people struggling to hold onto each other in a world like this. (plz know i am sobbing !!!!) thank you so much for this prompt - quite literally has altered my life <3

Staring was the worst part.

At what was just past the barbed-wire fence; what stood between her and the world on the other side.

It had been six months and she was still standing here, still on this side of the fence, still staring at the opposite end of the threshold. Through the wires, the wood, and the dust. The world was on the other side and she was here.

Annie knew she shouldn't be out here alone - especially with the way the Germans had been ever since the British had dug those tunnels. She crossed her arms tighter over her chest and let a sigh escape her chapped lips as she squinted in the bleak sun, the warmth seeming to dissipate just as it reached her body.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as some of the men in the bunk room next to their groups began playing a scrap game of ball in the dust pit that could become a makeshift play field when needed. The kick-kick-kick of the pathetic ball bounced about, as the wind whistled past her ears and the sound of silence hung above. There were little-to-no animals around the place - no birds sang, no crickets chirped, there was no sign of life except for the American officers.

Otherwise, they were a dead zone.

A black 'x' crossed out a dot on a map.

"Hey, little birdie." Annie glanced over her shoulder and saw Brady coming towards her. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, his coat looking a little too big now on his form, his broad shoulders now swamped in the scarf and the wool button-up, he still looked like the John Brady from her first day on base at Thorpe Abbotts. Even with his hair a little longer and his cheeks dotted with stubble, and that scar nestled near his jawline.

He was still John Brady.

"Hi." Annie said, watching as he approached her, that lopsided smirk growing on his face, as his eyes fought to keep that grin growing.

He'd been growing quieter in the coming weeks, she'd noticed. Not majorly, not anything that would make her incredibly concerned though, she would always worry - about the crew and about Brady.

He'd say a little less at dinner, when they all sat around and were inhaling what food they had, and then when they were all sitting around, and she was tucked into her bunk, attempting to read (she never did get through any of the books or even a page anymore), she'd glance towards Brady's bunk and catch him in his silent prayer.

His lips a silent whisper, his hands clasped together, eyes and those long lashes gently shut. Everything about him calm and at peace.

And by the time she was curled up beside him, she swore he'd been whispering prayers into her hair, against her forehead and through their threaded fingers, like if he said it enough it'd get them through. And she clung to that more than anything.

He came to stand beside her, this awkward distance between them as they stood there, eyes locked on one another, this fence in between them and the world, dust at their feet, the war at their backs. Hands empty. Annie couldn't look away.

"How are you doing?" she asked him quietly, watching as his face winced slightly, like the question was more hurtful than the response, "You didn't eat much at breakfast." Which was true - his plate still had some oatmeal (they called it oatmeal) on it and he had looked withdrawn and distant. And Annie had watched, her stomach in knots.

It reminded her of when she had to get her siblings ready for school and sometimes one of them wouldn't eat - usually because they didn't feel good or were upset about something - and she'd get a pit in her stomach because she wasn't sure how to fix that. And she had felt that here. Watching Brady.

"Okay." Brady said with a nod, a stiff smile. She wanted to make him smile. More than anything. "Just wasn't super hungry." Annie caught his gaze for a moment and nodded slowly.

"I don't know," Brady said with a shrug, his smile falling, face focused on the world just past the fence, "just think this place is getting to me a bit." And she could see it in his face - just saying that, admitting that - she could see it hurt. He looked over at her and nodded weakly. "You know?"

"I do." she answered quickly, wanting to comfort him as her immediate response to the pain in his voice, "And I try to tell myself it's not. That doesn't usually work anyways, but…." Brady quirked out a small grin that faded just as fast as it'd appeared.

"You shouldn't be out here alone." Brady said quietly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, but it wasn't in a way that was scolding or even upset. Just a statement, a fact, something they all kept a conscious eye on.

"I know." Annie said quietly, her voice strained as she looked out through the barbed wire again, "I just….couldn't keep staring at the bunk room ceiling, you know?" Brady chuckled slightly, like it was some funny inside joke they'd all remember one day.

"I know." he said, voice soft, as they met each other's eyes again. He put on a hopeful smile, as best as he could it seemed. "The sun suites you, An, by the way." Annie caught his gaze, the small flutter in her chest warm, gentle and comforting.

God, the sun. So bright and gleaming even in this gloomy world that had been their ever-present for the past six months - in this bitter cold, this dull air - the sun still would shine even on days where Annie felt like it shouldn't.

"Who was your letter from?" Brady asked - it had seemed like he'd been waiting to ask her that question all morning - between his longing stares, those split second gazes where she swore she could breakdown in front of him and he'd patch her right back up. With all that, it seemed he just wanted to be there with her, to ask her that, alone.

Annie watched him, biting back her lip as the cold rushed over her cheeks. Something in the way his face was strained, like it pained him to even beg the question, knowing her response would hurt either way - knowing her response would hurt him, because it hurt her. The ache never dulled in a place like this.

"Dad." Annie said, her voice a whisper; quiet and shallow.

Seeing her dad's handwriting had sent her into a new dimension - she was sure of that. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even gotten a letter since being back at Thorpe Abbotts. So seeing his handwriting there, loopy and scratchy had made her heart ache in a way that she knew wouldn't fade in a lifetime.

You're mother isn't doing well, kid. She's really sick now, won't eat much or drink much, keeps saying something's tugging her arm. She's calling out for you. Don't know what to say. Keeps saying it's my fault you're gone. She's going down the tubes.

Annie looked to Brady, who was watching her in that unspoken way where it seemed everything and nothing was on his lips, that vulnerable glint of his gaze destined only for her, the want to reach out towards her.

They were always reaching towards one another, she thought.

In every lifetime there was, she was reaching for him and so was he.

But stood out here - in the open - with the eyes of the Germans on their backs, waiting for them to pulsate into the barbed fence just to shoot them, to make a run for it, she couldn't risk it. Instead, watching him made her yearn for every bit of him and more in those other worlds, those other times.

"What was he saying?" Brady asked quietly, tightening his jaw a bit, noticing her evident quietness. Annie sniffled and crossed her arms together in front of her and shifted her shoulders.

"Mom's probably going to be gone soon." Annie whispered quietly, looking at him, "She keeps asking for me. She's blaming Dad. For me being here. For me even joining up in the first place probably. It's…..it's basically a shit show."

"Annie, I'm sorry…." Brady whispered shifting towards her, that unspoken distance when they were outside the bunks room seeming to make a reappearance as he froze and then watched her as she stared back at him.

"It's okay…..it killed her." Annie whispered quietly, nodding, "Having to take care of us kids. Her and my dad…..one night, they were talking about it all. She never wanted to be a mother. She never wanted any of that. But that was what she got and that was her life and she drowned herself in cheap liquor to get rid of that pain." Annie looked at Brady with tears in her eyes. "I didn't want to end up like her."

Those inches between them pushed on her stomach like a heavy weight; it hurt, physically hurt. Annie glanced up behind his head towards the guard station, before looking back at Brady and his crestfallen face.

What hurt was, there were no amount of words a person could say take it all away, to magically get Annie back home to watch her mother's passing, to be there with her family.

War didn't care, the Germans didn't care, life didn't care.

Despite being dealt the short straw with a mother who wanted nothing to do with her, Annie still wanted to be there for the end of her life. She still had that want to be there for a mother who was still her blood. And that want made the guilt explode inside her chest and suffocate herself nearly to death.

"It's why you joined up," Brady whispered quietly, looking down at her, "in the USAAF. You didn't want that life."

"Yeah." Annie whispered back with a nod, "I'm sorry, you probably came out here to want to talk about anything else rather than this." Annie reached up to wipe at her eyes, but Brady only gave her a smile and watched her.

"You know I came out here because I wanted to be with you, you know that?" Brady said with a sad smile, "Now, c'mon, you got me interested now. What was it like? Joining up for yourself?" Annie watched him and couldn't help but smile a bit.

"It was probably the proudest I'd been of myself in my life, to be honest." she said, "Especially after the war broke out and I had enough money to get myself doing something more than farm work. I flew a few planes with kids from school. At the fair. Little things, but enough to make me want to do it more." Annie smiled up at him. "And sometimes they say you can't do something and usually that's enough to make someone do it."

Brady seemed to step forward and cut off that silent agreement to not make contact when outside the bunkhouse or in daylight hours - and he didn't seem to care.

For a moment, they just took to watching one another there, listening to the sounds around them, the chatter of voices in the background, the shuffling of feet, the linger of stale air. It was consuming, but yet, when looking at Brady, she didn't quite mind the sudden presence and stillness of the world around her.

"I remember seeing a poster," Annie said quietly with a smile, "in the local market. Surprised something like that even made it up, that's to say, even got put up in a market in Mankato, but….I saw it and." Annie looked to him. "I knew what I wanted to do right then and there. Then I signed up. 'Your Fight Too Sign'. Must've gotten the masses out because of that." And Brady juts smiled at her that wide grin, standing there like he couldn't look away from the sight of her. Despite where they were, despite it all, he could still stand there and look at her like that.

"What about after this?" Brady asked her, "Where you going?"

"I always wanted to be a mother." Annie said quietly, her heart squeezing as Brady's head tilted to the side and that certain, pained look erupted across his face as his fingers trailed to the side of her cheek. She nodded.

"You will be." Brady said quietly, encouraging smile on his lips, "When you get out of this. That guy's a lucky son-of-a-bitch." Annie watched him, her big eyes exploring his face before settling on his gaze again.

You, she thought, I want you to be that lucky son-of-a-bitch. And she couldn't seem to form the words, tell him that all she ever wanted was right here in front of her, but that look in his eyes, the war standing around them, she couldn't. Making promises that she wasn't sure would come true or not.

