#Basin Tap Replacement

[octoberautumnbox]

A Little Goes a Long Way

fromis_9 Roh Jisun & all the other frommies :DDDD

Categories: fluff, cooking, really light blood but it shouldnt be too big of an issue

Word count: 1.0k

a/n: prompt by @msafterhours!! im actually a dumbass bc i got the prompt completely wrong lmao but here yall go!! oki i hiatus again byeee

It’s something about the manner in which the knife cuts through meat and muscle–something about how things come together in the pot that makes Jisun happy as can be. Home isn’t home, she’d think, when the kitchen hasn’t got windows that rays of sun enter through on warm mornings, or when the cupboards and cabinets aren’t stocked for visiting friends or midnight snacks. There’s a romance, a magic, a unique rightness in a home where one cooks for both body and soul. 

“Good girl,” she muses, finding the beef sitting in a basin of water on the countertop, “can always count on Jiheonnie.” She replaces the now-cool water with a new pool fresh from the tap, before gathering the rest of the ingredients and getting to work. 

Jisun opens door after door of cupboards, taking out each of the rest of the ingredients in turn: green and brown onions, sesame seeds and sesame oil, sugar and salt, garlic and ginger, red and black pepper. Cute, she thought, that each had a partner. 

The sun watches intently from the other side of the window, filling her kitchen with a calming warmth you'd scarcely find anywhere else. The clouds rein in the too-intrusive rays, while specks of pollen merrily dance across the glass pane. With her celestial audience on the edge of their seats, she gets to work. 

“Yeah it's you, yeah it's you,” Jisun hums under her breath. She measures out each portion carefully, transferring them into tiny bowls that matched colors and handles and rims. It must be something in her bones today, how her step is sprightly and her fingers reach and flex with less poignancy than she's used to. 

It isn't long before she thinks back, a green onion steady between the countertop and her left hand while a knife is secure in her right, that she remembers when Jiwon held them wrong and almost cut her finger open. She recalls Hayoung slicing peppers, followed by onions, rubbing her eyes in between every couple of strokes to push away persistent tears that never seemed to run out. She smiles at the memory of Jiheon not knowing solid and liquid measuring cups were different, and the resultant cake falling flatter and growing firmer than their beloved maknae had liked. 

Her lip finds itself between her teeth, thinking “Good thing they have me,” as the once-long stalk of green onion grows shorter and shorter. “What would they do without me?”

And yet, it was nothing compared to the contrary. It waltzes to the front of her mind, amidst draining the thawed beef of its former frost, how Saerom put her arm under her after a particularly rough day of practice. It shone like the sun, as Jisun mixes the paste, how Seoyeon talked her ear off when Jisun had run out of things to say. The rush of fondness fills her chest remembering how Nagyung complained when Jisun saw herself in the mirror and frowned at the reflection, all the while she works the marinade into the meat.

As she places each strip into the smoking wok, Chaeyoung enters her mind, the same way Chaeyoung entered the practice room in the baggiest pants Jisun had ever seen, only to pull out a Melona for them to share with their backs against the CCTVs. The scent and symphony of sizzling meat fills her kitchen with a profound sense of melancholy, remembering walking with Gyuri one morning before the sun rose, just one lap around the building, and yet it so happened that it was enough to share four years’ worth of troubles with each other. 

She tips the wok over a respectfully waiting plate. The meat steams and settles onto the surface, expelling the tensions of the stove and relaxing into a Jisun-like state.  The green onions fall predictably onto the food, meeting nooks and crannies in the meat with attention that welcomes a tongue seeking solace in homemade comfort. A final touch, Jisun thought, to finish the job, to give the palate something to want to come home to the next time it wanders out into the wide, wonderful world: just a drizzling of honey– not too much, certainly not too little. The viscous liquid spreads all over the dish, sending its enticingness to new heights and bringing the delicacy together. 

At last, her meal is nearly complete. Jisun sets it on the dining table, right in the center of the square wooden surface. She admires it for a moment, the hard work of the past half hour lost on the world but not on her, before she clears her throat to finally, fully, completely allow herself to enjoy the fruits of her labor…

“Girls, time to eat!” She then counts silently, one, two, three– frantic footsteps grow louder and louder until Jiwon and Hayoung come crashing into the room. They both shriek, “I want to sit next to Jisun!” It makes her giggle, just as much as seeing Seoyeon and Jiheon holding hands and walking in step towards the table themselves. Nagyung and Chaeyoung follow, still glued to Nagyung's phone as Chaeyoung points to the screen, “That's the guy I was telling you about,” before they take a seat across from her. 

Jisun takes a deep breath, waiting for one more, and it comes in the form of a comforting hand on her shoulder and a pat on her hair. “Thank you, Jisun,” Saerom whispers with nothing but love in her voice. Her leader takes a piece of the meat and makes a show of eating it, and it's almost comical how much she overreacts. “Holy shit, this is delicious–” Saerom mutters, her hand over her mouth. 

