#sunrise pest management

[averagejoesolomon]

It's here! I really am sorry about this series of events, but I think you know where I'm going with it, and I think you know it's worth it. We do have to beat up the boy to get there, though. Buckle up! And if you're new here, you can read all of Full Circle on Ao3.

Chapter Nine

This bag is a Hell of a lot heavier than it ought to be.

The strap is worn to a dull and oily black, cutting into the space where Matt’s shoulder meets his neck. His clothes rustle against the leather with each step. A voice in his head—Rachel’s, no doubt—keeps telling him this is a bad idea. She’s right, of course, even when she’s only hypothetical. But the Circle of Cavan doesn’t leave him with many options. It doesn’t leave anyone with options. That’s sort of the whole point.

His plan, if he can actually call it a plan, is still only three-quarters formed, with the final quarter dependent on how this early morning rendezvous turns out. With any luck, he walks away with a little more knowledge about the Circle, and the Circle walks away with a little less knowledge about Rachel Cameron. It’s risky business, considering the Circle don’t seem likely to appreciate a two-for-one sale, especially not when they’re on the one side. But he trusts Joe, and Joe trusts Catherine, and Matt’s just going to have to trust that this will all work out one way or another.

So he holds the bag close to his side, fighting off the mist of the morning. It’s hard to tell if this spray is coming off the white-capped river or if they’re on the front end of an oncoming storm, but either option leaves a chill along his skin. He finds himself wishing for the rubber rain gear of the surrounding workers—not only to take cover from the mist, but also to take cover from their attention. His dark cotton clothes and tennis shoes stand out among yellow and orange coveralls, jackets, boots, and hard hats. Finer agents than him have been killed for less in Moscow.

Townsend, at least, has managed to snag a reflective neon vest. He does a decent job of adopting the sluggish, heavy look of a dockman who’s already well into his shift before sunrise. Still, something in his stance gives him away. There’s an eagerness to him that none of the other workers share, the culmination of an eighteen-month hunt finally reaching its end. “Stick with me,” he tells Matt. “I’ve studied this river and its docks for months.”

Matt knows the Moskva shoreline like he knows the crick that cuts through his mama’s berry bushes, but he lets Townsend take the lead. Sometimes a fella’s got to follow a pest to find its den, and Matt wants to pin down exactly what Townsend knows and how he knows it.

Thankfully, Townsend is all too eager to prove he knows everything. “Be mindful, this girl is tricky,” he goes on. “But she’ll run out of moves someday, and my gut says it's today.”

In the distance, a flash of lightning sparks through the early morning clouds. It takes a handful of seconds for the thunder to rumble in behind, weak, gravelly, and barely audible above the river’s edge lapping against the break wall. “You’ve come up against her before, I take it?”

“Not directly, no, but I caught wind of her while I was working an arms deal in Venezuela,” Townsend confirms. “Didn’t take long to learn that she was on the side of the dealer, though she did put up a decent act for some time.”

An actress. That’s good to know. Matt’s met plenty throughout his time in the field—women, usually, who take advantage of that inadvertent blind spot his mama gave him by spending all those years teaching him to be a model gentleman. His time spent with the Cameron sisters has knocked loose a lot of his notions of damsels and their tendency for distress, but sometimes a very good agent can still play him for the chivalrous fool. He makes a mental note to keep his guard up around Catherine. “Sounds awfully lucky,” he probes, “to stumble into a mission like that, right off the bat.”

Matt leaves out the part where he and Joe were also recruited young—the exact same age as Townsend, at least in Matt’s case—for an op that was just as grinding, just as involved. Potentially the exact same op, if Matt’s gut is right. “Luck,” Townsend scoffs, not just at the word, but at the entire notion. “I spent over three-hundred hours preparing for that op, and spotted the connection to another op that was seemingly unrelated. It wasn’t luck. It was patience, and research, and damn good reconnaissance.”

Townsend ain’t actually that much younger than Matt, but the few years between them rattle like rocks in the heel of Matt’s soaked-through shoe. It’s the same distance Matt sits from Joe, just in the opposite direction, but Matt’s convinced he never looked or acted quite so twenty-two-ish—though maybe there’s something redeemable about his youthful bluntness. In a business full of second, third, and fourth meanings, it’s nice to know where a guy stands.

Matt can’t guarantee he’ll return the favor. “Sure,” he allows. “You’ve gotta excuse me. Spend enough time in the Soviet Union and you get to be a cynic about things like that.”

“Things like luck?”

Another round of lightning, and the thunder rolls in faster than before. “Luck,” Matt replies. Then, with a shrug. “Coincidences. Anything of the sort.”

Young or not, Townsend’s a smart enough agent to know there’s no such thing, and his answering sneer proves it. Maybe that’s why he changes the subject. “So you’re in this part of the world often, then?”

Or maybe Matt’s not the only one trying to get information. “Often enough.” Townsend clocks the non-answer immediately, but Matt doesn’t give him time to jump in. “But more and more it feels like my own personal game of Russian Roulette—the more shots I take by crossing the border, the closer I get to taking a bullet to the head.”

The rain picks up and Townsend takes cover beneath a steel overhang. It lands them on the wrong side of a door with more warning labels than Matt cares to count, tucked among worn life jackets, yellowed netting, and a rusting, barnacle-lined anchor. “This is your bread and butter, then,” he concludes. “All this business with stolen identities. High-stakes trades. Evenings at the Bolshoi.”

“More so lately,” Matt confesses. “Probably don’t have to tell you that the atmosphere in Moscow is changing.”

“Certainly not,” Townsend answers, in the manner of someone who very much hopes Matt understands just how knowledgeable he is. “I am curious, though, about these passports.”

Matt’s attention once again falls to the bag on his own shoulder, nearly a dozen passports tucked tight against the weight of his own conscience. They sit at the center of the morning, just like they’ve been at the center of every afternoon, evening, and night spent in Moscow. At the center of this entire op. Except, at their core, there’s nothing especially interesting about them. Rachel has already confirmed their authenticity back at the safe house—ten passports, ten identities, ten agents who get to go home safely. If Townsend is curious about them, it’s because he thinks there’s something interesting about their acquisition, rather than their actual, physical form. “Ask the question you really want to ask, Townsend.”

Matt spots the first wave of hesitance on Townsend since the Bolshoi. “Only that I heard the two of you talking,” he admits. “On the balcony, before I jumped into the thick of it. She said the two of you were on the same side.”

Small ringlets start to pound into the surrounding puddles, one raindrop at a time. Townsend’s words take Matt back to Baltimore—not with the girls, but with Henry Cameron himself. Standing in his office. Throwing accusations his way. Matt knows firsthand what it feels like to finally find a Circle lead after so long without, which is why he doesn’t take it personally when Townsend casts suspicion upon him. Only now does Matt realize Henry probably felt the same, all those months ago.

So he channels one of Henry’s tight-lipped smiles, and reassures Townsend as best he can. “I don’t know what she meant by that.”

“It’s no use lying to me.” Townsend says. “I will find out, you know.”

“Not a doubt in my mind,” says Matt, and it’s true. He even puts his hand on Townsend’s rain-soaked shoulder to really drive it home. “But I really don’t know what she meant by that. Honest.”

Townsend doesn’t want to trust him. Matt gets the feeling Townsend doesn’t make a habit of trusting anyone. But Matt’s an earnest sort of guy, which almost always works in his favor. Nine times out of ten, he can convince anyone to believe his worst lies, and he’s got a one-hundred-percent conversion rate when it comes to telling the truth. And he is, at least for now, even if he can’t guarantee things will stay that way.

“Very well,” Townsend relents. “I don’t typically do this, but I get the sense that you have information I could use. I also get the sense—largely because you’re not very good at covert phone calls, by the way—that you would like to, shall we say, bring Catherine’s dealings to an end?”

“Get to it, Townsend.”

“Whatever information you have,” Townsend promises, “I assure you, I can make good use out of it. But you’ll have to tell me what it is first.”

The way he says it, Matt realizes that this tactic actually works for him. Townsend projects enough confidence and assurance that any asset would feel lucky to find him. Thank god, they must say, that someone who knows what they’re doing has finally arrived.

But Matt has been chasing the Circle of Cavan for years—long enough to know that Townsend, no matter how confident, no matter how knowledgeable, no matter how great a spy, cannot bring them down on his own. So he takes another page out of Henry Cameron’s book and extends a helping hand instead.

“I can’t tell you what I know. And if you’re chasing the same people I’m chasing, you’ll understand why.” Matt meets his eyes, waiting for some unspoken confirmation. It doesn’t come, and Matt realizes that not even a know-it-all like Townsend will cop to knowing about the Circle. “But I can tell you I’ve been chasing them for a long time—a lot longer than eighteen months—and it has been dead end, after dead end, after dead end. Usually literally.”

Townsend doesn’t look nearly as scared as he should. But then again, neither did Matt, when he was twenty-two. Instead, Townsend just studies him as though he’s a book to be read, annotated, and tested on at a future date. “Why is this one different?” he finally asks. “Why Catherine?”

It’s a good question, and Matt can only answer with the truth. “She’s the only one they haven’t killed yet, for starters.”

Matt’s not sure how he expects Townsend to respond, but it certainly ain’t with, “I’ve noticed that too.”

Another distant rumble of thunder. “Sorry?”

“That they haven’t killed her,” Townsend clarifies. “They don’t seem to hesitate before killing anyone else, do they? Why her? Why keep this one asset alive, when CIA and MI6 have already identified her?”

Matt has been chasing the Circle of Cavan since Townsend was still in high school, but in all that time, he never once thought to ask the question Townsend asks now. Matt’s first instinct is Joe—of course it’s Joe, because Joe’s been in contact with Catherine for years, and he’s the kind of guy who takes care of his own. But Joe didn’t know about her Moscow op, and there’s no telling what else he doesn’t know. There’s something else at play. Maybe even someone.

Thankfully, Townsend’s got that look on his face again. The one that says he can’t wait to prove how superior his intel is. “I’ll bite,” says Matt. “What’s your theory?”

