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thewatercolours · 2 years

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King's Quest Fic: "Double-Dosed"

Part Three in The Waystop Woman, a spinoff fic of @goddessoftechnology's "And Icarus Fell" AU.

Nelia sits at the rickety table nearest the wall sconce, shivering despite her woolly red shawl. Her pencil scratches a light grid over the paper, filling in a few locations she already knows. The discreet door to the surface and its staircase. The checkpoint. In the bottom left corner was a floor plan of Odden’s office. She doesn’t quite know how it fits in with the rest of the map. But she knows she’ll need that floor plan before the memory fades.

Every time Lark’s footsteps draw too near, Nelia turns the paper over. One of her recipes is half-written on the back. They were all supposed to be turned in to the higher ups by tonight. Quite natural she’d be busy writing them out – why would anyone suspect otherwise? And thankfully, the rest of the “Bar” is empty, besides Lark. It usually is. If people came too frequently, someone would notice. To the leads and handlers, a beating is a light punishment, they say. Better not find out what a heavy punishment is. And so the “Bar” remains a quiet and occasional thing, as unofficial as the dust on the pipes.

There is a glittering, proper bar on the patrons’ side of the complex, just down the corridor from the arena. They call it the Gods’ Casket. It is decked with ferns and living vines of flowers, and known for the two showy fountains of red and white wines at its centre. You pay a hefty price for the cut crystal glass with which you are allowed to help yourself. But unlimited wine from Modesto is worth every penny, according to those who know about such things. Nelia hadn’t sampled the wine herself, the one time she’d seen inside the Gods’ Casket. She’d spent her life’s savings just to get an entrance ticket to the games, and she wasn’t going to waste a precious moment drinking, a moment she could spend searching for Johnny.

That was more than a decade ago. Nelia never found him. Minos’s Place chews people up without even spitting out the bones. There is nothing leftover to find them by.

She doesn’t mean to go to the Gods’ Casket again, even if they let her.

The “Bar,” on the other hand, stinks with fermenting potatoes, and pungent grains in their vats and stills. Nelia had imagined the air in a distillery would taste like whiskey. It does not. It tastes acidic, medical. The floor is dappled with burn marks from chemical spills. Lark says they’d stopped making the potions down here years ago, but still – good to know. There are still a few inactive compounds leftover from those days lying about, if you poke about. Quite useless on their own.

The place doesn’t need to be fancy. Fancy feels dangerous down here. It only needs to be a place you could slip away to when you really have to. Lark doesn’t mind anyone swiping the occasional drink. Just so long as it’s plain brew, and not too often.

And here’s Lark now, puffing and wiping her hands on her gigantic black apron, her head a mass of bouncing red curls. “You know not one of those mixes of yours is going to actually get used here,” she mutters. “Not for business. The big man’s just gonna swig it all for giggles.”

“It’s just the fee for getting in, as far as I’m concerned,” says Nelia, shrugging. “I don’t care much either way.”

Lark thumps an elbow down on the table. “Hold out on Odden. He’ll probably pay you for ‘em, if he can’t get ‘em for free. He won’t pass up a chance for a new kind of fun in a bottle. Don’t say no to him. Just string it out.”

“I’m not sure if it’s that I’ve seen too much or too little of what he can do. I can’t. Anyway, he won’t get much fun out of these. Really just glorified warm milk for a good night’s sleep.”

“What kinds o’ thing do you put in ‘em, anyhow? Don’t try poisoning him. He’s careful-like.” Lark casually snatches up the paper.

Nelia keeps her expression dull, even as the sconce light blazes through the paper’s thinness. She can see the map and the recipe at once. Lark wouldn’t even have to turn the paper over to see what she’s been drawing. All it would take was a moment of noticing.

Nelia stand. Just grab it. Now – an excuse will make itself up -

Lark squints at the page and sweeps sagging kerchief back, out of her eyes. “Hey. What’s--”

“Lark!” The door rattles. A shout rings out from the other side. “Quick!”

The distiller drops the map on the table and springs across the room. She hesitates, fingers wrapped round the door handle. She grits her teeth as she turns to Nelia, and beckons her over. “Chastain,” she whispers. “Last time he came here he was mad. Hates me.” She points out as blotchy scar on her temple. “He gave me that.”

“I said quick!” growls Chastain.

Nelia hurries to Lark’s side. She points a finger at Lark, then turns it in the direction of the backstair. “I’ll talk to him,” she mouths silently.

Lark bites her lip. “But –”

Nelia snaps her fingers smartly. Lark bolts off and down the stairs.

Squaring her shoulders, Nelia draws the bolt.

The door rumbles open. Chastain shoves it the rest of the way with one hand and stumbles through. His other hand is tangled in the scruff of a gawky young fellow’s collar. A boy really, twentyish.

She knows him at once. Not so many nights ago Arthur swung him over his shoulder to carry him into her house, and laid him out like a puppy on her hearth mat because she insisted he had frost in his hair. A boy who’d opened unseeing eyes for just a moment, cracked the softest smile, and drifted away again while she heaped an afghan over him. A boy who’d mumbled a little in his sleep – “underdone” or “cummerbund” or something, a few times in a row. She’d know him anywhere.

He's certainly not asleep now. His bloodshot eyes bulge in an alarming fashion, his whole body is visibly shaking, and he’s grabbing wildly for Chastain’s wrist. He might be trying to pry himself loose from the handlers grip, but to judge by the way his knees buckle, she thinks it more likely he’s trying to grab hold to keep himself standing.

“Where’s Lark?” barks Chastain. For all his harshness of tone, he looks about as frightened as the boy.

“Called downstairs,” Nelia says placidly.

Chastain turns a shade paler as he swears.

The boy has locked eyes with her. He has the eyes of a prey animal and a hunting animal at once. “Is this fellow here that’s the matter? Perhaps I can help.” She takes a step toward him.

He flinches back violently, and even though he’s drawing back from her, Nelia’s gut response is to flinch back too.

Chastain glares at her. “Don’t get too near. He’s not right.” He pushes the boy into the nearest chair. He might just as well be cracking a whip, the way he snaps his arm free of the boy’s grip. “Don’t stand up. You sit on your hands. Or so help me, I’ll crush you like a bug.”

The boy stares at his unsteady hands as though it’s a surprise to find them on the ends of his arms, then seems to process. He doesn’t sit on, them but grips the seat of the chair on either side of him so hard it almost trembles with him.

It seems to be enough for Chastain. He wheels on Nelia. “Wait. You’re the woman. You’re good with potions.”

By the turns of his speech, she guesses that Chastain is mentally shoving his own desperation into a chair and telling it to sit on its hands. She’s better at keeping her voice even. “I’m good enough to suit, usually. Is it a potion that’s done this to him?”

“Yeah, he…” The handler halts, then lowers his voice. “Listen up. You talk about this, and I’ll be taking your teeth for—"

The boy collapses, off the chair and into a heap.

Chastain spits an oath and rushes over, but Nelia is quicker. She sinks to the rough floor by the boy’s side, whipping off her shawl and wadding it into a pillow to slip under his head. His eyes are open but distant. Hyperventilation racks his chest.

“Let’s get him onto a table,” says Chastain, moving to seize the boy up.

She eases the handler back with a push. “No. He’s in fits. He’ll only tip the thing over or roll off. He’s safer down here. Now then. Now then. You’re all right,” she murmurs, gentling her voice to a croon and hovering near the boy’s face. “You’re all right. I’ll stick here with you till it’s past. Now, we’re just going to turn you on your side to help you breathe. Like that. Well done. Chastain, could you put the chair over by the wall. And go through there. There’s a cupboard with two long scratches in the paint. Get the bottle of white carolingian oil from the back of it.”

Chastain runs. Hm. So. This will be on his head if Odden hears of it.

“If you hear my voice, say that you can, please,” Nelia tells the boy.

He only shakes.

Just in case, she adds, “Chastain wants me to help. He doesn’t mind you talking to me.” She pauses as a ruckus erupts from the “kitchen.” To judge by the noise, Chastain is ransacking the contents of the cupboard in every direction. She turns her attention back to the boy. “Hear my voice?”

His eyes drift to hers, unfocussed but making an effort. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Good lad.” She pats his shoulder. “What kind of potion did you take?” He doesn’t respond. “You need to stay with me, if you want to make it through. What did the potion look like? Taste like?”

His eyes squint shut, but at least he answers. “Purple. Uh – gloppy.”

“Dark purple, or pale?”

“Um – dark? I think? I can’t think.” He grits his teeth.

She sighs. “Try and relax your jaw – if you grit your teeth like that while trembling that hard, you might bite your tongue in two.”

Dark purple. That means gloriana as a base, probably, putting it together with the shaking. Or possibly devil’s freckles as an active agent. Either way, the oil should help soothe the symptoms, even if he has to ride the potion out to its natural fading. At any rate, he’s certainly not dying, and that’s a relief.

Not that she’s going to tell Chastain that. He’s just returned, holding the bottle as gingerly as if he believed a tiny bit of extra pressure from his fingers would shatter it. Nelia plucks it from his fingers and pops the cork with her teeth. She presses a finger to her lips and motions to Chastain to step back, out of the boy’s line of sight.

“Excellent,” she says, pouring the carolingian, which has a texture more like molasses than oil, into the her palm. “I’m going to rub some of this along your throat and your chest, and if you take well to it we might dissolve some in hot water. Better make sure first.”

“All right,” mumurs the boy. He squirms at the touch of the oil on his neck, but cooperates, and even tries to undo his own jerkin buttons with fingers that can’t find their own way.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll get them.” She wipes the carolingian residue on her apron. It wouldn’t do to soil a fine jerkin. Not that the fabric isn’t already ruined with sweat, dirt, and what is almost certainly someone else’s blood.

While she unbuttons it, and the shirt beneath, Chastain starts muttering, staring at the floor. “He got double-dosed. I think. They decided to put a bit more verve in him last night. He was all right. Shaky, of course. Jumping off the walls, but not like this. Won a round in the ring. They gave me a crate, a week’s worth of doses for him. I put it away. But when I came round to do a check a few hours later, one bottle was empty on the floor. The kid… well, that rat Durant gave him a second shot of it or something.” Chastain takes a deep breath. “Now the kid’s just gone bats. Doesn’t sleep, got worse all night. I thought it was the knock on the head he got in the ring. But, sometimes he shakes so much he doesn’t breathe. And once he almost put out his own eye, the way he’s going at himself. He got worse all night. So.”

“So you thought you’d better bring him round to the bar for drinks on you?” As she begins smearing the oil into the boy’s chest, Nelia risks a smile over her shoulder at Chastain. She prays the joke reads as connection rather than mockery.

The handler doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t seem to take her words amiss. “They’re all snitches in the infirmary. And Odden’s got an eye on this kid. Wants him to make a splash in the arena. Doesn’t matter if he dies down there. But if he dies on my watch, different story.”

Nelia nods. “And Lark knows how to keep her mouth shut,” she says. “And you were hoping since she used to assist with potion brewing that she might know something, and lend you a quiet hand.”

Chastain frowns and shrugs.

The boy’s body couldn’t possibly have absorbed enough of the carolingian to make much difference yet, but the rise and fall of his heaving chest grows less by the minute, and his breath loses its raggedness. His heart still hammers alarmingly through his ribcage, but even that seems slightly slower and softer than it did three minutes ago. Maybe he just has the right sort of blood. Maybe it comes of breathing in the fumes. Maybe half of this was brought on by sheer terror, and it’s finally starting to lift.

A greater lucidity settles in his eyes, and she’s not surprised when he’s the one who breaks the silence. “What’s your name?”

“Nelia. What’s yours?”

“He hasn’t got one yet,” Chastain interrupts, his initial roughness returning to his voice. He glares at the boy and takes a step forward in spite of Nelia’s cautioning hand.

She moves them along hurriedly as she dips her fingers into the bottle for more oil. “Well, that’s not right, to make people wait between names. You take away a boy’s name, the least you can do is give him a new one soon as you can. You can borrow one for a little, maybe. Who’s back home that you care about?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think. I can’t think.” The boy reaches up to press his temples.

Gloriana for sure, then. Known for simulating a kind of panic attack in the brain and blood, without the freezing up. Nelia pulls one of the boy’s hands away from his head. “You can’t think? That’s already – people don’t always have to be thinking. You just have to be here with me. Hold my hand a moment. Tell you what. We’ll use a name I care about, just for today. My son was a John. Will you be a John for a little, so as I can call you something?”

His twined fingers twitch in hers, and he screws up his face, as though concentrating. “I know I have a name.”

“And I say you don’t.” Chastain growls, kneeling by the boy’s side.

The boy recoils, but couldn’t go far. Not flat on his back, he can’t. Nelia keeps a firm hold on his hand. She raises her eyebrows at Chastain, though she wants to glare. Can’t this idiot see there is little point bringing this captive round to her if he is going to undo half her work with just a few words?

“Yes, you’ve got a name,” she murmurs, reaching to rub some oil behind the ears. “And by and by it’ll come back to you. But that one’s for keeping in your heart, lad. It’ll do you no harm there, and it’ll keep you warm on the hard nights. But it’s not for us to know. Can’t you be John just for a morning, till you’ve got another one?”

He pauses, considering. He nodded.

“All right, John,” said Nelia. “That oil should tell your blood to slow down a little. You might end up feeling a bit sleepy, even. I mean to say, you were up all night from what I heard, and the sleep would do you good. But before that, you and I need to talk.”

“What about?” Chastain says suspiciously.

“Whatever he likes, except his name,” Nelia says firmly. “From what I understand, that shouldn’t be a problem. He can’t think, now can he?”

Chastain folds his arms and sits back on the floor beside them, keeping careful watch.

“I don’t know what to say,” says John, his breath coming to a steadiness.

“Then talk of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings,” says Nelia, softly. “Only talk. Heaven knows it’ll do you good.”

And it doesn’t particularly matter what he does or doesn’t say anyhow, because the vital piece of information was dropped by Chastain, not John. Odden has his eye on this one. Odden will be very angry if anything becomes of him outside the ring. John is valuable somehow.

She’ll have to make a note on her map paper when she’s alone.

#magically drugged against one's will/bad reaction #the waystop woman #nelia #king's quest #kings quest #king graham #my writing #not part of the rippling consequences arc

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emp-blast · 2 years

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Caustic for "send me a character" 👀

omg hiiii Mar :]

(you already know this is gonna be long lol)

First impression: okay to be honest, I kind of was neutral towards him. I just thought of him as some random old guy 💀

Impression now: now i am obsessed with him. I haven't talked about him recently, but i still luv him. He has so many problems and his superiority complex is kinda funny ngl. like yes, Alexander Maxwell Nox, we get it, you're like super smart or whatever. doesn't change the fact that you take yourself too seriously for your own good. also i think he is very attractive,,, i mean he's got dilf energy sdjsjdjsjdsd

he's tall and chunky and has a beard and has a nice voice (coughs included) like,,, UGH he has no reason 2 be that attractive.

and his voicelines oh My GOD,,,, he can literally use me for any of his silly little science experiments idc 😩

Favorite moment: hmmm, i found it SUPER funny when pathfinder caught him on his murder spree,,, he literally yeets himself outta there like:

(i tried 2 find a gif but you know what part i'm talking about)

this situation is also funny because caustic was like "give me humans 2 test my dangerous chemicals on" and his boss was like "no lol" and caustic got so butt hurt that he chose to manslaughter everyone in that facility lmao. like??? that's NOT how you deal with situations sir, but go off ig.

another favorite moment is when he told the apex organizers that he'd take care of the oil spill problem in the water on king's canyon but just,,, Lied(tm) about it. he got this whole facility and just started making gas??? he just goes off and does his own thing with regard to literally no one.

ohhhh, also that one time when he wanted to gas the entirety of solace city. like i have NO idea what was going on in that man's mind but wattson came over and knocked some sense into him (she literally just shocked him lmao). i think if he were to get shocked everytime he did something Not Good, then he'd turn out fine. give that man a shock collar/j

also, i found this comment when looking back at the secret message thingy:

-I have a plan

-My plan is to gas Solace city

-THE END

like???? JSDJSJDS that's literally it.

Idea for a story: i literally just want to see him and crypto become brothers. that is all i ask for. literally that's it. but he is just SO stubborn.

Another story idea is something to do with him and his mom. like,,, i would like to see more of what they're relationship is really like. I'm not saying that Mystik was a bad mom or anything, but I have a feeling that something happened between the two that caused some sort of falling out.

Unpopular opinion: the fact that,,, that i,, i find him handsome 0_0

(at least i don't think a lot of people like him in that way???)

