#or at least was a final straw or a crack that started the avalanche or something idk

[unusualbill]

Nothing For Us

@goblincxnt it’s here 👀

Warnings: Compulsive behaviors, mentions of death

Last exit in Pennsylvania

The words repeated in Roman’s mind. The sign was a warning telling him this is your last chance, turn back now.

He glanced at Peter, who was busy timing for their exit. He caught the wolf’s eye, who in turn flashed him a warm smile.

How did he end up here? Driving down the interstate with the boy who broke his heart. Left for hours in an aching silence, save for the stereo.

He couldn’t bear to say a word, not yet, not until they were somewhere where they could truly be alone. As Roman traced mindless circles on the upholstery, Peter took one last look at him before making their exit, offering one final chance to leave and go back home. Roman attempted to speak, the words catching in his throat and leaving him breathless for a moment.

It was too late.

Gentle drops of rain began to fall as they made their way down the highway, picking up soon after Peter took one last exit through small town, West Virginia.

“You hungry?” The wolf asked, breaking the lasting silence.

Roman nearly didn’t recognize that he was being spoken to, lost in thought about the day’s beginning.

“Hmm? Yeah, I could eat.” He answered, his voice hoarse from lack of use. 

Peter pulled into the parking lot of a local burger joint, smiling softly at his traveling companion. He clicked off the radio, leaving them in silence once more.

Roman braced himself for the frigid rain as he stepped out of the car. The cold air burned his lungs as he took a breath, stretching his legs. As he looked at Peter, his mind drifted back to the night before.

“We should go,” The wolf’s voice echoed the heartache of many moons ago “There’s nothing for us here”

“Go where?”

The wolf cracked a smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wherever the wind takes us.”

“You coming inside?”

Roman snapped back to reality, standing in the freezing rain next to a littered french fry carton.

“Yeah,” He nodded “Yeah…”

He followed Peter into the restaurant, a silver bell on the door jingling behind them. He glanced around at the sea of shabby tables before finding a spot that was vaguely clean.

The restaurant appeared to have been nice looking once, 30 years ago, though it was styled after a 1950’s diner. Done up in over-the-top cherry red, and black and white checkerboards.

Roman mindlessly ripped apart a discarded straw wrapper as he watched Peter give their order, his leg bouncing. He thought about asking to turn around or hitchhiking back home, but Peter returned to the table with their food and a smile. Damn that smile. Roman decided he’d stay, for now.

“You alright man?” Peter asked, settling in at the seat across from Roman “You’ve been quiet the whole ride up here.”

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

The upir picked at his fries, silently refusing to look at Peter.

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to, you know.” Peter said, watching Roman closely “You could’ve stayed.”

Roman shook his head

“Nah...It’s just that—” he chewed his lip for a moment “I’ve never really been this far from home before, y’know?” 

Before Peter could answer, he was interrupted by a stout redheaded waitress, —whose name tag read Louise— arriving at their table, coffee pot in hand

“Can I top y’all off?” She asked, gum popping and fake southern accent layering heavy over her New England own. “Fresh cuppa coffee?” Her cherry red press-on nails tapped against the stale coffee pot.

“Uh, water. Thanks.” Roman replied, gesturing to his half-empty glass.

“Cherry Coke.” Peter smiled, taking the last sip before passing his glass over, along with his half empty coffee mug.

Roman looked around the restaurant, watching the other patrons and reading the road sign decor before his eyes finally landed on the wall beside him, which was covered in grayscale photos of people looking both miserable and triumphant.

“That’s our hall of fame” Louise beamed “If you order the Appalachian Avalanche apple pie and eat the whole thing in under fifteen minutes, your meal’s free! Y’all wanna try it?”

Roman eyed Peter, and then their waitress, shaking his head. He wasn’t in the mood for something sweet.

“Nah, not this time.”

As their waitress left his gaze returned to the wall, gravitating towards a specific picture. It was Norman, in his younger years, looking as though he was about to lose his lunch. Roman wasn’t surprised by this, surely he had a life before Roman was born. It was the hand on his shoulder that caught his eye, the smiling face next to his sickly looking uncle.

It was J.R., he looked to be around Roman’s age, and was smiling brighter than in any picture Roman had seen of him before.

“Y’know, my cousin actually finished one of these things before,” Peter said, interrupting Roman’s train of thought.

“I was about seven or eight, and my cousin Tommy—Scrawny little guy, no meat on him at all—had gone with us to this little hole in the wall down south. And there was this huge burger, bigger than your head-” Peter paused to pantomime just how large the burger had been, taking some creative liberties, of course “And Tommy- Tommy always thought he was hot shit, so he orders this thing and they set a timer on the table. Twenty minutes.” 

Roman watched as his companion told his story with great passion, laughing and smiling as he spoke. He found himself lost in that smile, the rest of the world tuning out.

“So now he’s one bite away and looking a bit green in the gills, one bite. He’s only got forty-five seconds left. So we’re all banging on the table and screaming ‘Come one Tommy! You got this! One more bite!’ and the rest of the joint joins in and he got it down with two seconds to spare! Two!”

Roman sipped his coffee “He get his picture on the wall?”

“The whole family did!” Peter beamed “There’s a hall of fame for people who can keep it down for at least thirty minutes afterwards. Tommy didn’t make it to that one…”

Roman snorted, popping a french fry into his mouth.

“It’s still hanging there, I’ll have to show you when we make it down that way.”

The last fleeting thought Roman had about turning around vanished with that proposition. 

“I asked Nic if I would ever have to do that and he told me only if I was the kind of man who needed an ego stroke. He said ‘The bigger the ego, the smaller the courage.’”

Nicolae’s words of wisdom hung in the air before Peter started laughing upon realizing what his grandfather had meant.

“I’ve known some guys with some pretty small courage then” Roman quipped.

“Oh, like you don’t have the biggest ego.” Peter teased

Roman rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just get going, alright?”

Roman began to pull out his credit card when Peter grabbed his wrist. He tensed up at the feeling of the wolf’s calloused hand on his own.

“You said your mom was gonna try and find you right? She can track that.” Peter said, referencing a conversation they had the night prior. 

“Sheeit,” Said Roman “You’re right.”

Roman counted the cash in his wallet, only a couple thousand.

“How far will this get us?” He whispered, flashing his cash.

“Further if you quit waving it around.”

He tucked it back into his wallet, scanning the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed. The patrons seemed to be unbothered by his wealth, caught up in their own conversations.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Peter pulled out a wad of crumpled cash, counting out enough for their bill and leaving it on the table next to their trash.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Peter reached into the ashtray and pulled out a quarter, handing it to Roman.

“What’s this for?” The upir asked

“Flip it. Heads Carolina, tails California.”

Roman raised a brow, unaware of what his friend was referencing. 

“Just flip it so I can pick which direction I’m going.”

Roman ran his thumb across the embossed face of the coin before flicking it into the air. Heads.

“Alright, we’re headed south.”

As miles of open road stretched out before them, the radio began to fade. Pop songs turned to garbled static as the town grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

Peter fiddled with the knob, switching to the cassette tape that was inside the stereo. A song from the eighties began to play.

The car was somewhat of a family heirloom, passed around to whichever family member needed it at the moment. Most recently it had been Destiny’s. Peter had made arrangements to borrow it in case Roman had wanted to come with him.

Although its pale brown color and faux-wood paneling were enough to nauseate the average man, Peter had fond memories of him and his mother traveling across the states in the beat up old station wagon. 

Roman stared out the window, watching as trees turned to blurs of green as they drove. 

“Horses.” Peter pointed to a nearby field of horses and goats.

“What about them?”

“I dunno man, that’s just what you say when you pass horses. They’re pretty or some shit.”

“Oh…” Roman looked back at the horses in question. Peter was right, they were pretty.