There’s a clear glee in Townsend’s posture, even if he tries to hide it behind a serious nature. In an effort to look nonchalant, he kicks at the rusted chain connected to the nearby anchor. “We don’t have a lot of insight into this particular group at the agency level,” he begins, straightening the chain into a loose line with his oxfords. “But we do know that groups like this one operate using a chain of command structure, so we can surmise that this group does the same.”

The patter of nearby raindrops grows louder, more urgent, but Townsend stays fully focused as he continues. “They’re very rigid structures, and it’s generally considered a faux pas to jump from one point in the chain”—he points the toe of his shoe to the chain’s loose end, then points five rungs up—“to many points above.”

“Sure,” Matt agrees, following so far. “A fella wouldn’t go over a lieutenant's head to get to the captain.”

“Ah, an Army man,” says Townsend, pleased. “Precisely. And in more dysfunctional organizations, that chain of command can be even more rigid. We’ve seen groups with agents only connected by two links—one individual above them to give orders, and one individual below to receive orders.”

“What’s the benefit of something like that?”

“Sometimes it’s simply a matter of an organization’s size,” Townsend admits with a youthful shrug that doesn’t suit his adult-ish persona. “But on rare occasions, this tactic is employed to slow the dissemination of information, or to limit different segments of information to certain individuals—an appealing practice to folks in our line of work. The result is a series of tightly-controlled intelligence cells in which everyone knows everything and, simultaneously, no one knows anything of note.”

It’s another version of the same thing Joe and Henry have been telling him for years. No one knows who works for the Circle. Not even the Circle themselves. It’s what makes them so effective at infiltration. It’s also what makes them so hard to track down. If Townsend has managed to piece this much together on his own, there’s no telling what he could do with a little backup.

Matt keeps scoping the kid’s knowledge. “And where does Catherine fit into this chain?”

Townsend looks like he’s citing his ABCs or solving basic addition. This type of high-level thinking comes so naturally to him. It almost reminds Matt of Rachel. “If one agent were to break away from their chain and, perhaps, join another,” he says, kicking a bent and discarded steel loop into view, “that individual may have enough information to spot a larger picture. And if that same individual were to break away and rejoin many chains, over and over again, they may begin to understand the inner workings of that organization. Perhaps they may even understand too much, in which case, the obvious response is to kill them. Unless…”

Matt fills in the blank. “Unless they’ve become too valuable to kill.”

Townsend smiles, delighted that Matt can keep up with him. “Our dear Catherine has learned something about this organization that is keeping her alive,” he grins. “I don’t know about you, but I would very much like to find out what that is. If it’s valuable enough for them, it is valuable enough for me.”

And, Matt thinks, it’s valuable enough for Joe.

By the end of their conversation, Townsend practically yells to stay heard above the storm. The downpour comes on suddenly, rain rushing in at an angle and skipping across the concrete platform in violent waves. Lightning and thunder share the same second. The river roars. Most of the crew have taken shelter, waiting for the worst to pass, and the resulting emptiness might be how Matt spots the lone figure looking on.

Small, and soaked, with bright red hair.

She keeps her distance, but Matt can still see her features sour at the sight of him. Or, more specifically, at the sight of Townsend, who Matt realizes too late shouldn’t be here. Of course he shouldn’t be here. Of course she would recognize the man who’s been following her across the world. Of course she would expect Matt to be alone.

He holds out a pleading hand to her. “Catherine,” he says, “just wait.”

Her eyes flit between Matt and Townsend. Matt and Townsend. Matt.

And then she runs.

Matt lets out a very overt groan as he takes off after her, throwing a halting wave back toward Townsend. “Stay there,” he growls. “Do not come after us.”

“But—”

“Stay here, Townsend.”

It is maybe Matt’s greatest curse in life, to be surrounded by quick and practiced runners when he himself can barely hold down a fifteen-minute pace. Matt is slow, and his body is broad, and his feet are heavy. He can either run, or breathe, but not both. Never both. 

Joe has tried like Hell to speed Matt up, but in truth, Joe started running circles around him in Basic, and he’s been doing the same every day since. Joe Solomon is a runner in every sense of the word, as quick as Matt is strong, and never is it more clear than in moments like this. Usually, it’s Joe who runs after a skittish agent, and Matt just pins them down once he catches up. But Joe’s not here and Matt’s going to have to put his own pace to the test.

The concrete is slick, which doesn’t work in his favor. It’s clear in the way she moves that Catherine was born into a natural grace—and made clearer with each container she clears and each pipe she swings through. Between the rain and the dark, he barely keeps eyes on her, relying on the orange glow from shipyard streetlights to spot glimpses of her shadow. He’s losing her. He’s not going to make it on speed alone.

So he changes tactics and goes wide. Wide enough to lose her behind massive shipping containers. Wide enough to squeeze through a corridor with no visibility. Wide enough to meet her at the other end, with the water at her back. Wide enough to corner her between him and the Moskva River.

She’s shaking when she spots him, eyes wide and breath heaving. Matt tells himself it’s because of the rain. “Catherine,” he huffs, catching his own breath. “You have to—”

“Him?” she screams. “You’re working with him? Was this all a trap?”

“What?” says Matt, but his breath doesn’t allow for more than one word at a time. “No—”

“Was Joe in on it too?”

“There’s nothing,” he says, “to be in on.”

Matt’s an earnest kind of guy, but all of his earnestness is wrapped up in his lack of air, tangled and flopping like fish out of water. Catherine doesn’t buy any of it. “Let me go, Matt,” she says. “You have to let me—”

“No.” Most of his sharp reply is born of breathlessness, but the frustration sneaks in without warning. “You say you’re on my side? Prove it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re running.”

“You tricked me.”

“I didn’t—” he starts, but he doesn’t have the stamina to keep arguing. “Look.”

He pulls the leather bag from his shoulder, grabbing it by the strap and holding it toward her. She eyes it with a suspicious want. “Is that…?”

“The passports,” Matt confirms. “All of them. Take these, and you can walk away from this op like nothing went wrong in Moscow.”

She inches closer, and Matt’s pretty sure it’s subconscious. One step at a time, eyes locked on the leather bag, she approaches him with an abundance of caution. Matt gets the feeling she approaches everything with that same demeanor.

When she reaches out to grab the bag, Matt snatches it back. “One condition.”

Catherine blinks, not giving away a single thought.

“If I give you these passports,” he says, “you forget everything you saw in the city. You forget me. You forget Townsend. You forget my partners at the Bolshoi.”

Catherine sneers. “Then tell your girl to stop coming after us.”

His girl. Rachel. “She’s not coming after you.”

“Oh please—”

“She’s not,” Matt insists. “She’s coming after me. She’s coming after me, understand?”

Matt searches her eyes, hoping to find a scrap of mercy, sympathy, understanding, something. But he doesn’t spot it. All he sees is the same look he’s seen in all of his informants, right before their body washes up on the coastline—an agent in too deep, with a dangerous desire for self-preservation.

“Catherine,” he pleads. “Let me handle her. You handle the rest, but let me handle her.”

The end of Matt’s plan starts to form and, for a flickering moment, he sees everything go as it should. He sees Catherine take the passports. Sees her hand them off to whoever sits above her in the chain of command. Sees Joe spot the trade from his place within the Circle, sees the two of them chasing this new lead, sees Rachel safe and sound in Baltimore with her sister. 

But when Catherine actually grabs the bag and lifts open the flap, Matt realizes that the bag had felt too heavy all morning. He realizes that verifying the passports before a mission is the type of detail he would usually count on Rachel to prepare, and he realizes that instead of trading identities, he’s trading soggy notebooks and blank pages. Because of course Rachel didn’t leave ten passports hanging unattended on the back of the bedroom door. Of course it was a decoy.

Catherine doesn’t know any of this, which is why she says, “It was a trap.”

And Townsend’s timing really is impeccable, when he rounds the corner with his pistol in position and screams, “Put your hands up!”

It’s the perfect storm, literally, and Matt’s finally soaked through. Catherine is quick and graceful compared to his clumsy, breathless shuffle, so it’s easy for her to grab at his wet shirt and swing him toward the very edge he used to trap her in place.

Catherine runs. Matt falls. A flash of lightning cracks skyward.

Just when Matt thinks it's impossible to be any more soaked, he hits the Moskva. The impact knocks any remaining breath from his chest and the chill steals away his screams. In the gray river, below gray skies, he loses his direction and can’t find his way to the surface. Even if he could, the current would surely drag him under and away. Under and away. Under and away. The river fades from gray to black, and he’s not in his mama’s crick any longer.

He’s not sure how long it takes for someone to drag him out of the water. Even when they do, his teeth keep chattering, and his body keeps shaking, and he’s pretty sure his lips are blue. He feels heavy, heavy, heavy, as slim hands carry him by the collar. He blinks upward to see a head of red hair, dragging him uphill through the mud. The sky, like the river, fades from gray to black.

The next time he comes to, everything is red, red, red.

Hail Mary. 

Full of grace. 

The Lord is with thee.

[imu-chan]

Part 2. of ‘What Happened to Tomioka’

******************

On principle, Giyuu never slept well, but he especially never slept well after being throttled half to death by demons. Once he had woken up from his initial, classic battlefield collapse, his body had seemed to want to avoid returning to sleep more than anything. He supposed that was normal, and reasoned that anyone even attempting to sleep with as many tubes and devices connected to his vital organs as he had would find the night a worthy opponent.

Still. Never had his pains been so strong that he couldn’t so much as close his eyes without risking spinning, bright colors flashing in his vision. This was now the fourth day since he first awoke, and he hated to admit that he was desperately close to begging Shinobu for some kind of horse tranquilizer.

He had become irritable, and grumpy beyond anything he had experienced before, and loathed the idea of anyone other than the butterfly workers and Shinobu attempting to interact with him. Not that anyone was looking to interact with him in the first place.

​Not that he wanted anyone to visit him.

He already knew he wasn’t exactly a delightful person even at his best, so he wouldn’t wish his current mood on even the likes of a Twelve Kizuki. Well, maybe he would. Migraines were a bitch.

That aside, while his mindset was presently bleary with medication and sleep deprivation, he supposed that his current horrible temperament wasn’t as fearsome as it usually would be. That wasn’t for lack of trying, although he could barely do that either. His arms and hands had been involuntarily clenching and curling for some time now, so at least he wasn’t losing any muscle mass yet. None of this compared to his actual injury, though.