Favorite relationship: hmmmm, tbh i have NO clue. i had hope for him when he was starting to become friends with wattson, but in true caustic fashion he messed that up for no good reason. and in all honesty? he 100% deserved that.

lol can i say him and crypto??? like they are SO mean to each other. again, for no good reason. bet, one day caustic is gonna learn korean just to spite crypto and to figure out all of the mean things crypto has been saying about him.

Favorite headcanon: hmmmm,,,

i like the headcanon that he is bi,,, but like he literally is just barely figuring this out

Caustic: "Hmmm, it appears that finding men attractive and admiring their features is not a common occurrence amongst other men. I shall study this phenomenon further..."

he is oblivious but also he's in denial maybe he even has some internalized homophobia idk

hmmm, he's lying when he says that he doesn't get lonely. he says he's too smart to be around anyone else but i think he uses that as an excuse. like sir, you need friends...

another hc is that he likes cooking and is actually pretty good at it! He often doesn't do it because it's a "waste of time". but also because he doesn't have anyone to cook for and he gets a bit sad when he sets the table for just himself

he also likes to look at art, specifically paintings. on very rare occasions, he allows himself a break from his lab to go to an art gallery or museum. there, he'll spend hours just analyzing the art pieces.

he's a cat person. he'll probably never keep one as a pet as he doesn't see the point in that. but he will admit that they are not as bad as most other animals.

okay one more- he often overthinks things. This isn't out of anxiety or anything like that. That's just the way he's accustomed to analyzing the world around him. He has to consider each and every variable (lol) and thoroughly evaluate anything and everything. that's just how his brain works

#asks #long post #i feel like i didn't write enough DSJDJSJDSD #i miss caustic where is he??? i gotta know what he's been up to #(probably up to no good if we're being real here)#anyways thanks for the ask Mar ^^#i appreciate it <3

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spacedoutman · 2 months

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Never too young to die | Velvet von Ragnar x oc (part 3)

Leni and her best friend Leroy talk about things. Leroy's real name is actually something stupid like Gaylord Weinerschmidt also me having too much fun typing out ring in italic caps.

Want me to demonstrate?

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING!!!

Warnings: Violent implications, addiction, mental health issues

“If you told me.. what, fifteen or so years ago? I’d be some sort of undercover agent ‘playing with chemicals’ and shooting guns in the future, I’d scoff.” Leni said in a mocking voice. She could pick up on her slight slur fine. “-I’d scoff at you and say, ‘you’re ridiculous’.” She paused. “But uh.. I don’t think I’d even say that cause’.. really, what could I say?”

Couch cushions were thrown all over the sun porch. Shattered portraits, a flipped table, spilled drinks, strewn cloth and kicked chairs were all touched by the golden glowing light. The clock had been ripped off the wall and stomped. It’s a wonder the windows weren’t broken.

“At least I waited to drink till’ you got here.. so you’ve got to give me that.” Leni said dryly.

She stared at the bags under her eyes from where she sat in the little mirror hanging crooked over the spilled house plant. Leroy sighed deeply, picking it up and scooping dirt back into the clay pot. It took a minute for her to look at him and probably more for her eyes to focus. Leroy Denby Munro was as punk as you could get.

His thick, vibrant orangish-red (heavily-sprayed) hair and a bats nest couldn’t be told apart. His leather jacket was full of paperclips, chains, studs and colorful patches with band names and social causes sewn all over it. He wore a ripped band shirt underneath and strappy leather pants—as well as an ammo belt slung around his waist, studs everywhere and whatnot.

It was hard to imagine the tall, cartoonishly lanky man in a pair of jeans and un-ripped band shirt, but he was going to a concert. “Happy thirty-four to me.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Leni.” His soft voice was slathered with concern just like his gaze. He sat on the couch beside her. “You’ve got to pull yourself out of this.”

“Uhh-”

“You’ve already recognized the problem and that’s good enough.” He said quickly. “But promise me things will get better.”

“They do.. er, I mean will.” She sighed, shoving her face into her hands. “When I call Cliff, anyway.. and when you and I spend time together. Speaking of… will we be going out any time soon?”

“Yeah, to rehab.” He replied tiredly. “But how is Cliff? Is he still friends with Drew’s kid?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her face. “It’s all going pretty well and I’m happy about that.”

He nodded, leaning in. “Things will get better and hopefully ease down once Ragnar’s out of the picture.” He pat her shoulder. “Then you can focus more on yourself.”

“After this mess is over, I want to take Cliff back to Chongqing.” a bit of optimism escaped. “He’s not been back since he was like.. what, twelve?”

“There’s something else to look forward to. This is a hard ass time, you’ll pull through, okay?”

“I never said I wouldn’t.” She joked.

He chuckled. “That’s the spirit.” He said like a proud mom. “Make sure you rest up. I think visiting anger management would help us both.”

“There’s more than enough I can do to help myself.”

RRRING!! RRRING!!! RRRRRRRING!!! She clenched her nose bridge, sighing sharply. “God. Whose calling at this hour?”

“-It’s six.”

She peeled herself off the couch and slung herself over to the phone. She yanked it off the wall and jammed it between her shoulder and ear. “Hello, this is uh.. the He residence. Who is-”

“Leni, you’ll never believe the news.” Drew said like he’d come across a fountain of gold. Leni’s eyes widened for a split second—after a few seconds.

“Uh?” ‘Man, I really do sound exhausted.’ She thought to herself.“Wh..what is it?”

“Well, the plans. They’ve opened a gate for something.”

“So we weren’t exposed to face-melting action for nothing, huh?” She said through oblivious giggles. “Uhh, yeah, that’s wonderful...”

Leroy looked down. “But what’s up?” She popped a pinch of enthusiasm.

“I think we’ve found von Ragnar.”

Von Ragnar. The terrorist who was responsible for making things go ‘boom’ all over the country and now comfortably America’s most wanted. Overly exaggerated sketches made to look hideous plagued Leni, who’s vision blurred a bit. Pictures of the person themself were scarce. Leni had no idea why she hadn’t seen one herself.

“For the what? Two thousandth time now?” Leni scoffed. Hard. “You’d said that more than the years.. uh, humans have been on this earth.”

“No but seriously. We’ve found plans leading directly to him.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Drew.”

“How can I not? This is more conclusive than anything we’ve ever found.” He had to be slurring too, right? “Then that piece of shit will finally be underground and justice will actually be served.”

“True.”

“Anyway.. I’d better go.” He mumbled. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“You too.”

Clang! The phone smashed into the wall hard enough to put a hole in it. Leni drug herself over to Leroy and plopped, shoving her face right back into her hands. Leroy pat her on the back.

“We’ve found plans leading directly to him”

Leni’s chest tightened in a heartbeat. Her eyes flew wide. Her heart sunk into her stomach as all her thoughts drained from her head like sink water. Her jaw clenched hard enough to crack her teeth as that dreaded crashing and burning feeling hit her. Tears stung her eyes. Leroy pulled her close. Leni took a sharp breath and swung her arms around Leroy’s shoulders, jamming her face into his chest tightly.

“It’ll be fine.” Leroy said gently as she burst into sobs. “One day, there’ll be something else you can do.”

Leni clutched his jacket. “Maybe taking care of your plants will take your mind off of it.”

#never too young to die #velvet von ragnar #fanfic #gene simmons #i am losing it #where is my lighter #brrr brrr brrr #writing #where is it #where am i

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hassingberman37 · 2 months

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Professional Stain Elimination Methods for Franklin, Tennessee Properties

Deep Cleaning up Joy: The Best Help guide to Carpets and rugs and fabric Attention in Franklin, TN The ability of carpeting and fabric washing is normally neglected inside the Upholstery Cleaning Franklin people. Nevertheless, every single day, your plush carpets and rugs and cozy settees harbour life's very little messes, from places of spilled coffee to the dirt and grime of every day foot visitors. For the city-dweller who cherishes a pristine home, here's all you need to know plus more about carpeting and upholstery proper care within the treasure of Tennessee. The Scientific research of Stains Before we start into the cleansing strategies that can revitalize your living areas, it's important to understand the opponent: staining. Varieties of carpets and rugs and material behave differently to various spots, through the well known red-colored vino spill towards the secretive pet accidents. Figuring out the blemish as well as the substance is step one to profitable elimination. Common Staining and the way to Deal with Them Here are the most popular staining Franklin, TN homeowners come across, and also the very best strategies for overcome: •Gourmet coffee and Green tea: For such tannin-based spots, you'll need a mix of vinegar, dish detergent, and drinking water. Dab the perfect solution on the blemish and blot using a nice and clean cloth. •Animal Pee: An enzymatic cleanser is the perfect option for removing evidence of accidents. Apply liberally leaving for a number of minutes or so before blotting aside. •Red Red wine: That old sodium secret is actually a belief. As an alternative, mixture peroxide and recipe cleaning soap, implement, and protect by using a fabric or papers bath towels. Follow up with drinking water along with a gentle towel rub. Professional or. Build-it-yourself Washing Expert services can also work secret, but Do-it-yourself approaches will save money and time. The trick is understanding when you ought to make that call. When you should DIY If you're dealing with a small, recent leak, pick up a clean material as well as a home made remedy. Speedy activity can stop the mark from establishing. When you should Get in touch with the benefits For bigger spots, more advanced splatters, or typical serious-washing needs, a specialist services is the greatest plan of action. They have got the instruments, skills, and time to be sure that your carpets and upholstery are thoroughly cleansed. Deciding on the best Cleansing Support Its not all cleaning up providers are created equal. Some may offer rock and roll-bottom part price ranges but use tough chemicals that will damage your fabric. Here's things to look for in a good quality cleaner: •Eco-Friendly Options: In Franklin, TN, a growing number of services are environmentally aware, offering environmentally friendly cleaning up alternatives. •Expertise and Track record: Check out critiques and request referrals. An extended-standing reputation in the community is probably the very best signs of support quality. •Pricing Visibility: The estimate you get over the phone should be near everything you spend about the closing monthly bill. Stay away from solutions that add additional charges for regular procedures. •Guarantees: A company that holders by its utilize a total satisfaction ensure is certainly one that you can trust. Furniture Maintain Enhanced Ease and comfort Just like your rugs and carpets, your upholstery is a substantial purchase. Standard care not just makes certain a brand new area but also prolongs the lifestyle of your own furnishings. In-between Cleansing Proper care Vacuuming your settees and recliners regular is able to keep them hunting new. A hand-held vacuum using a remember to brush connection is great for upholstery. Schedule Skilled Cleansing At least one time each year, have your upholstery professionally cleaned out. This maintains the material's sincerity, specially in higher-use regions. The Very Last Feel on Franklin Elegance For that people of Franklin, TN, remarkable carpets and rugs and upholstery are more than just home care—it's a statement. You don't must be a specialist solution to savor luxurious environment you need to simply learn. By discovering the right cleaning up approach and associates, your space can remain as vibrant and comfortable because the metropolis you get in touch with property.

#Residential Carpet Cleaning Franklin TN

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beckettgtba020 · 2 years

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How Successful People Make the Most of Their Patio lubbock

The advantages of Picking Concrete Driveway lubbock for the Development Project

When selecting a design materials, concrete is a wonderful selection. Following it truly is poured, concrete involves Just about no maintenance. It needs no chemical treatment plans or protecting coatings. Additionally, concrete can last for many years with little or no care. In contrast, other surfaces need regular therapies or coatings to stay wanting new. Outlined under are a few of the advantages of utilizing concrete. Keep reading for more information. Here are some explanations why it is best to choose concrete in your design project:

Fire is actually a danger in all geographic regions, but it is especially hazardous in regions vulnerable to wildfire. The latest Carr wildfire, one example is, wrecked fifteen hundred and sixty homes in Northern California. It claimed quite a few life and wrecked Many other structures, numerous survivors are thinking about fireproofing their new properties. Concrete is usually a sturdy and hearth-resistant content that offers many Positive aspects. Hearth-resistant residences are an excellent option for any location.

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Precast concrete is a superb option for soundproofing buildings. As it is incredibly dense and durable, it might limit sound transfer from ground to floor. This content is common for business structures in key metropolitan parts and college student dormitories. Its density will make it perfect for noiseproofing properties. In addition it restrictions sounds transfer from a single floor to a different. This function can make a making far more tranquil and cozy. And you can conveniently install interaction strains and Home windows without having to employ the service of construction crews.

Precast concrete can face up to rain and wind. Moreover, it offers extra protection to personnel, particularly in design assignments that require big-scale infrastructure. In addition, it helps decrease the time http://www.bbc.co.uk/search?q=Concrete Contractor and prices of construction tasks by a substantial extent. On top of that, concrete may be conveniently molded into Nearly any shape and dimensions. The many benefits of picking concrete for your personal building job are various. But what makes concrete so beautiful to the eye?

All set-combine concrete might be much easier to function with than blended concrete on-website. It is actually delivered by way of truck and poured specifically into gear and construction sites. In this way, it's not necessary to shell out additional time mixing concrete on-web page. Moreover, ready-mix concrete also removes excessive concrete and spills, which may be problematic in construction initiatives. A All set-mix concrete can also be less difficult to move and distribute, which is particularly useful on restricted construction websites.

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banner-stan-er · 4 years

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I think we all know how this ends...

#marvel #mcu #my art #comic #bruce banner #thor odinson #gammahammer #thorbruce #thot odinson strikes again #he is now an expert at hugging #graduated from wikihow university #the chemical spill was actually just part of the plan #because now they are both in the emergency shower #credit to wikihow #i guess #im somewhat of a comedic genuis myself

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bokugaos · 3 years

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blessed is the man.

characters: konoha, bokuto

length: 2.3k

tw — incest, alcohol, aphrodisiacs, voyeurism, oral (m. receiving), nipple play, lactation

summary: konoha slips something in your sake and things don’t go as planned, however it looks more than either of you can handle.

Working for the Bokuto family is not all bad. They pay well. Coming from old money means they are rather influential as they have roots in most businesses and fields, guaranteeing that they stay in the top 5% of the country. Any illegal activities they do are actually rather negligible.

Most of the dirty work is still handled by the head of the clan and his son, leaving his grandchildren out of the misery of the business world domination. The two eldest granddaughters have been following the exact footsteps as they have come of age, each in charge of a different branch of the oligarchy.

The title of the future successor would eventually fall on the only grandson, who is actually a great authoritative figure when given the right moment and opportunity, granted, if there are no distractions around. One would argue that as the youngest of the family, you’re the one most neglected, unbound by any responsibilities and most family matters.

The empire’s grandchildren are a feat to be ogled—though that one is not necessarily described by the person who introduced Konoha to the job. Rather, it is a quiet perk that he comes to realize as soon as he steps foot in the estate, catching eyes full of you walking along the hallway with your kimono restricting wide movements, and he follows your shadow as you move rather eloquently under the moonlight.

He goes back to the same wing the following night, and the night after that, and after, but he doesn’t get to see you. Instead, what he has been getting is the sight of the grandson drunkenly stumbling in after a night in town, clothes hanging off of him sticky with spilled alcohol.

Bokuto is easy, open with affection, most often drunk and not caring as long as he gets to have fun with his friends or his bodyguards. Konoha doesn’t understand how the assigned right hand of his, Akaashi, he remembers his name, puts up with the young master. But Bokuto is actually bearable, he supposes, he is just ridiculously energetic and bubbly and up to anything that even remotely promises to take him away from handling his actual duties as the future heir.

His little sister, on the other hand…

Konoha can tell that you are just as slutty, but just more stingy about it. Under the second eldest daughter’s provision, your older sister who quite naturally drinks sake every night just because it’s her hobby—routine, as she calls it—you get drunk, too, but in the confines of your room where your kimono will slip deeper and deeper off your shoulders until it is hanging off of you sloppily and showing off the curves of your tits.

Sometimes you’ll stumble your way out into the gardens where you will lie in the wet grass, legs spread and giving anybody walking past a nice view of your luscious thighs because of course the youngest in the Bokuto empire is a raging slut that does not make a habit out of wearing underwear.

But—you’re as oblivious about those tender, smooth skin as you are about everything else in your goddamn life.

It is your own fault, really, what is happening to you. You’re forcing their hands on the issue—if only you had been more forthcoming with spreading your legs, and the staff wouldn’t have had to resort to such dire measures…

Only that’s not true. Not really. Of course they could have just let the issue lie and watch you come out of hiding; waiting until you’re in a drunken stupor so they can creep out and jerk off on you; maybe drape you around their shoulders like some perverse hunting trophy, showing your tight little ass off to a camera and spreading your cheeks wide so they can take pictures of the cunt you’re so stingy with.

The truth of the matter is, though, that Konoha doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want you to be a lewd little fuck doll, head lolling and drooling onto your own tits. He wants you aware and needy, begging for his cock and whining for his cum, crying in despair when you’ve can’t have either of them because he’ll deny you as fucking long as he can before he’ll fuck your cunt loose and sloppy.