Roman’s eyes threatened to close as he stared at the open road. The sun was beginning to set, and the upir had been awake since the previous night. He had intended to sleep that morning but his nerves had gotten the better of him.

“If you’re tired you can sleep in the backseat,” Peter offered “Just let me find somewhere to pull over first.”

Roman nodded, trying to stay awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fallen asleep on a car ride.

“There should be a blanket back there somewhere,” Peter said, slowing to a stop on the side of the road.

The backseat was cluttered with soda cans and other gas station garbage. Roman swept it onto the floorboards, stretching out on the velour seat covers. 

The seats had gone years without a deep clean and thus were slightly crunchy to the touch.

Roman traced his finger along a small hole in the fabric, left there by a cigarette butt many years ago. The feeling of melted plastic was oddly calming to him.

The blanket was thin and rough, and the edges were frayed from years of use. It was once a gift, made with love, but had long since lost its luster. Roman thought it impossible to find a comfortable position with the scratchy mess.

He was asleep before Peter even hit the highway.

When Roman awoke it was dark. The rhythm of the windshield wipers brought him back to reality.

“What time is it?”

“About three o’clock”

“Sheeit.”

Roman sat up slowly, shaking the remaining sleep from his head. He rested his head against the window and watched the rain fall.

“I just realized there’s a few things I need to get, you wanna come in with me?” Peter asked, gesturing to the sign for a nearby supermarket.

“Yeah, sure. I need to get a pack of smokes while we’re at it.”

“What state are we in?” Roman asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

“West Virginia still, we’ve still got a while ahead of us.”

Roman checked his hair in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car. He covered his head with his blazer and waited for Peter to join him in the freezing rain.

Peter locked the car doors and tucked the key into his pocket.

“After this, I figured we should get a motel, the storm is only going to get worse and I don’t think we should drive in that.”

Roman nodded and walked with Peter into the smalltown supermarket.

The air conditioning hit Roman’s wet skin and sent a shiver down his spine. The air smelled like stale bread and lemon cleaner. Roman found himself wondering where the employees were.

Peter grabbed a shopping cart and placed his wet jacket inside. After a moment, Roman did the same.

“So, what do we need?”

“Food, stuff we can eat in the car.”

“Beer?” Roman asked

“Nah, not here. Too expensive and we’ll need to get some new IDs.” Peter’s fake ID only said he was 18, since his mother was usually the one buying alcohol for him.

“Right.”

Peter pushed the cart towards the snack aisles, one wheel spinning loosely on its own accord.

The sound of wet footsteps on the linoleum floor felt like little knives inside Roman’s brain. The squelching was enough to make his eye twitch.

“You okay man?” Peter asked, looking up from the potato chip shelf.

“Yeah, yeah. Tired.” the upir lied. Truthfully he felt as though he could feel every sound in the universe through his teeth, the fluorescent lights assaulting his eyes.

Peter studied two bags of chips carefully before shrugging and throwing both in the cart.

Roman stared at the checkered floor tiles, making a conscious effort to only step on the white ones. He didn’t know why, all he knew was that the idea of stepping on a green tile filled him with a deep sense of dread.

“Playing hopscotch?” Peter asked, moving on to the aisle that contained beef jerky.

Roman shook his head.

“No, I just have a bad feeling about the green ones I guess.” He said, feeling rather silly for admitting it. But despite his rationality, he knew deep inside that the danger was all too real.

“Ah, Okay.” Peter looked across the aisles “The deli doesn’t have any green ones, wanna get us some sandwiches while I ask someone to get one of those coolers down for us?” He gestured to a row of coolers that sat atop the freezer aisle.

Roman nodded and began walking carefully in the direction of the deli.

“What kind do you want?”

“Nothing fancy, anything with meat so none of that veggie crap.” 

Roman held his breath as he skipped over the green tiles until he arrived at the deli, its flooring a solid mustard yellow, it appeared to be either faded or incredibly dirty, Roman wondered if that was intentional.

He smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She did not smile back. She had a vacant stare and her nametag was falling off.

Brenda, Roman read.

He waved awkwardly before putting his hands in his pockets and looking over the prepackaged sandwiches instead.

Each sandwich was wrapped in white paper with a date stamped across it. Roman grabbed two at random, checking to make sure neither was vegetarian, before heading off to find Peter.

Peter was talking to a store manager and trying to fit the cooler into their cart.

Roman started towards him but stopped in his tracks as the mustard yellow tile ended, a sea of checkers before him. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself but he also didn’t feel safe stepping on the green tiles.

He took slow careful strides towards Peter, trying his hardest to nonchalantly avoid those evil squares.

Peter saw him and ended the conversation with the clerk, meeting Roman halfway.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t come find you. You okay?” Peter placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Roman looked at his shoes and the white tiles underneath them “The whole thing is pretty stupid anyway.”

He offered Peter the sandwich in his hands, Peter took it and inspected it before placing it in the cart next to a 12 pack of orange soda. 

“No, it’s not. Not if it makes you feel safer.”

Roman opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He was so used to his mother telling him that his actions were nonsensical and embarrassing that he had never thought that they could be anything else.

“C’mon, let’s go check out. We need to make it to the motel before this storm gets any worse.” 

Peter stood near the open trunk of his station wagon, pouring the remainder of a bag of ice into their new cooler. Roman was sitting on the bars of the cart return smoking a cigarette. The rain had let up for a moment, the pavement still freshly wet under Peter’s feet.

Roman flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby puddle and grabbed a soda from where Peter was stocking the cooler.

“Man, c’mon! It’s not even cold yet.”

Roman shrugged and cracked it open, taking a sip. He eyed the orange label, wishing he had grabbed a Cherry Coke instead. By the third sip, it began to grow on him.

Peter finished stocking the cooler, setting it in the corner and closing the trunk. 

Roman slid into the passenger’s seat, waiting for Peter to start the car. As he shut the door the rain began to fall once more, starting softly but quickly picking up.

“Shit,” Peter started the car, turning on the windshield wipers

“I saw a sign for a motel back that way” Roman gestured helpfully.

Peter nodded and put the car in gear.

Roman watched out the window as the city lights turned to watercolor blurs in front of his eyes. He’d never seen so much rain in one night.

Peter followed the main road until they arrived at a motel whose sign proudly boasted that they had color TV. He put the car in park, counting out enough money for two rooms. He instructed Roman to stay in the car and watch their stuff while he went to the front desk and got their keys.

Roman closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the rain against the windows. The steady rhythm of the windshield wipers and the low rumble of the engine was almost enough to put him to sleep again.

He had almost drifted off when Peter knocked on the window, gesturing for him to get out.

“They were down to one room,” He yelled over the heavy rain “You don’t mind sharing do you?”

Roman weighed his options: sleep in the same room as another man, or sleep in the parking lot of a seedy motel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The upir answered with a shrug, grabbing his bag from the backseat and taking the key from Peter’s hand.

“Are you going to help carry stuff in?” the wolf asked.

Roman was already on his way to the motel room.

As Roman opened the door to room 227, he noticed a smell. A foul, sour smell. He turned away in disgust, gagging before he covered his nose with his shirt sleeve and trudged forward. He was almost afraid to touch anything in fear of locating the source of the stench.

As he set his bag down, he forced himself to take a breath, and in doing so he realized that he knew that smell.

It was the smell of death.

[karasuno-writings]

Promise?

Here is the angst I promised! At least the first one!

So I suck at titling things LOL so that is what I could come up with! I really got too much into this scenario like catch me in the kitchen floor at 1am bc the house is crowded and I just neeeded to finish bc I was soooo inspired, so maybe it did turn out nice! Or I hope so at least!! I hope you all like it! It also turned out kinda long!! 

Character: Kuroo Tetsuro

Warnings: I guess angst?

__________________________________________________

“Lets go to my home, kitten” You jumped slightly as your boyfriend, Kuroo, materialized next to you seemingly out of nowhere, smiling softly as he held his hand out. You hummed softly and took his hand in yours, such a feeling that warmed your heart up, letting you know that is where you belonged. 