This was exactly why he wasn’t fit to be the Water Hashira, he thought. Maybe now the Master would see that Giyuu was meant to be temporary. He could take someone more qualified, maybe someone with a completely different breathing style. He recalled that the former Thunder Hashira, Kuwajima-san, was believed to be training a few young slayers. It might be nice for the Corps to have more powerful techniques. Or perhaps just a more powerful wielder. He had plenty of free time now to endlessly contemplate all the ways he had messed up on his mission in order to end up here.

He remembered breathing heavily as he fought, chasing after the demons fleeing for the dark of the forest. Sunrise wasn’t far off, and he was eager for this fight to end. He got what he wanted. He didn’t anticipate an ambush, not with such a flimsy group of weaklings like this.

While the fight started with nearly fifteen child-sized demons, Giyuu had whittled them down to what he believed was five. Apparently his counting skills had gotten a little rusty. As he crossed the threshold of the woods, his blue blade almost humming in the dark, two more of the demons leapt upon him from above, managing to knock him down.

This group wasn’t particularly dangerous, at least not on the surface. Their claws were dull and round, their speed was average at best, and even their teeth were mostly ground down into flat nubs. They seemed to mainly target children, being the closest in size and more vulnerable.

Thankfully, Giyuu had kept them far back from the villages as possible, so since he’d shown up there hadn’t been any casualties. He still approached the situation with caution. There had to be a reason this pack hadn’t been defeated so easily. He observed their power soon enough.

These demons’ main weapons came twofold; their Blood Demon Art was a paralytic gas of some sort, (which had taken Giyuu two frustrating days to find a solution for; when in doubt, try wisteria) and they had overly large, powerful fists, with enough force to level a tree. Again, not exactly out of the ordinary, but the paralytic mist and the size of the initial group was troublesome enough that a Hashira was needed to weed out the little pests. Then again…perhaps the Master should have sent a true Hashira.

Upon attack, Giyuu had grunted and rolled onto his back, using the motion to slice one of the fists in half, which had then slowly begun to regenerate. Before he could continue, the sting of the paralytic flooded his nose, the sheer, cloying strength of it making him dizzy.

The wisteria chain around his collar disintegrated. The rest of the remaining group had circled back to their comrades, and, to his disliking, began to merge into one large, multi-armed, heavy demon, with its main set of hands digging their claws into he flesh of Giyuu’s arms. With a crunch, he felt his shoulders slam into the ground, and felt the dirt and rocks on the ground dig into his flesh.

His haori— it must have torn— gave way to blood-slick mud, which entered into the punctures in his arms. That meant his arms were literally pinned into the ground by the suddenly quite sharp talons of the demon. Their bodies fusing— this must have increased their physical abilities, as well as the power of their blood demon art breathing.

Dread pooled quickly in Giyuu’s gut when his sword was wrenched from his frozen grasp, the force of it pulling his wrist with a sickening pop. He couldn’t move. His sight blurred into fuzzy shapes against his will. All he remembered after that was so, so many hands covering his vision, a crushing pressure, the smell of copper, and a paralyzing blackness that left him helpless in the care of the Insect Hashira.

Speaking of, ​Shinobu, ever enduring, had been mainly focused on the seemingly impossible tasks of keeping him from choking on his own saliva and on him making it through the night without dislodging the tangle of tubes and pumps forcing his airway to work as intended. It seemed any sudden movement, even a cough, could turn a delicate system of machines into a pile of parts, which wasn’t pleasant for any of them to deal with.

Shinobu had deduced that the demon specifically tried to flatten his windpipe, given that his whole neck was now made of bruised purple flesh. On all sides, the column that was once his neck was now sore and tender to the touch, crumpled like fabric, dark and rotten like a horrid, all-permeating sunburn.

His eyes stung constantly, making them water relentlessly and stream down his ashen cheeks, as many blood vessels had burst from the pressure, flooding the whites on his eyes with crimson splotches. Everything happening to him now was either from the actual physical force used against him, or a direct result of oxygen loss from his brain.

Strangulation… not only was it very unusual, but this methodology was also deeply baffling. Why would a demon bother with such a mighty effort? It didn’t spill any blood. It took prolonged force and strength. It would have worked, though, had sunlight not caught the demon off guard and scorched it from the Earth. Giyuu laid unconscious in the cool morning, breathing through a windpipe the size of a straw, for about a half-hour until the Kakushi came to his rescue.

He hadn’t been able to feel any sensations in his neck and lower jaw since then, which he supposed was a blessing. Everywhere else ached or bled. He couldn’t even swallow so much as a breath without assistance from some fancy device pumping the air for him. He couldn’t tell where his skin ended and the tubes began. He didn’t want to feel any of it.

“Ara ara. You’re not up in your head again, are you Tomioka?”

It took a surprising amount of effort for him to shift his damp eyes towards his comrade. Shinobu fiddled with the dial on the tube in his arm. Her purple eyes met his, and stilled.

“Then again…I’m not sure there’s anywhere else for you to be at this point, huh?”

The lack of ability, of control over himself, that was what was impacting him the most. Other than moving his legs, of which the worst injury was an infected slash on his thigh, he was able to make hand and eye movements only, for fear of upsetting the machines keeping him alive. Giyuu admittedly didn’t care for these new, technological deities, but even he wasn’t fool enough to defy them.

He winced as his left arm, the one with the sprained wrist, curled and spasmed as he attempted to use it. All of his focus was now on moving his fingers into what he hoped was the right sign.

“Need?” Shinobu guessed, staring at his trembling hand. “What do you need, Tomioka?”

Slowly, he moved his fingers into the shape of the first character. He didn’t know the sign for ‘kindly insert whatever forsaken substance killed Gauguin’, and he couldn’t remember what the damned medicinal drug was anyway, so he finger-spelled ‘mayuku’ as best he could.

Purple eyes crimped. For the first time since he woke up, Shinobu actually laughed, her voice like wind chimes. She tapped a teasing finger against her chin with a little smile.

“Alright, you’ll get your painkillers soon enough. Dinner first, which is in…ten minutes!”

Giyuu’s fingers were cramping and loosening already, so he had to be satisfied with sending Shinobu a withering look. ‘Dinner’ was just her exchanging his near-empty intravenous drip bag for a full one. It didn’t need time to prepare. She was just being a terrible doctor on purpose.

“Have you managed to sleep at all?” She asked in a more gentle tone, taking in the pallor of his face and the purple-gray swelling under his eyes. With his other hand, Giyuu managed ‘no’.

“Hmm. It might be a better idea to reroute the tubeage through the skin…it’s not any less irritating, but it might allow a bit more stability. You should find sleeping easier in that case?”

She phrased it as a question, but Giyuu was already trying to sign his consent. His fingers wouldn’t work with his brain. The frustration billowed within him, and he managed to use enough force to smack his injured wrist (metal splint and all) against the railing of his bed.

Shinobu clearly didn’t appreciate this tremendous display of raw power, as she pursed her lips and firmly wrapped one of her hands around his splinted arm. She threaded her small fingers carefully through his stiff ones.

“Ara ara, none of that. Squeeze my hand as tight as you can if you’d like me to try the procedure—ah. Alright, Tomioka.”

​A swell of gratitude welled up in Giyuu’s sore chest, and, reluctant as he was to show it, he knew Shinobu had been especially attentive to him since he was brought in. She had barely even poked fun at him. He had concluded that she knew his wounds were deep, and she was making every effort to not only keep him alive, but to see him comfortable as he was treated. She wasn’t risking anything to help him, but she was helping him.

In all the time he had known the Kochos, he still never felt deserving of their innate kindness. He squeezed again, as tight as he could, and let his eyes lose their defensive edge. Although he couldn’t have denied help if he tried, he did allow himself to accept his…friend’s…offered hand.

​​He tentatively allowed himself to have a friend.

Shinobu’s gaze fixated on his still-wet and red eyes. She didn’t say anything for a few beats, just let his trembling fingers clench tight to hers. His grip began to loosen, and that was when she tightened her own hold on his hand. She squeezed back, face still open, calm as a garden breeze. Her hand was dry and warm. It was the most comfort he’d felt in days. He didn’t mind it at all.

[moshintheteagaiwan]

T.Kettle: My Time At The Most Poorly Run Tea Shop - Part 1

I was one of the lucky few who got the chance to get their start in working in the world of tea at the now defunct Teavana brand stores. Working at Teavana was undoubtedly some of the best days of my life and the fondest days of my 20’s. Working there gave me the chance to meet so many fantastic friends and I even met my wife working there. Truth be told had it not closed in 2017 I may still be there.

I’ve never worked anywhere like there since. There was just something about the atmosphere. The team I worked with was one of a kind. Maybe it was that we were still living on the last legs of mall shopping? Whatever it was I’ve ever since longed to find that kind of feeling and happiness in the workplace again.

When Teavana closed the obvious move many thought I would make was to jump to DavidsTea. But by this time I had greater responsibilities and the only logical way for me to make that jump would be for a management position which wasn’t available at the time. And so I decided it was time to do something different. Through a conversation with the store’s pest control technician I was led to the field of pest control. There are several different reasons I chose this route but the most notably being it was an easy field to get into without needed to go back to school, and it paid very well.

And so just 2 weeks after Teavana closed it’s doors, I began my new career as an exterminator. The work had it perks. I got to be very independent and didn’t have to answer to my boss daily. The pay was very good and gave the extra cash flow I wanted. I had a company truck I could use as needed and benefits. But the work was also long and took a heavy toll on my body. Especially on summer days when I would be working outside in 40+ degree heat.

I debated daily about trying to find something better. An office position where I had Air conditioning in summer and heat in the winter. Where I could work with a team again. That also came with high pay and benefits. But as many of you may know, those jobs are few and far between these days, so I stuck with it. Then in 2020 as DavidsTea began shutting down stores, word got out that a new tea brand was launching in the old DavidsTea locations. The brand was to be run by the owner other big retail chains such as Sunrise Records, HMV, & FYE, who had purchased leases for closed DavidsTea stores.