It’s absolutely, hilariously easy to do. He gets the substance on his errand out into the city, buying them from a seedy mechanic in between jobs of collecting extortion money and fixing spare parts.

Then he mixes them into the order of sake, preferring to make sure you will be too drunk to care about any taste that might be skewered by the added dose of a chemical cocktail.

Lucky for him, you’re actually drinking alone tonight, no patronizing older sister in sight. So he, finally, brings the bottle to you, already sitting with your legs spread wide, kimono rucked up on your thighs.

And then—he just has to wait for it to hit your bloodstream. For you to get squirmy and short of breath, hips fucking helplessly into the air and nipples hard and escaping from the heavy folds of your kimono.

He waits for you to get hot and needy, to call for someone to alleviate the heat surging in your little body, and then he will descend upon you like a vulture, urging your thighs apart and fucking you until your pretty cunt is a sloppy, gaping hole—

You do get restless. Your shoulders are trembling, and your nipples plump up into fat little nubs that beg for some sharp teeth to bite and pull at them—but when you start to sing, drunkenly crawling around the tatami mats of your floor on all fours, crying like a cat in heat, you do not call for a servant to alleviate your need.

You call for your brother.

And Bokuto Koutarou, dutiful now as Konoha has never quite seen elsewhere, comes running. He watches, dismayed, horrified and horny, as your brother takes the situation in and just… has at it.

In his eyes, you can’t be more than drunk; his slut of a sister that calls for a fuck once the alcohol has finally reached a threshold that makes your inhibitions slip like the heavy fabric of your kimono slides down your shoulders. He doesn’t know about the thing Konoha has slipped you; doesn’t know that the latter has primed you to spread your legs for him so he can pull you on his cock and make you piss yourself with how good you think you’re getting it.

So in Bokuto’s mind, he has to simply be a deviant that takes advantage of his drunk little sister—and Konoha wonders if that is even worse than what he has been planning to do to you.

“Imouto,” Bokuto croons, hands hovering over your naked shoulders as you become aware of your visitor and turn around, glassy eyes fixing on him with desperate intensity. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling for me?”

There’s a sweaty sheen crawling up down from your hairline and up from your collar, making you feel so stuffy that you can’t keep your eyes open fully—but Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even seem to take notice, because he has a goal; a mission—and that is to get in his little sister’s cunt, free and unhindered, no inhibition.

You are uncoordinated, but fuelled with hot, needy determination, you manage to grab at his pants and drag them down his thighs. Bokuto’s cock is nice and plump already, and fills easily enough as you croon at it, lipping sloppily at the shaft while leaning your head against his thigh.

It looks like the two of you have done this a million times. Bokuto’s hand falls into your hair, idly stroking through it and untangling the little tie from the ends so he can muss it properly. There is no hesitation; no awkwardness. Just Bokuto tilting his hips forward a little and using his grip on your hair to guide your mouth along his rapidly fattening cock.

Bokuto is using you like a whore he’s paid for the night. He tightens his grip in your hair, pulling you away far enough that he can start to pop just the tip of his cock between your plump lips, then pull it away from you again after just a few desperate suckles and uncoordinated lashes of your slippery tongue.

“Damn… you’re drooling so much today.” He whispers when he sees the steady drip down your chin. You just stare at him, looking brain dead and horny, whining when you paw the folds of your kimono aside and show him your pussy shyly, hoping he’d do something about how incredibly wet it has become.

It’s only then that Bokuto starts to pause and question the situation. Crooning at you and pushing you to lie on you back; asking you if you’re not feeling well, but also not stopping to touch you, gently slapping at your cheek to make you open your eyes and stare at him blearily as his other hand travels down and gropes your tits.

Apparently the young master has some standards that involve his hopelessly drunk play things not being absolutely comatose as he fucks them. You are gurgling breathlessly, mindlessly arching your tits into his hand, your hips grinding up happily from where the folds of your kimono are parted, dripping steadily and stickily.

Bokuto has taken to caging you between his knees, holding your jaw in a tight grip to make sure you keep staring at him while he pinches your nipples mean enough to make you cry out even in your drunken, aphrodisiac stupor.

He feels something warm and wet hit his chest, and he looks down in confusion, mouth dropping open on a soft, mesmerized ‘o’ as he sees the quite literally milky liquid slide down his pecs where it hit him. His eyes travel to his hand, thumb and forefinger still pinched around your swollen nipple.

Your wet swollen nipple.

“What the fuck, are you...?” Bokuto’s voice breaks, higher and a little panicked. He lets go of your jaw with his other hand, grabbing at your tits and squeezing until you’re whining and squirming. Milking you. Losing his goddamn mind as liquid starts rolling from your ripe teats as you sob and artlessly fuck the air.

“Niichan, please..!” Voice trembling, you defeatedly move one of your hands over his, placed over your swollen nipple, the area puffy and supple under his fingers.

Konoha wanted to curse; Bokuto’s hands grabbing at your tits were a big obstruction to his view enough, and now your hand just adds to his frustration. He watches closely as Bokuto pinches your nubs and you moan, open mouthed and filthy, your head tipping back as milk squirts onto his hand. The sweet scent intensifies and you shudder at the feel of warm liquid trickling down his arm.

Not even pausing to think about it, Bokuto brings his arm up to his face and licks the milk off, an acute sweetness exploding in his mouth. A choked grunt distracts him from his reverie and he looks up to meet your unfocused stare. It sounds very distant, yet very .. present at the same time.

Silently catching his breath, Konoha alternates between staring cautiously at Bokuto, and sending contemplating peeks at your swollen breasts. But it seems that the young master is equally as distracted by the puffy, shiny nipple right in his face. A single bead of white is gathering and it is so tempting, Konoha wants to cry from frustration.

The arousal is so potent and thick in the air, he can almost taste it in the back of his throat. He’s not sure what Bokuto wants to do to you, but with the way his cock is already so rigidly twitching, the outcome seems guaranteed.

Bokuto drags his tongue through the sticky mess on your chest, taking his time to circle your swollen nipples, his gaze steady on your face. Keening desperately, you thrust a hand into his hair and tug him closer. He wraps his lips around the raised peak, flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive flesh. More warm sweetness bursts into his mouth, judging by the way you cry out and start whimpering even louder.

Konoha nearly slams his fist to the door but settles with a string of curses beneath his breath, of how he’s supposed to be kneeling there, taking your nipples in his mouth, tasting the sweet milk your body is so eagerly offering.

Not that both Bokuto and you seem capable of noticing anything else right now. Your face is contorted in bliss, mouth open on a nearly endless moan and your hips keep stuttering against his knee—the one he’s using to keep your thighs apart—craving for more friction.

It only takes a minute of the combined sensation on your nipples, one being sucked so thoroughly, circled and flicked with his warm tongue, and the other being teased endlessly by Bokuto’s tireless fingers for you to arch up, screaming, body straining as you come hard under him, wetting his thighs with your slick.

Amazed, Bokuto shoves his already wet hand down to your pussy. He looks like he is floating, the euphoric taste of your sweet milk combined with the nectar from your cunt hitting his taste buds.

Konoha just has to sit and stare from the gap between the sliding doors, mouths softly gaping, cock hard at the knowledge that the chemicals he has mixed into your sake must have induced it; proving that he can quite make your body do more, just like how he’s made you lactate like a cow.

And Bokuto just laps it all up as if he has any right to it.

Life is so unfair sometimes.

#tw stepcest #tw aphrodisiac #tw alcohol #tw lactation #bokuto smut #.bokuto!#.konoha!#.fukurodani!#.fics!#konoha smut #konoha x reader smut #bokuto x reader smut

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lizandbo · 3 years

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chubby crushes w/ hq bois pt 5

Warnings: cursing I haven’t done the warning because i forgot about it

Wakatoshi

- Wakatoshi will want to flirt with you since you were right there cuz like: god damn it you were fucking pretty what can he say

- welp i mean, he doesnt know how to flirt but like..he thinks that complementing you is fucking flirting so ;-;

- if someone is like either bullied or bullying you

- he would try to make you happy but he just stared at you cuz you were absolutely stunning

- “y/n, those scumbags dont matter right now or any time of day. All that matters is you and your metal health, do you want some food? Chocolate? I heard that it will help your endorphins raise and it makes you happy becuase it’s a certain chemical and a hormone”

- you kinda surmised that he said scumbags but didnt mentioned anything about it

- “uhhh i kinda dont wanna look like a pig cuz ya know...I’m kinda already on-”

- “no you aren’t. You look like nothing like a pig, what are you talking about?”

- “well, its just a phrase waka”

- “ well your body fits nice in that uniform”

- he wanted to kill himself instantly cuz he obviously blurred out his true feelings out to you which made you both look like tomato’s

- not gonna lie, peeps say that he’s a thigh guy or whatever but personally u think that he is really into that soft pillowy belly..I’m sorry but he just is

- he loves the lil or big dent in your shirt

- he just imagines him squishing the living crap out of your stomach cuz he likes squishy stuff

- “wakatoshi? Are you okay?”

- oop, he be staring at your beautiful plump body

- “ yes I’m perfectly fine y/n”

- even tho he’s not perfectly fine, he’s tryin to figure out who’s and what the hell what to do in the future cuz he wants to squish you so bad and kiss you on the spot but he doesnt want to be labeled as a “pervert”

Asahi

- ASAHI BABY LOVES YOU SO FUCKING MUCHHH

- anywayXD

- he actually tries to avoid you becuase he doesnt want to look like a tomato and a weirdo

- asahi is so worried that he smells bad cuz every time you guys glance each other, it’s after practice

- like, he just loves you for you.. your personality is like a rare gem to him

- and yes of course he isn’t blind and loves your body too

- everything about you is his favorite part of you

- and each time you pass in the hallways, he always feel kinda left and the excitement in his heart is disappearing

- whenever, and i do mean whenever you stretch and lift your shirt as well, he just wants to hug you so bad during that moment

- maybe just a lil sneak? No? Ok..

- he loves your lil chubby hands, THERE SO CUTEEEE

- he basically spills and vents all his feeling into the conversation with suga he’s having rn

- but you just be right behind him

- suga has this devilish smirk on his face, he knows damn well your behind but never ever mentions it

- and once he’s done suga goes “well looks like you just told her”

- “what? No i didnt I’m just saying it to you for now”

- “welllll you kinda just did” suga points over him

- and which you were smiling like crazy, euphoria spreading through your body

- “Y/N I- WHAT, WAIT NONO WAIT Y/N ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE ITS-NOT-THAT-I-LIKE-YOU- AHAHRG”

- he’s internally dying and preparing for rejection

- until he sees your smile, he calms down a bit

- a bit

- you goes in full panic mode again once you pecked his lips and giggles, while your chubby hands hold his hand

- “i love you too asahi”

Tsukishima

- tsuki- oh dear

- he has to clear his glasse twice cuz hot damn does he just love you soul

- he turns his head around but once he hears your voice chit chatting with anyone this dickwad turns his fucked up head back around being a lil sneaky dick

- holy shit i really just cursed him out lol

- but he really dies for you

- speaking of dying, he dies inside becuase he cant just spill out any or every thing about his feeling towards you

- yams actually had to help this situation cuz he was having a metal heart attack seeing you in a new dress cuz you also happed to be in the food court when tsuki and yams were having a day together

- he just wanted to have a day to get his shit together, and fucking breathe cuz he loves seeing ina dress, like..you the sun? No? How? What the actual fuck

- and then you went to bend down- ok lemme stop

- but he was like tryin really fuckin hard not to think about you

- its not like he doesnt trust yamaguchi when he tries to say about his feelings

- its just that he feels alomst afraid and spread that others will find out cuz we all know yams is like the most clumsy person. And the other peeps will just judge them for that

- once you spot them in their seats, and of course tsuki is the first one to notice cuz he was starring at you the whole time

- you waved at them excitedly, strolling over to wherever you found them and started to blush and talk

- “hi, I’m sorry if I’m taking time off your day or something like that but i just noticed and i wanted to say hello”

- ok so you weren’t lookin normal becuase one, you got food on your face and second you were super blushy

- tsuki had a heart squeeze (just like midoriya) you looked so pretty, hello?!?!

- “its ok-”

- “when did your dumbass get here?”

- “tsuki! Dont be so mean, i though you likes her?”

- “GODAMN IT”

- Yama ran to the bathroom cuz he doesnt want to ruin the moment but like..he kinda ruined tsuki’s plan

- he cant do jack shit because your their and there’s just awkward silence that you both managed to make

- “i like you too?” Fuck, you asked as like a question

- “...me too”

- you were smiling cuz like???YOUR CRUSH JUST REVEALED HIS MAGIC TRICK

- you caught tsuki have his lil victory smirk

#tsukishima x reader #asahi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #tsukishima x chubby reader #asahi x chubby reader #lizandbo #wakatoshi x reader #wakatoshi x chubby reader #asahi headcanons #Tsukishima Headcanons #tsukishima fluff #asahi fluff #wakatoshi fluff

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genderfluid-insomniac · 2 years

Note

Hello, I hope you’re doing well and have been taking good care of yourself. I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if I could request something for Itto that’s been eating and my brain for days now.

Could I please ask for Itto with a well-known alchemist s/o? They’re from Sumeru, have a Dendro Vision and are quite intelligent?

Thanks and have a lovely morning/day/afternoon/evening <3

Hello, luv! Sorry, this is a bit late but I had so much fun making it and I hope you enjoy it! Kisses!!

Arataki Itto x alchemist!dendro!reader:

You Never Cease to Amaze Me ༻Arataki Itto༺

Short Headcanon:

Do not at any cost let this man near fire or anything flammable. It happened once and it took months for a part of his hair to grow back, on top of healing from the burn he got from attempting to fight said fire.

You were designing an experiment and setting up for it, it was crucial that everything go according to the procedures, or else the consequences could be dire. You made sure of this by telling your assistant to keep people out of the tent you were in just to be sure. Now, because you were doing some exploring in Inazuma because of the vision decree left, you figured it would be the perfect time to ask people some questions and get some research done before anyone else did. What you didn’t plan for was the Head of the Oni gang taking an interest in you and constantly flirting with you whenever you saw him, it wasn’t even good flirting considering all he talked about was himself and how he could protect you from anything. If you remember correctly he once tried to beatbox a song for you because of your arrival back from a small excursion. Making it a big deal that you were successful and wouldn’t stop hanging around you (not that you minded but he was always poking around your lab and asking questions as he picked different things up). Currently, you were mixing some solubles that weren't necessarily dangerous but would stain you permanently if it spilled (also releasing a gas that you didn’t know was harmful), hearing some commotion outside you blocked it out and went on with your work. All of a sudden, a certain Oni sauntered in full of pride and ego and leaned his elbow against your work desk. “Well, Y/N it’s you! Man, I bet you missed me, the one and Oni Arataki Itto (yes that's actually a voice line)! Whatcha working on?” Shaking your head, you were still focused on the vials you were holding and observing them. “I’m working, Itto. Can you please leave, these chemicals are very unstable and I don’t want you to get hurt.” You could tell the brute was pouting from the lack of attention he was getting but you couldn’t help honestly, what you were saying was the truth. Rolling your eyes as you motioned for him to come closer and smiling at the quick-expression change, now wearing a bright starry-eyed smile. “Here, you can help if you want-” Combing back his hair, he stepped forward, “Of course! So what do I do? Do I just pour this green liquid with the blue one?” “NO! Don’t-” It was a bit too late as the mixture started to bubble and smoke, you backed away and were abruptly snatched up by the cause of the incident. Both of you made it out in time for the tent to heave smoke out and land on Itto’s chest. He had just saved you (avoiding the fact that he caused it) and you were now in his arms. The feel of his strong warm arms curled around you protectively felt wondrous and amazing totally natural considering what happened and pushing down the thoughts that had come up about how attractive Arataki Itto really was (even if he was a slight narcissist). After making sure everything and you more importantly were okay he got up with you still in his arms and laughed. “Huh! Lucky I was here or else you might have been hurt, just another day being the great Oni Itto!” Smirking at his surroundings and feeling a bit of pride when he noticed you were flustered. Itto gave you a wink and kissed your cheek, “How about we go find some of the materials that blew up, huh?”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #arataki x reader #arataki itto #arataki itto oneshot #genshin fluff #fluff #request

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yhwhsdaughter · 3 years

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HQ!! Manager being protective when people insult their player

(ft. oikawa, hinata, tanaka, yachi, osamu, kuroo)

Warnings: threats, physical altercations, bullying, public humiliation

I usually don’t condone the usage of violence, but I woke up mad today lmao

OIKAWA

the pretty setter was getting ready to serve, his fangirls screaming in support while the rest of the team took a break.

to the side were a couple of guys staring in jealousy, “heh, his weak ass gets a big ego just because—”

they continued their insults and while they didn’t reach oikawa, his team members certainly heard it all

teasing oikawa was different when it came from them because they genuinely cared about him,, but for someone else to continuously bully the setter without reason?? it was infuriating

before any of them could kick their asses, their manager approached them.