Your phone buzzed on your pocket and as you took it out to check if it was something important a looming feeling washed over you, the hand in yours suddenly feeling no more like home and instead working only to intensify the weight that settled on your stomach.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.  

“Hey handsome! Whatcha looking at?” You asked, hugging your boyfriend from behind, wrapping your arms on his shoulders. You rest your head on your arm after planting a soft kiss on his cheek, keeping your head close to his. A cheeky smile appeared on Kuroo’s face as he kissed your arm. 

“Well you know how we talked about moving in together in a few years?” He said, wiggling his eyebrows, a small flutter appearing on your chest as you saw his screen, he was indeed looking for apartments in Tokyo. 

You stopped for a second, feeling the flutter no more replaced by an unusual lack of air. While you loved him, you both were still young and the future was unpredictable. You really wanted to be with him forever but keeping your hopes up so young did manage to unease you. Kuroo immediately felt the tension on your arms and letting go turned around, pulling you to sit on his lap.

“What’s wrong, kitten?”  He looked at you with soft eyes

“I just don’t want to get out hopes up...What if something happens? Or one of us has to go?” 

His heart throbbed, and while it hurt thinking about it, there was some truth behind it. He grabbed your hands, wrapping his around them and rubbing his thumb lightly. 

“I know...but hey, we can see it through...look, if something happens we will plan it out and in the end it will all turn out” 

“Really?”

“As long as we keep each other informed we’ll see everything through my love. You’ll have to promise to help me plan it all out though” He looked into your eyes, soft and determined. A small smile appeared on your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, his promises were always sincere and held high importance. It was all a matter of communication, if anything happened there would always be a way.

“Promise?” 

“Promise” You smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dad: I don’t care, there is no choice to be done, we are leaving tomorrow. 

You felt your heart clench, its incessant thumping ringing in your ears as its beating increased slowly, the feeling was suffocating as you swore none of your breaths actually reached your chest, staying as a knot in your throat rather than filling your lungs. Your boyfriend had never given you a reason to feel like this, he never shouted at you, nor raised his voice, and was all too understanding. That was what made things worse.

You managed to hide it all with a deep breath, calming yourself right before he could notice, you knew that in the end he always did. He turned to look at you smiling, he was always so beautiful when he did, the dreading feeling lifting slightly, there was no need to worry him just yet. You smiled back at him, kissing his cheek, his scent filling your nostrils; he always did smell like a delightful mix of fresh laundry and wood which origin you could never pinpoint.  

That relaxed you all the way to your house, driving the fear of your mind for some delightful moments. 

“I’ll go fetch us something to it my love” With a smile you threw your jacket on the couch, heading straight towards the kitchen. 

“Sounds perfect kitten” He answered as you left his sight, sitting right next to where your discarded jacket lay. 

Once there you started chopping up some fruit as a snack for the movie you were sure the two of you would eventually watch. However after a few minutes you started wondering why he had not come to see what you were doing, it was unusual of him to stay on the living room all this time, curiosity got the best of him almost always. Shrugging the thought out of your mind you grabbed the bowls, ready to go back and cuddle up for a while.

The moment you stepped into the living room you felt it, he was not facing you as the couch was headed away from the doorway, yet you knew something was not right. The feeling crept up to you once more, the ringing in your ears growing louder each second that passed, your feet seemed to weight more than usual, making every step painfully difficult to take. 

“Tetsu?” You fought with the lump that lay on your throat, finding it harrowing to speak, you knew you had to. You were now next to the couch, you knew he could see you out of the corner of his eye, nevertheless he did not turn to face you. You felt a heft fall in your stomach all of a sudden, his expression was harsh, he only looked like this at those who had done him wrong. Your breathing became hitched, it was hard to keep your composure.

“Where you even planning to tell me?” Kuroo was desperate, he was sad and distraught, he was not angry, he knew he had to let you explain yourself, however he’d be lying if he said he could fully describe the wave of emotions that had hit him all of a sudden. He was not one to lose composure, that is why he looked so stern, the best way he could handle the information that had just overwhelm him.

“What do yo-”

“Please...don’t...just, you know what I am talking about”

You felt your eyes begin to water as you finally faced him, it was like something was pushing down on your chest, swallowing was now a seemingly impossible task as everything in the room seemed taller, the sensation of shrinking impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t know Kuroo, I wanted to be sure before telling you”

“Tomorrow? You were not sure if you were leaving tomorrow?” The irritation in his voice building up with each word. He was not sure how to react, he was a planner, he was cold blooded when in difficult situations, but you leaving him for who knows how long? Not being able to see you anymore? He could not begin to muster what it would be like. 

“...our promise? The plans we had? If only you had been honest damnit” His voice cracked, it was evident he was hurt, which only managed to make things worse for you.

“It is not my fault, my parents...they just told me” 

“You should have told me right away”

“I didn’t know! I did not want to worry you!” You were practically choking on your words, spitting them out as well as you could. You wanted to explain, but you were not ready for him to find out before you could, you had planned it all out.

“I thought we agreed on something” 

“I was going to tell you today...but you decided to sneak on my phone instead” That was the final straw, he stood up, stern.

“You really think I’d do that?”  The way he spoke, you’d rather have him shout, this was much worse. You felt helpless, insignificant compared to how he appeared to tower over you. You wanted to answer, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice.

“So that is it right? You think that about me. I just...I thought you could hold on to your promises” Still nothing from you, holding back the tears became much harder.

“I thought you wanted to make it all work out…” Disappointment.

“We can, we c-”

“I am not so sure now”

That is what made it for you, he didn’t think it would all be good for the two of you then, he did not even seem to want to try. Tears finally began pouring down your cheeks as you held on to the jacket you had just managed to retrieve. After all this years he was willing to let go for one slight misunderstanding. You had nothing left to say, sobbing you walked for the door, looking back at him as you opened it, hoping he’d say something else, anything.

He didn’t

That was a mistake that would haunt him for all this years

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Kuroo had just finished grocery shopping, he was stuffing the food on his green bag, ready to call it a day and hang out with Kenma. Everything had been pretty uneventful, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary, however something was a little off, he could not really wrap his mind around it. 

“Sir?” The cashier looked at him with expectant eyes, he had apparently got lost in his thoughts. Smiling apologetically at her he took the change. 

“Sorry! Have a nice day” He pocketed the coins and stepped outside, the day was warm, it seemed oddly cheerful.

He stopped, his feet couldn’t seem to move. Four years of regret falling on top of him like an avalanche as he saw it. He did not want it to be true, he wanted it to be a product of his imagination or just a sick joke. However he was not an idiot, nothing could change the fact you were there, or that you were smiling brighter than he had ever seen. And even if he wanted to, he could not ignore that the happiness that poured out of you was due to the boy who was now holding your hand, sawing it as you practically floated by his side.

His heart shattered, you were practically glowing, you had changed so much in all this time, but it all seemed to be for the better. Your eyes sparkled as you talked to the tall stranger, even more so than how they used to whenever you were by his side. You finally changed your hair, you always told him exactly how you wanted it, but never got around to actually do it, you looked stunning. 

Before he could react and think of what to do, you had spotted him. For a moment your expression shifted, maybe it was while you recognized him, still, as brief as it was he saw that you remembered him, all that happened between the two of you. It did not last long, and you now smiled, waving at him cheerfully and pulling your little friend behind you as you walked up to Kuroo.

“Hi Kuroo!...It has been a long time.” You smiled, he was surprised to find not a bit of resentment in your voice. Snapping out of his trance he managed to smile, as little as he could muster to. He missed the sound of his name on your lips, he just wished you would call him Tetsu one more time.