"Do you want kids?" Annie asked him quietly, watching as Brady smiled just as the word 'kids' left her lips. She managed a watery smile. "You'd be such a good dad. I know that."

"I do." he said with a small smile, "Always have."

"I know you'd be a good one because that one time I got way too drunk, you made sure I got into my bunk and had water and ate the next morning. You even let me use your sunglasses. And you didn't have to, but you did it just because." Annie said with a smile, watery grin, "They'll be lucky." Brady watched her inches from her face, seemingly taking a minute to simply watch her and then nodded.

"They will be." he whispered back, before licking his lips and smiling at her, "Why do you want to be a mother?" Annie watched him.

"My mother told me I wouldn't be one. A good one." Annie said quietly, watching as something shifted in Brady's gaze - from soft to protective in a manner of seconds that was enough to make her heart race, "But it means I can selflessly love this child that is my own. Nuture them into their life, fulfill them with all that is goodness and love that I never got myself. Give them a better life than what my own childhood was. I can give them what they deserve." Annie smiled. "I get to be the person I never had." The emotion swirling in Brady's gaze was enough to make her smile, eyes welling with tears, and reach out towards him and brush his cheek fondly.

"That's what growing up is sometimes, not for everyone," she said, "being the person you never had when you were little." Brady seemed to lean into her touch a bit as they stood there, cuddled in jackets and wool sweaters and warm hands, underneath a cold and frostbitten sun, staring at each other like it was their last time together ever again.

"What are you going to do if we get out of here?" she asked him quietly.

"We will." Brady said back to her, clenching his jaw, "We're getting out of here. One another or another." Annie stared at him. "I'll be heading back to New York, most likely." Annie cracked a smile at him.

"With your parents?"

"Yeah." Brady said, "I'll try and get my gig back teaching. Play some more music." Brady watched her. "I can finally take you on a date." Somewhere in that string of words, Annie felt her body shutter to a stop and all she could do was stare back at Brady with wide eyes, slightly glazed over and frozen as she watched him.

"A date?" she asked him quietly and Brady grinned instantly, and nodded.

"A date." he said quietly back, "You and me. Where I grew up. In the mountains." Annie couldn't help but watch him with some much awe in her eyes - despite how battered and bruised they looked, he was making promises that could be hard to keep in a place like this, looking at her the way he did. He didn't seem to care or mind and when he looked at her that way, she believed it would happen to.

She wanted a life outside of this and she wanted, somehow, someway, to share that with John Brady.

"I'd love that. With you." Annie said quietly with a smile, staring at him with wide eye still, taken aback by his words, his forwardness, his sudden step over that invisible line they had drawn when they had both started acting like more than just friends. When whatever 'this' was appeared more than just what friends were to each other. And they'd been just too scared to acknowledge that maybe there was something more there.

"What's it like? New York?" she asked him quietly as she stared at him. Brady grinned.

"You'll have to wait and see. It's a surprise." he said with a chuckle, "One that'll be worth waiting for."

"What about a hint." Annie said quietly back to him, "In the mountains and all?"

"Here," Brady said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders and slowly turning her towards the barbed wire fence and holding her there. Warm hands on her shoulders, pulsating through to her skin, she felt a shiver run over her as his face appeared above her shoulder.

"You see that out there? All that greenery, trees, shrubbery?" he asked her with a smile, a nostalgic twinge to his voice that made her long for the sight of where John Brady had lived and breathed as a small child - who had grown to become the person standing there with her now. What had made him to be the person he is today. Her heart clenched.

"Imagine all the birds out there, the wildlife. Frogs, birds, foxes, sometimes bears, the cicadas in the summer. Leaving the windows open. You can hear the frogs from the lake. Everything's alive." Brady said, his voice dropping, "So different from here." Annie tilted her head to look up at him. "You'd love it, Annie."

Staring at him there on her shoulder, she slowly felt his arms wrap around her neck loosely and hold her against him. Leaning back against his chest, enveloped in the warmth from his jacket and his arms and simply his body, she had never felt more relaxed in a place like this, comforted by the touch of a person who she was growing more and more feelings and thoughts for by this point in time. And someone who had seen her in far too many phases of life now than she would've thought.

Looking out past that fence, she did imagine a life in New York, near those Finger Lakes, John Brady playing his saxophone as the sun set, listening to the frogs and the cicadas and the birds, his gentle, jazzy thrum, watching his eyes glow with mirth and life, a quiet step away from war and this camp and the world. A place where she could let herself simply be. A home. With him.

And for a moment standing there, she could imagine her life where it was just the two of them, watching the sunset, listening to the world around them, being enveloped in the presence of one another. She could practically feel it, reach out and grab it with her fingertips. It was so close. It was right there.

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districtunrest · 1 month ago

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wip wednesday (hijacked version)

another week, another tag game! please share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea!

tagged by @thelettersfromnoone - thank you!! I am so excited bc I actually have 4 WIPs right now!! me!! who only ever works on SOO!! granted, they are all SOO-adjacent

so I will share something from each if that's okay 🤓 bc this is momentous for me, lol

tagging @ongreenergrasses @lasthaysileeshipper @atleastmymomlikesme @mollywog @carnationhes @lorata

firstly, chapter 28:

Hazelle doesn’t go home. She goes to the only place she can think of and lets herself inside.

When she finds him leant against the kitchen counter, eating oatmeal, he greets her with a very bemused look.

“Sure, come on in,” says Haymitch, his mouth full, as she crosses the kitchen to him. She notes in a distant way that he’s in his underclothes.

Facing him, Hazelle opens her mouth to tell him what happened - only to turn and vomit into his sink.

second, this new cut scene (kind of) I've spent the last two days working on, that details Haymitch's detox in D13 through medical and nursing notes... I'll try to make it more accessible before posting, but here's the first entry:

Triage Note, signed by Nurse Alara

Patient H.A. presented to triage with complaints of facial lacerations and trauma to the left eye. Pt stated, “Doesn’t matter how it happened. I just need it checked out.” Pt reported he was sent here upon arrival to D.13 via hovercraft.

Height: 5’10”. Weight: 201 lbs.

Vital signs: T 37.1, HR 89, BP 149/82, RR 18, sO2 99% on room air

Left eye bloodshot and watering. Laceration noted to eyelid, with dried and oozing sanguineous drainage. Sclera intact. Vision intact and equal. Pupils equal and reactive.

Lacerations x 10 to bilateral face, from eyebrow to jaw. No active bleeding. Cleansed with antiseptic solution and sterile gauze. Butterfly bandages applied to 4 lacerations with deeper wound beds.

Followed up with Pt about hypertension. Pt stated, “We just started a war and my district is on fire.” Pt became impatient and expressed wanting to leave. Smell of alcohol noted to Pt’s breath.

Belongings searched by security. Small bottle of spirits was found. Informed Pt of policy regarding prohibited substances. Alcohol confiscated per contraband protocol.

Attempted to obtain a blood and urine sample but Pt refused. Pt arguing with security. Informed Pt of protocol for active alcohol abuse. Pt expressed disagreement with this. Notified Dr. Billmore. Orders for involuntary admission.

Total triage time: < 30 minutes.

third, the cut scene about Selene and Kennet, two 20-something year olds who meet in the Capitol during the war and end up at Haymitch's house after the boarding house fire:

The soldier lying in a heap on the pastel tiles is still onto holding his rifle. He stirs a little and swallows a groan, taking a second to come to in the dark. Selene steps back and checks their surroundings as she waits. It's clear but only for now. The Peacekeepers tend to flock to activated pods for survivors.

She knows better than to run away or hide now. He might be awake enough to hear her and assume the worst, and she’ll have a hard time explaining herself as it is, let alone with her back turned.

Selene hasn't seen a rebel up close this whole time. He's thinner than she would have thought. She's heard all they eat in District Thirteen are little flavorless cubes that have what they need for the day - and more, if they enlist. But she also heard they ate cake, when Annie and Finnick got married.

All Selene knows is heresay; she hasn't watched television for almost two years now, ever since the shop went bankrupt and her family couldn't keep her above ground anymore - the funds originally set aside to support her through University, gone like everything else.

lastly, the Alice cutscene, where we get an outsider perspective on Haymitch & Hazelle at a sewing circle, that's really more of a triangle:

"Anyway, sorry I'm late - and loud. My kids make me crazy. Should've just kept myself home."

"That'd be for the best," agrees Haymitch Abernathy.

Alice startles, sound and all.

He's sitting off to the side, in a way where he could see her enter before she could see him. For such an uninterested expression, his eyes pin her in place with a bright, needle-like gaze, as though he can read her next move but no matter what it is, it'll bore him.

Which is probably true, because Alice has always thought herself more of a lover than a fighter - or a runner - but that's neither here nor there.

She intends to say hello but what comes out of her mouth is, "Since when do you sew?"

"Since my mom taught me," Haymitch answers, not bothering to look up again from the scrap blanket in his lap. Even from the door, Alice can see the white thread that marches along its seams, replacing what's been pin-basted together.

He did answer her question but she's not any less confused.