(name) was perhaps the most polite individual they’d met; always patient and kind despite their antics

“ah, i can see the misunderstanding that oikawa is a weakling. he’s got a broken knee and constantly pushes himself despite the excruciating pain.”

the aura surrounding them suddenly turned dark and cold as (name) clutched the shoulder of the main bully with an iron grip

“what about you? shall i break your knee so we can find out if you’re stronger than him?”

at that moment, their gentle mannered manager had the eyes of a beast, unyielding as the guy tried to escape their grip

when they left, the players approached (name) who still glared in that direction. “woah we didn’t know you could be so scary (name)”

now calmer, they replied, “you’re my team, i would kill anyone that tries harm you.”

it was such a matter-of-fact that the males couldn’t help but laugh “haha you’re funny too”

“am i laughing?”

that day they learned their precious manager would deadass commit murder for them

extra: when oikawa found you defended him, he ran with open arms, “(name)-channnnn marry me!” squeezing the life out of you

HINATA

competition hadn’t even started and people were already shit talking karasuno

“flightless crows” blah blah blah

as their third manager, you would be in the benches with yachi, supporting the team

however, hinata had gone to the bathroom and he wasn’t back. daichi had sent you to get him since the game was about to start

you found the team’s sunshine nearly corned by a tall player “aah you’re so short and you’re a middle blocker?? i’ll be looking down on you little shrimp!”

he didn’t get to say more because your leg swiftly hit the back of his knees, falling to the ground harshly.

no one and i mean no one messes with hinata without you getting a few hits in, regardless height

“oh look. you’re below him now”

mans was lucky y’all were in a competition, otherwise he wouldn’t have left unscathed

with that, you steered your baby hinata away from that asshole, throwing him a dirty look in case he wanted to try anything

if he did, you would not hold back. literally on sight

fyi hinata was totally not blushing the entire way back. everytime you approach him now he gets all flustered

everyone else is like ???

TANAKA

the ladies man, tanaka had encountered a group of attractive girls at the arcade so he decided to shoot his shot

when they declined, tanaka was prepared to leave them alone, respectful of a woman’s boundaries, but they decided to verbally attack him

“who’d wanna go out with you?” “yeah you’re so ugly, stupid baldie”

wrong move

unfortunately for them, you were also at the arcade, having heard how the entire conversation went down

you knew tanaka would never use violence against a girl, even if they were rude, but you would.

equal rights equal fights bitch

those girls never saw it coming, you grabbing the leader’s hair roughly and yanking it back, “you’re right, longer hair is much better”

you went feral; simultaneously slapping the others away when they tried to pull you off, your tight grip never faltering.

only when tanaka placed a gentle hand on your arm that you released her

“insult him again and you’ll be the baldie next time”

in short, tanaka now sees you as his personal deity. boy will adore you

YACHI

the third years were gone now

kiyoko had left the team in your and yachi’s hands, with you mainly taking charge as the now-third year manager

the team all sat together for lunch (yes, tsukki too), they were waiting for you since you’d been talking with a teacher

a girl in front of you side-eyed yachi, watching with envy as the blonde sweetheart spoke with the handsome volleyball players

plan brewing in that toxic mind of hers, the girl pretended to trip, spilling her lunch all over yachi. the team didn’t have time to react, watching in shock as food splatted on her lap

sis even had the audacity to say “oh sorry didn’t see you there” as if she didn’t just purposefully throw her food on someone else

worry not, because you returned the favor.

as soon as she gave her faux apology, your food was already making its way down her head to her shoes

there wasn’t a part of her left uncovered

“my bad, i thought you were the trash” you did not look sorry at all

half of the cafeteria watched this unfold—tsukki even making some snide remarks. you grabbed yachi’s hand, guiding her to the restroom to help her clean off

from that moment on, people got the message to never mess with the volleyball team lest they face the wrath of their manager

OSAMU

osamu was your best friend, the reason why you joined inarizaki as their manager

currently, you were in home ed, making the assigned dish but it wasn’t difficult so your movements were lax so much that you couldn’t help but overhear the conversation going on in front of your table

at the mention of osamu, your ears perked up

“he was SUCH a jerk. i kept asking hoping he would grow tired and say yes, but nooooo. apparently osamu thinks he’s better than me”

some of her friends looks uneasy at her inability to take ‘no’ for an answer but the girl continued on her rant

the teacher stepped out for a moment. “HAHAHAHHAHA” the class turned to look at you, laughing like a maniac while you chopped vegetables with scary precision and inhuman strength

“you sure got some nerve, harassing someone like that.. especially my best friend”

that was the moment the grew knew she’d fucked up. she couldn’t even answer back because the teacher was back.

you made a point to ask the teacher if you could be partners with that girl for the next lesson, making her gulp in fear as you ran a finger across your throat

to say the least, she stopped talking for the remainder of the class

KUROO

chemistry?? you and kuroo?? friends?? together in class???

a fucking chaos

just kidding. the two of you were actually really good students. the best, if you had to brag

despite being the teacher’s favorite, you were lowkey about it while kuroo liked to insert as many chem jokes as he could in presentations

it was kinda embarrassing and you subtly teased him, but never with malicious intent

during a lab, you got partnered with a bully. you tried to ignore him and continue working, but it kept getting worse.

the breaking point was dragging in kuroo to all of this. you’d rejected his offers of going on a date and when kuroo made a motion to ask if you were ok, the dude took it as a sign to talk shit

“seriously? him? he’s a fucking nerd. his jokes are lame and has shitty hair—”

your eye twitched. “oi you better stop if you don’t want me to burn your face off”

clueless in class, he didn’t know how to handle the material so you were doing all the work. he didn’t believe you

bringing in the acidic substance near his face is when he finally backed away, at which point you had already called the teacher and told them that he was playing around with dangerous chemicals

although it was the other way around, who do you think the teacher believed, their star student or the school bully??

lmao, bitch could ask his detention buddies out on a date now

kuroo: ??

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq x you #hq x reader #kuroo testuro #hinata shouyou #osamu miya #tanaka ryuunosuke #haikyuu yachi #oikawa torū #kuroo x reader #hinata x reader #osamu x reader #tanaka x reader #oikawa x reader #yachi x reader

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hankwritten · 2 years

Text

The Scarlet Prince

For Boots n Bombs week 2022 Day 6 - Star Crossed/Team Colors/Long Distance

The drapes parted with groaning rings, having done their job so diligently that when they were finally parted from the chamber’s windows it plunged the entire tower into day.

“Up,” Marcel demanded, arms spread, the act of throwing apart Jane’s only protection against the wretched day now emblazoned across the General’s retinas as an ugly silhouette.

Jane pulled one of those useless pillows with buttons in it over his head. “You are a dead man.”

“And we’re both late men, but I will not allow you to make us any later. Now get dressed; unlike the latest dozen or so assemblies I have pretended not to notice your absence, this one is actually important.”

Jane didn’t try to guess how the Spymaster had gotten into his room. Probably picked the lock, bribed a servant for the key or, hell, turned to smoke and slid under the jam for all Jane knew. Bastard was slippery like that. Instead of bothering himself with it, Jane tried to go back to the dream.

It had been so tangible, remembered grass and a place where a jut of land bulged out into a great rushing river. The earth ended in a sudden bank of red clay, dipping down into the water’s edge, and Jane’s hands picked up fistfuls of it, watching the edocha squelch through his fingers. A castle rose from the mud. They’d been building it, a place where they’d rule together, moats of pebbles and grass as flying-flags, promises that’d it all be theirs…

“Do you remember the bank with the red dirt?” Jane asked, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and interrupting whatever meeting-shmeeting stuff Marcel had been rambling about.

The Spymaster cut him a glare. “Is that some military jargon I’m supposed to be aware of?”

“I remembered something.” Jane got to his feet. Marcel had already hung his parade uniform on the outside of his wardrobe. It was white mostly, a tassel on the shoulder and a dozen buttons to pin the left breast in place. Simple. Even for cermony’s sake, Jane was practical. “When we were kids, we used to go to the river. It was as far as we were allowed to go.”

Even going to a simple assembly, Marcel was decked out in his finest wear; the rounded half cloak, the cavalier hat with its ostrich feather. “I did not know you as a child, Jane,” he waved away with impatience.

It felt like he’d heard that before, been told that before, but as Jane looked at the uniform in his hands—thick, calloused, adult hands—he kept trying to push the dream through his ears and back into his head. “We built this castle, and we said we’d-”

“You’re thinking of someone else.”

This time it was harsh, and Jane looked over his shoulder just in time to see Marcel flinching with something that might have been regret. Whatever it was, it was over quickly.

“I swear,” he said, sinking back into his usual state of irate aloofness. “I do not understand what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt. Sun Tzu said that.”

Marcel sighed. “Did he say anything about being punctual to a meeting of the king's highest ranked advisors?”

“The value of time, that is of being a little ahead of your opponent, often provides greater advantage than superior numbers or greater resources.”

“Wonderful. With this den of vipers, we’re going to need every advantage we can get. Get dressed and come along.”

Jame grumbled, feeling he’d been handily outplayed. He grabbed his steel helm, rounded on each side until the brim came to a point, its only dormant a blue plume to match Marcel’s, and followed him out the door.

There was a small spot of drool on the table when Tavish finally lifted his head, next to a larger spot of wormwood extract that was slowly expanding. Bother. That could have been bad. Tavish shook himself, wiped up the chemical spill, and reminded himself that a careless alchemist was a dead alchemist.

Yet somehow even with his penchant for the inebriated lifestyle he always managed to avoid that particular fate. Lucky him.

The lab had no windows in order to protect the delicate composition of the photosensitive ingredients, but poking his head into the entryway revealed that it was well past noon, and Tavish groaned the groan of a man in Big Trouble. His lady mother would be in a fit, and the cowardly part of him wanted to close the door, go back to synthesizing some gunpowder, and let another day evaporate before him. He might have just, if he didn’t know his Mum, and knew that if he kept at this for much longer she’d send her servants crawling over the whole castle. If they did that, sooner or later they’d find the lab that’d supposedly been locked up since Da died. Sighing, he tidied up the remains of his project, and went to go do some damage control.

“Tavish Finnegan DeGroot-”

It was too early for this. Early for him anyway, though when he found Mum it was clear she’d been up for hours, tersely informing him that she didn’t plan their breakfasts together for idle chitchat. Nor their lunches. Nor the dozen other meetings and tailor fittings she managed to cram into the scant few hours he was actually awake per day, to the point where he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had a moment to himself that he hadn’t carved out through guile.

“I’m sorry Mum,” he said, trying to cut her off before she worked herself into another heart complication. “I slept through the morning.”

“I had Erwina check your rooms and she couldn’t find hide nor hair!”

“Aye, I was…in the gardens.”

He was banking on the fact that Mum wouldn’t have thought to send Erwina there of all places, and the lie could go unchallenged. Based on the twitch in her jaw, that seemed to be the case. A gamble not without losses though. His only other place of solitude. He’d have to be more careful when sneaking there for clandestine swordplay in the future.

“Bah,” she said, facing the outer curve of the sun-drenched balcony, knowing by the way the wind touched over her face. “Here he is this son of mine, drinking plum wine and sleeping in rosebushes, not a care in his head for the running of a kingdom.”

“I don’t run the kingdom,” Tavish pointed out.

“You will. If you’d come to breakfast, you’d know Redmond declared you his heir last night.”

It shouldn’t have been surprising. And it wouldn’t have, to anyone else—to anyone who hadn’t been holding hope like a shield, as though if he just kept his attitude positive enough then suddenly the oncoming blade of fate would simply glance off and land on someone else.

He swallowed. “It’s…his health has gotten that bad?”

“Ach, where have you been lad? I swear, head up in the clouds. You didn’t always used to be like this.”

The memory came back sharp and stinging, not because he hadn’t thought about it recently, but because he was used to it being a silent scream inside his own head. Mum caught him off guard, telling him it was a real thing that the whole kingdom had lived through, not a nightmare of his own making. Every Scarlet had shook during that surprise attack on the eastern plains, when a swarm of Cerulean knights had renewed the war in earnest, bowing to treachery and making sure no family hadn’t experienced at least some loss that day. It was the day he’d lost his father, the day he’d last seen-

“I dragged the tailor back by his ear,” Mum’s words shot through his thoughts. “He’s rescheduled for later this evening.”

“What do I need a tailor for?” Tavish said, still reeling, trying not to show his head was more in the clouds than even she thought.

“Because the Grand Ball is coming up, and it’s our best chance to find you a wife. We need that settled before Redmond kicks it.”

The acrid taste in his mouth renewed sevenfold. His hands tightened on the banister. “I’m already betrothed.”

“Blood and spite Tavish, it’s been thirty-two years, you’re not bloody betrothed anymore. Now, like I was saying, these measurements should get you in at least a few outfits befitting a crown prince…”

Tavish stood there as his mother spoke, staring at the sweeping bend in the Hale River as it wound silver through the plains, trying not to let bile rise in his throat.

“Where’s Blutarch?” Jane demanded, ignoring Marcel’s ‘you’re embarrassing me’ sigh behind him.

The stranger smiled congenially. “His Majesty’s indisposed. I’ve been helping with his latest batch of illness, and he asked me to step in for him this time around.”

Jane folded his arms. It was an arm-folding sort of morning. Awaking anywhere but his old and battered war tent could set it off—no bruises from the previous day’s battle, no fight to come that would put him in a better mood—and they were happening more frequently these days. Months now of a goose-feather bed in the castle, instead of the hard packed earth that could lull him to sleep as if it were his own mother. It was enough to drive a General crazy.

“Ludwig helps Blutarch with the not-dying machine,” Jane said.

“Ludwig’s been abroad for a while now, partner.”

A side eye cast to the physician’s chair showed it empty. It was a mix of black magic and ‘science’ that kept His Powerful and Glorious Majesty alive (neither of which Jane trusted), and although he didn’t like (or again, trust) the madman who kept it all spinning, he was at least a known constant. This stranger, this man who’d come to the meeting in place of the king as the rest of Blutarch’s ministers settled around the grand oak table, he itched something at the back of Jane’s mind. Like the others. A rot that had seeped into his fellow Ceruleans, the sloth to lie down while past (slights) were forgotten.

“D’ya mind if we start the meeting?”

Jane did mind. He minded very much until he could get a full military-grade integration for this stumpy little man, with his shiny hand made of gold that swirled with impossible gears that any sane person could tell you was bad news. But he could feel Marcel’s glare on the back of his neck, and decided it would be best to take a seat. There’d always be later.

That’s what he thought at least, until Dell—that was his name, after being reminded for the fourth time, damn hippies naming their children after water features—started spewing treason. Jane wouldn’t let that stand, not without a word in edgewise.

“We will not be attending this disgrace to the concept of ‘party’!” Jane slammed his open palm on the table. “We will not even entertain the notion! We will not entertain their entertainment!”

“It is not merely a party.” Even with his head rolled against the back of his chair, Marcel’s ever-present mask could not be seen beneath. “It is a celebration of our achievements.”

“Our achievement of rolling over on our backs for the first time in over a hundred years. Grab the confetti poppers and party hats boys, we have successfully groveled our way to licking Scarlet bootleather.” Jane stood, pointing at each of the men around the table, the traitors who had brokered this ‘peace’ while Jane had been out on the front lines, fighting for their freedom. More chairs were empty since he’d last fully sat on the council, more than just Ludwig. “I am aware exactly what kind of celebration this is, and that is why I am telling you it’s all crap.”

“What were we bloody supposed to do?” Mundy growled. “You were chewing up pikers faster than we could send ‘em. It wasn’t sunstainable.”

“I’ll show you sustainable, you reverse-flushing kangaroo-humping son of a-”

“Enough.” Marcel’s hand reached up and dragged Jane’s shoulder, which he allowed with a snarl. “The decision was made. We can not show weakness now, and failing to attend would reveal the divisions I’m sure we’d all rather keep to ourselves. Jane and I will attend the masquerade.”

Jane noted his careful phrasing, and hated to admit he was right. The only thing worse than being seen as conciliatory would be being seen as divided—that would certainly invite the sort of attack Jane knew he couldn’t fight.

“We need this to work out, General,” that overly-cheery voice of Dell’s prompted again. “Hell, we’ve been fighting on and off for the last century-”

“Rather it be on-”

“-and we’re tired,” Dell finished. “Folks want to go home. Recover.”

“Those who beat their swords into plowshares end up doing the plowing for those who kept their swords,” Jane muttered darkly. “Sun Tzu said that. His last words. They were never able to take him from his battlefield.”

No one paid him any mind. The decision had been made, after all. Without him, like so many decisions these days.