“Hello Y/N...yes, it has been a while. Why are you here?” He tried to remain calm, it was never hard for him to do so, the only problem was that you knew that all too well. He caught a whiff of your smell, it made him remember all those times you made him caress your hair and skin while holding you so close, your heart beating with his.

“Well, after finally being able to financially support myself I managed to get out of the grasp of my parents and live here in Tokio...like I’ve always dreamed” Your smile seemed apologetical, he knew why, four years were enough time to realize all the mistakes he had made. His heart ached, it used to be a dream of the both of you.

“That’s good” He wished he could say he was happy for you, but he could not. “Kuroo, nice to meet you” He greeted the buffoon that came with you.

“Kira, nice meeting you too” He shook his hand, Kuroo really desired to hate him.

“Well...we need to leave now. I’m glad to see you again” You said, feeling the tension grow, and with one last bow you carried on your path.

Kuroo followed you with his gaze, wanting you to turn and look at him, to be the reason of your smile once more. He wanted you to stay, so you could start it all over. He wanted to say something, try to win you once more. 

But just as you were about to take a turn on the corner of the street, Kuroo saw him place his arm around your shoulders, he saw your smile, the most goddamn beautiful smile he had ever seen.

And you didn’t look back.

[quillreflections]

Title: Strawberry Avalanche

Chapter: 10

Series: Yugioh Zexal

Pairing: Trey Arclight/reader

Disclaimer: I started this when I was younger so the early chapters are kinda shitty lmao

If you were a beautiful sound in the echoes all around, then I’d be your harmony.

[SURPRISE THOMAS CHAPTER LMAO]

Quattro let out a relieved sigh as the rental car pulled up to his family home. Sure, it wasn't that late in the day- barely past lunch, actually- but he'd been up well before the sun for some professional dueling business, and he was exhausted. It had been meeting after meeting all morning; being introduced to possible replacement managers, since his had just retired, and then a series of interviews for various magazines and TV spots. Why had he thought it a good idea to schedule that all at once?

It was only after the car drove off that Thomas realized he'd forgotten to thank the driver. Shrugging, he shoves his hands in his coat pockets and trots up the front steps. He reaches for the doorknob, totally ready to jump into bed after checking on Trey- but the front door swings open on its own, and you step out.

When you meet his eyes and smile at him, his exhaustion completely dissipates. His heart starts pounding against his ribcage so hard that he's amazed you don't hear it.

Of course, he can't let you know you have that effect on him.

"Damn, you're hanging around here an awful lot lately. Do you really like us that much?" He teases.

You giggle back at him. "Well since I've been putting up with you all these years, what do you think?" You brush some loose hair behind your ears. "But y'know, you guys are busy, and I know Michael still feels bad. . ."

"Hey, at least he's getting better, y'know?" The youngest Arclight was still on the mend, but he was feeling much better than he had the other day, when he'd collapsed. You nod in agreement. Quattro studies you a moment. "Hey, have you eaten yet?"

"No, I was just headed home to make something. Why, you want me to bring something by?"

"Nah. Let me take you out somewhere."

It makes his heart flutter, the fact that you don't even hesitate to say yes.

☆☆☆☆☆

Camped out at one of Quattro's favorite cafés, you look up from your lunch to catch him staring at you intently.

". . . do I have something on my face?" You stick your tongue out to catch any food stuck on your lips. He chuckles at that before shaking his head.

"I was just thinking. . ." his voice fades, but you don't prompt him to continue. Quattro says what he wants. ". . . why did you stick around?"

"What do you mean?"

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hands. "We were gone for a long time, [Name], and we've done things none of us are proud of. We've all changed because of it. That's just how things are." His eyes roam your figure and he smirks. "You've grown a lot too." But his smile drops just as quickly as it appeared. He's awaiting an answer.

You put your fork down and reach for your drink instead, stirring the straw as you think of how to respond. "Well. I don't know if you remember or not, but when we met as kids- I didn't have any other friends. I was lonely until I met you." He nods, and you continue. "So I think it's only natural that I worry about the first- and best- friends I ever had, especially when they just up and disappear one day. Do you. . . do you have any idea what I felt when I saw you on TV for the first time?"

You could remember it so clearly. It had been only a glimpse, out of the corner of your eye, on one of the many large screens decorating the various city squares of Heartland. You'd looked up and the face of an Arclight was staring back at you.

"I was so happy, Quattro." You laughed a bit as his false name rolled off your tongue. "I admit, I was confused when people called you that. You'd always just been Thomas to me. But anyways," you finally quit fooling with your drink, turning to look out the café window. But you're not watching the people passing by on the sidewalk; no, you're focused on Quattro's reflection. Observing him without having to actually meet his eyes.

His reflection looks pained, but he doesn't interrupt.

"You guys aren't as different now as you seem to think you are, y'know?"

Thomas snorts. "That's not possible, [Name]. With the things we've done-"

"And I don't know what you've done, Thomas! Maybe you think that's the only reason I waited for you to come back. Is that it?" You glare at his reflection. "I know you, Thomas, and I have for years. You're exactly the same as when we were kids- you're afraid that telling me the truth will get rid of me, right?" He hesitates before nodding ever so slightly, and you continue. "Thomas, if I waited for you and your brothers to come back to me over all these years, do you really think I'd leave you over something else?"

"I really do." His voice is quiet, and his sharp eyes meet yours, staring back at him. "[Name], I-" he sighs heavily, suddenly much more exhausted than he'd been before lunch. "Listen. There's things I still can't tell you yet, out of respect for my brothers. But [Name]. . . so many people have abandoned us. You- you're the only person who's cared for us through everything, even though we went so long without seeing each other. And I really am afraid you'll leave us, you'll leave me, once you know these things- but God, I want to tell you, I want you to know everything-" his voice cracks, and when he looks up from the table, there's sheer panic in his eyes. A flood of sympathy crashes over you, and you reach for his hand. His grip on you is crushing.

"Thomas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you-"

"No, it's fine, we're just-" a smile twitches at his lips, "we're just having an important discussion, as the friends and adults that we are." His grip on you loosens, and he starts tracing his thumb over your hand. "I do appreciate your honesty, though. Most people are too afraid of me for any verbal suckerpunches."

You smile at him to hopefully lighten the mood. "You're a lot more mature now, y'know. You do still have a mild attitude problem, but. . . it's nice when you're open with me."

He just smiles, shakes his head, and changes the subject.

☆☆☆☆☆

Lunch melted into dessert, and then one of you made mention of how nice the nearby park is, what with all its blooming flowers this time of year; before either of you knew it, a couple of extra hours had passed. Always good at feigning the gentleman, Thomas offered to walk you home, and you accepted.

You turn around to face him once you reach your doorstep. "Quattro, thanks- it's always nice spending time at home with you guys, but today was so relaxing compared to how things have been lately."

He smiles at you as he leans against your doorway. "Well I'm glad you enjoyed it, [Name]. It feels like we never get to spend any time alone together." And maybe there's a reason for that, he adds to himself. Before you step into your home, he adds, "One more thing, [Name]? Kinda like a favor?"

"Of course, Quattro!"

He straightens up to his full height, suddenly serious. "I don't want you to call me that anymore. I. . . want you to just use my real name again, from now on."

You stare at him for a moment before realizing what he said; once it registers, you blush a bit. Since their return, it's become clear that their real names are important to the Arclights; very few other people even know them, so for him to ask you this, it must hold significance. Right?

Still blushing a bit, you smile again. "Whatever you say, Thomas."

Hearing his name in your angelic voice is almost too much for Thomas, and he's quick to start muttering his goodbyes after that- but before he turns to leave, he brings his hand up to your chin, lifting your face for a moment. More flustered than he's used to being- god, when's the last time a girl got to him like this?!- Thomas hastily presses his lips to your cheek before turning and fleeing home.