When I got word that a new location would be opening in the mall opposite of where my old Teavana store was, and that they were looking for a manager, I decided to jump on it. Within a few days of applying I had a virtual interview as we were still in the middle of Covid restrictions. The interview went well and after speaking to the T-Kettle representative I had a great feeling that something good was about to come. A couple weeks later I got a call back – I HAD GOTTEN THE JOB!

Finally I would get my chance to return to working in the world of tea. This time as the head honcho of my own store. I would get to work with a team again and be around my favourite thing – TEA! I was told that I would be responsible for hiring my own staff and got straight to work on finding my new staff, and put my 2 weeks notice in at the pest control company I was working for. Within a couple weeks I had found my new staff and was given the date to meet at the new location for orientation and staff training.

This is where the story really begins. This is the story of my time at T.Kettle and the story of the tea brand that could have been great but quickly became a sinking ship.

[deepdisireslonging]

Sunrise Guarded by Night Chapter 2: New Landlord

Two early morning visitors inform Ileana that her building is under new management, and that her rent has changed.

Pairing: (none this chapter)

Warnings/Promises: cw blood, mild threatening, food mention

Word Count: 1240

Note: Happy reading! Comments and reblogs are always welcome. This is part 2 of a commission I did. Part 1 can be read here: Every Morning

As warm and inviting as the mornings were, Ileana’s favourite part of the day actually happened at night. All those delectable pastries her patrons loved took time to mix, roll, and rise. If she was honest with herself, she took an extra minute with one pastry out of each batch. Just because Officer Dick came in for the same coffee every day didn’t mean that he paired it with the same sweet. As such, the pastry that received the most care, and looked the best out of the oven, reserved the honoured spot immediately behind the glass. It drew people in. Tajra knew who it was for. 

Covered in flour, Ileana slid the tray of blueberry croissants into their position. She was mentally planning the placement of the other trays when there was a banging on the door. Two men were outside, dressed in dark clothes. Ileana assumed they were looking for trouble. 

“We’re closed,” she shouted.

“We want some coffee,” the shorter one shouted back.

Ileana shook her head. “You’ll have to wait until five AM. It’ll be fresh then- hey!”

With horror, Ileana watched as the larger one shoved his fist through the glass and unlocked the door from the inside. Even though his hand came back bloody, he didn’t seem to notice or care.

The shorter one strutted up to the counter like an eight AM patron. “Mornin’. I’m John, this is Jack.” He rubbed his squashed nose. “Cute shoppe. While some coffee would be nice, we also have a notice for you.”

“A notice?” Ileana swallowed dryly as the larger one, Jack, rounded the counter corner to survey the bar back. His face, long and warped like a nightmare, made her heart thunder. His presence blocked her exit to the kitchen. “What kind of notice?”

“You’ve got a new, uh, landlord.” John bent at the waist to look at the mostly empty display case. “Don’t worry. Your rent is the same. Give or take a few new, shall we say, charges to cover pest control.”

Ileana inched to one side as Jack stepped close with a sneering smile. 

“It’s for your own good. If you have any trouble from your previous landlord or anyone interested in adding your business to their holdings, give us a call. All you need for an extra five hundred a month.”

“Five hundred!” Ileana would have thrown herself over the counter to claw at his face, but Jack caught her by the wrists. A minute later, she was sat down in a seat while John raided the croissants. “What- what if I can’t pay? I’m barely covering expenses as it is.”

He licked his fingers. “We’ll send business your way. Can’t have such a lucrative rent-payer going under.”

“What if,” Ileana breathed deep, “what if I don’t want to pay for your so-called protection?” 

The air in the shoppe shifted, hovering like dust in the early morning sunlight. 

Ileana shifted as Jack leaned down to murmur in her ear, “then you’ll need protection from us as well.” As he traced his finger over the shell of her ear, Ileana failed to cover the shiver that overtook her. 

Suddenly, the clang of the display tray hitting the floor rang out. Ileana was the only one who flinched. John handed his tall partner the last of the pastries. He squeezed it till it broke down into flaky crumbs and drippy jam. 

“You don’t have to decide now.” The short annoyance wiped his mouth with a napkin, then dropped it on the floor. “We’ll be back at the end of the month for your rent and your answer. Until then-” he nodded at the door, “we’ll send someone out to fix your glass. No charge.”

It only took seconds for them to leave. 

But it took almost half an hour for Ileana to move from the chair. 

***

The “help” arrived to replace the glass shortly before Tajra did. When asked about it, Ileana was surprised that she didn’t break down and cry all over again. The details spilt out in whispers. Short John and tall Jack’s casual break-in like it was something normal. The “notice.” The threat. The handyman left without a word as the two women looked on in fear. 

Ileana rejected the idea to go to the police. 

“We’re not the only ones this is happening to.” Tajra nibbled on her thumbnail. “We can’t be. Telling someone would probably help more businesses.”

She shook her head. “We might as well stamp ‘informant’ on our foreheads.”

They opened the shoppe in silence. Thankfully, it was a dreary day and people were slow to start their mornings. 

Between customers, Tajra shouldered up to Ileana. “You know who we could tell?”

“No.” 

“We can tell him not to make it anything official. It would be-”

Ileana placed both hands on Tajra’s shoulders. “We can’t. Remember when he was in a sling for most of last year? I don’t want to put him into that sort of danger again. Even if he is a cop.” Her hands slowly lost their grip, sliding down to Tajra’s hands. Her mind drifted. The memory of Jack’s touch over her ear made her eyes glaze over. Such big hands. Uncaring of the slivers of glass in them. He would crush Officer Grayson like he was nothing more than a twig. “No. We can’t tell him. We can’t tell anyone.” Even if I want to. 

When Dick swept in a few minutes later, he immediately knew something was wrong. Ileana’s usually sure hands shook holding anything heavier than a packet of sugar. Tajra kept looking at the door even when no one was there. He realized she was looking at the glass itself. Too clear to be freshly cleaned. New. And the pastries in the case were lopsided. Like their baker was thinking about other things when she made them. 

“No blueberry croissants today?” He carefully watched their reactions. 

Ileana’s shoulders stiffened. “No, I’m sorry. There was an accident.” She ignored Tajra’s pointed look. “I dropped the tray this morning and they went everywhere.”

Dick took a sip from his coffee. Bitter. It was never bitter, even when they had first opened. “That’s unfortunate. But the strawberry ones are just as amazing.” He hid his detecting behind a brilliant smile. “May I have two strawberry croissants, please? My partner keeps making eyes at my breakfast when I come into work. Figure I should go ahead and bring him his own before mine disappears off my desk.” As he passed along his money, not even the hint of a smile tugged at Ileana’s lips. Softly he asked, “I hope I wasn’t too forward yesterday-”

“Oh, no!” There was that smile. Though a bit sad. “It’s just been a rough morning.” She handed him his change, which he dropped into the tip jar. “I hope your workday starts off better than mine.” 

He lifted his breakfast in a toast. “I’m sure it will. I hope the rest of your day is better.”

“Thank you.” Ileana looked down while wiping off the counter instead of looking at him. Meanwhile, Tajra couldn’t keep her eyes off his. 

Unconvinced, he maintained his clueless smile until he was well on his way to the office. Mallory tried to turn down the sweet. “Just eat it.” He walked over to the string board and mentally expanded the string box to include the Cuppa Sunrise. 

It encompassed an alarming amount of Blüdhaven.

***

Chapter 3: Midnight Sleuthing

Intrigued? Would you like to commission a fic or mini series of your own? Read here: Guidelines Here

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Citrus Longhorn Beetle - Anoplophora chinensis

We return to lovely Sunrise Peak in South Korea to have another look at this starry-night shelled specimen. From the initial batch sent to me, there were extra images leftover for another post, but 4 years is a long time for an update! Previously, I gushed over this find, so this post will examine more facts. The first thing I'd like to clarify is the size of this Longhorn Beetle as the images make it appear giant! The wooden beam it travels on isn't a massive rail. In actuality, specimens have been measured fall in the range of 20 - 40mm (2-4cm) long. Like their distant cousins, the red Milkweed Beetle, females tend to be larger than the males. That's just talking about body size; if antenna length was included, these insects became much longer, but in different ways. Female Citrus Longhorn antennae is just slightly longer than the length of the body, while males have antennae that are 1.5 times as long as their body (or longer)! Given the antennae length, it's likely that the individual in these pictures is a female Longhorn. In addition, the tip of the abdomen appears to be more rounded compared a male's narrowing abdomen, but I'm not relying on that as a whole since the wingcase position (having recently been opened) makes abdomen examination difficult. Secondly, all this talk about size only applies to the adults, as the larvae can get much longer, larger and heavier.

They're soft-bodied and lack some of the more sophisticated structures that the adults have, such as wings and long antennae, so they can afford it until pupation. Whichever tree specie the eggs are laid inside, the larvae begin to feed beneath the bark on the tree's pith and tissues near the base. Feeding there also allows access to tree's roots which the larvae may also feed on using gnawing mandibles. Since the larvae dwell in the bottom of the tree, feeding will eventually translate to the whole tree as nutrients are cut off and their innards become damaged and prone to arboreal diseases. What makes them so notorious as pests is that damage done tends to be invisible until the tree's health begins to deteriorate or the adult emerges from the tree, leaving behind an escape hole appears as if it was perfectly drilled from the inside. Since they can remain undetected without close inspection of trees and wood products, it's no wonder that human transport has accidentally introduced them to Europe and North America where efforts aim to contain or eradicate them. It's a shame that the larvae swarm and feed so voraciously since the adult Beetle is so ornate and eye-catching.

Furthermore, the adults only eat leaves and nibble at the outer parts of the tree. Though beautiful, we need to monitor for them and manage them carefully to prevent critical damage to trees and forest, similar to its close relative (recently eradicated in Ontario), the Asian Longhorn Beetle (Anoplophora glabripennis). We would be hard-pressed to naturalize them in a manner like the White Spruce Sawyer Beetle, especially since the latter feeds on dead wood, while the Citrus Longhorn feeds on fresh tree innards. It seems so easy at first given how similar the two species appear to each other, but it's often the details that are important with introduced species. To conclude on the subject of details, North American bug hunters should be extra observant not to confuse the White Spruce Sawyer for the Citrus Longhorn. Though both share dark-colored bodies, pronotum side-spikes and long antennae, the latter will always be more robust in shape, have a spotted wingcase and ringed antennae. If you can get close enough to the front of the wingcase, examine carefully for the presence of 2 small white tubercular structures (one on each wingcase) as these are distinctive to the Citrus Longhorn, and aren't found on the Asian Longhorn.