Marcel trailed him as he left the meeting. Jane shot the assassin a glare. “Why didn’t you tell me we were being sent on a mission?”

“I tried. Repeatedly. You dodge meetings the way the wind dodges arrows.”

“I hate those things.”

“Meetings or the wind?”

“Meetings.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Who does that egghead think he is, anyway? Taking over Ludwig’s spot…he could be poisoning the king for all we know!”

“I severely doubt that.” Marcel breathed smoke out his nose. He often did that, even without pipe in hand, though only when it was just he and Jane. “Though, his ascendancy to Blutarch’s side was…quick. Keep an eye on him.”

“Hard to keep an eye when we’re halfway across the continent.”

Jane reached his destination, the thick oaken door where the castle’s highest tower connected to the rest of the palace. He began to beat his fist against it rhythmically.

“What are we doing here?” Marcel asked of this display.

“If we’re leaving the country I need to talk to Merasmus. There will be battle, mark my words, and we’ll want his strongest potions.”

“Merasmus is also abroad, remember? He has been for the past month.”

“What? Ridiculous! That sopping old woman never leaves his tower.” Jane renewed his attack on the door with vigor. “MERASMUS! OPEN UP! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE YOU USELESS PISS WIZARD!”

Marcel was able to refill his pipe three times before Jane finally grew bored of this activity. The door was locked—which wasn’t strange—but a faint odor of brimstone was coming the seams—which was. When he pressed his ear against it he could have sworn he heard faint giggling, but could ascertain no more.

“Things really are changing around here,” he said softly to the door.

“Indeed. Which is why I think it best if we were not within the castle’s walls in the coming weeks.”

Jane frowned.

“Do not pout at me.”

“I am not pouting! If I am not needed turning Scarlet maggots into itty bitty chunks, the least I can do is stay here. Close to Blutarch. Protecting him or whatever.”

“Come now amigo,” Marcel said. “Surely there are better things out there than running around this same castle day in and day out.”

Jane folded his arms. “The BEST things in life are the PEOPLE you love, the PLACES you have been, and the MEMORIES you have made.”

“…”

“Sun Tzu said that-”

“-He did not.”

“Fine,” Jane spat. “Lets go pack for this cheese-faced party. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.”

***

The masquerade was in full swing, and Tavish hated every minute of it.

From the crystal champagne flutes, to the toasts of their victory, pats on the back as everyone rubbernecked and sniffed their own farts. It made him sick, which he tried to wash down several goblets of mead, then tried even harder as his mother chewed out his ‘churlish behavior’.

When he’d finally ducked night’s neverending string of suitable brides, he was very much ready to thumb the eye of the king, his mother, and the scarlet aristocracy as well.

Step one: ruffle some feathers.

He spied the Cerulean General through the thick fog of partygoers, red and blue alike, with other foreign dignitaries thrown in the mix, all openly curious if this rumored truce would pan out. The flowing gowns and capes of Ambery fashions clogged the pathways, surpassed in ostentatiousness only by the gemstones protruding from every Chartreuse belt. Even a few austere delegates from Graystan were in attendance; each one Tavish glimpsed looking uniquely uncomfortable, as though the mere concept of ‘party’ was foreign to them. But this General…he could have given the Grays a run for their money with how oddly he stuck out, his metal helm glistening hawkishly among the bows and frills. A black sheep if Tavish ever saw one. A preceded reputation, to the point that there’s a good several feet of space around him, even in a Grand Ball packed like sardines. Tavish wouldn’t have known him except by that distincive helm—it was said that he lead every battled from the front lines, a terror and a death sentence if you ever had the misfortune to meet him face-to-face. Tavish had obsessed over the man when he was younger, back when he still had fantasies about being allowed to fight in the war. Those had, at first, been cautiously dissuaded. Then they were dashed more firmly on a day that still left a flare of shame when he recalled it; being sixteen running to the very edges of the grounds, rubbing hot tears as he hid in the old wooden fort made of twigs. He managed to escape for a day in total before he was found, and the fort knocked down for good. He spent the whole time swearing he could still hear laughter in the breeze, the shadows of children he no longer knew darting between every trunk.

The sole heir to the House of DeGroot could not be wasted in battle, after all. Couldn’t be lost to a careless alchemy accident either, like the ones that had pruned so many other extraneous branches of the family tree. No, he was to be tucked safely away—even more so Da could no longer protest the treatment—and wait until it was his time to be used as a pawn to advance his family’s position.

That hadn’t kept him from stolen nights in his father’s old lab though, or days training with the ancient blade that under no circumstances could Mum find out he had.

He no longer felt the resentment toward the General that he had in his youth. It hadn’t been the same one who’d led the raid that’d killed Da, after all, who’d cost Tavish one father and one best friend on that blistering summer’s day. That was years before the current General’s time and, if the rumors were true, he’d supposedly killed his predecessor in a duel. Such things didn’t fly in Scarland, but Ceruleans were savages through and through. What better way than to ruffle his countrymen than by chatting one up?

“I’d stay away from servers if I were you,” Tavish greeted with one elbow on the nearest raised plant pot and discarding when the General jumped at his sudden appearance. “One of the wine bowls has a crack in it, and they’re desperate enough to do something barmy.”

“What? Who are you? Where did you come from? What do punch bowls have to do with anything?” The General barked off each question in rapid succession.

Tavish shrugged nonchalantly. “Just keep a hand on that helm of yours. It’d make a perfect replacement.”

Although the edge of silver concealed much of what the mask did not, Tavish could just see a set of eyes narrow within its shadow. “You’re mocking me.”

“Nothing of the sort!” Tavish grinned.

Instead of replying, those eyes glanced away, distinctly falling on the good six feet of distance the crowd had allotted him. It was as though he were poison, was an affront to their very sensibilities. He seemed perfectly willing to let Tavish return to that category.

“Er, well maybe a little,” Tavish coughed quickly, having already scuttled what he thought was going to be a smooth opening. “Sorry, thought that might get a laugh.”

“For you maybe. When your country’s favorite form of entertainment is pelting the stocks with tomatoes, what you consider a ‘joke’ is of no interest to me.”

Tavish flinched. Bit more honesty than he was used to. That, and he wasn’t expecting the enemy General to be so…sharp. “No, really, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let me try again, aye? My name’s Tavish, and nothing’d make me happier than if you were having a better time than you look like you’re having.”

If there was any recognition to Tavish’s name, the General betrayed none of it. He eyed Tavish again, reevaluating, then cautiously said, “Doe.”

“Ray, a drop of golden sun?”

“What?”

“Er, sorry, ‘nother bad joke.”

It was hard to keep his composure, the General so different from what Tavish had imagined. He was younger for one, and—though it was difficult to tell for sure—he was actually rather handsome where the mask couldn’t obscure it.

“Why are you bothering me, Scarlet?”

“If I’m really bothering you, I can go.”

“Just answer the damn question.”

Tavish eyed over the helm again, the blue plume stuck in its top, the way it had been cleaned again and again, no doubt to free it from the blood sprayed in battle. “You killed the last Cerulean General, didn’t you? In a duel?”

Doe stilled. “So they tell me.”

“What does that mean? You don’t know?”

Doe’s eyes grew stormy again, though this time they looked past Tavish and into the bobbing heads beyond. “I am reasonably confident that is what happened.”

“Ah, then good,” Tavish nodded. “He killed my Da, you know.”

“Half the people in this room have killed someone’s relation on the other half. Me included, sonny. This is where the whole farce shows its cracks, where everyone has to stand and face war and what she brings, look into your enemies eyes and understand that you are past the point of forgiveness.”

“You don’t believe in the truce?”

Doe threw back his head and laughed, that sound Tavish had aimed so high for to begin with. When he again lowered his chin, he was grinning.

“Look at me, son.” He spread his arms. “I am every man this truce was meant to destroy.” Still he smiled, the words dripping with viciousness. “You kill a lot of Ceruleans, Tavish?”

This was not a man who would care about tact, about smooth introductions and polite assurances. “I wanted to, when I was younger.” Honesty is what would matter. “But I was never allowed.”

“Heh, better for us.”

“…I still trained though,” Tavish added, a secret so guarded and yet he found it slipping out to this stranger who gleamed like a drop of silver sun.

Doe’s interest was immediate, a prick of the breath, a dilation in the pupils that set Tavish’s own pulse quickening. “What kind of formations?”

“Claymore.”

“Mmm. Good for standing behind the pikemen. Useless if cavalry get through, but necessary for meeting the other side’s heavy infantry. Ends in a lot of single combat, sword to sword. The purest form of war.”

There was something beyond reverence in his voice. Craving maybe.

“You’ve dueled using two-handers then?” Tavish asked, his mouth dry, standing closer than he had been before.

“I have mastered every weapon under the sun, son. Could kick your ass with each and every one.”

Tavish leaned in, his own mask of black lacquer concealing his missing eye, shielding him from the rest of the room until only Doe was in his vision.

He whispered, “I’ll take that challenge, laddie.”

If there had been hesitation, just a hint of it, Tavish would have retreated in on himself for fear of an inter-kingdom crisis. But to Doe’s credit, there wasn’t a whiff. “When and where, cupcake?” His smile was full of teeth.

“There’s no one in the garden this time o’ night. Too busy dancing.”

“Show’s they don’t know how to have real fun.”

They were down on the grounds before the hour was out. The hedge mazes clawed at the sky, but Tavish knew the paths well enough to find a spot of manicured gravel that would not begrudge them a moment of heavy foot traffic.

Tavish drew the Eyelander. It was meant to be a ceremonial sword that was slung across his fancy dress uniform, but what his mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.The tailor had been precise and painfully traditional: with the sword came a black cape to ‘conceal’, and a matching knee-length kilt. The rest was far too many gold-patterned sashes for Tavish’s taste, and a broach of red iron since Endless Voice forbid they ever forgo national pride for a moment.

Doe idly examined the claymore Tavish had presented him with. It was Tavish’s spare, tucked in the concealed chest under the hedges, as it wasn’t hard to hide weapons out here in the gardens. The claymore now glittered in the moonlight as Doe held it aloft, its edges kept well honed by Tavish’s hand.

Lineage and legend had passed the Eyelander down from hand to hand until it had reached Tavish’s calloused ones. Supposedly it had powers untold, but the only magic Tavish had been able to wrestle from the blasted thing was a supernaturally sharp edge that never seemed to need sharpening. Now, as the most deadly man in the Cerulean army leveled his sword at Tavish’s chest, he almost wished he had something better in his back pocket. He nudged the thought away. He hadn’t goaded the man just for a practice bout; and indeed, there were no protectors on either of their blades. This was as real as they came.

Doe cocked his head. “Savor what you can. Sweetness in victory, Scarlet.”

“As to you, Cerulean.”

The General pounced.

Tavish brought up his blade, and the resounding clang dove straight through his arms and into his soul. His stance had expected it but his ears had not, and as one foot made a half circle in the gravel to bring ‘round his own sword, he could barely process how loud it was. Beating against stolen training dummies could never prepare him for the raw force of meeting steel swung in direct opposition, parallel angles of pure force.

It also couldn’t prepare him for a partner.

Doe had barely completed his first strike before he was sliding off Tavish’s parry, swinging again with sword’s full force. He’d run the formations again and again, watching the training yard and replicating them later here in privacy, but as he was forced into a full step sideways he realized he’d never be able to match experience. The resentment he’d thought he’d let go of reared again, hissing at the base of his skull in abject jealousy. He’d been kept from this. He’d been kept from facing men like this.

And what a man he was. There was a raw physicality to it, their dance that was so different from those happening in the palace above. The air was cool, but Doe took a step back, throwing off his jacket while barely touching the buttons. The doublet underneath was sky blue, almost silvery, clinging to his skin as sweat built on them both.

The numbness in his arms would have been welcome in his throat, where Tavish’s breath suddenly caught.

The reprieve was brief. Again Doe came at him, and already their positions had reversed entirely, ending on the exact opposite sides of their makeshift arena. It went on like that, egregiously long, Tavish’s stamina waning as sweat poured down the back of his neck and into the horrid mess of finery and sashes his mother had spent so long having him stuffed in. The pompous excuse for a kilt restricted his movements, his stances horrid, his defense barely held in check. They fought not like knights with armor to take a glancing blow, nor like trainees who knew a blow would be painful but not mortal; they were their own brand of whirlwind. Something else entirely. To win was not the goal, no high ground, no dirty tricks. Even as Tavish thought it, he felt the disarm coming in slow motion, and could do nothing to stop it.

They were within each other’s effective range, testing their strength with their noses inches apart, when Doe’s hilt came down on his wrists. The Eyelander went spinning, flecks of gray in its wake, and Doe took the opportunity of Tavish’s smarting arms to elbow him in the stomach. Tavish staggered to his knees.

Doe took a step back, and Tavish felt something cold and metal under his chin. It was no debate to let it be lifted and meet eyes with the victor.

“Not bad for a maggot who’s never seen the glory of war,” the General panted.

Tavish could barely feel his fingers, still humming with the vibrations of steel. Panic swelled as he suddenly realized how thoroughly his life was in the other man’s hands; there was no one who had known where they had gone, no one to assume he’d done something so stupid as to fight the commander of the Curealan army in a duel to the death. It would be so easy to spill his blood across the garden’s earth.

He shivered when the blade moved upwards, but all it did was slip into his blind spot. With a flick, Doe flipped the mask off his face.

The sword lowered. “Almost wish you were on our side. Could have done something amazing with you.”

A line on his cheek stung, and Tavish raised his hand to feel blood welling warm between his fingers. That was all. Doe was exhausted too, and that dulled the shame a bit as his words sunk in. A high compliment. Maybe the highest Tavish had ever received.

The hand that helped him up drew him in close before he was fully on his feet, bringing them nose to nose again, chest to chest, the afterfight gasps for breath falling so close to one another. That smile was so close to him now, the manic one Doe had never lost through the entire battle, but there was a hunger in them too.

“I hate all this damn ceremony,” Doe admitted, whispered close, though there was no one there but the two of them. “The masks, the pageantry. You should know your enemy’s face.”

“That so?” Tavish’s heart was thrummed from more than just the battle.

The eyes behind the mask dared him.

He reached up, and performed his duty likewise. His hand came away holding the small fabric thing, as his body moved to step in closer and bring their faces entirely together-

Only to find himself rearing back instead.

“Jane?” he gasped.

Those eyes, those beautifully familiar eyes that had never stopped haunting him, widened in shock.

“What? How did you-? I did not tell you my name.”

Endless Voice, how had he not recognized those eyes before? Yes they were different, aged and changed and more, but it was still Jane. After all these years…

“Jane,” the words came sputtering from his mouth without his consent. “Jane you’re alive, you- you don’t recognize me? I-it’s me, it’s Tav.”

Jane took a step back.

Tavish followed him forward. He’d thought about nothing but Jane for decades, not believing when everyone told him that his only friend was dead, killed in the invasion. The idea that Jane had been lost or captured was such a slim hope, yet still he’d done so, never believing Jane had ended a corpse at the bottom of the river.

But still, even he could never have imagined that Jane wouldn’t care about coming home.

Tavish kept advancing. “How could you not-? We- when we were kids we used to play down on the red banks, during the summer when we weren’t allowed near the wilds, and we built towers in the trees-”

Jane’s eyes snapped open wide. “No, no you do not get to be inside my dreams!”

“Dreams? I didn’t-”

“I, ahrg-” Jane clutched his head. “Stay away from me, Scarlet! I am warning you, I-”

He hissed another gasp of pain. Then, his backpedals turned into a full-blown sprint, and he tore away into the night.

“Jane! Jane wait-!” Tavish moved to run after him, but his foot caught on something, tripping over the Eyelander and sprawling face first into the gravel.

When he lifted his eye, Jane, the one person he’d been looking for so long, was once again gone.

“Marcel. We have to leave. Immediately.”

Marcel scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know how long the line is for the dragon-roasted shrimp plates? Forty-five minutes. I am going to stand here and enjoy my seafood platter, do nothing else, and drink my wine even if the entire castle starts collapsing around me.” He paused, a shrimp halfway to his mouth. “Why are you so very…sweaty?”

“Marcel. Do you remember that thing. That uh, the one thing you said not to do?”

Marcel’s lips pursed in that way that had and always would mean Jane was about to be in very big trouble. “…‘Cause an international incident’.”

“Yes. That. I have done it. So we should leave now.”

Several seconds of dearth ticked by, at the end of which, the Spymaster released his most beleaguered sigh, and with excruciating slowness dumped his platter into a nearby plant. “I hate you Doe. Almost as much as I hate being right. Let us move.”