#fanfic of mine

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rotomartsblog · 2 years ago

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God- this took months! Redesigns of basically every character from all versions of Strawberry Shortcake

(Click for better quality)

Some notes about name changes under read more

-Just changed Tangerina to Tangerine

-Changed Frosty Puff to Frosty Pop

-Made Gingersnap’s surname Cookie

-Changed Café Óle to Café Con Leche

-Just changed Coco to Cocoa

-Changed Banana Twist to Banana Split

-Renamed Annie Oatmeal to Oatmeal Porridge

-Just changed Caramella Eclair to Caramel Eclair

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kikiiswashere · 1 year ago

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Children of Zaun - Chapter 17

Trial and Error

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Katya and Viktor finally go to scope out some boats for his Academy project. While at the harbor, she spies a mysterious figure harvesting purple stuff (they were out of Sunny-D), and nearly gets outted by an exuberant Annie. Nasha comes to The Last Drop to talk with Silco and Vander about an opportunity for the revolution.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.5K

The water was warm. Perfect. Not borderline scalding like the Springs. So close to Katya’s own body temperature that it felt like an extension of her. If it weren’t for the way the water parted and lapped at her arms and chest, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to detect it. That, and the rippling across the surface, distorting the starlight’s glittering reflection, confirmed the water’s presence. It was pitch-dark, save for the sparkles above, which shimmered and refracted below, making Katya feel as if she were swimming in space itself.

There was no edge, no horizon line. There never was in this dream. Just her in this infinite space. Her body never tired, her breath was never taken away by exertion. She just swam. Floated.

Sometimes she would hum or sing, and her voice would somehow simultaneously echo off the glittering walls she couldn’t see, and be absorbed by them. The sound thrummed inside her body, and vibrated off of her damp skin.

It was only ever her here. No Viktor splashing behind her, no papa or mama swimming ahead. In some ways, it was nice. In others, it was lonely.

She forged ahead, cutting through the water in a lazy stroke, before flipping on her back and gazing up at the pinpricks of light. She felt her long hair swirl and hover in the water beneath her, swaying like a tangle of kelp. Then, her skin prickled and her body hummed. Katya knit her thick brows together, rolling over and shifting her body to an upright, treading position (although, there really wasn’t a need to tread in this magick-dream liquid). She looked behind her and squinted, even though she knew the action was futile.

Was there someone else here? It felt like it, almost.

She parted her lips to call out.

Then her eyes opened, and she was back in her bed. Squirreled up in her new blanket. The weave was thick and warm, and soft against the skin of her bare legs. The bedroom was still dark, but that wasn’t unusual given the time she normally woke up, and for the Sumps in general. She stretched her hand out of its warm cocoon and pawed at the bedside table, looking for her pocket watch. Once her fingers curled around it, she drew it back and popped it open, eying the time.

Time to get up.

Reluctantly untangling herself, Katya rolled out of bed. She pulled on a pair of trousers and quietly padded out of her room.

By the time the kettle began singing, Viktor had staggered out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed and bedheaded. His sister quietly greeted him as she turned the stove off and he teetered toward the kitchen table, sitting down heavily in his chair.

Katya poured the hot water into mugs of tea and bowls of oatmeal, and set them at their respective seats. They shared their breakfast in silence; Viktor eating very slowly, Katya longing for the herbs and spices of Enyd’s oxtail stew.

“I was thinking,” Katya said, stirring the last couple of spoonfuls around her bowl, “that after we go to the Shores, we could go back to the Springs.”

Viktor looked over his mug at her, interestedly.

“An afternoon swim before dinner?”

“You’ll swim with me?” he asked.

Katya took another bite of bland oats and nodded.

“I could go for a swim,” she said, thinking of her dream.

“We should get going then!” Viktor urged; his energy levels suddenly sparked. He gathered his empty dishes and hobbled to the sink, clumsily depositing them.

Katya chuckled, and followed suit.

The Shores – like the Promenade – had the benefit of sunlight. It reflected off the water’s surface in glittering swaths and sharp, blinding bursts. The air was without the dank funk of the Entresol and Sumps; brine and seaweed in its stead. The last bits of the season’s warmth hung on the breeze, ruffling hair and caressing cheeks. But the promise of the upcoming winter months was on the tail end of the wind; crispness and chill ghosting over the backs of bare necks, causing surprise shivers. As such, Katya had brought Viktor’s jacket, even though he argued and groaned that he didn’t need it. She kept it slung over her arm, but she warned him that when she saw gooseflesh ripple over his skin, the coat was going on. And being the younger brother, he was resigned to agree.

The siblings perched themselves on a heap of dry nets, piled on the Shores’ wharf. Katya was relieved that there wasn’t an Enforcer in sight. She dropped the rucksack she had packed in a thankful flumpf at their feet.

The harbor was still on the fuller side, boats not yet having been taken out for their fishing and trade duties. Dockhands, fisherman and mongers, and fishwives traveled to and fro across the water-sogged pier slats, their footsteps calming, echoing plods on the wood. No one paid the siblings any mind; there was work to be done.

Viktor fetched his notebook and pencil from the sack, along with their Papa’s old book on boats. It was a smaller text so Katya didn’t mind bringing it along.

“Here,” she said, holding a hand out. “I’ll hold on to the book.”

He passed it to her and cracked his steno pad open. Many of the pages inside had already been scribbled over – margin to margin, front and back. It warmed Katya’s heart for a reason she didn’t really understand. She smiled. Viktor flipped to a clean page, set the tip of his pencil on the parchment surface, and looked up, his eyes sweeping up and down the harbor. His sister could see in the intensity of his gaze that he was scrutinizing and memorizing the boats present. Their shapes and sizes, the materials they were made from, the mismatched materials that had been used to patch and repair.

He began slowly and carefully sketching a nearby tug boat, his pencil strokes becoming surer and darker as he went. Occasionally, he would write a note next to his sketch, equations and formulae. Katya watched as his eyes glazed over in intense focus, and how his jaw shifted side to side in concentration. A soft, proud smile pulled at her lips like warm taffy; that fondness slid down her shoulders and settled in between her shoulder blades.

The pair sat in companionable silence. Viktor mumbled to himself every now and again, Katya alternated between flipping through pages of the book in her lap, and letting her eyes lazily wander up and down the docks. The tide was beginning its leisurely return to the sea, and slowly, several of the boats in the harbor were taken out before the water became too shallow. She watched as barnacles and mussels that had glued themselves to the pier posts were slowly uncovered. Above, seabirds excitedly gathered in the sky, clicking and squawking their impending delight.

As the water receded, the algae blooms and scruffy marine vegetation became more noticeable. Slicks of slime green coated rocks and seaweeds draped and dripped lazily over them. Most of the plant life were varying shades of green and brown. For Trenchers, working at the water’s edge was really the only time they would see green in the Undercity. The leafy trees of Piltover couldn’t survive the deep dark of the Fissures. What plant life existed there was either equally dark or sickly pale.

There was one exception.

Not wanting to leave Viktor’s side, Katya strained her neck and squinted her eyes towards the mouth of the harbor. She remembered visiting the tidepools with her Papa; he had told her that the purple algae and flowers only grew there – at the opening of the sea, in the littoral caves that cut into the coasts of Piltover and her Undercity. They had fascinated Katya the most, the way they shimmered and seemed to glow from within.

As the tide receded, she thought she saw the purple glimmer on the rocks. It could’ve been a trick of the sun, but it made her smile all the same. She wished she could’ve shown Viktor, but the tidepools and slick crags of the shoreline were too treacherous for him and his cane.

She felt a small hand paw at her side. Turning back, she saw Viktor asking for the book. She passed it over, and then turned to look out past the harbor again. She blinked. A figure had appeared at the edge of the water. A tall, thin someone. In a dark cloak and a wide-brimmed sun hat. A basket was slung over their elbow. They knelt and pawed at the rocks, and puddles between. Occasionally, they would bring up a fistful of purple algae and deposit it into their basket.

Katya’s spine straightened and her brows pinched together. She’d never seen anyone gather it. Papa had told her that it was one of the few inedible marine flora, and its slimy texture and fickle constitution didn’t make it much good for anything else than looking pretty. She couldn’t imagine what someone would harvest it for. Even the flowers, when picked, lost their luster so quickly that they were wilted by the time one brought them home. She had remembered trying, and being very upset when her bouquet hung limply over the drinking glass she used as a vase.

The figure stood and, with steps that spoke of great practice, glided around the large rocks and out of sight. Katya chewed on the inside of her lip and scrunched her nose. The purple halo of the rocks was gone. Gathered up, for some unimaginable reason, into the stranger’s basket.

A little after noon, once Viktor had nearly filled his notepad with sketch after sketch, Katya suggested that they head for the Springs and Oases. Despite wanting to do this next part of their day, the boy grumbled a bit, struggling to extricate himself from the task he was absorbed in. She patiently waited as he finished his drawings and notes, reminding him in a soft voice to take his time. He finally handed his notebook to her, and she stuffed it and the textbook away in the rucksack.

They hopped off the pile of nets – both siblings taking a moment to stretch their legs and backs – and headed for the stairs that would guide them back into the edges of the Undercity. From there, they would wind through the crumbling boundaries of their home city to the Springs.

Once they were halfway up the stairs, a series of shouts from the docks cause both siblings to jump and look around. Katya’s hands gripped Viktor’s shirt tightly and her heart thundered, her eyes frantically looking back at the docks. A flurry of movement grabbed her eye, and the thudding of her heart lessened.

Down on the right side of the docks, near an ancient looking fishing trawler, Annie bounced furiously, waving her thin arms in the air. Beckett was at her side, mooring the small vessel.

“Katya!” Annie screamed.

Even from faraway, Katya could see the wide smile splitting the other woman’s face. She readjusted her hold on Viktor’s shirt and encourage him to keep walking up the stairs.

“Who’s that?” he asked, stumbling a bit as he tried to follow his sister’s instructions and get a look at whoever was yelling at them.

“A patient from the mines,” she lied, her jaw tight.

“Should we go say hello?”

“No, it’s fine,” Katya quickly replied, continuing to urge him up the stairs.