Pictures were taken on July 21, 2019 in South Korea with a Google Pixel. And with that, every successfully identified insect from the yearlong Asia trip has been posted! You've been amazing, my dearest Sarali! Thank you for sharing your amazing, life-changing voyage with me, and for all of these lovely creatures! Godspeed to all your future endeavors and dreams!

[idigitizellp21]

Conquer Pests with Ultima Search: Best pest control services near you

Ultima Search has successfully ensconced itself in the pest control industry as a business of repute after having provided expert pest control services and products for over a decade. We take it upon ourselves to ensure that your homes, offices and commercial installations are sanitised and healthy thereby providing a sense of well-being and happiness whenever you call upon us.

We are the pest controllers of choice in cities like Maharashtra, Gujarat and Karnataka for millions of happy and contented customers and our service portfolio is backed up with a pest control product range that is innovative, advanced and available pan India. Household pests such as rats of all kinds, cockroaches, termites, mosquitoes, bedbugs, flies and others have no chance against this product range and a professionally conducted service by Ultima Search.

A healthy home is in fact a happy home and keeping a home sterilised and pest-free is no easy feat. To ultimately get rid of pests, rodents, insects and other nuisances from your home, you need a professional solution that will do the ultimate job. Your search for the ultimate ends here. We come with years of professionally harnessed experience to bring ultimate cleanliness, health and hygiene towards a goal of wellness for all.

Ultima Search also offers Quality and Professional Pest Control Services in India backed by its own proven range of products & technical expertise to ensure a pest-free existence even when you are at work.

We are careful to ensure that treatment meted out either at home or commercial installations is safely administered with absolutely no adverse health effect to anyone except the pests and rodents that need to be eradicated. The chemicals we use are manufactured in our own facility. This ensures strict control over quality and safety along with constant innovation and refinement of products on the basis of expert input by well-trained field teams.

Let’s explore our 6 prime services you can avail for your home or your commercial space 

 Cockroach and Household Integrated Pest Management

Delivering quality home pest control services which is not only highly effective and micro dosage treatment but also gel-based. The best treatment for cockroach pest control which also works on Ants, Silverfish & other crawling household pests. Our home-to-home pest services are eco-friendly, odourless and also harmless for human inhalation.

Rodent Control

Rodent control for commercial or household setups comprises pest control for rats, mice, bandicoots and other members of the rodent family. These harmful rodents can be controlled by Burrow fumigation where you can seal strategic places of weatherproof bait stations. For special concern areas, you can get rid of rats by using toxic glue boards and mechanical traps. We recommend you have continuous pest follow-up where there is efficient monitoring and rat-proofing to minimise infestation.

Mosquito Control

An efficient and effective kill mosquito solution program commences with a detailed survey to determine the quantum and species of adults and larvae in your vicinity. Our ultimate aim is to eliminate the breeding spots to ensure the stop of reproduction whilst the mosquito control treatment is ongoing. Larvae can be controlled through various spraying for mosquito products. Our USP is utilizing Eco-friendly spraying products coupled with fogging during down or at sunrise which coincides with adult mosquito activity periods.

Termites

Pest control services have to begin with the identification and application of the correct medicine to deal with it at ease. Treat termite challenges (residential or commercial) with our unique water base chemical emulsion into 12 mm drilled holes, cracks and joints through an injection. Mainly feeding on wood and furniture, termite pest control targets these areas to start with. Ensure termite control in infested woodwork with oil-based chemicals where you need minimal/least re-treatment rate.

Bed Bugs

Beginning with a robust bed bug inspection, utilization of labelled residual & non-residual insecticide formulation. in order to get rid of bed bugs you need to understand the vitality of strict periodical follow-ups.

Viro Safe

Intense Disinfection Service Uses potent disinfectants effective against all viruses Disinfects contaminated surfaces, equipment, and fixtures Used largely in closed indoor areas Safe for humans & pets.

What makes Ultima Search the best pest control service provider in India? 

With over 9000+ dealers, 200+ employees, 3000+ serviced happy customers and counting and an ISO9001 certification, Ultima Search is most definitely your ultimate pest control solution. Our national footprint takes us to the lengths and breadths of the country and makes us a premium pest control service provider especially when people think of home cleaning services.

Contact our professionals today for a pest control service. 

[bluescapevacations]

Tips To Make Your Vacation Rental Stay With Your Pet Enjoyable

Nowadays, pet owners are increasingly bringing their pets with them when they travel. For many, this means staying at pet-friendly lodging like vacation rentals or cabins. However, it's crucial to ensure you and your pet are fully prepared for the trip. Using common sense and following some basic tips will give you peace of mind that you and your pets will have a safe, happy vacation. Here are a few simple tips to ensure an enjoyable rental stay with your pet!

Choose the right accommodation for your needs and your pet's needs.

Are you in search of pet-friendly vacation rentals in Florida? Opt for one that suits both you and your dog's personality. If your energetic pup loves hiking and exploring, pick a rental near trails, scenic spots, and places to wander. For a less active pet, consider a more remote rental where you can watch the sunrise and sunset together from a deck or patio. If your water-loving pet wants beach or lake access, then prioritize rentals located right on the coast or shoreline. The perfect vacation rental for you and your pet provides amenities and location based on your individual needs and interests.

Respect The Designated Pet Waste Areas in the Property

When checking in to your rental accommodation, inquire about designated pet bathroom areas. Respect the property's rules regarding pet waste, and follow recommendations on where your dog can relieve itself. Be sure to bring your waste bags, and clean up after your pet.

Play Around and Wear Them Out!

Ensure your pet gets enough exercise. Check with the vacation rental manager about the ideal spots near the property to walk or run with your pet. Ultimately, your pet will be more content and you will feel better as well.

Be Respectful of the Vacation Rental 

If your pets are allowed on furniture or beds, be sure to cover them adequately with blankets or towels. Also, if the pet-friendly rental has specific rules, please respect and follow them.

Should You Leave Your Pet Alone?

When in unfamiliar places, even the best-behaved pets may become noisy or destructive. Pet-friendly vacation rentals allow you to leave your pet alone, but only briefly when necessary. If you must leave your pet unattended, place a note on the front door indicating the pet is inside. This will alert anyone needing to enter the property. It's best not to leave pets alone unless urgent.

Make Sure The Property is Fleas, Ticks & Odor Free When You Leave

Before traveling, bathe your pets with flea and tick shampoo and apply their usual flea and tick preventative medication. It will help ensure they are free of pests and odors that could lead to additional cleaning fees.

Be Prepared For The Accidents 

Your pets may never have had an accident inside before. But, mishaps can occur if they become stressed. Be prepared for possible accidents. Bring disinfectant and cleaning cloths to thoroughly clean any messes. This will help ensure you do not lose your pet deposit due to improper clean-up.

Keep Pets On a Leash

To keep your pet safe, make sure to keep them on a leash and avoid taking them into dining areas or other restricted places.

Conclusion

When staying at a vacation rental with your pet, kindly remember that you are a guest in someone else's property. Respect the rental and its pet policies so that your trip is pleasant for all. Bluescape Vacations offers a wonderful selection of pet-friendly rentals ensuring an enjoyable, stress-free getaway for you and your furry companion. Visit https://www.bluescapevacations.com/ today to learn more and start planning a perfect vacation!

We’d love to connect with you on social media, and are active on Facebook, Twitter, Youtube and Instagram

[bettertermite]

Mosquitoes Pest Control Alexandria VA - Better Termite

Mosquito is the common pest to the public and it is spreading dangerous diseases to human health. Mosquitoes are spreading numerous diseases including malaria, yellow fever, dengue, zika, and more diseases – the newest mosquito-borne disease of growing concern.

Wearing Mosquitoes repellent is the best way to protect from mosquito biting. It is also mandatory to take steps to prevent measures to avoid mosquitoes breeding on the ground of your home, so far mosquitoes can lay eggs at half inches of water level. If you are facing problems with mosquitoes on your assets, call a mosquito management company or local pest control services for getting advice on how to eliminate mosquitoes. 

The problem starts with standing water. Usually, mosquitoes can breed in gutters and in a small amount of standing water storage areas. Gushing water from faucets, backyard ponds, and wherever the pools all provide the perfect place for breeding grounds for mosquitos.

Better Termite uses a professional approach to mosquito control services. Our mosquito control experts inspect and treat areas where mosquitos rest and breed. In-home, leaves may be fallen from the nearest trees, this natural foliage is common areas mosquitos rest. For areas with unavoidable standing water, like birdbaths, Better Termite professionals can give perfect recommendations for preventative measures against mosquitos.

We have completely reduced mosquito growth, however, even if situations bad from the mosquito source are outside of our control. Because the flying range may vary from your work or home yards, there is a great opportunity for mosquitoes from somewhere else in your residence.

Preventing steps is important to get rid of mosquitoes, So we have to maintain your property is one of the first ways to prevent mosquitos. Removing dead foliage, waste cardboard, pool tolls, gutter areas, and bad debris will reduce areas of mosquito shelter.

Removing the standing water is another vital step in stopping mosquitos from entering. In the same that, keeping pools neatly treated will create an inhospitable breeding place for these pests. Mosquitos casually enter homes and businesses via windows and doors. We must be Checked all the windows and doors and make sure the screens are securely in areas. Mainly must be closed windows and doors during mosquito season, especially from dark to sunrise as mosquitos are most active at that time.

Better Termite is the best mosquito control company in Herndon, Alexandria, Fredericksburg, Reston, and more places. Not only focusing on mosquitoes, but give a solution to roaches, rodent, silverfish, bees, spiders, stink, and tick pests You can contact us at any time on call - (703)-683-2000 or (703) 822-5582.