He can't wait to tell Michael that he kissed you first.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 8

The winter of 9:31 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart. In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start. In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood. And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

Ferelden Civil war AU Words: 4275 CW: gore, surgery, wounds Chapter summary: After hours of waiting, the last of Highever's forces finally make it to Bann Teagan's camp. But this doesn't set Alistair's fears to rest for long.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Seventh day of Guardian, 9:31 Dragon

The camp hidden on the edge of the Marl Plain was quiet, awaiting orders, hidden from its target by the skirt of a low hill. The restlessness of earlier hours had subsided with the last treasonous gasps of those hanged for insubordination and incitement to mutiny. They had been the most vocal in their dissent at the plan to take Highever, but the example made of them had stopped any greater action by the others. As Captain Lowan strode through the rows of low tents towards the horse pickets, he saw resignation in the faces of those huddled around their campfires, and was satisfied. Men more terrified of their commander than the enemy were easily led, and far more easily controlled.

Something nagged at his well-ordered mind, however. As Arl Howe’s right-hand, he wielded more power than most, but his lord had waited long years plotting this campaign and what he would do when he finally had the Couslands in his grasp, and on this subject he was like a terrier with a rat in its teeth. He was deaf to any caution that the man they had plucked still breathing from a knot of Highever dead might be a threat to the plan, refusing to listen even after their prisoner had been caught attempting to escape and warn the castle.

Damned nobles and their damned hubris.

He turned a corner and almost walked smack into the conscript set to guard the makeshift gaol where the prisoner had been moved.

“Captain!” The sentry jerked crisply to attention, fear lancing though his expression. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Lowan nodded towards the darkness in the cell. “Is he awake?”

“Hard’a tell, Ser.” The sentry stamped his boots to try and scare some warmth back into his feet, relieved that he hadn’t been singled out for a reprimand. “He in’t moved, mind, and he in’t gannin’ naawhere, not on them legs.”

The captain levelled a cold glare at such lax discipline. In the early morning gloom, the stark light of the cell’s single lamp cast harsh shadows over the planes of his face, deepening the orbits of his eyes and carving the depression of his mouth into a grin like a skull’s. With nervous eyes, the sentry traced the grizzly line of the scar that cut a chasm up his superior’s left cheek and across his forehead.

“I mean, not that I haven’t been watching him, like,” he added hastily. “But, I mean, Ser, look at ‘im. He’s out coald.”

“You’d better hope so, soldier.”

“A-aye, Ser.”

With a measured grace that belied his age, Lowan crouched on his heels to better examine the prisoner, the first trophy of Arl Howe’s conquest. The man lay heaped on his right side on a dirty pile of straw, bound in thick chains under a scraggy blanket, his once-gleaming armour dented and soiled with filth that masked the sigil of the Laurels embossed across his chest. His dark hair and face, too, were streaked with gore, his features now all but unrecognisable under the swell of purple bruises. He did not move, not even when poked in the ribs with the iron toe-cap of Lowan’s boot.

To one less cautious, such a pitiful sight would be convincing, but Howe’s right-hand knew enough of Cousland pride to know that one heavy beating and two cracked femurs would not be enough to smother it. He reached for his belt and slid his dagger from its sheath.

The sentry licked his lips. “Orders were to keep ‘im alive, Ser.”

“Do not tell me my business,” Lowan snapped. He lowered the flat side of the blade to the prisoner’s mouth. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the faintest mist of condensation collected on the steel, and Lowan rose to his feet with a grunt. “He’s alive. Get him up. His lordship thinks this toff will do nicely for –”

“Captain Lowan, Ser!” A sergeant in patchy mail stumbled into the lamplight, panting. “I was told to find you here.”

Lowan glowered at the newcomer. “Report.”

“It’s the Red Iron, Ser – the mercs what went after the Cousland girl.” The sergeant gulped. “They’ve sent a message, Ser.”

“Ah, finally.” Lowan flexed his fingers on the pommel of his sword. “Are they bringing back her head, as they were told?”

“Ah, um, no, Ser.”

“They’ve taken her alive then? That’s a feat – Arl Howe will be pleased.”

“Uh, no Ser,” came the hesitant reply. “They – they’re not bringing her. She, er, got away.”

“I see.” Lowan’s grip tightened. “And the wounded from Glenlough?”

“Didn’t catch them,” the sergeant answered. “It seems she used what was left of the cavalry to harry our men and give hers more time to flee. They caught up yesterday morning, but she escaped again. They’ve, uh, broken off pursuit, Ser. The messenger says she reached Bann Teagan’s forces near Wythenshawe, and they’re not being paid enough for such odds. His words, Ser,” he added, noting the scowl darkening his superior’s expression.

For a moment, indecision coiled in Lowan’s limbs. His eyes flicked from side to side, his lips pursed as he worked out his next move. Employing the Red Iron had been his suggestion, a solution to Amaranthine’s pitiful number of professional soldiers, which had been meant as a shortcut for taking Highever… and they had failed to remove the youngest Cousland, a mere chit who should have been easy to kill. Having survived, she would return to her homeland bloodthirsty as only nobles could be, with the might of a new army and all the authority of the king behind her, implacable as an avalanche. Howe might escape, but those lower in the pecking order were never so lucky. He wouldn’t be that lucky.

As if to undermine the downward turn of his thoughts, from somewhere nearby the first blackbird of morning began to sing. Time was marching on. Cursing inwardly, Lowan straightened and barked for the sergeant to help carry the prisoner while he marched ahead to where his lordship was making final preparations for the attack on Castle Cousland. If they could take the keep, then it wouldn’t matter what the girl did; she’d be free to break her armies against the walls and follow the rest of her family into the Maker’s grace.

He did not look back, so did not notice the smile that cracked across the prisoner’s face, as wide as his injuries would allow. He would be able to do nothing but watch, crippled, as everything he loved was put to the sword, but for an instant exultation burned through the mire of his grief. Rosslyn lived. Even if nothing could save Highever now, he knew with certainty that it would not go unavenged.

--

By the time Alistair reached the eastern edges of the camp, the last of Lady Cousland’s retinue were already being tended, for which he was grateful. Horses were dotted throughout the clearing, heads drooped with their coats matted and stained from the road, most too tired for even a cautionary jerk as the healers all but dragged the troopers from their war saddles. Globes of blue-green light flickered here and there as the most serious injuries were treated with healing spells, and Alistair was glad to see that, at least in an emergency, the mages from Kinloch Hold were able to overcome their suspicion of the large, unpredictable animals.

Or not. A furious series of barks drew his attention to a group of four or so young mages clustering like geese a wary distance away from an impressive roan charger that had been roused from its torpor. It pawed clods of muck from the earth, warning the strangers away with an uneasy roll of its eye. One of them seemed to have been on the receiving end of its teeth already.

As he came closer, Alistair noticed the rider, her skin pallid with sweat and expression pinched with fatigue, trying simultaneously to rein in the horse and keep the wounded soldier at her back from falling. An arrow had pierced her left shoulder, leaving the arm limp across the front arch of her saddle, but even under the sheen of blood and a tumble of loose black hair he could still make out the pattern of laurels embossed on her armour. This, then, was Lady Cousland herself.

“Cuno!” The word hissed through gritted teeth, followed by a garbled string of words in a language that might have been Clayne.

The dog, a pure-bred mabari judging by the deep chest and wide head, immediately turned his attention away from the ‘threatening’ mages towards his mistress, a high, worried whine beginning at the back of his throat. His head tilted back, trying to get a proper look at her, and when that didn’t work he crowded closer, heedless of the horse’s stamping, fretting when she failed to notice his yipped entreaties to dismount. Already agitated by the smell of blood and the lack of direction from its rider, the roan shifted its weight into its powerful haunches, though they trembled from exhaustion. It was still held in check, but only just, and that control was slipping.

“I’ve got you,” Alistair reassured her, dodging forward to catch hold of the bridle before the horse could bolt.

The lady’s gaze rolled over his without focus, her whole body listing as she searched instead for her dog to calm him down.