To satisfy her brother, and hopefully shut Annie up, she turned and waved back. And then continued to encourage Viktor away from the Shores.

It had been a long time since Katya swam in the Springs. She hissed in discomfort as she submerged her body in the near blistering water. Viktor giggled at her, and plunged his head underneath the surface. He burst back up in an impressive wave, chestnut hair plastered to his head. His white, crooked smile stood out from the pink of his skin as he egged her to go all the way under. He whooped and clapped when she did, and Katya appeared back above the water laughing.

Their joy rang off the wet rocks of the Springs. Vibrating through the water and humming on their wet skin.

Since Katya was in the pools with him, she allowed Viktor to explore some of the deeper waters. Not so deep that her own toes didn’t touch the bottom, but enough so that his kicks and strokes weren’t impeded by the Terra.

As he splashed and flailed, she took a couple of graceful strokes, reaching her arms over head and cutting through the water like a fish. Then she dove under, undulating her hips and flicking her legs. She swirled through the hot water with her eyes pinched shut, using her fingertips to feel her way. Her head pitched up and she broke through the surface, breathing in the warm, chronically-petrichor scented air. Like in her dream, she flipped on her back and lazily floated, staring up at the sandy colored stalactites above.

“Can you show me that one stroke again?” Viktor asked, as he paddled over.

Living in a port city, their parents had felt it would be important for their children to be able to swim. Luckily, this was a skill both their mama and papa had been adept at. Prior to Viktor’s birth, they would take Katya to the Oases and the small, cleaner beaches on the Undercity’s side of the Pilt, and teach her how to right herself in the water, to float, and to swim.

After Viktor was born, and their mother left, the beaches were swallowed up by chemical runoff. For most of the year, the water in the Oases was too chilled, and would cause Viktor’s limbs to cramp horribly. It didn’t help that the pools there were often full of rowdy, too-rough children who could not be mindful around the handicapped youngster. So, their papa had tried the Springs. Initially fearful that its water would be too hot for any of them – much less his son’s sensitive constitution – both he and Katya were relieved and elated that Viktor’s body responded well to the heat and the amped up buoyancy of the mineral-rich pools.

Together, Katya and her papa taught him different swimming strokes. While Viktor tried, his bent body couldn’t execute the movements as seamlessly; and he preferred just paddling and splashing. He had to live enough in his head most of the time. In the cradle and forgiving nature of water, he allowed himself to drop into his body, and connect with it, move it in ways he couldn’t do on land.

“The firelight one?” Katya asked, wiping her hair back from her face.

Viktor swam to a rock ledge, and clung to it as he nodded.

Taking a breath, she reached out in front of her, aligning her fingertips with her shoulders and then cut her arms down through the water, pulling her upper body beneath the surface. As she propelled forward, her elbows popped up and back, pushing the water behind her hips and legs. Her thumbs grazed the outside of her thighs, hips rolling and legs kicking, before she swung her arms back out of the water and repeated the stroke.

She stopped short of the pool’s edge, and turned to her brother.

“How was that?” she asked with a smile.

Viktor beamed and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Yes! Can you show me again? Slower this time?”

She did the best she could to slow her movements so he could watch and take mental notes. After a couple more laps, he paddled to the pool’s center and tried the stroke for himself. Katya treaded at his side offering adjustments when they were necessary.

“Keep your legs straighter when you kick . . . palms facing the ground . . . tuck your belly up as you go under . . . “

It was a harder maneuver even for those who were able-bodied, but Viktor did well despite his limitations. He tried again and again, steadily improving until he started to get fatigued, and his form began to suffer. Panting, he flopped onto his back and lazily kicked.

“It is strange being wet and sweaty at the same time,” he mused through gulps of breath.

Katya chuckled. “Yes, it is.”

It wasn’t long before they toweled off and redressed, heading home before the sun went low and made the Sumps even darker. On their way through an Undercity market, they passed a butcher’s counter and Katya’s mouth watered at the sight of oxtails, all lined up in rows of two. Her heart clenched at the memory of her shared supper. She wished she could’ve bought them, but even for scrap meat it was too expensive.

The next stall was a fishwife’s, the crates around her laden with various sea life. At one end of her counter, a bucket sat with melted ice. Katya peered inside and saw two scraggly tentacles.

“They’re the last of my batch,” the fishwife rasped. “No one wants ‘em.”

Katya chewed her lip. She was tired of oats and beans. She thought of what Enyd had said about teaching herself to cook.

“A lot of trial and error.”

“How much?” Katya asked.

“Ten cogs.”

“Ten cogs! Kecáŝ!”Katya muttered, disbelieving. Viktor let out a small gasp and shifted uneasily next to her. “You just said that nobody wants them. I’ll give you four cogs.”

“Five.”

Katya pursed her lips and grumbled a moment before conceding. The fishwife plucked the tentacles from their icy bath and wrapped them up. She thrust the wet package into Katya’s hands, and swiped the coins from her other palm. The fishwife slurred something under her breath, and it soured the young woman’s mood enough to forgo saying thank you.

As she ushered Viktor along, she noticed small bundles of herbs placed on the corner of the counter. Her eyes flicked back to the fishwife, who was busy counting her sales, and then back to the herbs. Quick as a wink and silent as a secret, Katya’s hand snapped up a bundle and stuffed it in her pocket.

Once home, Viktor limped to the shower and Katya began preparing their dinner.

Trial and error. Trial and error.

She kept repeating it to herself like a mantra as she cut and cooked the tentacles. She melted a scoop of cooking grease in a pan and added the appendages. They snapped and spat and curled. Their color, a dull, rocky gray, shifted into a brighter blue as they sat in the pan. The apartment took on the scent of the sea. The oil around them began to brown and she added the bouquet of herbs. She wasn’t sure if this was how one was supposed to do it. . .

Trial and error. Trial and error.

The smell of woods and something bright – close to lemon – joined the briny scent of the tentacles. A forest butted up against an ocean.

One thing Katya did know was that overcooked tentacles turned rubbery. She turned the stove off and swished the pan back and forth, coating the seafood in the herbaceous fat.

“Smells good!” Viktor said excitedly, appearing in the kitchen.

“I hope it’s good,” she prayed. “Go take your seat.”

He hobbled to the table and sat down as she grabbed plates, and placed a tentacle on each one. She carefully plucked the now damp and muted herbs from the pan. Were they supposed to eat these, too? Could they? She shrugged, put the bundle on her plate, and sat opposite her brother.

Initially, they took tentative bites at their dinner, tasting and testing. It wasn’t bad!

Trial and error.

Fatty and meaty in a way beans couldn’t compare with. The hot grease filled them in a different way than oats. The flavor the herbs imparted made the tougher sections of the tentacles worth chewing through.

Katya untied the herbs, and brought a limp, leafy stem to her nose and sniffed.

“Did the fishwife give you those, too?” Viktor asked.

“Yes. She tossed them in to make up for her unreasonableness.”

She popped the herb into her mouth and immediately spat it back out. Viktor laughed.

Trial and error.

When Silco and Enyd entered The Last Drop that evening, both were taken aback by the crowd. Even for a Saturday night, the tavern was bursting at the seams.

“Are any of these girls from the mill?” Silco asked, leaning close to his mother’s ear.

Enyd’s eyes swept over the crowd. It was difficult to see when there were so many bodies, and since she was so short. It also didn’t help that she had never really committed any other face from Clapper to memory, aside from Amos, Birdy, and Nasha.

She shook her head and raised her voice enough for Silco to hear.

“I don’t think so. I don’t see Nasha, anyway.”

She suddenly pulled away, and hid her face in the crook of her elbow as a sudden wave of coughing overtook her. She recovered and Silco guided them through the throngs of patrons to the bar. They were surprised to see that it was not Vander behind the counter, but Benzo. He hobbled to and fro, addressing customer’s needs, filling orders, and collecting dirty tankards. His color and disposition seemed better; his mood probably bolstered by the fact that he was no longer secluded to a bed.

“Where’s Vander?” Silco asked

He and his mother squeezed in next to Sevika who was seated on a middle stool, sipping the foamy head off her beer. She nodded in greeting.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Benzo replied with a sassy head bobble. He picked up a glass hidden beneath the counter and took a swig.

Silco’s lip curled and he spat, “Didn’t Kat tell you not to drink!”

Benzo blinked, confused. Sevika’s eyebrows quirked with interest.

“Kat? Oh, ya mean Kat-YA? Since when’re you on a nickname basis with ‘er?”

“Are you guys talking about Katya?” Annie cried, suddenly appearing with an empty serving tray.

Silco, Enyd, Sevika and Benzo all jumped at the young woman’s sudden entrance. She slammed the tray on the countertop, her pretty face clouded in a bitter expression.

“Janna, Annie,” Sevika grumbled, rolling her shoulders.

“She totally blew me off today!”

“You saw her?” Silco asked.

“Yeah. At the Shores with her little brother. I was with Becks and saw them leaving. So, I called and waved, and she barely looked at me,” she huffed, flicking one of her braids over her shoulder.

“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional,” Enyd offered. “She and her brother were probably trying to keep a schedule.”

Annie rolled her eyes, dissatisfied with this theory.

“She coulda said ‘hello’ at least,” she grumbled. Pushing her tray across the bar, she told Benzo, “The guys playing with Tolder want another round.”

As Benzo went about pouring a couple fresh pints, Enyd turned to Sevika.

“Why aren’t you at your father’s table playing cards?”

Sevika slurped her beer, silver eyes glancing over at her father. He was engrossed in his hand, smoking a cigarillo and leaned back in his seat. A small mound of coins was piled on his side of the table. The two other Trenchers were pitched forward, their noses in the fan of their cards.