[yo-anna0315]

Soukoku living together HCs

Chuuya and Dazai have multiple safehouses for emergencies.  But, Chuuya spends most of his time at his penthouse suite and Dazai spends most of his time at the agency dorms even though it’s lower quality than some of his safehouses.  

Actually Dazai spends a lot of time breaking into Chuuya’s apartment.  

Dazai breaks into Chuuya’s apartment a lot, even in the mafia.  If he got sick of living out of a shipping container.  They’ve shared a bed in the mafia before, when they only had one bed and when Chuuya had to use Corruption so Dazai could monitor his health and nightmares.  Purely for corruption aftermath.  Yes.  They won’t admit that those are the best nights.  

Dazai breaks into Chuuya’s apartment so often that Chuuya just gives up and offers him a key.  Dazai takes it for later shenanigans, but he still breaks in every chance he gets.  Just to mess around with Chuuya and get on his nerves (not because Chuuya wouldn’t bother changing his security systems if he didn’t.)  

Chuuya is annoyed because he doesn’t hand out keys to his apartment to just ANYONE.  And he doesn’t change his security systems because if someone dares to break into HIS apartment, he wants to fight them.  But if he doesn’t, Dazai gets bored and whiny and it’s so much worse.

And then the moment Chuuya leaves on a short business trip for the mafia, Dazai uses the key and practically moves into the penthouse suite.

“Chibi has a walk-in closet for his atrocious style.  I must rectify that immediately.”

Chuuya comes back and chews Dazai out for a few hours while he starts cooking dinner.  He didn’t mean to give Dazai permission to move in, though he should have known better.  At least they still have their living habits from when they basically lived together in the mafia.  And Chuuya is secretly glad because it’s easier to watch out for Dazai.  He’s short-tempered, not spiteful.

Dazai cannot cook to save his life.  That’s why his takeout debt is so high.  He just doesn’t have the presence of mind to cook and he doesn’t care about himself enough to bother putting effort into anything more than cereal and milk or unpacking take out.  He will push it off until he absolutely has to.  

Chuuya, on the other hand, will refuse to starve himself because it reminds him of being on the streets, fending for himself, living off scraps.  He never wants to go back to that.  And he’s also very lavish and refined.  So he knows how to cook and goddamn he cooks well.  Dazai cleans in return.  

They spend breakfast together, because Chuuya likes the sunrise and Dazai never goes to work on time.  It’s usually the only meal they have together.  Unless they both have late nights.  

Chuuya, being the host of a god’s power, requires less sleep than the average person, but he tries to get as much as possible because he feels better (and more human) when he does.  

Chuuya hates it but he allows Dazai to stash cans of canned crab in the pantry because it’s cheap and easy and Dazai will eat it without complaint.  Chuuya would just rather have fresh crab but he’s seen Dazai gorge himself on canned crab and he has a thick wallet, but damn, the money could be better spent on something else.

Grocery shopping happens whenever they have time.  There’s two types.  Fun trips and actual responsibility.  

Fun trips are snack runs.  They always go at obscure hours of the night, to twenty-four hour konbinis.  They bicker about everything, but it’s late so they get chaotic.  Chuuya thinks of it as letting Dazai go batshit for an hour or two so he mellows out when they have to be serious.  Dazai knows that’s how he sees it but he’s not going to pass up a chance to be chaotic.  Dazai sees it as a way to step away from their lives.  They’re enemies now, but at this obscure hour of the night, mildly terrorizing the workers, they can be just Soukoku.  Chuuya always apologizes to the workers and tips them generously.  He also pays them extra not to post any videos online.  He knows them by name.  

Actual responsibility is a pain in the ass.  They always take a few hours because Dazai is a little shit.  Dazai doesn’t want to shop for groceries, he doesn’t want Chuuya to cook, no matter how tasty, because then he’ll have to eat it.  He stalls and whines and complains and pouts and annoys Chuuya.  Then he sees the snack aisle and he HAS to try the new kit kat flavors.  He’s also clingy.  It’s grueling and long and tiring, Chuuya always feels a headache coming after.  But he makes sure to stock up on stuff when he has the chance just so he doesn’t have to come back any sooner than he has to.  Oh, Dazai will also throw a fit if Chuuya leaves at home because how can he give input if he isn’t there?  But he eats everything Chuuya cooks on grocery shopping days with less complaints because he has enough self awareness to know he’s a pest.  

They definitely act like they’re dating and when they realize they are because roommates don’t sleep in each other’s bed, they don’t kiss, they don’t cuddle on the couch and laugh at shitty mafia movies.  Chuuya makes them have at least one discussion, where they agree to discuss the big things, but most of it becomes unspoken communication.  

Chuuya doesn’t really like to bring mafia work home, but sometimes it happens.  When it does, he does it in his office.  Sometimes he even manages to get Dazai a head start on his paperwork, but most of time, Dazai lounges on the couch in the lounge and reads his suicide book or listens to music, or rambles at Chuuya about random stuff.   

They share a bed, but they have a spare bedroom. 

[sunrisepestmanagementsblog]

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[gentlemancrow]

jonmartin, pre-romance, #15/28??

I did manage to get BOTH of these in! So we have a combo of "You called me, remember?" and "It's too early for this". Much like the others, the MINUTE I read this prompt an idea popped into my head that I just HAD to go with! This is actually based off a real life incident I had with a friend (They know who they are...) but it fit both Jmart and the prompt PERFECTLY! The names have been changed to fictional characters to protect the innocent. (Hint I was the Martin in this situation) Anyway this was super fun and cute to write and I made myself all squishy a lot. HOPE YOU ENJOY! <3

There were precious few reasons why Martin’s mobile should be ringing at exactly 5:47 am on a Tuesday, and precisely none of them were good. Still, the anxiety inducing sound alerting him to something ominously, ambiguously amiss struggled to worm its way through a rather lovely dream of his acceptance speech after being awarded poet laureate. The poem he had prepared for the occasion was marrow-deep and hauntingly beautiful, or at least he remembered it that way until suddenly he was reciting the lyrics to Abba’s ‘Waterloo’ instead and sweating profusely as the audience began to murmur in disgust amongst themselves. Waterloo was indeed blaring, but from the ringtone of his phone, not from his lips, and his stomach performed a cold somersault with the force of the wave of anxiety that had begun in his dream and crested up to lap at the base of his barely functional brain. The few synapses he needed for basic motor function and reading comprehension crackled to life as he clumsily batted the buzzing device on his nightstand into his hand and squinted blearily at the name.

It was small. That was an immediate relief. If the care home had been calling about an incident with his mother, either her health or the staff’s as a result of her, it would have been the full moniker of ‘Sunrise Acres Care Home’ ticking across the caller ID. Yet small implied a name, a person, someone he had in his phone and not just a random spam call, and anxiety spiked again as Martin scrubbed at his eyes until ‘Jon’ appeared in white hot letters on the screen. Sleep dissolved from him in an instant and he sat bolt upright in a tangle of covers as he smashed the green answer icon with his thumb and threw the receiver to his ear.

“Hullo?! Jon? R’you okay? What’s happened?” he demanded, voice still slumbery thick and groggy.

“Martin!” Jon’s silky, prim voice, thinned out to a tin can vibrato over airwaves, answered, “Good, you’re awake. I need your help. Urgently.”

Martin was already out of bed by the time ‘need’ reached his ears, yanking on the first pair of jeans he spotted in the laundry heap on the floor and hopping on his free leg to the en suite with his phone pinched between his cheek and shoulder.

“I’m on it!” he assured him despite having no clue what ‘it’ was, exactly, “I’m coming to you as soon as I can. Where are you? Are you hurt? Should I bring a first aid kit? I don’t think I have a first aid kit… should I buy a first aid kit? There’s a Boots just down the block from my flat, I could-“

“Martin, stop! What the hell are you on about?” Jon’s annoyed tone cut through his panic like a scalpel.

Martin stopped in the doorframe of the bathroom, brows knitted, jeans puddling around the one leg he’d managed to get through and left once again in naught but his boxers as he gripped his phone back into his hand.

“Huh? What are you on about? You said you needed help!” he snapped.

“I do! But not like… not like THAT. What kind of mortal peril do you imagine I would find myself in at a quarter to six in the morning?”

The initial surge of adrenaline fizzling out uselessly in his veins the more Jon talked, Martin sagged against the doorway and pinched his temples as he strained his words through a colander of civility.

“I don’t know, Jon. You called me, remember?”

“Right, right…”

A terse, lowly hissing silence of dead satellite replaced Jon’s voice, twisting Martin’s nerves as acrobatically as he twisted to avoid the point. He kicked off his jeans and stalked grouchily back to bed where he threw himself face down and unmoving.

“So, what is it then? Wi-Fi gone tits up? Forgot how long to steep Darjeeling?” he hissed into his rumpled duvet, a little nastier than he would have liked given the deadly combination of interrupted slumber and primordial biological survival instinct.

“I uh…” Jon’s voice deflated over the speaker, “I have a… problem.”

“Yes, we’ve so very, very clearly established that. What kind of a problem, exactly…?”

“A problem of an upsettingly… Arachnid nature.”

“A spider…?”

“…Yes.”

Martin propped himself up on one elbow, eyes narrowed with genuine and curious concern.

“Wait like a… like a spooky spooky spider? Or just an ordinary kind of spooky spider?” he inquired with as much levity as he could muster, given one of the likely options.

“Stop saying spooky. And the ordinary kind. I think. No, I’m sure of it. It’s merely the sitting on my kitchen wall like it owns the place and staring at me rudely with all eight eyes, judging me for skipping breakfast again, kind,” Jon answered with clinical pointedness.

“O… kay…?” Martin drawled, suppressing a giggle, “So, what’s the problem then?”

“What do I do?”

Martin opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again as he doubted that he had actually heard Jonathan Sims, the irascible, pompous, only capable of truly looking at him down his nose Head Archivist Jonathan Sims, ask him, a lowly assistant, what to do. With a spider. It would have been almost adorable, had he not scared the life out of him initially, but even that knocked it only down a single peg to helplessly charming.