“Cuno…”

Even without the rasp of her laboured breathing or the sunken hollows of her eyes, it was easy to tell she was in a bad way. He had to get her down, or Teagan would kill him. He noticed the knotted leather that bound the arms of the second soldier around her waist, swollen with rain so that it would be impossible to untie.

“You two!” he snapped at the only mages who lacked the presence of mind to find easier patients.

“Ser?”

“Get over here and help me. I need you to hold the horse,” he instructed. “He’ll be quiet, just do as you’re told. As for you,” he added, turning to the second mage. “Surana, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Get ready to catch him.” Alistair drew his knife, thankful that he had sharpened it that morning, and cut through the strap before helping to brace the unconscious man as the quivering elven mage hauled him to the ground, healing spells already sparking from his fingers.

Lady Cousland sagged as the weight dropped away from her. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive,” Surana answered.

Her eyes slid closed with a heavy sigh.

“Now for you, my lady.”

Alistair reached up, uncertain of the best way to help her without jostling her injury, but she waved away his hand and tipped forward, clearly intent on dismounting without assistance, despite the grimace it stretched across her face. Her years of training served her well, and she kept her balance, keeping the horse steady with murmured entreaties in the same language she had used on the dog, but as she touched the ground her right leg buckled and sent her backwards with a yell. He reacted instinctively, scooping his arms under her shoulders to take just enough of her weight to prevent her from sprawling. With a grunt, she turned in his arms. His shoulders acted as a brace so she could drag herself back onto her feet. When she looked at him, he caught the impression of high cheeks and a thin, straight nose, and fever-bright eyes the grey of cracked ice on the sea. He swallowed.

“My people, are they safe?” she demanded, her voice choked with strain.

“They’re being tended, my lady,” he replied, tentatively letting go of her. “Your other forces arrived a couple of hours ago, and are being settled in.”

She straightened, then doubled over again with a yelp as the movement pulled at the torn muscles in her shoulder. “I need – need to see Bann Teagan.”

“You need a healer.”

Setting his hand under her uninjured arm again, he glanced around for a mage not immediately engaged. Not far away, an older woman had just sent a pair of healers away bearing a stretcher between them, her hand to her forehead, seemingly unconscious of the fact that the ends of her white hair were matted with blood. He waved her over.

“No, th’others first,” Lady Cousland slurred, rousing as Alistair beckoned the mage over. “Have to get…”

His grip stiffened as she tried to twist away, ignoring the dog, who chuffed in warning but seemed hesitant to intervene. “How are you going to help your people if you run yourself into the ground?”

The words had their intended effect, though he had no doubt the impertinence in his tone would have been less well received if the lady had not lost quite so much blood. Winded and dizzy, her struggles faded as Wynne approached, but even though her legs trembled, she refused to bend her dignity by leaning on him. She watched blearily as the old woman checked her over, tutting first over her shoulder and then her right thigh, where a scabbed-over sword wound throbbed beneath a hastily applied, grubby bandage. Even the slightest press of Wynne’s fingers to examine the wound made the patient jerk away, snarling.

“Enough!” she snapped. Shivers wracked her body, but her expression had for the moment lost its dazed, absent look. “I will see Bann Teagan now. My father… is… He’s…” Sweat trickled down her forehead. Her right hand fumbled for purchase and found Alistair’s shoulder, her complaints subsiding into incoherent mumbles as he once again angled himself under her arm to better take the weight off her injured leg.

“So this is Bryce Cousland’s youngest,” Wynne commented dryly.

“Will she be alright?” It would be just his luck for the only daughter of one of the most powerful men in Ferelden to die under his care minutes after being rescued. Would they merely hang him, or would the grief-stricken Teyrn of Highever wish to draw out his execution? Maybe the dog would get there before anyone else had a chance, and simply maul him to death.

“Yes,” came the measured reply. “But these wounds require more attention than simple spells, and it’s a miracle the blood poisoning hasn’t overtaken her already. I’ll need light, and heat, and somewhere to lie her down.”

“Teagan’s pavilion is closest.”

“I’ll get my equipment.”

The mage turned with a swish of long robes and headed for the sloping marquee that served as the infirmary, leaving Alistair to heft the semiconscious noblewoman into a more comfortable position.

“Can you walk, my lady?” he asked. She was almost as tall as him, strongly built, and still girded to the neck in layers of aurum plate – even having discarded her undercoat of mail it would be a bugger to have to carry her.

“Yes,” she replied, as though the question was offensive. When she staggered, her head lolled back against his shoulder and she flashed him a tiny, derisive grin. “Ugh, mostly.”

Unable to entirely control his hysteria, Alistair chuckled. “That’ll do. Come on, easy does it.”

Tightening his grip on her waist to keep her from slipping, he helped her limp the slow path towards the officers’ quarters. When a sharp curse drew through her teeth he paused, nerves jumping, worried he had knocked her, but it was only Cuno, the mabari, who had responded to the whisper of his name by bumping his muzzle into the palm of her hand with a brief lick for reassurance. Care softened the pained lines around her eyes, and for the next few laboured steps she muttered blandishments at the dog, until her words grew more disjointed and then faltered completely. Concerned, Alistair edged a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and was surprised by the degree of relief he felt to see she was still awake, even if the muscles in her jaw were clenched hard enough to grind stone. Less welcome was the crushing pinch of her fingers into the back of his neck as she fought to keep her balance.

Wynne preceded them into Bann Teagan’s tent with the elven healer, Surana, following closely on her heels and carrying a surgeon’s bag that had seen a lot of use in recent weeks. He tried not to think about that as he followed the mage’s direction to set Lady Cousland on the edge of the cot, easing her down slowly enough to keep her bad leg straight. Surana came forward with a goblet filled with some dark green, viscous liquid. She scowled at the taste when urged to drink, but complied, until she lurched sideways and violently retched it all back up again.

“No, don’t try to give her any more, what are you thinking!” Wynne chastised. “She’ll just have to deal with the pain, Andraste help her. The armour needs to come off,” she added to Alistair as she took a rolled leather pouch from her bag. It contained a range of metal tools that gleamed viciously in the torchlight.

“What?” Alistair glanced down at the swaying noblewoman, the tips of his ears reddening. “I can’t do that! It would be – I mean…”

“Maker’s breath, young man, you’re hardly a voyeur,” the old woman snapped. “And would it be more or less chivalrous of you to leave her helpless like this, hm? That’s what I thought,” she added, when he cursed and dragged a hand through his hair.

Having dimly followed their exchange, Lady Cousland’s hand drifted to the buckles that held her cuirass in place, but found her fingers too clumsy to grasp at the leather straps. Alistair shook his head and kneeled to help, but quickly noticed another problem – the arrow in her shoulder had punched through pauldron and cuirass both and pinned it to her flesh.

“This is going to have to come out first,” he warned her, trying to work out the best angle from which to draw it. It must have been shot from a crossbow to have impacted with such force. Surana heard and bustled over with a wad of hard leather that he set between her teeth.

“Are you ready?”

She stiffened when he shifted her hair out of the way and braced a hand against her back, but nodded. The dog shuffled closer and laid his head in his mistress’s lap, offering an uneasy wag of his tail as she stroked his ears. Before he could change his mind or let her think about it too much, Alistair gripped the shaft and pulled.

The bolt came free with a wet ripping noise he heard even over the lady’s muffled cry and the dog’s frantic growls. It transfixed him. The dull iron was slicked with the same blood that spurted over his hands, its barbed point designed with an unnecessary cruelty that was sickening.

“Is this really the time to gawk?” Wynne demanded.

Surana had already taken over the removal of the lady’s armour, working quickly to access the wound before her blood loss became critical. But he had little experience with such complicated layers, and wasted more time than he saved trying to work out which strap to undo next. Losing patience, Alistair pushed him out of the way and stripped off cuirass, vambraces, and padded gambeson in quick succession, his embarrassment entirely overlooked in the face of the scarlet stain blooming across the noblewoman’s linen undershirt.