“He told me he didn’t need help with those two,” she answered with a sly smile. “Good thing, too. I wanna sit in on this meeting.”

The thin line of Silco’s lips tightened, and he repeated his initial question.

“Where’s Vander?”

“He’s in the basement,” Benzo said, placing overfilled glasses onto Annie’s tray. “Playin’ with ‘is new toys. I told ‘im I could watch th’bar. Tired of bein’ cooped up anyhow.”

Enyd leaned toward the large man and whispered, “Have you seen Nasha? The girl we are supposed to be meeting with?”

Benzo finished loading up Annie’s tray and waved her off.

“I don’ know ‘er. An’ no one’s come up askin’ fer you or Van,” he replied, shaking his head. His face suddenly split into a grin, and he added, “But not fer nothin’ all o’ this,” he nodded toward the bustling bar floor, “is mostly people drawn here by the Children rumors.”

“So, the plan worked then,” Silco said, satisfied, eying the milling bodies.

Benzo snorted. “Yeah, every now n’ again that coal-dust addled brain o’ yours can come up with a good’un. People been comin’ in, pissin’ n’ moanin’ ‘bout the increased Enforcer activity; n’ askin’ if they can help.”

Silco let the insult slide, too distracted by the new numbers of Brothers and Sisters before him. He beamed at his mother and Sevika.

“Ope!” Benzo hiccupped behind them. “This your girl? She’s comin’ up like she means business.”

Silco and Enyd directed their attention towards the front of the bar. Indeed, Nasha stood a few feet from the door, her head craned over the crowd, eyes scanning. She had removed her bonnet and changed her drab work smock. Instead, she glittered and stood out. She’d pulled her hair into two, large puffs that haloed her head. Her clothes were an artful patchwork of deep, jewel-toned fabrics and brass fastenings. Clearly designed and stitched by her, as they molded to her tall and broad frame perfectly. And because it was unlikely any garment shop in the Undercity carried such things.

She spied Enyd and began gliding toward the bar. Patrons parted readily, some moved by the girl’s innately intimidating energy, and some because they didn’t want to be pierced by the pointed shoulder pads of her jacket. As she neared, they could see that she had literally painted her face. Purposeful and meticulous lines and dots of white and yellow accented her eyes and cheeks.

“Hi Ms. Enyd!” Nasha exclaimed brightly. “I almost didn’t see you.”

“Something I’ve struggled with my whole life,” the older woman joked, her arms flourishing at her sides to present her petite stature.

“Nasha, this is my son, Silco,” she introduced. “This is Benzo, and Sevika.”

Silco politely nodded, while Benzo gave her a finger wiggling wave. Sevika seemed frozen, her eyes glued to Nasha’s face, her jaw slack. A furious stripe of coral bloomed over her nose and cheeks.

“HI!” she cried, far too late. Her body jerked as she suddenly came back online, and she knocked her tankard over. “Oh, shit.”

The blush on her face deepened, and spread to her forehead and down her cheeks. She righted her glass and helped Benzo mop up her mess.

Nasha chuckled and turned back to Enyd.

“Where should we go to talk?”

“Vander’s in the basement,” Silco answered. “We’ll go down there. It’s quieter.”

Carefully threading through people in the crowd, he led Nasha, his mother, and Sevika (who tailed behind after pushing the sodden pile of towels over the bar) to the Drop’s private quarters, and then to the basement.

As the joyful din of the tavern faded, it was replaced by repeated deep, muted thumps, heavy breathing, and occasional grunts.

“Should we come back later?” Nasha joked.

Sevika giggled. Then snorted.

“Shit. Sorry,” she moaned, her face turning red again.

“No, come on,” Silco said, unphased by their guest’s unseemly implication.

He led them to the stockroom, and there they found a shirtless, rumpled Vander, gleaming with sweat. On his hands were the bulky gauntlets he’d picked up from Mek’s the day before. Before him was a large, heavy sack of flour that he had tied to a rope and affixed to the room’s rafters with a rudimentary pulley system. He was punching the bag with such ferocity that it swung to and fro, back and forth. Vander ducked, bobbed, and weaved as his adversary came at him, before laying into it with more hits. The bag, while a sturdy weave, was beginning to split and tear, trails of white flour spilling out like sand in an hourglass.

“Vander!” Silco yelled.

Despite being a mountain of a man, he jumped, clanking the gauntlets together and spinning around to face his impromptu audience.

“Oh! Hey!” he panted, a sheepish grin on his lips. His eyes suddenly landed on Nasha and he exclaimed, “Oh, shit! Is it that late already? Sorry! I musta lost track o’ time.”

He dropped the gauntlets on the floor, and hurried over to a stack of crates that he’d left his shirt on.

“That’s a waste of perfectly good flour, Vander,” Enyd admonished. She let her motherly disappointment of food waste over take her, instead of worrying about him practicing fighting. It was an easier and less complicated thing to focus on.

“I know, Ms. E. ‘M sorry,” Vander breathed, wiping his face with his balled-up shirt. “It was th’most Enforcer-like thing I could find. I wanted t’practice usin’ ‘em before I actually needed ‘em.”

Enyd’s jaw tensed and her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

“Can I try them?” Sevika asked, stepping forward and picking one of the gauntlets up.

“You fight, too, huh?” Nasha purred, eyes raking up and down the other’s body. “Is that how you got that figure?”

“Um,” Sevika warbled, her blush returning yet again.

“Let’s get to business, actually,” Silco said, stepping up to the flour bag and cutting its rope with the knife he kept in his sleeve.

The already split bag dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, and the seams on one side gave. Flour poured out in a misty avalanche that made Enyd put a bereaved hand to her forehead.

“So, yer Nasha?” Vander said, settling his hips onto a crate. “Enyd said ye got some intel on a crooked Piltie?”

“They’re all crooked,” Silco muttered, coming to stand at his Brother’s side.

Vander’s skin prickled at his proximity. He both wished he had put his shirt back on – instead of using it as a towel – and he was glad for the one-less-layer of closeness.

Nasha’s gaze dropped and she walked forward, scuffing her pointed-toed shoes through the flour.

“You’re really going to try and secede from Piltover?” she asked finally.

The flirty mask she’d entered with fell, and she fixed the two men with a firm, demanding look beyond her years.

“Not try,” Silco corrected. “We will gain our independence from them.”

Nasha lifted her chin, regarding him carefully.

“My aunt and I settled in the Undercity about ten years ago,” she said. “We left Noxus because she disagreed with their . . . expansionist politics. With their brutality. Our coin only got us as far as Piltover. The Land of Progress, we had heard. We didn’t have the means to live on their gilded streets; we had to move into their slums. And we’ve never been able to get out. We traded one myopic nation for another.”

She paused, and then added, “I want this information to be put to good use. I want there to be progress on the other side of it.”

“And there will be,” Vander promised. “When Zaun stands together, there will be.”

Nasha seemed satisfied with this. She told the small group what she had imparted to Enyd a couple days prior, and more. She told them about this Topsider’s money problems. About how he was going to pay his gambling debts with stolen coin. About how he was forging curtains and documentation to cover his tracks. About how his ‘package’ would be sent via airship the week after next. And about how he would be securing a private crew to deliver said package.

Some details were still vague, or unknown. Despite this, Vander, Silco, and Sevika quivered with excitement, and Enyd listened carefully. Nasha promised to flush out as much information as she could, and would bring it to the next meeting of the Children of Zaun.

“Thank ye so much fer this, Nasha,” Vander said, his face creased with relief.

“I want a free nation as much as any Sump-born Trencher,” she said. “You should be thanking Ms. Enyd. She’s the one who got me here.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Sevika chuckled. “Silco had to get his passion and doggedness from somewhere.”

It was Enyd’s turn to blush. A light, delicate pink that glowed under her pale skin.

“I just want that money back in the hands . . . of Zaunites. Where it should be,” she said quietly.

The rest agreed.

“If ye want,” Vander said, turning back to Nasha, “if ye head back up t’the bar, Benzo’ll give ya a drink. On th’house. It’s the least we can do fer you.”

Their new member hummed thoughtfully, gently swaying side to side. She reached out and twirled a loose piece of hair from one of Sevika’s buns.

“Show me the way?”

Sevika gawked at her for a moment, before saying, “Yeah. Sure.”

Very overwhelmed and pleased, she led Nasha from the storeroom and up to the bar.

“They’re not of age, you know,” Silco said, elbowing Vander’s arm lightly.

The larger man did his best to seem unphased by the contact.

He tossed a hand carelessly through the air and said, “It’s fine. It’s not like Enforcers are comin’ in here t’card people anyway.”

He winked at his Brother.

Enyd’s mouth split in a proud smile, looking at the two men in front of her.

“The bar is too full of revolutionaries to fit any Enforcers in it anyway.”

Notes: Heeeeey! Hope you enjoyed the cuteness at the start of the chapter because things are gonna start to become less sweet here on out. Things are also gonna start to pick up, too! It's time for this revolution to kick it into high-gear. It's also about dang time for things to pick up between Silco and Kat, no?

If you've made it this far, please comment and reblog! Or visit my askbox. I'm dying to talk with you about this story. Hugs n' kisses!

Coming Up Next: Silco can't wait to tell somebody about this opportunity! Katya seems a good a person as any! The Academy Board makes their decision regarding Rynweaver's concerns. Katya and Heimerdinger go toe-to-toe

Next Chapter

Tag list: @dreamyonahill @pinkrose1422 @altered-delta @beardedladyqueen @truthandadare

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #viktor #vander #sevika #benzo #silco fanfic #viktor fanfic #orginal characters #ocs #fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

zlitbtrwel · 9 months ago

Note

What do you love most?