“I-I mean, the normal thing one does when encountering a spider in one’s home? You kind of only have the usual two options? Er well, three, if you count just leaving it be, but I doubt you’re amenable to that one.”

“No, absolutely not, out of the question,” Jon declared swiftly.

“Didn’t think so,” Martin chuckled, rolling onto his back and sagging in relief into the mattress.

“So?” came the impatient invitation to continue.

“So what?”

“So, then what do I do?” Jon repeated brusquely.

“Well, you either kill it or let it go, of course! What else is there to do? Invite it to brunch?”

“I know that! I’m not an idiot!” Jon erupted furiously, “Good lord, Martin! Do you really think I would have called you because I didn’t know the only two options for dealing with an eight-legged criminal invading my home were kill it or let it go? Really?! Did you suppose this was the very first spider I ever encountered in my life? Is that what you thought? Or perhaps I had my own personal valet to attend to all of my insectoid tribulations, hmm? Just call the bug butler, he’ll attend to it straightaway! Do you ever stop to think before you open your mouth? Or do you customarily just air out whatever inane notions blow through your ears, no matter how puerile? Christ!”

Martin let the phone drop onto the bed beside him, away from the verbal darts hurled directly into his eardrum and taxing the output matrix of the speaker, as Jon launched into an affronted, mortified tirade, smirking and shaking his head.

“It’s too early for this…” he mused to himself ruefully, rubbing both hands over his face and eyes.

Once the phone stopped humming and glowing white hot with remote rage, Martin scooped it back up and yawned into the receiver.

“You alright there, Jon?” he asked in a gentle tone.

A ragged sigh crackled into a blip of feedback from lips too close on the other end of the phone.

“…Not really?” came Jon’s tremulous reply, “Listen, I’m sorry I went off on you. That was unfair of me. I-I just… I really… really hate spiders.”

Something squeezed in Martin’s chest, something about the confident bass flayed neatly out of Jon’s usually assertively solid mannerisms, leaving it abnormally thin and rickety. He sat up on the bed, cradling the phone much more gently to his cheek.

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” he assured him, “If anybody sympathizes about being afraid, you definitely called the right person. Need me to stay on the line with you while you whack it? A good heavy book will probably do the trick, or if you need speed and agility a rolled-up newspaper or a magazine might be better?”

“No! I wasn’t calling because I needed advice on how to murder the damn thing! I’m quite capable of doing that on my own. Frankly, I’ve taken rather a vested interest in honing my spider termination methodology over the years. I called you because… well you were going on about how you thought they were…” Jon trailed off in a series of garbled sounds of disgust, “Cute… of all things.”

Martin grinned and had to put the phone on his bare chest a moment, as if Jon might somehow perceive his giddy glee through the receiver.

“To be fair I’m a little odd that way. Most people feel much the same as you do about them,” he commented as he picked it back up.

“True, but that’s not even the whole of it!” Jon went on exasperatedly, “I also overheard you talking… must have been to Tim or Sasha but… you were explaining about how helpful they are to the ecosystem and what a vital role they play in that natural order of things, and how we always see images of them eating butterflies and beautiful things that make them look sinister, but how really they mostly control pests and the like… how you thought they got kind of a bad rap?”

“Wow I uh… I can’t believe you remembered all that,” Martin muttered, freckled cheeks dusting a light pink, “But what does that have to do with your unwanted houseguest in particular?”

“It was the last part, mainly. That’s what got me. The part about fear. That they’re afraid, too… You said there had been studies that showed a clear fear response in spiders… to us. They’re afraid of us, demonstrably more so than we are of them…”

One word of all of those slipped between Martin’s ribs and into his heart. Too. They were afraid, too. His thumb stroked and consoled the edge of his phone unconsciously as Jon blustered on, unbothered by his own unconscious admission.

“And now I can’t do it! Now I have to set this bloody spider free because you think it’s cute and want to make friends with it, and I can’t make it an innocent victim of my fear and I have no idea how!”

Martin couldn’t help but smile, imagining how Jon must be in his flat on the other end, scrunched in a corner all hunched up shoulders and furrowed brow with hackles bristling, squaring off with a creature who was possessed of no knowledge of the fear she symbolized, or the grace to understand the iconographical divorce to her salvation. Only Jon, quivering and still bed-rumpled and frazzled, could understand the magnitude of cupping that fear in the palm of his hand while reaching out to him with the other. And now Martin understood it, too.

“Hey alright, I’ve got you. Steady on Jon, we’re gonna get through this together. I’ll talk you through the steps, you just follow what I say, okay?” he instructed in his best 999 operator performance.

A beat of silence ensued, followed by a much more robust and emboldened, “Okay.”

“So, what you want to do first is get a glass.”

“A glass?”

“Yeah, like a water glass. And a stiff piece of paper or cardboard or something. If you’ve got a bit of post lying about, flyers and coupons and the like, those usually work well.”

There was a period of distant shuffling, clattering, and indecipherable muttering as Jon gathered his weapons, then sucked in an audible breath through his teeth.

“Alright I’ve got them, now what?” he asked, sounding a bit winded.

“Now you very carefully put the glass over the spider, then slide the paper under the glass so you trap it inside. Then you can take it out without touching it or worrying about it scuttling off on you and set it free wherever you think it’ll be happy!” Martin answered sweetly.

“Okay, okay. I think I can do that,” Jon chanted for steadiness, “I’m putting the phone down so I don’t louse it up, but d-don’t hang up, stay on with me, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jon. I promise. You’re okay.”

“O-Okay… Okay… Okay…!”

Martin listened as Jon’s voice grew distant, but somehow stronger, more like a war cry, with the soft pad of socked feet on tile, then a short stretch of silence, and then a chorus of oaths and yelping, rising to the crescendo of a door being messily flung open, shut, then opened and shut again. A drumbeat of returning feet rolled mutely close and melded into the scratchy rustle of the phone being picked back up.

“I’m back,” Jon announced.

“Is it done?”

“The deed is done… your little friend is enjoying some lovely pink dahlias out front as we speak.”

“I’m pleased for her! And… for you, too,” Martin said, voice melting into lilting tenderness, “I’m honestly really proud of you, I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“I… Ah… No, it wasn’t. Thank you, Martin,” came the sheepishly measured rejoinder.

“You’re very welcome.”

Martin smiled privately to himself, and ran a loving thumb down the edge of his phone once more.

“So then may I rightly assume I have permission to come in an hour or so late today so I can go back to sleep?” he continued, already knowing the answer as he flopped back down on his pillows and rolled up into the covers.

He was relieved to hear a husky chuckle rumble through the phone.

“Yes, yes. I think you’ve more than earned it.”

“Brilliant, see you in a bit then? And for lunch?” he added hopefully.

The brief silence as Jon calculated his response hung thick and palpable in the digital airwaves.

“Lunch sounds good,” he replied at length, “See you then.”

“G-Great! Great! See you!”

Their phones clicked mutually off without the awkward jumble of sign-offs, pleasantries, and accidentally stumbling over each other’s words. Martin thought glimmeringly of the spider hunting free in plush pink petals, none the wiser, and of Jon, with new and irrefutable proof that not everything ugly or quietly cunning in the world lurked behind to cast its shadow over him. A spider could be just a spider, and Martin back asleep with both hands still clutching his phone to his chest, dreaming of singing Waterloo again, but this time to a rapt audience and thunderous applause.

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

    „Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

    You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

    “Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

    Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

    For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

    “Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

    “I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

    “Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

    “I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

    “Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

    “Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

    “Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

    “Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

    “Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

    “Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

    “Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

    “I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

    “We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

    “Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

    The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

    “Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

    Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

    “Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

    “Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

    “Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

    “It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

    “Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

    “Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

    Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

    “Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

    You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

    “She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

    “Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

    Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

    “Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

    “Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

    “Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

    “Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

    “Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

    You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

    “This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

    “No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

    He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

    “Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

    “A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

    “A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

    “Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

    “You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

    Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

    You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

    “I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

    “If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

    Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

    “I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

    Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

    You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

    “If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

    “Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

    Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

    You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

    With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

    But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

    If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

    “Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

    Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

    “Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

    The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

    Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

    The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

    “Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

    “Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

    “Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

    “Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

    Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

    “Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

    “Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

    “We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

    “She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

    “Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

    “You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

    “First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

    This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

    “I—”

    “Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

    Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

    “I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

    “No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

    “I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

    The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

    He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

    You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

    “Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

    “Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

    He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

    “Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

    “Sylvain, what do you want?”

    “Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

    Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

    He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

    “How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

    “Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

    “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

    “In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

    “To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

    “If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

    Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

    You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

    “A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

    And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

    Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

    He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

    “Because I have eyes in my skull.”

    “Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

    “You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

    “Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

    If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

    The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

    “What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

    It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

    “Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

    “You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

    “Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

    Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

    You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

    Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

    “I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

    “I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

    You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

    “Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

    “That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

    “I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

    You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

    Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

    It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

    There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

    “That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

    “Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

    “You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

    “You wanna bet—”

    “That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

    Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

    She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

    The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

    The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

    This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

    When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

    A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

    “Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

    You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

    “I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

    “I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

    “But?”

    “But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

    “Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

    “Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

    “Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

    “No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

    “Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

    “He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

    “Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

    “Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

    “I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

    “Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

    A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

    “Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

    “That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

    You groan.

    “But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

    “He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

    “I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

    “What?”

    “The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

    “I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

[side-shawty]

Don’t Hate Me

Fandom: DC 

Type: one-shot

Prompt/Summary: “Hello! Can I request a Damian Wayne x reader where the reader can communicate and control animals, so when the batfam sees her fight for the first time, they're like, hella surprised and Dami is very pleased that the reader treats the animals so kindly? 💜💜👽”

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne x Reader

Requested? YES by @comicnerd557​

I mostly focused on the controlling part but the communication is implied. I hope you enjoy :)

-Duckie

“Come on Y/N just show me what your power is please~” Dick begged for what felt like the millionth time today. Ever since Damian had let it “slip” that you had an ability that even he didn’t know about all of the Wayne boys had become curious.

“Just give us a hint,” Tim pressed as you sat on one of the sofas, getting ready for a post-patrol movie night.

“I’m telling you she’s not going to give it up,” Damian said as he sat beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, you were quick to snuggle into his side.

“How about this,” Jason began settling into one of the armchairs, “If we guess right or even pretty close then you have to tell us that we’re right, okay?”