They fled the palace at a gallop, the midnight bell tolling behind them, Jane’s mind a mess of broken glass. How had that man known his dreams? More, more than just the dreams, he talked about spires in trees, things Jane hadn’t envisioned before, but the words of them sparked revolutions in him so rabid they made his head hurt. He unfocused his eyes, watching the back of Marcel’s courser as it kicked mud at a frenzied pace, and tried to stop the tidal wave of visions as they came flooding in.

When they finally allowed the horses rest—a day away from the capitol and still four days from the border—Jane stared at the fire, barely feeling his exhaustion. He had so many questions…could the visions that plagued him truly be memories? Normally he’d dismiss the thought out of hand—they were too strange, too nonsensical to have actually happened—but normally figments of his imagination didn’t jump out of parties claiming they knew him, so maybe normal could go to hell.

The logical thing to do was ask Marcel. They’d known each other longer than Jane’s memory stretched back, and he needed him to fill in details on a near constant basis whenever Jane was supposed to know a fact he did not. But something kept him back. What if he asked Marcel about the mystery man, and he knew nothing, proving something was far more wrong with Jane than either of them thought?

Or worse: what if he did know who that Scarlet was to Jane?

The questions chased circles around each other, and Jane sensed it wouldn’t be long until Marcel came back from checking their perimeter and finally tried to wring some answers out of him. Namely, the exact details that had put them on the run from the Scarlets. Jane still wasn’t sure what he was going to say to that.

The sound of a violent crash dangerously close to the clearing’s edge warned that that might be put off for a little while.

Jane raced toward the noise of a steadily increasing scuffle, drawing his blade and arriving on the scene just as it came to an abrupt halt. There, Marcel had their interloper pinned to the ground; a knee on his back, a blade to his throat as Marcel pulled him back by the head.

The name slipped out without Jane willing it. “Tavish?”

Tavish’s head jerked up, despite the knife beading a line of red against his skin. It was him, though he’d abandoned the mask and changed into a simple riding uniform. His eye, panicked a moment before, softened. Daring to hope.

Jane hadn’t meant to give him any, but saying the name felt right, felt familiar. He tried to tell himself it was only because he’d said it a few times during the duel, but it didn’t stop the feeling, that feeling that connections slid past his cranium like oysters being torn from their shell.

“Jane? Do you…?”

Again, Jane took a step back.

Marcel wouldn’t be so easily placated. He looked between Jane and the man he currently had pinned several times before saying, “Tavish? As in Tavish DeGroot?”

“Er,” Tavish said. “Which answer doesn’t get me slit?”

Marcel glared at Jane. “Please don’t tell me this is why we had to flee the Scarlet Palace in a whirlwind of disgrace.”

“Um,” Jane said. “This is not why we had to flee the Scarlet Palace in a whirlwind of disgrace?”

“That is just wonderful to hear. Then perhaps you can offer me an alternative explanation as to why the crown prince of Scarland is sneaking into our camp in the middle of the night??”

“I wasn’t sneaking!” Tavish protested. “Honest. I was just trying to talk to Jane, to…”

Marcel pulled his head back farther. “How did you find us?”

“This is the fastest road to Cerulea! Someone in the last town said they’d seen you passing through, and then I saw your fire…”

“Merde,” Marcel spat at Jane. “I told you we should not have stopped for supplies.”

“We may take it then that an army without its baggage train is lost; without provisions it is lost,” Jane said.

“If you say-”

“-Sun Tzu said that.”

“Shut up.” Marcel spun back to his interrogation. “How many are with you? Where are they? Do they know you’re here?”

Tavish opened his mouth. It was clear he had no answer, that his hope was slowly being replaced with panic, and those dark twisting things in Jane’s mind pulled aside just enough to recognize it.

“Marcel. Stop. He’s not…I don’t think he’s…”

He didn’t know what he was. He was an enemy. The enemy.

And yet.

Jane found himself creeping forward. He made a motion, but when Marcel hesitated instead of backing off, he locked eyes with his friend. The Spymaster said nothing, but slowly retracted himself, hovering just on the edges of the forest’s encroaching darkness.

The sinking sun cast everything into dull grays as Jane stepped forward and gently helped Tavish to his feet. For the second time in as many days. This was all together different before, the prince refusing to surrender room as he gripped Jane by both forearms, hauling himself upwards.

“I know.” Tavish swallowed thickly. “I know it was a long time ago. We were kids but I thought- I needed to be sure. This isn’t all just a dream, right?”

Jane laughed humorlessly. “Now there’s a choice of words.” He felt the fingers on his arms tighten. “How do you know me?”

“We were-” Tavish suddenly averted his eye in sheepishness. “Betrothed. I mean, we were just kids and all, so it was our families who put it all together…but we were still friends! And I never stopped hoping…”

Huh. That was…certainly something. Jane leveled an eyebrow over Tavish’s shoulder, to where Marcel was lurking. “That true?”

“How should I know?” Marcel waved his dagger impatiently, his hand clutched like he was still prepared to use it. “Yes, once you did tell me you were born in Scarland, but you have told me many things over the years. And yet, completely failed to mention you were once Scarlet nobility.”

Jane shook his head. Him? Scarlet? He’d always known patches of his past were rough…

Tavish looked equally distraught. “Why did you ask him? Why would he know?”

“I’ve always had…issues. With. Up here.” Jane freed a hand long enough to raise a finger and tap his temple. “Marcel helps.”

“So you…really don’t remember me, then,” Tavish finally arrived at, still not quite believing. A note of agony slipped in, that despair creeping back to his voice.

“Maybe. What happened exactly?”

“Cerulean attack. We were out, near the river like always, but somehow they got further into the riverlands without a single warning. Magic maybe. I took a blast when they started attacking.” He indicated his patched eye. “We scattered, like all the people in the farms, and we ran for the walls and I thought you were right behind me and…”

Tavish pressed his forehead to Jane’s chest.

“Endless Voice, I’m so sorry Janey.”

Jane wrapped his arms over Tavish’s back. He smelled like horse and road dust, and homes that didn’t exist. Jane leveled a look at Marcel.

The Spymaster stared back for a good four seconds before throwing up his hands in disgust. “Fine! We won’t kill him. But he absolutely cannot come back with us to Azure Bay with us.”

They decided to take him back to Azure Bay.

Well, Jane decided. Marcel—a man who Tavish had never heard of but with all the casual information Jane let slip he gleaned was some sort of bodyguard—tried very hard to undecide for him, which Jane ignored with an admirable stalwartness. It might have looked like Tavish feared the assassin, keeping himself so close to the other Cerulean at all times to avoid him, but honestly it was just because Tavish was scraping for Jane’s contact at every moment. His shoulder always hovered close to Jane’s as they sat on the ground for meals, almost afraid to touch, as though if he tried to make sure Jane was really there it would turn out he wasn’t.

“We cannot enter the country with Redmond’s heir tossed over the back of your horse,” Marcel whined. He did that a lot.

“I got me own horse,” Tavish put in helpfully.

“And even if he did not, there is no way we are sending him back to that commie country!” Jane poked the rabbit roasting over the fire with a stick. Tavish was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to do that to a spit roast, but he was too busy watching Jane with open adoration to offer culinary commentary. “Have you heard what they were going to do to him there? They were going to make him get married when he did not want to get married!”

“How positively barbaric,” Marcel replied drily. “Truly we’ll have these human rights violations as soon as we get back to the capital.”

Jane nodded. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Despite his pleading, appeals to reason, and several threats against Tavish’s personage, Marcel couldn’t get Jane to budge on the matter. Every day they grew further and further from New Ruby and it shocked Tavish how little that mattered to him. So much for patriotism. With Jane here and only his mother and the slowly constricting noose of Redmond’s inevitable demise behind him, the only true path was toward Cerulea.

“Thank you,” Tavish said that night, their bedrolls in the process of unfurling (Tavish hadn’t packed supplies in his rush to leave the palace, and Marcel had declared him ‘Doe’s problem’ so it was Jane’s tent he shared) on to hard earth below. “For standing up for me.”

Most of the conversations during their precarious journey had been like this. Tavish trying to and failing to find the words that would surmount the impossible hills of ground he wanted to cover, and in the end too busy being happy to care.

Jane stopped in the process of straightening out his boots. “We were friends. That is what friends do.”

“We were, aye. Do you really not remember any of it?”

“Not remember, no.” Jane frowned. “I dream, sometimes. But…there was always someone there, and I now know that someone was you.” He set down the boots so carefully, and fixed Tavish with his stare. “And when I met you again, I liked you then too. You were charming, daring, and proved not all Scarlets need their hands held to cross a puddle.”

“You sure about liking me? I sort o’ bungled the charming part…”

“You turned out to be noble at heart.”

He reached toward Tavish, brushing his thumb against that scratch still scabbed on Tavish’s cheek. Tavish froze, kneeled in front of him, both huddled so close inside the tent he could see every detail the years apart had left his friend. Wrinkles, the faint outlines of scars, and he searched hungrily over it all, just like he had when the mask had come down. He slung an arm behind Jane’s neck and dragged him closer.

“It was a crime to keep a warrior like you away from his sword,” Jane said stalwartly. “They have wronged you. If I had been there, I would never have let it happen.”

Tavish laughed. “Don’t blame yourself for that, lad. You were too busy being kidnapped by Ceruleans.”

“Still! It was a mistake we will rectify. I’ll get you a real fight DeGroot, mark my words!”

Jane’s mouth was smirking, mere inches away…

The scream of horses tore all other thoughts from Tavish’s mind. It ripped through the tent as assuredly as the sword that came strabbing through the canvas a moment later. It was their only warning, and as the shredded flaps of tent parted around them Tavish saw why: Marcel, their usually dependable barometer for danger had his hands raised in surrender, kneeling next to the horses as they stamped in panic. Another sword was pointed at his throat, assumedly so he wouldn’t sound the alarm, and he wore an expression of beleaguered unspurise.

Tavish, honed by years of living under threat of Cerulean invasion, didn’t register what was happening at first. His mind snapped to occupation, to blue uniforms that didn’t exist. Even as he and Jane were forced to kneel, no time to even get to get their weapons in their hands, he still recognize them for what they were.

It wasn’t until one of the bandits said, “you were right Lloyd! Just like on that them poster there!”

They were all leering at Tavish like he was their next meal ticket, and under the burden of that uniform attention he stupidly repeated, “poster?”

“Aye, this one right here!” said the closest one, waving a weather beaten piece of paper. “Ten thousand kröwns for the safe return of the prince, and five thousand a piece for each kidnappers’ head.”

Tavish paused. It was not productive to argue with the sketch of him presented on the wanted poster—his features were rather on the distinctive side. Instead he said, “well, at least she had the decency to offer more for me than she did for you lot.”

Marcel released an exhale whose length did not seem humanly possible, which he capped off with an embittered, “fuck.”

Jane, slightly to Tavish’s left, said nothing. He seethed in silence, glaring at their captors as they began to rummage through the camp, and Tavish realized if he didn’t do something, someone else would. Guilt played no small part in the need for action either. Here he’d brought trouble down upon the Ceruleans heads, just like Marcel said.

“Listen lads,” Tavish said, trying to look like he wasn’t addressing the sword waving dangerously toward him. “You’re obviously all good, noble Scarlets who’re doing their patriotic duty. Now that you’ve got those er…kidnappers all hedged in, why don’t you point those knives somewhere else?”

“Don’t think so mate,” the one pilfering the food supplies said. “In order to get that bounty, it’s really important you don’t go anywhere.”

“You won’t get any bounty if-”

Tavish was just about to pull the royal pillock card, when his prophecy about someone else taking drastic action came devastatingly true.

However, it wasn’t Jane who slipped from his extortionist’s grasp and jammed him in the neck with a dagger.

If Tavish hadn’t been watching he wouldn’t have believed it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marcel melt, his entire body turning to smoke, swirling backwards and appearing behind the bandit. He gurgled as he went down, Marcel flipping his knife and falling into a fencing stance.

“Shapeshifter!” one of the bandits hissed, as another rand forward with a roar.

Jane did not waste the distraction. He was up in an instant, dodging inside the range of his horrified guard, knocking him to the ground as, “oorah!” sprang from his lips. He used the tip of his boot to flip the fire’s poking stick into his hands, then promptly rammed it through the prone man’s eye.

The clearing they’d made camp in had devolved to blood and screaming so quickly, so vividly, Tavish was back on those red banks in an instant. He tried to stay present, to watch as Marcel dispatched another, to notice the next attacker approaching the assassin from behind. He opened his mouth to give warning. Nothing came out.

But it wasn’t a weapon this latest assailant struck Marcel with. It was something he’d pulled from his neck, an iron symbol on a chain, and with it he rammed his fist forward until the pendant clattered against Marcel’s back.

His skin parted around the pendant like it was water, and though Tavish had just heard the screams of dying men thrice in intimate detail, this one was the most horrifying of them all. Marcel spun, clumsily jamming his blade into the gut of the bandit, but when he fell Marcel made no move out of the way. The last Tavish saw of them was a hulking corpse pinning Marcel to the ground.

Yet when Tavish scrambled to his feet the only thing he could focus on was Jane.

The General had somehow gotten his sword in his hand, a feat Tavish couldn’t even fathom right now. He was locked in single combat with one of the last two bandits, and Tavish knew there were two because the second was swinging a greataxe at Jane’s back.

This time, the lack of logical thought going on in Tavish’s head was a blessing. There was no hesitation as he lunged forward and tackled the bigger man.

It was a miracle the axe didn’t get a hit on him. It was less of a miracle when they both went tumbling into the pit fire, though Tavish would take what he was given. He held the man’s face down into the flames until his hands blistered, and the screaming stopped.

When it was done, he scooted backwards, shaking, and muttered softly, “bloody hell.”

Jane had dispatched his deuling partner with a neat spear through the chest, flicking his blade free of blood before noticing. The prince sat on the ground, staring dumbly at the burning body, watching as the fire thanked him profusely for the fresh fuel.

He felt Jane’s hand squeeze his shoulder. “Well done, soldier.”

The pause for comfort was brief. Jane took one look around the camp and noticed where Marcel’s body was still trapped, and immediately his steely composure dissapeared. He rushed over and pushed away the bandit’s corpse.

“Marcel!” he grunted, trying to lift the man to a sitting position.

Man? Was that the right term for a shapeshifter? With all that had gone on, Tavish was only now starting to connect the dots.

Jane found the pendant amongst the gore. “Cold iron,” he muttered in disgust, and tossed it away. Immediately, Marcel stirred, opening his eyes feebly.

“Is he…is he going to be alright?” Tavish found himself asking.

Maybe that was a strange thing to do—worry about a fae, man’s most hated enemy—but for some reason the revelation didn’t bother Tavish as much as it probably should have. Marcel had probably saved all their lives and, well, he was Jane’s friend. That meant something now, when loyalties were more than red and blue.

“I think so,” Jane said. “I’ve only ever seen it happen once, but I am…reasonably confident it is temporary! Help me get him closer to the fire.”

Tavish helped. Their traveling pace was slower, and the tension releasing from Jane’s shoulders when they finally crossed the border into Cerulea was palpable. Exactly how bad of a situation they were in was unclear: it didn’t seem that Marcel and Jane’s identities were known to the general populace, but apparently ‘that damn toymaker’ would know at the very least. This Tavish gleaned from Jane and Marcel’s clipped conversations he was only occasionally allowed to overhear.

In a wild swing from the casual threats Marcel had made towards him during the first leg of their journey, he now spent their days crossing the plains of Scarland—the scent of salt grew stronger every day they drew closer to the sea, Tavish didn’t know how anyone could stand it—completely mum. A very obvious attempt to keep Tavish out of the loop, cutting off whatever he was saying whenever Tavish’s horse drew near.

Tavish finally breached that gulf of half a day’s ride away, the spire of architecturally improbable tower just visible on the horizon. “You’re feeding off him, aren’t you? That’s why he can’t remember anything.”

Marcel went stiff in his saddle. Tavish had waited until Jane’s draft had pulled ahead, swaying easily on the unpaved road. Their conversation was, effectively, private.

What little conversation there was. Marcel held up the silence uncompromisingly, like a blanket of protection, and Tavish had almost resigned himself to believing there would be no speaking to the fae, until he finally broke it with a, “yes, but it is not how you think.”

“And how do I think?”

“That stealing the thoughts of mortals is how I power my abilities. That is the faery story you tell in Scarland, is it not? But it is the opposite, really. His memories they….they do not allow me to change, but to stay unchanged, to find something grounded and hold on to that. Without him I would start to…slip. To whatever my own mind wandered to. It is why we do not ‘exist’ for very long.”

The sound of hoofbeats was the only sound for a while.

Finally, Tavish asked, “does he know?”

Gravely, Marcel looked over the waving wheat of farms along the road, the summer’s harvest waist high and growing. “Once. Once upon a time I made a deal with someone who was full of potential, but hounded by ghosts that held them back. It was beneficial to us both. Now of course he does not remember that promise, nor even being that person who has made such a promise, and I for my part have-” He came to a stop. “I have grown fond.”