Myself.

Sun. Sky. Stars. Clouds. Weather. Ocean. Wind. Trees. Dirt. Lakes. Streams. Rivers. Rain.

Museums. Art galleries. Aquariums. Planetariums. Zoos. Gas stations. The beach. Public parks. Golf courses. Country clubs.

Birds. Bugs. Fish. Aquatic mammals & other non-fish sea life. Hands. Friends. Planes. Space. Boats. Cityscapes. A room with a view. Room service.

Algebra. Geometry. Philosophy. Psychology. History. U.S. Military.

Ferrari. Porsche. Tesla. Maserati. Lexus. Hyundai. Nissan.

Oil painting. Photography. Ballet. Short and easy hikes. Writing. Drawing. Yoga. Pilates. Knife throwing. Floor laying. Showering for far too long. Weekly massages. Laundry. Tidy home. Cooking. Baking. Inventing recipes. Traveling. Car-living. Organizing. Color coding. Alphabetizing. Observing. Dissecting. Tea parties. Pickle ball. Creating. Tarot reading.

iPad. Procreate. Books. Blue ray DVD’s. Sketch books. Cute notes. Flowers. Sailor Moon Monopoly. Game boy. Switch. Legos. Stuffed bunny. Rose oil. Mini projector. White Reeboks. Bumble bee Gucci’s. Tennis skirts with pockets. Hotel pillows. Z flip 5. Digital camera. Camcorder.

Sushi. Pork burritos. Cheesecake. Fried pickles. Grilled shrimp. Salmon. Tilapia. French fries in fish burritos. Ramen. Fried eggs. Salt and pepper chips. Jalapeño cheddar Cheetos. Annie Chuns. Calpico strawberry. Calpico peach. Aloe Vera juice. Coconut water. Steak. Fettuccine Alfredo. Pesto. Panini. Turkey sandwiches. Hot sandwiches. Ranch. House made dill pickle spears. Fish tacos. Siracha mayo. Chamberlain Coffee Matcha. Strawberry oatmeal. Konjac Jelly. Tteokbokki. Pasta. Sparking cider. Sparkling grape juice. Peach juice. Watermelon juice. Lime juice. Pineapple juice. Pickle juice.

Go Fish. Phase 10. Spit. Uno. Skip Bo. Funky puzzles.

Mario Kart. Barbie groovy games. Hello kitty happy party pals. Minecraft. Scooby doo. Frogger. Fruit ninja.

F1. Basketball. Baseball. Football (American). Tennis. Sometimes golf. Horse racing.

Pretty nails. Jewel tones. Tatcha. Pan Oxyl. Face masks. Burt’s bees. L’Oréal Paris. Snail mucin. Pureology (blue). Okay firming lotion. Okay beauty bar. Florida water soap bar. Wax strips. Exfoliating gloves. Lume.

Silk & satin. High thread counts. Soft skin. Clear skin. Happy eyes. Well-rested. Good-humored. Fresh breath. Clean white teeth. Physically fit. Good health.

Zendaya. Beyoncé. Boyfriend. Blonde friend. Brunette friend. Grandma. Grandpa. Assistant. Accountants. Business Manager. Lawyers. Anne Hathaway. Anna-Taylor Joy. Carlos Sainz. Lewis Hamilton. Kardashians. Camille Rowe. Lando Norris. Oscar Piastri. Dove Cameron. Max Verstappen. Fernando Alonso. Emma Watson. Margot Robbie. Cher. Alex Albon. Sabrina Carpenter. Victoria Beckham. Lily James. Elle Fanning. Angelina Jolie. George Russell. Rihanna. Olivia Rodrigo. Jenna Ortega. Kaya Scodelario. Dylan O’Brien. Barbra Palvin Sprouse. Dylan Sprouse. Shuang Hu. Seo Yeaji. Kim Soohyun. All BTS members. Logan Lerman. Alexandra Daddario. Uma Therman. Natalia Dyer. Dacre Montgomery. Jackson Wang.

Starfire. Kate Sharma. Jeremiah (tatbilb). Shawn Spencer. Gus TT Showbiz. Juliette Ohera Spencer. Percy Jackson. Robin (teen titans). HeKate. Persephone. Venus. Aria (PLL).

Individuality. Confidence. Kindness. Unorthodox solutions. Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. Exclusivity. Loyalty. Honesty.

The list goes on, and on, forever. . .

#🥂

10 notes · View notes

another-dr-another · 4 months ago

Note

speak w uehara!!!! thats my bestie my friend uehara - annie

Maeda, narrating - …Yeah, okay.

Maeda - Maybe it’ll be good to try and go into this second trial with a clear head.

Maeda - …

Maeda - Or, maybe I need a reminder of what’s happened that I could be forgetting.

~*~

Maeda - Mm…

//Maeda looks around for Uehara- eventually finding him curled in on himself, half on his podium, half sprawled off it. His right leg is drawn up to his torso, while his arms are over his head, hands reaching to his neck.

Maeda - …Maybe I shouldn’t bother him.

Maeda - …

Maeda - Uehara?

Uehara - …

//Slowly, he raises his head, moving his arms only slightly, and blinking warily against the light of the trial room.

Uehara - …Yeah?

Maeda - …

Maeda - Just wanted to check on you. You, uh… feeling okay?

Uehara - …

//He unfurls himself, but doesn’t stand- his heels rest against the floor, legs outstretched, as he sits more firmly on the podium.

Uehara - …

//He looks up at Maeda, and smiles.

Uehara - Hanging in there.

Maeda - …I’m glad.

Uehara - …Mhm.

Uehara - Just have a bit of a headache.

Maeda - …Probably from the fight-

Maeda - Tomori checked him for a concussion, right?

Maeda - Have you had any water?

Uehara - …Mhm. Lots, actually.

Maeda - Ah…

Maeda - And you ate your oatmeal?

Uehara - …

Uehara - I wasn’t feeling hungry. I gave Tsurugi… half-over the bowl.

Maeda - …Maybe all the water is killing your appetitie.

//Uehara hums.

Uehara - Could be.

Maeda - …Well, since you’re right by Tsurugi, you can ask him for food during the trial, if you feel like it.

Maeda - Plus, since you don’t care about not interrupting by talking with Tsurugi on your own-

Maeda - That’s mean, let’s stop that… they can talk if they want.

Uehara - That’s true…

Uehara - Aaangel? Do you have any water?

Maeda - Yeah, he’d give the talent scouts an aneurysm.

Tsurugi - …No.

Uehara - …No?

Tsurugi - …Gave it all to the queen of the field mice. Her people will use it to flood their empty rivers and power their hydroelectric dams.

Tsurugi - Then, they reuse the bottles by turning ‘em into boats…

Uehara - You’re good enough at resource management to have water left for me, though?

Tsurugi - …

Tsurugi - They needed it, you don’t.

Tsurugi - You’re gonna drink too much and feel gross, and that isn’t nice…

Tsurugi - Besides, gluttony is a total sin, Uehara!

Uehara - Thank god none of us are Catholic, then. Soul death doesn’t scare me… no sir, I’m a bad bitch…

Tsurugi - You aren’t getting any more.

Uehara - Greedy…

Uehara - Maeda, would you please go get me some water from Tsurugi?

Maeda - …

Tsurugi - …

//Maeda does not want to try that.

Uehara - …Fine, I’ll do it myself.

//Tsurugi is sitting with his back to his podium- while he was leaned against the side closer to Tomori, he moved back to the podium's center to talk. Uehara moves towards him, using the bars of his podium to pull himself closer.

Uehara - Tsurugi <3…

Tsurugi - I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, but I have so much faith in your ability to fuck it up. Remember that, okay?

Uehara - I’m obsessed with you.

Uehara - Give a struggling fan a bit of water?

//Uehara… gives out. His legs are sort of tangled together, making it clear he couldn’t put much weight on them, meaning he was supporting himself… somewhat on his knees, but mostly with the one hand he had firmly on the ground.

Maeda - Like a landslide…

//All of his joints simply stop carrying any weight. Uehara’s head winds up between his and Tsurugi’s platforms, as his hand stretches out along the floor in front of Tsurugi. He shifts slightly, maybe getting more comfortable… and stops moving.

Tsurugi - …

Maeda - …He died. Of thirst.

Maeda - There has to be a biblical figure that happened to.

Tsurugi - …

Uehara - …

Tsurugi - …Ue.

Uehara - …

Tsurugi - …Get up.

Maeda - …?

Uehara - …

Tsurugi - …Uehara, Get Up.

//Uehara does not get up.

Maeda - …No.

//Tsurugi gets in front of Uehara, and tries to lift his head.

Tsurugi - …

Maeda - …

Uehara - …

Uehara - Mmm…

Tsurugi - Jesus-

Tsurugi - Are you okay?

Uehara - …Yeah.

Uehara - The floor was nice and cool, I got drowsy…

Tsurugi - …You can’t act like you aren’t aware of that rule after the conversation that was just had.

Uehara - …What rule?

Maeda - …

Uehara - Oh, yeah- no, I wasn’t going to sleep… I just got comfy.

Tsurugi - God…

Tsurugi - Have some water, then I want you to take a sip of my coffee, okay?

Uehara - I looove manipulation and guilt-tripping it’s why I’m so.

Uehara - Naturally good at it.

Tsurugi - Stop being catholic please.

Maeda - Yeah, you could be protestant…

Tsurugi - …What’s that entail again?

Maeda - …

//Uehara starts laughing, in a way that almost sounds breathless.

Uehara - …Y’know, it’s sort of funny.