“Deal,” you said as Dick started the movie but it was pointless considering they spent the entirety of it trying to guess at your power. They were close a couple of times but not enough to call them right.

“Okay can you, um, teleport people?” Dick asked as the credits rolled.

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ and repositioning to place your head in Damian’s lap.

“Alight how about —“ Jason started but was interrupted as all of your phones began to chime with a crime alert from Bruce, who was already suited in the cave when you all arrived, he probably hadn’t taken it off.

“Sorry to interrupt movie night but I could use a hand with something,” Bruce said, “Get suited up, I’ll brief you in 5.”

“So much for a quiet night,” you said before you all suited up for a second time that night.

When you all got back there were already images and CCTV footage on the Batcomputer and Bruce didn’t hesitate to begin.

“At approximately 3:45 AM Killer Croc and Gorilla Grodd released all the animals from the Gotham Zoo from their cages but have yet to release them into the city. They’re trying to wait until sunrise for their ‘animal liberation.’

“The police are there but it seems they have lions and tigers barricading the entrances. We’ll go in, take down Crock and Grodd, and put the animals back. Hopefully before breakfast,” he finished and you saw Damian’s hands become fists, you knew he had a soft spot for animals and it was one of the reasons you hesitated to tell him about your powers.

You controlled them, for lack of a better word. Yes, they might have been drawn to you but like Grodd, it didn’t take much for them to bend to your will.

“One last thing,” Bruce continued, “You’ll be needing these. Attach them to your temples and Grodd won’t be able to get inside your head.” He looked to you, “Y/N, you’ll be needing this too,” Bruce said and handed you an amplifier. You looked at him and shock but he only winked at you.

Damn, he really was the world’s greatest detective. 

“What why does she get a special gadget?” Jason asked.

“It probably has to do with her powers, idiot,” Tim retorted.

“Shut up replacement. Y/N you told B about your powers before us? I’m hurt,” he said throwing a hand over his heart as you all made your way to your vehicles.

“Let’s be honest, nobody tells B anything,” you said before hopping onto your cycle and revving the engine.

———

The Zoo was controlled chaos when you got there. Gordon already knew what Grodd’s powers were so he had fewer men than with a regular villain. Just in case the gorilla somehow managed to be able to control the animals and the police there wouldn’t be too many at his disposal.

You split into two teams Bruce, Tim, and Dick would focus on Killer Croc whilst you, Damian, and Jason went after Grodd. They had barricaded themselves in the middle of the zoo along with crocodiles and gorillas because they truly were that cliche.

Killer Croc put up a good a fight as ever but he couldn’t do much when Grodd turned on him and forced the animals to defend only himself. Croc went down cursing Grodd’s name as Batman and Nightwing left to take him to the authorities.

“Now that the nuisance is out of the way I can focus my energy on getting rid of all you pests,” he said and began his onslaught. You fought but waited for Batman’s signal before hitting the amplifier on your neck and stretching your powers.

“Stop,” you spoke, holding a hand in front of Grodd and he immediately went lax before you.

Damian and his brothers also froze as Batman and Nightwing returned to the battlefield.

“What the hell?” Grodd spoke angrily, “What are you doing to me girl?!” He screamed at you.

“You’re strong Grodd but your downfall is that you’re also an animal and I control animals,” you told him, a smug smile on your face as he roared at you.

“Silence,” you commanded and he found himself unable to speak.

“Take his helmet, Robin, it’s still controlling the animals but they can’t move if he can’t. The cuffs are on my belt,” you told him and Damian quickly removed it and disabled it. Within minutes he was in police custody with the proper utilities to ensure he wouldn’t be using his powers any more tonight.

“Nice work Y/H/N,” Batman complimented and you smiled at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without this,” you told him tapping the amplifier. 

“Feel free to keep it. Now let’s get these animals back in their enclosures,” Batman said and you all instantly got to work.

You took the lead mostly, coaxing the larger animals back to where they should be but stopping often to pet them or appreciate how beautiful they were. At some point, Robin had joined you in or rather stared watch you as you were getting the polar bears back to their place.

Even though you weren’t looking at him you could feel his eyes on you from your crouched position rubbing at the polar bear cubs belly. 

“What?” You asked as the cub rolled over and stood up to join its mother behind the gates.

“So this is your power? It is truly“ you braced yourself for the worst, “amazing,” Damian finished and you had to do a double-take.

“Huh?” You said dumbly, not expecting that at all.

He grabbed your hand so you stood next to him but still avoided eye contact.

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Damian questioned softly, releasing your hand because you were still in uniform even if your only witnesses were animals.

You thought about beating around the bush or making a joke of it but instead, you said, “I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” He said, incredulous, so much so that you spared a glance at him and suddenly you took interest in anything but him.

“Yes, I’m no better than Grodd,” You said fingers grazing over the feathers of a passing peacock.

“Tsk, I assure you that you are not similar to that overgrown monkey in the slightest. Let’s go home,” he said and you nodded.

——

When you got back you took a long shower and didn’t see Damian again until you found him reading on his bed as the sun rose.

He looked at you, all smiles as if nothing had changed and it made you look away again as you sat next to him.

Damian sighed at your silence and put his book down, holding your hand instead.

“What’s wrong beloved?” He asked, noting your lack of eye contact.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so okay with my power. I mean I can’t stand it and I hate using it,” you told him and risked a glance into his blue orbs, suddenly you couldn’t look away.

“Y/N do you want to know one of the reasons I fell in love with you?” When you said nothing he continued, “It’s because Ace, Titus, and Alfred don’t like anyone outside of the family for at least a month but the moment you stepped through the door they were as smitten with you as I was,” he told you and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really? ” You asked, you hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah, and then when you told me you were studying to be a vet I fell a little harder. And when I came back from patrol and found you and Titus sleeping on my bed. And when you carried that bird half a mile in the rain because of its broken wing,” he said and before he could continue you interrupted.

“Robin, it was a robin. I found it a day after we told each other about our night lives. I thought of you that entire half-mile,” you told him smiling as the rising sun began to make his eyes shine.

“There you go again,” he said and you tilted your head slightly in confusion, “Making me fall in love.”

You felt your cheeks warm beneath your chocolate skin as he used his free hand to cup your face.

“I don’t hate you or your power beloved, I know people who would be more than happy to abuse an ability like yours but you only use it for good. Hell if it was up to me I’d use it to make Alfred attack Drake non-stop,” he smiled at you and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

“That laugh too, I have always loved your laugh,” he told you.

“Okay now you’re getting cheesy,” you smiled as he released your hand to mimic the one on your face.

“Oh am I?” He teased inching closer and closer to your face.

“Absolutely,” you told him before closing the space between you and falling into a kiss that was all smiles and love.

Suddenly you didn’t hate your power so much.

[virtualbiznet-blog]

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[greatflowercloud]

Bring in the best Flowering Plants For Indian Summer indoors?

Flowers are, without hesitation, one of nature's most attractive creations. They have an important role in pollination and are widely used in medicine and cosmetics, in addition to providing beauty to the landscape. Every season has its characteristic flowers, and you should know about the best flowering plants for Indian summer to enhance the attractiveness of your garden, veranda, or balcony. Bring these lovely flowering plants from a local nursery or order a rose bouquet online and take pleasure in the flowers. Because our country's summers are extremely hot and humid, you must take adequate care of your plants and add color to your home and life! The best flowering plants for Indian Summer are as follows:

Lotus

India's national flower is the lotus. The lotus flower, with its white and pink colors, simply represents serenity. The lotus blossom, which is white and pink, is a sign of purity and devotion. The red, blue, and purple hues of the lotus flower represent rebirth, and enlightenment, respectively. The green lotus flower is a symbol of personal growth that one wishes to achieve. Don't forget to include this flower in your garden if you want it to appear serene. The petals of this flower bloom at sunrise and close slowly from afternoon until evening, making it unique. Bring one or two medium or large tubs and cultivate lotus flowers in them. You can also grow lotus on your balcony or terrace and meditate there when you need some alone time.

Marigold

Marigold represents the rising sun's beauty and warmth, as well as creativity, success, and cheerfulness in relationships. The brilliant yellow marigold, or a mix of yellow and red marigolds, would make a lovely addition to your yard this summer. Marigold is utilized as a religious offering in many religions. It's also used for a variety of medical reasons. Food colouring is made from the yellow colour derived from marigold. Make sure there are no pests or bugs in your marigold garden before planting it. As a result, it is a natural pest management solution for your garden.

Roses

Roses are perennial flowering plants that demand special attention throughout the summer months in India. Allow it to sit in direct sunshine for a while, but avoid searing rays during the day. To enjoy these stunning & romantic blossoms in your summer garden, keep the leaves trimmed and supply enough water and fertilizer. Nothing compares to the beauty of rose flower. Bring a rainbow of colours – red, white, baby pink, dark pink, cream, orange, yellow, and so on – and take in the scenery! Also, keep in mind that rose flowering plants attract pests and bugs, so plant marigold flowering plants next to them.

Hibiscus

There are at least 70 different types of hibiscus online flower delivery in Nagpur. This flower is offered to God as well. They're also sometimes used as a hair ornament by women. During the summer, the brightly colored hibiscus will give your landscape a vibrant appearance. White hibiscus represents beauty and purity, while red hibiscus represents love, dedication, and passion. Sunshine, energy, happiness, and good luck are associated with yellow hibiscus, whereas romantic love is associated with pink hibiscus. To enjoy the magnificent blossoms, make sure to keep the hibiscus plant in direct sunshine.

Lilies

Lilies are created to make people happy. The large petals and vibrant colours provide a stunning display in your landscape. Lilies are associated with monarchy, fertility, motherhood, passion, purity, youth, and rebirth. Bring it inside and use it to decorate your centre table, dining table, or bedside table.

Sunflower

The sunflower is the most active flower of all. This flower's brightness will always provide you with a boost of energy, optimism, and positivity, allowing you to start your day with fresh vigour. Sunflowers are also associated with longevity, optimism, platonic love, admiration, everlasting happiness, and good fortune. Simply supply adequate water, fertilizer, and sunlight to make your summer garden beautiful.