“Ach if ever a fae creature was going to grow a soft spot for some barmy mortal, it would be for Jane. He has that effect.”

Marcel looked at him sideways. “You’re oddly chipper after having your worst assumptions about shapeshifters confirmed.”

“Well…you’re Jane’s.”

“His what?”

“Just…his. I guess I am too now. Or always was. Even when he was gone, he had enough of a hold on me to keep me yearning for thirty years.”

They lapsed. Into silence, into routine, into night as the sun began to sink into yellow waves in the west. Every moment there was something newly off about Marcel, but Tavish didn’t think much of it; he’d said what he’d wanted to say, and now his mind had only thoughts of the future, what they would do when they reached the city.

He didn’t look at the hands twisting in the reigns until Marcel said in rushed tones, “they are going to kill you as soon as we’re inside the palace walls.”

Tavish didn’t have time to reply, didn’t even have time for shock before Marcel hurried on.

“They very very badly need this peace. You reveal yourself, claim you’re eloping with the commander of Blutarch’s armies, it won’t matter how willingly you’ve gone—it will be just the pretense our kingdoms need to reignite the kindling.” He stared straight ahead, delivering each line with cold indifference. “Even your personal best case scenario has you being shipped back to New Ruby in a belated attempt at appeasement; but honestly the council would prefer it if you were killed off quietly and cleanly, before word escaped that you’d been seen in the city at all.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?” Tavish choked. “While we’re in sight of the city walls? And why didn’t you tell Jane this?”

“Don’t think I didn’t. It was the first argument I presented to him, and like always he brushed me off. Jane will and forever be convinced in his own inevitability; no amount of logic will persuade him he can’t handle something when he sets his mind to it.”

“…If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight,” Tavish echoed faintly, dread settling over him.

“To be honest, when it became apparent he would not ditch you, I resigned myself to entering the city anyway. Of course Jane would be upset about your death for a little while, but he’d get over it eventually.”

Tavish glowered.

“I…have revised my stance.” Marcel cleared his throat. “So now do you see? You must turn around. Forget you ever saw us. Avoid a war that will only spawn more ceaseless death.”

Tavish stared ahead. At Jane’s horse in the distance. At Jane’s home that had kept him safe when Scarland couldn’t.

“You told Jane all this?” he said eventually.

“As I mentioned, yes.”

“And he came to a different conclusion. He thinks this will help our kingdoms, not hurt them.”

“You can’t be serious,” Marcel glared. “Jane is—delusional is the kindest of the possible terms—and his judgment is blind to things like his own shortcomings and rational thought. You mustn’t follow him in there.”

“I trust him,” Tavish said, with a certainty that hadn’t hit him until he spoke the words. “With my life, if necessary.”

They entered the palace just as the last of the heaven’s eye dipped below the horizon. Marcel was still trying to convince him, his hushed words, in threats where he grew frustrated. Tavish kept his gaze to Jane’s back. Even as they walked up the great stone steps. Even when he heard the marching of many armored feet closing in behind them.

He saw the muscles in Jane’s jaw tense. Maybe he was expecting it too. He certainly didn’t seem surprised when he turned and saw the guards closing in on them.

They three drew their blades simultaneously, but it was almost funny how obviously ineffective that would be, how many the Cerulean numbers outmatched their own. A single second of consideration crossed Jane’s face, and Tavish watched it stretch an infinite number of heartbeats.

The General turned, standing shoulder to shoulder with Marcel as they faced the oncoming swarm. He looked over his shoulder and told Tavish, “run.”

And there was no way out but in.

His boots slammed against the marble floors of the Azure halls. Again the guilt of what he’d brought upon Jane welled within him, but the screeching pain in his lungs as he sprinted pushed it down. Jane and Marcel might be fine, and Tavish didn’t have that ‘might’. He had to keep running.

He sprinted up spiral staircases and down corridors, all the while swearing the march of footsteps behind him were growing louder. How long could two men against twenty buy him? A few seconds?

It wasn’t his imagination, they were gaining and he was slowing, there was nowhere in this bloody palace to hide. And then. There was a door.

It was innocuous, hanging open as if laughing at him, strange soot stains caressing the wall where the wood touched stone. And as soon as Tavish passed through it slammed shut behind him.

Jane sat in the dungeon cell, and he remembered.

Not much, but more than usual, more than making fake switches out of willow branches or wind on rushes that sounded like a thousand voices chattering. He remembered the unfamiliar, of wandering, of that impenetrable feeling of being hopelessly, perpetually, lost. The sort of lost only accessible in dreams—the kind where you turn your head to look where you’ve been and find that it’s already changed behind you.

He woke with the taste of missing teeth and fresh blood on his gums. That had been in the memory too, along with a broken hand and a new limp, but to his discomfort he found the tooth part was actually real.

Groaning, he rolled over in his spot of hay and spared a glance for Marcel. The other man was curled in a fetal position—they’d attached Seer’s Band to his wrist because of course they had. Bastards. Jane was definitely going to kill them when he got out of here. He’d pointed out to Marcel that in a pinch he could gnaw his own arm off, to which he had been told flatly ‘I am not going to do that’. Then, because Jane was a good friend, he offered to chew Marcel’s arm off for him, to which he was again told no.

He was about to say something, to check how badly the countercharm had progressed, he realized he hadn’t woken for nothing: there was the sound of footsteps approaching.

“What are you doing here, maggot?” he asked as Dell stepped in front of the slanted pattern of bars, the inventor flanked by two bodyguards.

“No doubt he is here to convince us it was certainly not he who sent the interception,” Marcel spoke, not moving from where he was curled. Awake then. Good. “The council went over his head of course. Really, he’s our ally in all of this.”

Dell, silhouetted markedly in orange the dungeon’s nearest light, only raised an eyebrow. “I’m certainly here to convince one of you of that. I think we all know you two aren’t both equally guilty for the incident we have on our hands.”

The silence hung. Jane felt the dry air scratch at him. Or maybe it was just the hay.

“We’d hate to lose the best Spymaster the country’s ever had,” Dell went on. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

“You traitorous little scum!” Jane slammed his fist on the door. “I am going to rearrange that hand of yours until all you can do is shovel shit with it, because that’s exactly what you’re doing right now! You do not put that evil crap on him and then try to recruit him.”

One of the guards slammed a baton on the bars, forcing Jane to take a step back.

“I know you worked hard to get where you are,” Dell kept talking. The bastard, Jane was going to wring his toymaking neck- “And you did that by attaching yourself to someone important and rising through the ranks. No one else is going to give you that same offer. You really want to start all over again?”

“…Are you arriving at a point, laborer?” the ball of unmoving fae replied.

“My point is that I’d vouch for you. You’re pardoned for your involvement, the council runs on, and in return you tell me whenever you pick up something useful. Things go back to the way they were, minus one child abductor.” Dell leveled a stare at Jane.

“Once again, you are tragically misinformed.” Marcel exhaustedly waved a hand. “The prince is not a child, which you would have known if you hadn’t immediately tried to have us killed upon setting foot in our home.”

Dell’s brown furrowed. Maybe he really hadn’t known, and Jane was just starting to think Marcel might be able to talk their way out of this when the opportunity passed.

“Don’t matter. What matters is he,” Dell jerked his chin at Jane, “was willing to throw us all under the wheels, anything to get his pound of flesh. Look where being loyal to him got you. Don’t you want out?”

Marcel finally lifted his head.

It gave Jane a better look at his arm, which had withered to gray all the way up to the elbow. It seemed fundamentally wrong like that—that Marcel could be weakened, could be beaten for any significant length of time. It was why Jane said nothing when the fae rose.

Why, when Marcel approached the cell door and said, “fine,” Jane only took a step back.

Marcel didn’t look at him as the party left the dungeon. It was easier that way. Jane sat back down in his corner and remembered again.

Tavish tried the handle. He didn’t really expect it to open, but it was worth a shot.

The thing jiggled a little bit, but gave no more illusions about opening, snapping cheerfully back into place as soon as Tavish took his hand off it. The stream of soldiers had ceased a half an hour ago, but Tavish wasn’t going to risk it unless he was absolutely sure the manhunt had moved on.

He needn’t have bothered. It seemed he wasn’t going anywhere until the presence in this tower was done with him.

Because there was certainly a pretense—he’d suspected as much when he began to explore his environs for the foreseeable future. The endless stairs and relative narrowness of the rooms lead him to learn this construction had existed for ages, and the palace had sprung up around it, climbing higher even as the tower stretched exaggeratedly up into the sky. Childlike giggles echoed around him whenever he tried a door and found it locked, which was often, and he constantly felt eyes on the back of his neck. Eventually, he realized he’d wear himself to exhaustion trying to get to the upper floors, and headed back down to ground level.

There was a large, cushy chair with several evil looking tomes on the table next to it. He had himself a sit-down.

Another giggle came from beneath the stone floor.

“Hullo there?” he said, because he was Scarlet through and through, and the Scarlet peoples hadn’t survived for centuries by making unneeded enemies of the fae. “This er…your tower?”

A random window slammed closed.

“Oh. Just rooming for a bit then?”

The collection of shrunken heads dangling from the ceiling rattled ominously.

“Me too,” Tavish said conversationally, but the creature would say no more. He sighed. When fae were being bashful, there was one good way to get them to open up. He went and lit a candle.

Immediately, there was a person with him in the chamber where there hadn’t been before. They wore a wizards hat, but the brim cast an unnatural shadow, of which the only thing that could be seen beneath were a pair of coal-glow eyes.

Those eyes watched the candle with fascination, and the small, robed person crept closer. Tavish watched them watch the candle. “So. Now that we’re all…face to face. Is there a reason I’m locked in here?”

The fire spirit admired the flame for a moment, then cocked their head in Tavish’s direction. He heard the door click open.

“Oh. Well. That really all you needed me for? Because now that the door’s open I’d rather not be heading out if it’s all the same to you…I’m a bit of a wanted man.”

The spirit tapped a gloved finger to the unfathomable void where their chin would have been.

Suddenly they were walking away at a lively pace, back to those spires and spires of awful stairs. Since Tavish really wasn’t interested in stepping out into the beating heart of the enemy’s power, he followed. They didn’t quite reach the point of gross vertigo that Tavish had given up at, but he was still out of breath when the spirit finally stopped in front of the many wizardly locked doors. They turned the handle.

“Endless Voice…” Tavish swore.

It was an alchemy lab. Not the well loved and sprawling disaster of his family’s laboratory, but the sort of place where you could feel magic seeping into every crook. There were heating coils, burners, distillers, flasks, and dozens of things so ancient Tavish didn’t even have a name for them. He could see drawers bursting with alchemical ingredients.

And his hands twitched to make it all explode.

He turned to the spirit. “You wee devil. Do you know what we’re doing to me?”

“Huddah huh.”

“Oh, that and more love. When I’m done here, the whole bloody palace is going to be a smoking ruin.”

In eighteen hours, Tavish had slept for a total of forty-five minutes, eaten a slightly singed loaf of bread his new spirit friend had stolen for him, and systematically turned on every burner in the lab. He poured, and he measured, and even if he didn’t need it he kept the separators running because it kept his immortal companion of fire and destruction occupied. Despite the sleep deprivation, and the weeklong journey across the wilds he’d never been properly allowed to recover from, he’d never felt more alive.

When it was done, Tavish had three combustion grenades glowing on the table before him, and wanted nothing more than to lie down and nap for the next seven years. Instead he said, “any chance you could point me in the direction of the dungeons?”

The spirit waved vaguely toward the door, then tucked their hands back under their chin to watch the cortese boil.

Tavish grinned. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

They say that the DeGroots earned their titles and lands for their prowess on the battlefield. The Eyelander had its many stories, the invaders beheaded, the wars won on, supposedly, its powers alone. But the house had its own secrets. It was not their ferocity or their ruthlessness that gave the DeGroots their edge; it was the bloody bombs.

“Kablooie!”

The dungeon wall caved in, and Tavish was monumentally happy he hadn’t accidently brought the building down on Jane. He hadn’t had any way to give warning, so he’d mostly been relying on luck.

And he certainly did feel like the luckiest man alive when Jane held up his hand to see through the dust and sunlight streaming through the newly made dungeon entrance. “Tavish?” he coughed.

“None other!”

Jane staggered—either he’d taken damage while buying Tavish time to escape, or the collapse had actually bruised him a bit. Either way, he rushed into the cellar to help.

“You…you did not leave,” Jane said, amazed.

“I’m not going back. Never again.”

The arm not helping Jane by the elbow gently lifted his chin. Tavish held it there, savoring the seconds, then did something he should have done years ago and brought their mouths together.

The dust settled, the bells rang in the distance, and Tavish held him until he was sure he’d made his point.

When they parted, Jane’s eyes fluttered open in wonder. “Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved,” he said, still barely believing. “Sun Tzu said that.”

A voice came from the cell door. “Did he also say that the best way to leave a prison is through the most obnoxious and ear-splitting way possible?”

Tavish jumped, wondering how someone had responded to the alarm so quickly, but when he looked deeper into the dungeon he saw only Marcel. Who was…standing on the outside of the cell?

“I suppose you will not be needing these, then,” the fae said, and held up a comically large ring of brass keys.

“Ah!” Tavish said in delight. “Good man.”

“…Good man,” Jane repeated softly.

“Alas,” Marcel continued. “I can still contribute something to your escape. There is a ship under the name of The Tyrant’s Helm down in the harbor, bound for Ambery. I suggest you’re both on it before nightfall.”

“You’re not coming?” Tavish asked, when it was clear Jane wouldn’t.

“No.” Marcel shared one final, mournful look with the General. “Everything he said was right, you know. There is one place in this world where I belong.”

“You can choose where that is,” Jane replied.

“And I have.”

Marcel smiled. It was feeble; even Tavish, who felt this conversation was going entirely past him, could see that.

The fae went on, “and I know you no longer need me.” He nodded to Tavish.

“That- that is not true!” Jane sputtered. “Not that I ever needed- I mean, you- Marcel you don’t have to stay with these maggots. You deserve better.”

“I truly do not. But you do.” Marcel spoke the last words to Tavish. “You’re free of me now. This is how it gets better.”

They stood, the bells still ringing, Jane still struggling to find the words. But maybe he saw the same thing in Marcel’s eyes that Tavish did: a choice, and whatever consequences that would be. Jane straightened and, standing atop what remained of the dungeon wall, gave Marcel a salute.

He saluted back.

With one arm around Jane’s shoulders, he guided him away, and the pair set off to catch their ship.

Jane followed him out of the debris on unsteady feet. He asked, “you think people like us will really fit in a place like Ambery?”

“Dunno. We don’t have to stay. Though I’ve still got two more combustion grenades on me, so wherever we end up, it won’t be boring.”

#dnadbnbweek #tf2 fanfiction #demosolly

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Verin + artificer S/O? Essek (begrudgingly) brings him to meet the Nein and while everyone is say hi they hear a loud boom and out stumbles from their room/lab S/O cover in ash and soot. They say hi to Verin and he just looks over to Essek and is like 'why didn't you bring me here sooner?!' thank you!

Once upon a time I was taught chemistry. I recall next to nothing but hey, maybe someone will recognise the chemicals and reaction causing the boom. I hope this turned out the way you wanted! 😘

“Essek will be here any minute! Hurry up!” You hear Jester shout as you almost spill the contents you’re mixing. Luckily you avoid burning a hole in the table of the lab. Nott might have your head if you ruined her alchemy equipment again.

“I’ll be there in a minute! Just finishing up here and then I’ll clean up and join you!” You shout back putting the vial back in the stand as you watch the fluids mix and swirl together. Taking out your tools you us it to heat up the vial carefully. You don’t need to set up a proper flame. Besides, it doesn’t even need to boil. Arcane flame. Much quicker.

The divines must be looking over you as the vial does not shatter. You set it at the burner to keep the contents at a constant temperature and move on to the next part of your experiment. Time for some powders. Now it’s key they do not come into contact with the liquids in the vial so you set that one out of the way in a safe place before you grab the powders you’ll need.

Goggles and gloves on, tools at the ready you set two beakers apart. With your tools you scoop some grey powder from one container and put it in the one beaker. You close the container and put it to the side before moving onto the next one containing bright yellow pebbles. You take a few and get ready to powder them when-

“Hurry up they’re here! They’re here! They’re here!” Shouting and violent knocking on your door makes you jump out of your skin, the yellow rocks dropping into the beaker with the grey powder, your elbow knocks over the vial from the burning spilling the contents on the desk, ignited by the burner like a fuel trail. You try to snatch the beaker from the desk but it’s already too late.