Uehara - I keep thinking we should be in class right now.

Uehara - Maybe it’s the bright lights, makes me feel like we’ve just…uh, outside…

Tsurugi - …I wonder what the air is like. If it’s all cold and dry, or hot and humid…

Maeda - …

Uehara - Man.

Uehara - Maeda didn’t even try to get the water for me.

Maeda - Wh-What did you want me to do?

Tsurugi & Uehara - Ask nicely.

Maeda - …Well, I’m happy to have learned that, then. I’ll be sure to use that wisdom in the future.

Uehara - Maeda’s first day of preschool he just learned his first manner.

Maeda - Tsurugi wasn’t giving you water!

Uehara - He was being very polite about it.

Tsurugi - I was going to call you a hellion if you kept asking for it.

Uehara - Tsurugi was very worried about me.

Tsurugi - …I thought you were going to drown if I gave you any more water!

Maeda - I’ll aspire to be more like Tsurugi.

Uehara - …No.

Uehara - Go be your own person. Let it all be…

Uehara - Sorry. It’s not about being your own person. That’s not what I meant.

Uehara - You need to work on… refining your choices. You need to think before you speak or act- but you need to have a code you’re going by.

Uehara - If you don’t understand the choices you’re making…

Uehara - It isn’t that you’ll always be inactive… it’s that you’ll never be okay with the things you do. And it’ll hurt you, when you don’t have something to fall back on.

Maeda - …

Tsurugi - …

Uehara - …

Uehara - I don’t know. I guess my advice isn’t that relevant to you.

Maeda - …

//Maeda has… no clue what to say.

Tsurugi - …

Tsurugi - …Oh, Uehara- have some coffee, now that you’ve had some water.

Uehara - Mm… okay piccolino…

Maeda - …

//Maeda watches as Tsurugi passes his drink to Uehara. Tsurugi’s eyes flit up to Maeda, then flick back- then, after a moment, he turns to Maeda.

Tsurugi - Maeda? Do you want to play rock-paper-scissors? I’ve got a win-guaranteed strategy, it’s where I ask you to only play paper the whole time, and you agree.

Maeda - …

Maeda - S…sounds great… but I think I have some people to talk to before the trial starts again.

Tsurugi - Okay! Go have fun then. Play with your friends…

Uehara - …Hope you’re good, Maeda.

Maeda - …

Maeda - See you both later.

~*~

Maeda, narrating - Well.

Maeda - …

Maeda - Always something. Maeda - I think priests are supposed to, like… make you feel better. But I guess Uehara’d be happy to hear my thoughts on his… shortcomings.

[Speak with a Student - Maki]

{Stand on your Podium}

#dra #yuki maeda #kinji uehara #tsurugi kinjo #chapter 3 #deadly life #deadly life 3

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honey-makes-mogai · 1 year ago

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[Image ID: A MOGAI flag with ten horizontal stripes. From top to bottom the colors in order are: Dark purple, dark magenta, gold, off-white, green, light green, off-white, gold, dark magenta, dark purple. The green stripes are thinner than the rest, which are all equally sized. In the middle of the flag is a symbol resembling a 5 pointed star, the lines making each point turn into a spiral as they reach the next point. The symbol is off white outlined in black with a semi transparent off white circle behind it. /End ID]

AnnieOatmealstelic -

[PT: AnnieOatmealstelic -]

A constelic term for those who stel Annie Oatmeal from Strawberry Shortcake!

Tagging: @radiomogai @constelicflags

[Banner ID: A pastel yellow banner with a sunflower on either side. In brown text with a white outline, it says "- Please let me know if this has been coined before! -" /End ID.]

[DNI transcript: "-DNI- Basic criteria, anti-mogai, proshippers, ableists, aphobes, racists, zoophiles, rpf shippers, fandom discourse, under 13, transid/transx". /End transcript.]

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idv-sweethearts · 8 months ago

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Trying out a new answering method where I format the post, save it to my drafts, and then write it later. Let's hope that will help me answer requests faster. Uh, I want to think of a fun quiz because I'm bored. Hm.

#i also really want to unleash Norton upon an all you can eat buffet. i want to see that man... not be hungry for once?

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oldtvstaticwithcereal · 9 months ago

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Louis Handler headcacon dump because he is very silly!!

Has a tendency to be loud, energetic or even mean at times. Occasionally just enjoying to taunt people for fun (never going to far though). However he doesn't purposefully cause harm.

He isn't necessarily talkative either, he's just loud when he does talk

Loves rainy weather

Loves macaroni art

Tracks down sightings of peculiar activities around town, keeping up with missing posters. He loves solving mysteries and often gets super invested.

He's Tweek's friend and they often come up with theorys about regular oddlitys and such mysteries together. Louis is usually more enthusiastic, meanwhile Tweek is scared for his life. They have a lot absurd stuff that they document, however they're also right about some of it; mostly being ghosts and aliens (which are canon to the show). They often share their findings with Kevin Stoley. Another thing I think they do is look into Imagination Land a lot, but they wouldn't DARE sing the song. Not to say that Louis pretends he's going to sing it, just to freak out Tweek lol

Louis also collects really old newspapers that often have exaggerated story's written in them, which really helps solidify his interest in the on goings of town

Every time the kids (usally other background characters) play pretend with him, he always insists on being some sort of psychic or having mind reading powers

Thinks he's popluar, but really isn't lol

His perspective on life differs slightly from others, being one to just often stop and think. He's one to stay up really late or wake up really early just because it "hits different." He breaks basic "rules" such as reading books from back to front. Another headcanon that I have is that Louis has a hard time dealing with sadness or even just recognizing when he's sad; which is where his deep reflective mindset mostly comes from. Either way, I like to think that grew fond of just enjoying those odd, in between moments in life.

He's emotionally attached to his scarf

Fidgtes with random objects; sometimes even rocks he just finds on the ground

Has a tendency to look into abandon-looking places; what I mean by this is that he often wanders around Starks Pond or hangs by the dead mall looking for peculiar occurrences, possiblly just enjoying the nostlagic feeling

Has a stash of old comic books and is OBSESSED with them

He often thinks sounds effects like "boom" and "pow" in his head lol, or just flat out says them outloud when playing pretend games

Listens to a lot of video game OST

Makes inventions out of house hold items; such as trying to invent the perfect snowball marker

Plays with toy trucks

His favorite flavor of Cred is Purple Snowglobe but he also likes Oatmeal Nummy Nums and Candy Wandy Gummy Nums

Sometimes he likes to make snowangels and than just chill before getting up, usually to watch the clouds

Likes nostlagia (a lot)

His eyesight isn't very good, but he insists that he doesn't need glasses

I like to think that the girl in the pink coat from season 19 is actually his sister, his siblings being Chad (canon) and her (my personal idea). This adds to my own Leslie lore lol

He watches the most obscure of TV shows; Chad often joins him in watching so they have idiosyncratic inside jokes and references because of that lol

On that note, I believe that him and Chad are actually very close. I like to think that they tend to watch fireflys at night, just in their backyard together

Him and Annie Knitts have a friendship that mostly consists of them bonding over a liking for things that aren't considered "cool." What I mean is that it's mostly Annie enjoying to collect very early 2000's-like magazines and posters/having a lot of old (probably broken) flip phones, meanwhile in Louis's case he's collecting comic books/watching not very well known media. They both also talk about their old early 2010's toys lol. Another thing I like to think is that they hang by the hills right outside South Park, just sort-off "spying" on the town in a way or picking at the snow.

Other then Annie, own of his closetest friends is Douglas. They hang out by the Lost Forest sometimes, with both of them always getting startled by a wild dog. Afterwards they bolt back to Starks Pond lol.

I also like to think that Louis enjoys camping

Similar to Clyde (mostly in The List), he also tends to "flirt" with girls a lot, but has little to no success. However it would be a lot more toned down in than Clyde in that episode

He probably plays Minecraft

And is a fan of Mother/Earth Bond

Something about him makes me think he's broke, having little to no cash; maybe he's inplusive with money

He has a habit of over-using the word "and" in sentences

I headcanon that he was born somewhere in December

Gets startled easily

He wanders around the school halls a lot and after the Funny Bot episode (only the real ones know the line I'm taking about) he tends to bring a camera with him to document anything else exciting that may happen; he doesn't use his phone as the camera gives the atmosphere more ambience lol. But I'm gonna be honest, if something scary like that did happen he'd drop the camera and dip

I probably have more but thats all I can think of for now. Thanks for reading my silly Tumblr post!! Expanding on background lore is always fun in my opinion.

#louis handler #South park Louis #Louis Handler south park #south park background characters #south park headcanons #making background characters my ocs based off of alomst no lines #cool character I like #south park

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birdy-critic · 11 months ago

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The Mask: Jaded Justice 1

Chapter 1: Slow start to the day

“Liz? Liz! Wake up!”

Liz groaned. Bright, irritating light penetrated her eyelids. She became aware of an irritating buzzing noise growing louder and louder to her left. Summoning the energy to role into her side, she saw her alarm blaring at her. It read 9:45. She had set it to go off at 8:30. The muffled shouting from outside her apartment continued.

“Elizabeth Caplan! Wake up and open this door!”

Liz sighed. If she was using her full name, then she must really need something…or be supremely pissed. Groaning and rubbing her face, Liz dragged herself out of bed and threw on a T-shirt over her bra and walked to the door. Checking the eyehole, she removed the chain, twisted the deadbolt and turned the lock and opened the door.