She had doubled over, fingers tangled in her dog’s ruff and head pressed tightly against his neck. Her breath came in uneven, shaking gasps, but it quietened when cool green magic met her fevered skin and began to knit her muscles back together.

“You’re alright,” Wynne soothed. “There’s a brave girl. There’s no lasting harm done – you’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

Before Alistair’s eyes the ugly gash shrank, the pale glisten of bone disappeared, and the ragged skin around the edges smoothed until all that was left was a livid, uneven starburst of scar tissue. He had no doubts that if not for Wynne’s skill with healing magic, the injury would have permanently limited the use of Lady Cousland’s left arm. Even arcane knowledge wouldn’t be enough to completely heal it, and already Wynne had swapped her spells for a pot of elfroot salve, which she smeared liberally over the closed wound before withdrawing to allow Surana to bandage the shoulder tightly enough to keep the newly-formed muscle from splitting. Time would do the rest.

“Well, this has been a fun way to spend an evening,” Alistair breathed, giddy. His hands were still stained with blood, which darkened and turned sticky as it dried. “And here I was planning to do some light reading with a glass of wine.”

“Don’t leave yet, Ser,” Wynne warned him. “I still need you to help hold her down.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“Her leg.” She guided Lady Cousland to lie flat with gentle presses of her hands. “It’s festered, so it will need to be cleaned before I can heal it.”

“I see.”

Surana busied himself setting out his mentor’s instruments as she began to unwind the bandage. Even that caused the lady to flinch, her eyes whirling beneath contracted lids as she whimpered and clutched the sheet beneath her. The sound distressed the dog, who pushed in close and huffed, but was sent away with a snapped command. Something about the calm, disinterested movements of the mages – the way Wynne sliced through the seam of Lady Cousland’s trouser leg to expose the infection – brought bile to the back of Alistair’s throat, as if to them the warrior lying at death’s door before them presented nothing more than an academic exercise, a puzzle to be solved –

“Please,” Wynne urged him. “She needs you.”

The sight of the wound decided him: swollen red, the skin stretched to a shine with pus under a crusted yellow scab.

“Right – right.” He stepped closer and dropped to his knees, setting his palms on the lady’s shoulders so that his body blocked her sight of Wynne heating the blade of a sharp silverite dagger over the fire. Her head turned at his touch. Sweat glistened on her forehead.

“Surana, are you ready?”

The young mage shuffled forward. Lady Cousland tracked the movement until she realised what was happening and dropped her head back against the pillow, eyes turning from Alistair to fix straight upwards, biting down on the leather strap she had been given. Still, she was unprepared when Wynne lifted the knife from the fire and slashed open the wound.

She jerked upward. She screamed, though she tried not to. She fought, tears streaming down her cheeks. The screams turned to sobs, and then to gasps as her consciousness ebbed away and her struggles weakened, allowing Wynne to set a healing spell against the flesh, and in minutes the battle was over. Both Alistair and Surana were exhausted from trying to keep Lady Cousland pinned down, their ears ringing as they tried not to gag on the sour odour of bile and blood that underlay the tang of white-spirit and elfroot. Their patient lay limp on the cot, barely conscious and sheened with sweat. Only Wynne retained her composure, practiced enough in her art that, at least on the surface, the grisly ordeal had no effect.

Alistair turned away from the sight, uneasy. Before he could fully process his motivations, he found himself sweeping aside a lock of dark hair stuck to the lady’s forehead.

“Unh…”

“It’s over now,” he told her gently. “You can sleep.”

Her eyes opened, searched for him. “You… You’re Bann Teagan’s man?”

“His right-hand. My name’s Alistair.”

She hummed, frowning as if committing his name to memory. “Alistair… ‘m Rosslyn.”

Across the other side of the tent, Wynne was already discussing her patient’s care with Teagan, who had arrived following the sound of screams. With a last final check to make sure she – Rosslyn – was asleep, Alistair pushed himself away from the cot just in time to hear the mage’s instructions to keep her warm and quiet.

“And someone will need to watch her,” she added. “I haven’t put her under a Sleep just in case she takes a turn, but I feel the worst of it is over now, and Surana and I are needed elsewhere. When she wakes she’ll need food and plenty of water.”

“That’s a tall order,” Teagan answered with a ghost of a chuckle. “What do you say, Alistair, are you up to it?”

“Me? I mean, yes Ser, if I can help, I’d be glad to.”

His uncle clasped a hand to his shoulder. “Good man. Can I see her?” he asked, turning back to Wynne.

“She’s asleep.”

If Teagan was surprised by Alistair’s interruption, he didn’t show it. “Then I’d best leave it – if she’s anything like either of her parents, she won’t be kept down for long. Come find me in the morning, and don’t let her bully you just because she’s pretty,” he warned, with a good-natured clap on the back. “After you, madam enchanter.”

Alistair watched the pair if them leave, his head sagging. It took a moment, but he gathered himself and ordered Surana to stay put while he went in search of someone among the kitchen staff who might still be awake. If he was to be in charge of Lady Cousland’s recovery, he would do it right – if only so that nobody could say otherwise if everything went pear-shaped and he ended up on the execution block after all.

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Arvidsson Tricks, Puljujarvi on the Block, Nyquist, Hertl, & The Kanes (Jan. 16)

  Let’s start this off with some news out of Edmonton. Apparently, Peter Chiarelli is ready and willing to make a splash. Rumours have swirled of late that the Oilers are willing to move this year’s first-round selection to push for a playoff spot. And according to Elliott Freidman on the NHL Network, Jesse Puljujarvi has joined in on the fun as an official trade chip.

    Firstly, if ownership allows Chiarelli to destroy their future even further by dealing that pick or Puljujarvi, then there must no longer be any doubt; Chia has some disgusting dirt on Daryl Katz.

  Whatever happens in Edmonton (and I assume it’ll be an unmitigated disaster), Puljujarvi getting out of town seems like the best hope for his fantasy value moving forward. Either that or a locked in spot next to Connor McDavid. A scenario that does not appear to be in the cards.

  **

Speaking of the Oilers, their next opponent is the Canucks on Wednesday. Elias Pettersson skated by himself after practice again on Tuesday but Canucks’ head coach, Travis Green wasn’t willing to rule him out for Wednesday’s tilt just yet. At the very least, it appears as though the super rookie should be back for Friday against the Sabres.

  **

The bottoming out continued in Anaheim on Tuesday. The Ducks fell to the Red Wings 3-1 and are now winless in 12. They’ve collected just four points in the last month.

  The freefall is real.

  Rickard Rakell opened the scoring in the second frame with his seventh of the year. Rakell was skating on a new top line with Ryan Getzlaf and newly acquired Devin Shore for much of this one. That was due to Jakob Silfverberg leaving the game due to injury.

  There had been chatter that the soon-to-be UFA, Silfverberg was a trade chip as the Ducks fall further and further away from contending status. We’ll await word on the severity of the injury, but with the deadline less than six weeks out, it’ll be something to watch.

  Gus Nyquist scored the game-winner in this one. He’s maintaining his stellar campaign and looks like another potential mover this deadline. The 29-year-old is producing at the best point-per-game rate of his career (0.83) and all the metrics appear sustainable. His IPP is trending at a career-high 74.1 but that’s likely explained by his playing over 50 percent of his five-on-five ice with the burgeoning, Dylan Larkin.

  If Nyquist does indeed get moved, the potential for improvement is there, but so is the potential for a reduced role. He only sees a little over two minutes on the power play now, so he’s not overly reliant on PPPs. A move to a team like Pittsburgh would likely see his even-strength deployment improve but his PPTOI decrease. Conversely, a swap to a team like Edmonton would perhaps lead to a downgrade at evens but an increase on the power-play (assuming he doesn’t get the McDavid/Draisaitl juicer spot at five-on-five).