“Oh shit-“ You take cover casting a quick spell to protect yourself from the blast shattering the beaker in an explosion that should be audible a blocks away. When you get up your goggles are covered in dust and ash from whatever the flames reached. Yep… Nott’s gonna kill you if Caleb doesn’t get to you first… Hope he didn’t have any of his precious books laying around here….

Your ears still ringing you lift the goggles from your eyes giving you visual of the carnage left. You take off the gloves and quickly put out the remaining flames. Oh shit! you’re having guests! Rubbing at your ears trying to get your hearing back to what it’s supposed to be, you stumble to the door slightly disoriented. Opening the door you’re met with some familiar faces, and a new one.

Caduceus had already put aside whatever tray of tea or food he had been carrying and got ready to heal. Caleb is trying to contain the urge to run in and make sure his precious books are alright. Nott’s already screaming her equipment better be fine or you not just owe her a new set but also several fluffernutters to make up for the emotional damages you’ve caused, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Jester joins her at the mentions of receiving fluffernutters. Beau’s laughing her ass off and upon seeing you’re alright Fjord joins her with a light chuckle. Essek looks completely unfazed if not a little worried.

Then you see the other drow. There’s definitely similarities between him and Essek so you feel safe to assume this must be Verin Thelyss. Damn. He’s handsome too… And just your luck you just fell victim to the carnage of your experiment. So much for first impressions. Here you stand covered in ash, dust and sooth probably looking like a maniac or some sort of mad scientist. Oh god… You’re staring. Can he see your staring? Oh no…

You quickly brush off your clothes trying to get rid of the worst of the mess and walk up to the two drow with a bright smile offering a hand to Verin.

“Hello. You must be Verin! Pleasure to meet you.” You look down at your outstretched hand to see it also covered in the grime from your desperate attempt to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You’re about to retract your hand but Verin takes it anyway and shakes it to your surprise. There’s a bit of a mischievous grin visible.

“It’s my pleasure. You must be the artificer my brother neglected to mention dabbles in alchemy. The pleasure is all mine.” Verin certainly expresses an interest in you, or your work. You’re not entirely sure if it’s both or either and you don’t dare to assume.

“Brother dear, you have no excuses for not introducing me to your friend before.” He directs at Essek as he takes your held hand and links it through his arm.

“Not to be rude but I’ve found myself with a special interest in alchemy. Would you mind sharing your work?” Verin asks you and you look at the others. Some raised eyebrows but before you know it you’re pushed into the lab by a little blue tiefling.

“Yes yes! They’d love nothing more than show you all their work and other things!” Jester wiggles her eyebrows and makes a face as you look behind you in confusion.

“You’ll owe me a fluffernutter.” She whispers at you as the door is closed behind you and Verin and you’re left in the mess that is the laboratory.

Verin certainly expresses an interest in your work and has some basic understanding of alchemy. You catch him stare at your more than once, enthralled by you going of on a rant about storing components properly as to avoid situations like this happen.

“-and you see, it’s so difficult to get these specific components here I’m certain I’ve bought up the stocks of every seller in the city at this point yet I still do not have enough to complete this.”

“I happen to have some connections outside of the city. Perhaps I can help you find some or persuade the kind professor to allow you access to their stocks.” Your eyes light up at the offer.

“That would be absolutely amazing! You’d really do that for me? I mean no offence but we’ve only just met like an hour and a half ago?” You’re looking for the loophole or the strings attached to his offer. Usually this stuff doesn’t come for free. Especially not something so generous.

“See it as an opportunity to get to know you better. With your consent of course.” Maybe you should be glad there’s still the remains of sooth you couldn’t wipe away just yet hiding an onset blush. Jeeze. You feel like a school girl what’s going on and how does this man know exactly how to woo you. Charming, intelligent, nice, a good listener that actually shows interest in your passions? You’re not going to pass on that opportunity.

“With an offer like that; consent, permission and attention. You got it all, handsome.” You laugh only half joking. Does this count as flirting? Maybe it does… This is why you’re not the charismatic one.

“It’s settled then and maybe we can discuss your work more thoroughly in the future. I fear I’ve been a terrible guest to your friends.”

“I’m sure they don’t mind.” The two of you begin making your way back to the rest of the Nein and Essek, the latter of which seems relieved no further disasters occurred when letting his brother leave his supervision with you.

By the time Essek and Verin had to take their leave to return to their duties again you bid them farewell. Before departing Verin stops in front of you and clasps your hands between his.

“I’ll see you soon to make good on my promise?” A little caught off guard you can already see the plot spinning in in Jester’s head and Caleb wonder how you’d managed to charm your Thelyss quicker than he had.

“Yeah. See you soon.” He squeezes your hands before letting go and bidding the rest of the Nein farewell. You’re left there standing watching the Thelyss brother go until the door closes.

“Oh. My. Goodness!” Jester’s halfway through planning yours and Verin’s wedding already. Beau pats you on the shoulder for getting in the pants of another hot-boi. You assure her that’s not how you spent your time with Verin. Not yet, she assures you.

“I-uh should just go clean up the mess now…” You try to excuse yourself and for the first time you’re happy Nott’s still upset about her equipment as she begins dragging you off to the lab.

“Yeah! You better!” The goblin screeches.

#critical role #critical role x reader #critrole x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek x reader #essek #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

Not Alone

Summary: You’ve just gone through a very difficult breakup and feel lonelier than ever. But with the help of Ada’s wise words and some family traditions, you start feeling just a little better

A/N: A sweet anon requested: hi luv!! can you maybe do a bit of the brothers or maybe ada helping the shelby sis after a very hard breakup? i'd kinda appreciate the words right now 🥺🤍 Hope this helps you in any way and if it did happen to you, much love from me also! Also, I am in no way an psychologist or an expert on what to in break-ups, because they simply suck, but I tried to do the best I can. I hope you like it

Words: 2328 *** “What’s with Y/N?” John asked out of the blue over dinner. Arthur looked up, mouth filled with potatoes, “What? Why?” “She doesn’t eat,” commented the brother who never ate himself.

So Aunt Polly fixed him with a glare, “Must be a family thing…” “She never even touched her pie,” John continued, “She always eats pie.” “Finn?” Tommy asked, “Tell us what’s wrong with her, eh?” The youngest brother evaded his family’s looks and mumbled something along the lines of, “Why are you asking me?” “You know everything that goes on with Y/N,” Polly now shifted to the other brother and said in her characteristically low voice, “Spill.” “Remember that boy from down the road?” Finn started carefully. “There are lots of boys down the road…” “You mean the Irish kid, blonde, tall, went to school with Y/N?” Polly caught on quicker.

Finn hesitated, “Yeah… well, Y/N’s been kind of seeing him?” “Arthur, John, you kill the Irish kid,” Tommy was already standing up, “I’ll deal with Y/N.” “Sit down, Tommy,” Ada sighed, “Finn isn’t finished yet, is he?” “How the bloody hell would you know?” Arthur questioned. “Because seeing an Irish kid won’t make Y/N go off her food,” their sister explained, “But breaking upwith an Irish kid will, right, Finn?” “Right…” Tommy sank back down into his chair and sighed deeply. “Should we still kill the Irish kid, Tommy?” John asked innocently. “Hang on, John boy,” his eldest brother stopped him, “I’m the oldest. I should talk to Y/N first.” “You really shouldn’t…” Polly mumbled. And when Arthur got up, nervous but certain at the same time, Ada quickly pushed him back down in his chair again. With this, a certain sibling rivalry awoke in the Shelby household. With Ada up the stairs, the brothers quickly followed and even Finn was hot on their tails. All except Polly, who knew none of this would actually help. And while you’d locked yourself in your room, planning to spend the evening on your own and feeling particularly sorry for yourself, the bursting in of five siblings didn’t exactly help. “Fucking hell,” Arthur said, as soon as he saw your tear-streaked face, his nostrils flaring in sudden rage. John looked more helpless than ever, mumbling, “Why are you crying over that bastard…” Tommy stayed back and lit a cigarette in de doorway. But Finn looked from you to Tommy and his face was getting redder by the second, until he finally hissed, “Can I do it now, Tommy?” “Go,” his brother gave him permission, “but take Isiah.” Only Ada responded directly to you, as she sat down next to you on the bed and pulled you into a warm embrace, “What’s happened, sweetheart, you can tell us, eh?” “He left me…” you mumbled into her hair. “That’s it, I’m going to bloody shoot his balls off!” “Arthur, calm down, Finn is taking care of it,” Tommy soothed, but it didn’t comfort you at all. Ada looked at her unhelpful brothers full of scorn and almost shouted, “Well, is anyone going to add something that might actually help Y/N? Because if not, kindly get the fuck out!” “What can we do?” John asked gently. But you just shrugged, still locked into Ada’s arms.

“Well, you’re the fucking oldest, right? Go on!” John urged Arthur on.

So Arthur started, with all the best intentions in the world, which was the only thing that could calm him in this very moment, “The thing is, we human beings are made up of different things…”

You send a look of uncertainty across the room towards Tommy, who returned your gesture with one lifted eyebrow that said: yeah, I have no idea either.

“Like, when we lose someone, it’s like your head, it’s out of balance. So you need to balance it out again.”

“Arthur,” John asked bluntly, “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Like when John here lost Martha! He had to learn to live without her and it took him a lot of time, also because he has fifty kids, but mainly because he had to balance his head out again. And that takes time!” Arthur got more enthusiastic in his speech with each sentence, “It’s a chemical thing, like… like with cocaine!”

“Cocaine?” you repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, cocaine,” he looked nervously around the room filled with incredulous faces, “Cocaine brings you up, while whiskey brings you down, right? You need both. You understand? You need to find the balance.”

“Are you suggesting our baby sister does cocaine?” a harsh voice suddenly asked.

“No!” Arthur called out, “Fucking hell… I’m just saying, accept that it takes time, because the chemicals in your body need time to adjust and that takes a while…”

Deep down, you knew Arthur meant well. Hell, he even had a point in a way, but he wasn’t great at getting his point across.

So John tried, “When Martha died, I did grieve. And I had to rethink life without her, you know? And especially with four, that’s four, kids. It was like I had lost a part of me.”

“So how did you do it, John?” you asked, looking up at your brother.

“Honestly, I was drunk all the time.”

Tommy rolled his eyes almost audibly and sucked on his cigarette in the doorway.

So you fixed him with a stare, “What about you, Tommy? Any brilliant advice from you?”

“Nope,” he simply said.

And a sudden anger flared up in you, “None at all. So, you don’t even care, do you?”

Tommy stared at you for a few moments and then he turned to John, “Go out to the fields near the Black Patch, where the vardo is. Get a fire going. I’ll be there in an hour. Go on, John!”

Being emotional in front of your brothers was one thing, but feeling like they were ignoring you made everything even worse. As you felt the tears welling up again, you got so annoyed and mad at yourself that you needed to take the anger out on someone. So you turned to Thomas again, but before you could open your mouth, he’d turned around already and was making his way out the room.

Completely defeated, you slumped on your bed and seriously considered throwing yourself out the window.

“How do you feel,” a softer female voice asked and you realised you weren’t actually on your own.

So you frowned and tried to explain, “You know that feeling when you drop a glass of water and within seconds it splashes and then just…disappears?”

“Yeah,” Ada said gently.

“That’s how I feel.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell them?” you scoffed, “Well, you just saw how well they handled it…”

Ada nodded for a second, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to,” you shook your head, “I have no idea what to do with myself now.”

So Ada sighed, lit a cigarette and gave it to you, “You’re not going to do anything, except listen to me now, alright?”

And you nodded meekly as your sister spoke.

“Polly is going to tell you this: fuck men. And in a way she’s right, but in others she isn’t. Men are a common nuisance and we would have no need for them if we didn’t like them so much, did we? In fact, I’m guessing you might even love this one?” Full of sisterly concern she stared at you.

As your head fell down and you started crying again, a loud bang sounded and John barged into the room once again.

“Oh shit, sorry Ada… Uhm…” he stood there, cap in hand and having no idea how to hold himself, “I just wanted to quickly give… Y/N, thought you might need this?”

Ada took the bottle of whiskey John had brought from his hands and started opening it up at once. Then she looked at her brother and demanded, “Don’t you have a fire to get to?”

Clumsily, he left the room quickly.

“They try,” your sister waved a disinterested hand.

And finally you spoke words that had burned in your throat for the last couple of hours now, “I did love him.”

“And that’s okay!” Ada urged, while rubbing you back softly, “That’s what happens and it’s fine. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not allowed to love someone or that you should be strong and independent all the time. You’re allowed to love and you’re even allowed to need someone, just like you’re allowed to grieve right now,” she opened the bottle and traded it with you for the cigarette, “and if you ever tell him I said this I’ll deny every word of it, but Arthur was right: it is a little like grieving over the death of someone. It fucking hurts, but it has to be done.”

“Okay, so what the fuck do I do now?”

“Well… you cry, which you’ve already done, good for you,” your practical sister continued, “Then you plan his funeral, which should be easy because I’m guessing Tommy is arranging that as we speak.”

You had to laugh; you couldn’t help yourself, even through the tears.

And Ada called out, “That’s it! And then you laugh.”

“So that’s today covered,” your smile faded a little, “What about tomorrow and the day after that?”

She took a large swig from the bottle and spoke while choking on it slightly, “Sweetheart, if I had all the answers I wouldn’t be a single mother right now, but it’s about learning to live with yourself. It’s about being alone and suddenly realising you’re no longer lonely.”

“Why though?” you almost whined, “What if I don’t want to be lonely? Maybe I could still get him back? We weren’t that bad…”

“Yes, you were.”

“Yes, we were,” you admitted, taking the bottle from her.

“Listen,” Ada took your hands in hers and locked eyes with you, “You deserve better. This doesn’t help you at all right now, but maybe it will in a few weeks time. You deserve a man who loves you, adores you and worships the ground you walk on, and at the very least you fucking deserve a man who stays. Now, you may not understand now, but a few weeks from now, you will love yourself again. It will all make sense then. Right now you need to let go and you need some distraction.”

“What if I want to be on my own?”

“To do what? Cry?” Ada could be horribly blunt.

So you frowned full of irritation, “Well, maybe I do.”

“You already did that. You need to be with someone you love. Doesn’t have to be me, but don’t go wallowing on your own too much. It doesn’t help.”

“Right, okay…”

So the two of you sat in silence for a long, drinking the whiskey and smoking. And while you didn’t speak, it was good. You’d always been a child that was drawn more to her brothers than her only sister, but right now, the sister proved invaluable. For the first time, it was like you felt the ground beneath your feet again. That solid feeling of family always there kept you sane and it made you just a little bit less lonely.

And then, just like that, Tommy was back. With a painfully direct way, very similar to Ada’s, he announced, “It’s ready. Come on.”

“What is?”

“Just bring his stuff,” Tommy said quickly, “whatever he gave you, and come with me.” He was already out the door when he called from the hallway, “And bring Ada too!”

So after a lot of complaining and ranting about brothers, the two of you left the stuffy bedroom and followed Thomas out the door. He hoisted the both of you in his car and drove out into the fields, above which the sun had already started to set.

Finally, he brought you to the fire, and explained, “We gypsies are used to a lot of pain, but we’re no good with it. It’s a bit like the darkness; we live in it, but it’s where the trouble is too. So, we light fires.”

“How’s the fire going to help?” you asked sarcastically.

“It’s not,” he said, “But sitting here with us might. You used to sleep outside whenever you felt trapped, thought maybe we could do it again.”

You nodded slowly. This didn’t sound like a bad plan at all, actually.

“What about his stuff?” you questioned, “You told me to bring it.”

“If you want, burn it. If not, keep it. For now.”

So you sat down by the fire and it awoke something old inside of you: something you had missed intensely.

“So is this the gypsy cure?” you asked Tommy, a small smirk playing about your lips.

“You can ask John in a minute. It’s what he did, after Martha.”

And suddenly you remembered, “That’s why he left for five days.”

“Am I expected to sleep here as well, out on the grass, all wet and dirty?” Ada asked sharply.

Tommy pointed at his older sister playfully, “Yes. Y/N gets to choose. You however do not. You’ve forgotten where you’re from, Ada.”

“I fucking haven’t,” she protested, “I remember these fields. We used to come here with mum, after the fairs.”

Your other three brothers joined you one by one and like second nature, they huddled around the fire and you weren’t sure if it was the fire or them that kept you warm. Until well into the night, they brought up stories about traveling, family and horses. You hardly spoke, but it was good to listen.

At one point you did whisper, “Maybe you were right, Tommy. Maybe this is the gypsy cure…”

“There’s no cure sweetheart, just patience. But you won’t be alone.”

“No?’ you asked vaguely.

“We’re here,” Arthur said.

“We’re your family,” John added quickly.

And Ada pulled you close to her once again, saying, “And we’re never leaving you.”

***

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