Anne Thomas stood at the entrance, arms crossed and foot tapping. Her dark blue eyes stared daggers at Liz. Her strawberry blond hair was neatly tied up in a bun. She was wearing a light blue blazer over her dress shirt with khaki dress pants. The stylishness of this attire was somewhat in contrast to her worn athletic tennis shoes and the worn out brown tote bag slung over her shoulder. She was smiling, but the furled brows and the intensity of her gaze told Liz that she was more than a little annoyed with her.

“I don’t usually take personal calls during office hours, Annie.”

“Talking about ‘office hours’ would require you to be at your office, and ready for work. Right now you look like you’re late for your work from home job. Now are you going to let me in or not?”

Liz opened the door the rest of the way and exaggerated a swing of her arm to cordially invite Annie in. Annie briefly lifted an eyebrow but swept past Liz into the apartment. Checking around, she seemed to be looking for something to clean. Some out of place clothing or paperwork to put it away. Finding nothing seemed only to further irritate her.

“I will never understand how someone who sleeps so late keeps such a clean and orderly apartment.”

“That’s the key to being lazy,” Liz responded. “You have to do just enough work so that you can be lazy.”

“Well I wish you would apply that philosophy to your clients. Go get dressed. You need to meet Mrs. Jimenez in half an hour.”

“Not without coffee.”

“I’ll handle the coffee,” Annie said, heading for the kitchen. “You still do French Roast?”

“It’s all I ever keep in the house,” Liz responded, returning to the bedroom.

Upon re-entering the bedroom and closing the door, Liz stared with longing at the unmade bed. It would be so easy to just toss her shirt off and collapse back onto her firm, fluffy pillows, crawl back under the comforter and drift back to wonderland. Sadly, she didn’t feel like dealing with more yelling from Annie, and she did have work to do. So, allowing another sigh to escape her chest, Liz tidied up her bed and went into her closet. She found her favorite forest green leather jacket and pulled it out. Then she went to her dresser and found a clean pair of jeans. Slipping off her gym shorts, she wiggled into her jeans and grabbed a leather belt and shoulder holster from the rack in her closet. She grabbed the metal police baton and checked the taser’s charge. She then put both in the leather messenger bag sitting on her dresser. Lacing up the belt and holster, she put on her jacket and fixed her hair and walked back out into the kitchen.

As she re-entered, Annie had a hot mug of coffee poured alongside a bowl of oatmeal with a hardboiled egg in the center. Liz looked at her in surprise.

“When did you have time to cook?” Liz asked.

“I didn’t. I did my grocery run on the way here and figured you probably hadn’t eaten.” Annie glanced at the empty holster in my jacket. “Where’s your gun?”

“Still being tuned and cleaned at Wesson’s,” Liz answered, sitting down to quickly devour the bowl of steaming hot oats. “Need to stop there after I’m done with Jimenez.”

“Well, make it a priority. I know you love your karate and your police stick jutsu, but I don’t think it’s wise to keep doing this job without a proper weapon.”

“Anne, I think you are overthinking this situation. I’m going to meet a woman complaining about not getting alimony from her ex-husband.”

“An ex-husband with potential ties to the Los Lobos street gang. You could be in danger, and I need you alive to bring me pictures and witness testimony!”

“I’m a private investigator, Annie. Not a photographer. Also, last time I checked I don’t work for you.”

I was reaching for my mug of coffee when Annie intercepted it and lifted it above our heads.

“I could easily take that from you,” Liz responded.

“You could, but a) the coffee will be all over your nice clean kitchen and 2) this is your favorite mug. Are we going to keep doing this dance?”

For several seconds neither moved. Finally, Liz relaxed and slouched back into her chair.

“Sorry.”

Annie put the mug back down.

“I never said you work for me, but considering the symbiotic relationship between my need for scintillating compelling news and your need for new cases, I would say we work together pretty well. Sugar and milk?”

“Considering I don’t like the taste of roasted tar, absolutely.”

Annie left the sugar pot and a bottle of cream in front of me. I slowly poured the cream, enjoying the spectacle of the thick white liquid infecting the tar black coffee and slowly overpowering it with a rich, light brown texture. I added a scoop of sugar and mixed it to perfect the concoction. As I picked up the mug, the phone rang. Somewhat disappointed by the interruption, I picked it up.

“Caplan speaking.”

“Liz?”

Liz was startled.

“Ginny?”

“Oh good, I am so glad to hear your voice, Liz. It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, it has been a while,” Liz looked at Anne who was looking at her with a confused look on her face. “Kinda surprised to hear from you.”

“You would be, wouldn’t you? I’ve got some business in Philadelphia. So I was hoping you could come meet me at my local office. We could go for lunch?”

Now Liz was really confused. *What was this about?* she thought.

“Yeah, sure. I guess I’ll see you then.” Liz hung up the phone.

“Who is ‘Ginny’?” Anne asked, sipping her own coffee.

“ ‘Ginny’ is one Genevieve Brandt,” Liz answered, finishing her coffee. “And she wants to meet me for lunch. So I guess I better get to work.”

Anne looked at her with surprise.

“Why would one of the top corporate defense attorneys in the city want to meet YOU for lunch?”

Smiling smugly, Liz grabbed her work bag and walked over to the door and slid into her work shoes.

“Who knows? Maybe I have friends who are simply charmed by my company and want to spend time with me without needing something in return?”

Anne smiled. “I think we both know you’re in the wrong profession for that to be the case.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Sandra Jimenez was visibly angry when Liz arrived at her third floor apartment. She must have been watching the eye hole because no sooner had Liz knocked once but the door swung open wide and the woman shoved her body up against Liz.

“The newspaper lady said you would be good. But now you are late! How can you be good if you are late?!”

“Good morning to you too, Mrs. Jimenez. Has Jorge been by?”

This question only inflamed her anger.

“That puta is always here. We are divorced! I have his child! He pays no money and he keeps coming here to eat my food and harass me! I hired you to do something!”

Liz groaned. All of this was in the expected types of behaviors of an asshole ex-husband who was refusing to honor his agreements with the divorce, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to be a headache.

“Mrs. Jimenez, I have to ask you again: is your ex-husband’s name on the lease for this apartment?”

At this the woman exploded. “What does that matter!? He doesn’t live here! We aren’t married! Why does it matter if he is on the lease or not?!”

Liz groaned again. The headache was metastasizing.

“Because, Mrs. Jimenez, if his name is on the lease, then he legally is allowed to be here, unless the judge ordered him to vacate the property during the divorce proceedings. Did the judge do that?”

Finally, this question seemed to give the woman pause. Her eyes were rapidly moving and she seemed to be speaking to herself, checking her memories for anything like what Liz was suggesting. The length of time this took and the lack of response to the question basically served as her answer.

“Unfortunately, that’s what I expected. If his name is still on the lease, you would need a judge to issue a restraining order against him for harassment, and that could take months to prove and litigate. Or you would have to convince him to willingly agree to remove his name from the lease, which seems unlikely. Unless he’s committed a crime.”

The fear and terror on the woman’s face were palpable.

“What about the gun?! He thinks he can just leave that kind of thing here? With his son?! He is going to murder me!”

Liz stiffened at this statement.

“What gun?”

“In there! In the nursery! The no good sonuvabitch had the nerve to hide it in his son’s nursery!”

At this the baby started crying, so Mrs. Jimenez let Liz in and directed her to the appropriate room. The distraught mother turned to her son and picked him up to start bouncing him lightly in her arms and speaking softly and soothingly into his ear. When he quieted down enough for conversation, Mrs. Jimenez nodded towards the top drawer of the dresser.

“In there. It’s buried at the bottom,” she said, and then walked with the baby out into the kitchen.

Liz opened the drawer and moved aside the socks until a 9mm Sig Sauer model 329 handgun was revealed. Opening her bag, Liz pulled out her miniature work camera and took pictures of the gun in its location and some surrounding area pictures to show the location. Evidence gathered, she then withdrew and put on a pair of surgical gloves from her bag. She carefully reached in and picked up the gun and inspected it. All of the usual warning signs went off. One, the gun was fully loaded. Two, the safety was off. These two things alone could probably mean reckless endangerment in a child rights trial, but that could take months and the ex-husband would have little trouble disputing it enough to avoid culpability. Luckily, number 3 saved her from thinking about all of this: the spot where a legal firearm would have its serial number written had been scratched out, leaving an illegible mess. No legal licensed weapon would have its serial numbers filed off.

The gun was illegal; either stolen or used for illegal purposes. That was a felony charge at least.

Carefully, Liz twisted the gun’s safety switch back on and then clicked the magazine’s release bumper, ejecting it into her other hand. She pulled back the slide and emptied the final bullet out of the chamber onto the floor. Retrieving it, she carried the ammo and the weapon back into the living room. Seeing the gun, Mrs. Jimenez went apoplectic.

“What are you thinking stupid woman?! Get that thing away from my son!”

“I plan to Mrs. Jimenez,” Liz said, showing her that the ammo was out of the gun. “Your ex-husband is certainly not a very responsible owner. Do you have a Ziploc bag?”

“Yes, in the kitchen drawer,” she answered, pointing.

Liz walked to the kitchen and found an appropriate size bag. She carefully placed both the magazine and the gun into it before sealing it up. Going back into her bag, she took out her camera again and photographed the weapon and ammunition.

“Do you know somewhere you can hide this? Preferably nowhere near your son?”

Mrs. Jimenez thought about it for a moment before answering.

“There’s a shoebox I hide in a floor board. I try to keep my money that’s in the house there so he can’t find it.”

“Perfect. Once you’re done with your son, I need you to help me with something. It will ensure you never have to deal with your ex’s behavior ever again.”

#detective #film noir #brunette girls #the mask 1994 #the mask #shemasktransformation #shemask #strawberry blonde

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