  These situations need to be closely monitored as you head into your own fantasy playoffs.

  **

The Panthers held a players-only meeting on Tuesday morning. The team had been struggling. The coaching staff appearing no longer to be shy in vocalizing their displeasure with some of the stars. Often a closed-door meeting will have a short-term impact on a slide.

  And this one did too, just not on the scoreboard.

  Florida was tuned up 5-1 by the Habs on Tuesday but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. The Panthers outshot the Canadiens 53-28 but ran into a brick wall named Antti Niemi.

  Here were the lines: 

  **

Shea Weber led the charge for Montreal with a power-play tally to go along with an even-strength assist.

  Don’t look now, but the Habs are tied with the Bruins for third in the Atlantic and are just one point behind the Maple Leafs. Granted the Habs have played more games than both of the teams they trail, but this has been a gutsy showing from a team many wrote off before puck drop in October.

  **

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  **

Viktor Arvidsson led the Predators to a 7-2 statement win over the Capitals. The Swedish buzzsaw recorded a hat trick and six shots on goal in this one. His third tally coming while shorthanded.

  Arvidsson is back to a point-per-game (24 in 24) and is the straw that stirs the drink in Nashville. I recommended you kick the tires on him a few weeks back to see if his limited games played would lower his perceived value. Here’s hoping you listened.

  Despite the lopsided final score, the Caps had a ton of grade-A chances. They were thwarted time and time again by the one known as Juicy Fruit. Juuse Saros stood tall (okay, that was too easy) stopping 26 of 28.

  The 23-year-old has been lights out the past month. He’s recorded a 0.971 save percentage in six appearances. Just what the doctor ordered as Nashville tries to limit Pekka Rinne’s workload heading into the spring fling.

  **

Two assists for Ryan Johansen brings him to 42 points on the season and 11 in his past eight games.

  Ditto for Mattias Ekholm, who for my money has been the Predators best blueliner for much of this season. He’s sporting a new career-high in points with 36 after tonight. And we’ve got 34 contests to go.

  **

Who’s the best netminder in Winnipeg? That should (and is) an easy answer. But my goodness has Laurent Brossoit played well for the Jets this season. The backup netminder had another stellar performance on Tuesday as he outduelled Marc-Andre Fleury by stopping 43 of 44 in Winnipeg’s 4-1 victory.

  That’s seven straight wins and a 0.943 save percentage for the former Oiler. Meanwhile, 2017-18 Vezina finalist, Connor Hellebuyck has been kicking it below league average for much of the campaign.

  Is a goalie controversy coming in Winnipeg? No. Probably not.

  **

Blake Wheeler kept his recent two-year hot streak rolling with two third period assists on Tuesday. He’s on pace for 107 points and yet just barely cracks the top 10 scorers in the league.

  If I couldn’t play fantasy hockey in the ‘80s and ‘90s when guys regularly topped 150 points, I’ll take this level of production as a nice consolation prize.

  **

In the loss, Brandon Pirri was amongst the top Golden Knights in power play deployment with 6:01 on the night. He continued to skate alongside Paul Stastny, Alex Tuch and Max Pacioretty on the power play. However, he was elevated to the top line with William Karlsson and Jonathan Marchessault at even-strength.

  Pirri scored an even-strength goal to bring his season total to eight goals and 12 points in 11 games. Somehow, he’s still available in a bucket load of leagues. Get this guy onto your roster and into the lineup to reap the heater.

  **

Thomas Chabot took part in a full practice on Tuesday morning and is looking good to return to the lineup against the Avalanche on Wednesday.

  **

The Rangers defeated the Hurricanes 6-2 in one of the early affairs. Mika Zibanejad led the way with two goals and two helpers, while another likely deadline mover in Mats Zuccarello added three assists.

  Dougie Hamilton didn’t skate on the team’s top power-play unit, but he did see the most PPTOI (3:52) of any Carolina skater. He managed four shots on goal in 22:35 of action – A nice change of pace after breaking the 20-minute barrier just once in the last 12 games.

  **

Andrei Vasilevskiy and Tampa Bay Lightning shutout the Stars 2-0 on Tuesday. Vas is now sporting an 18-5-2 record and a 0.925 save percentage. The former first-round selection has witnessed his numbers improve in four consecutive seasons. At 24 years old, he’s flirting with being a dominant asset.

  **

David Perron kept his hot play going with a goal that forced overtime against the Islanders. Make it 15 points over a 12-game run.

  Val Filppula won it in OT, and Robin Lehner picked up his 13th win of the season. The 27-year-old is sporting a 0.927 save percentage on the year. It’s been a fantastic turnaround.

  Jordan Binnington suffered his first taste of defeat in his young NHL career but was good again. He’s peeling starts away from the habitually untrustworthy Jake Allen. I’m not ready to anoint him as a true asset moving forward but he’s certainly worth a speculative add.

  The Blues find themselves just two points out of the Wildcard. At this point, they'll play whoever gives them the best chance to win. 

  **

The trio of Artemi Panarin, Pierre-Luc Dubois, and Cam Atkinson was running around against New Jersey. Each member of the top line recorded a goal and an assist as the Blue Jackets defeated the Devils 4-1.

  It was Joonas Korpisalo who earned the victory – his third straight in the last week. Another potential goalie controversy? Again, probably not. But with Torts at the helm and Sergei Bobrovsky not on good terms with the antagonistic coach, anything could happen.

  **

Chicago is not a good team anymore. But Patrick Kane remains a tremendous player. The 30-year-old has 27 points in his last 14 games and 64 in 47 on the season. His 1.36 point-per-game output is the best of his illustrious career.

  {source}<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">"Every time he touches the puck, something magic happens."<br><br>Is Patrick Kane playing his best hockey…ever? <a href="https://t.co/DcgIeE7Pdn">pic.twitter.com/DcgIeE7Pdn</a></p>— Blackhawks Talk (@NBCSBlackhawks) <a href="https://twitter.com/NBCSBlackhawks/status/1085210885642170376?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 15, 2019</a></blockquote> <script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>{/source}

    **

Speaking of Kanes, the Sharks and Penguins met in the late affair. I was looking forward to seeing some of the best players on the planet chuck some sauce around. However, this one was handled somewhat easily by San Jose.

  Evander Kane was a catalyst throughout assisting on each of Tomas Hertl's three tallies. Kane also added three hits and six shots on goal as the Sharks defeated the Pens 5-2. That's 14 points in the last nine games for Kane. 

  As for Hertl, he's up to 19 goals and 41 points in 43 contests. This is a player who lost significant chunks of time during two of his five campaigns. So this would count as his fourth full season. Right on cue for the breakout.

  Erik Karlsson broke his disastrous two-game pointless skid with his 39th assist. He trails only teammate, Brent Burns (43) for top amongst blueline distributors.

  Matt Murray snapped his nine-game win streak in this one. To be fair, it looked like the California sun drained the entire Pens lineup. 

  **

Looking for a buy-low option? Look no further than William Nylander. As Maple Leaf fans and fantasy owners pull out their hair watching him put up a paltry three points in 17 games, clever beasts can exploit the situation. Nylander has been deployed just 30-odd percent of his even-strength ice next to Auston Matthews so far this season but there are clear signs of good things to come.

   The 22-year-old leads the Leafs in Corsi For percentage (CF%) and Expected Goals For percentage (xGF%). He’s also fifth in the league in shot attempts per 60 and scoring chances per 60. Meanwhile, he’s shooting just 3.2 percent after living in the 10 percent range in his first two full seasons.

  A bump is coming. Buy-low while you can.

  **

Thanks for reading and feel free to follow me on Twitter @Hockey_Robinson

      from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-arvidsson-tricks-puljujarvi-on-the-block-nyquist-hertl-the-kanes-jan-16/