Nagyung pipes up, “Thank you, Jisun-unnie,” prompting a slew of variations from each other member at the table, until a cacophony of gratitude fills Jisun's ears. The warmth of their love spreads through her body, filling her with gratitude of her own.

“You're welcome, girls. Eat well,” she says, as she finally takes a piece of meat for her own, giddy in the anticipation of knowing that it'll be one of the most delicious bites of food she'll ever have. 

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 24

why did this chapter kick my ass?? damn!!!

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

soz for the unexpected delay i was moving + starting a new job + lost my grip on byakuya's slippery psyche

playing with my own headcanons for hiro and his backstory actually. bc. well. the original just is not very good at all now is it

tyyy @digitaldollsworld as always!!

Content warning tags: blood, mention of razor (not in intentional self-harm context), minor injury, nausea, panic attack, toxic obsessive stalker Toko, insecurity, mentions of self-starving

< previous - from start - next >

Byakuya drops his straight razor, and it splashes into the basin of his sink. Followed by a few droplets, hot and ruby-bright as it tracks down his jaw, vanishing almost instantly upon contact with the water.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, frozen, one hand still half-raised to his face, still curved in that loose grip. Then he braces his hands against the porcelain edge, knuckles tensing as he tries to keep them from shaking. The cut on his jaw stings, still slowly welling blood; his razor, silver and distorted, warbles in and out of sight with the water’s ripples, his eyes struggling to track its shape. He makes no move to fish it out of the water.

This was his second attempt at shaving. The evidence of his first attempt still throbs on the opposite cheek, near his ear. Despite moving glacially slow, other hand pulling the skin as taut and still as he could manage, the hard edge of the sink digging into his hip as he leaned as close to the mirror as he could, it was still proving to be a fruitless effort. The elegant blade that his mother’s family had gifted him, that he had been using since he became heir, was now simply too large and awkward for him to use. A task that should have been easy after all of Pennyworth’s guidance was now fraught with pointless danger.

…Maybe it’s not worth the trouble, he thinks, numbly. But the hollow, shattered defeatism that comes with the thought is so unfamiliar that it makes him grit his teeth, and then reach slowly into the tepid water to pull the razor out. His stubble was patchy already, especially near his jawline, and any more delay would almost certainly warrant someone commenting on it - maybe Hagakure, who couldn’t seem to keep anything to himself, or Celeste, who would delight in pointing it out while masking it as polite concern - but, at the rate he was going, he was going to draw more attention with a bloodied face.

His fingers scrape the basin, searching at a glacial pace until the edge of his thumbnail taps against the handle. He draws it out gingerly, shakes off the stray droplets, then wipes the blade with a silk cloth. Drying it carefully, meticulously - as Pennyworth had taught him, ‘it’s as good as useless if it rusts’ - before folding it and replacing it in the cupboard behind his mirror. He dries his face with the towel hanging around his neck, ignoring the way the Turkish cotton scraped against raw skin.

I could always just try again later, he reasoned with himself. Not so much as a surrender as it was a tactical retreat; and the results were bound to be better when he was calmer, more composed. He could still do it - he just needed some time.

And as for anyone who might notice it…

…Well. It wasn’t like he was spending much time around anyone else these days anyways.

—

Even if he wasn’t trying to seek out anyone else’s company, he couldn’t help but take note of their own routines, how they settled into their lives after feeling the world shake around them. 

It doesn’t surprise him that Celeste and Yamada have continued on as if nothing had happened at all. Celeste still maintains her airy simulacrum of a mysterious princess, occasionally inviting Byakuya to tea or dinner or a game of Othello, which he declines each time. Yamada, when he wasn’t offering himself up to be bullied and ordered around by her, would be in the newly-opened art room, and Byakuya could occasionally pass by to hear sounds of shuffling paper and the scrape of pens, and the harrowed, heavy breathing of a man possessed.

Ogami and Asahina are similar, returning to their athletic routine, though clearly more affected by the deaths of their classmates. They were attached at the hip before, but now Byakuya never saw one without the other, always in each other’s company, often holding hands - if Ishimaru were here, he might have decried it, ‘No PDA in the hallways!’ in that annoyingly shrill, school-bell voice - once, Byakuya had even overheard the two of them occupying the bathhouse together, when he had passed by with the intention of checking on Alter Ego’s laptop.

(He’d left quickly when he realized what they were doing, leaving the locker unchecked, his face hot and uncomfortable. It was all well and fine for them to cope how they pleased, but couldn’t they have some more decorum about occupying a public space? He was almost beginning to miss Ishimaru.)

…Speaking of Ishimaru. Even Mondo had found something to occupy his time with, these days.

It seemed that after that night with Alter Ego, something had shaken loose inside him, and he was an entirely new person. In some ways, he was even more troublesome than when he was depressed and languishing; loud, piercing, and always appearing when he was least expected, or at least it felt that way to Byakuya. Somehow materializing nearby, demanding to know what you were doing, why you weren’t adhering to some vague, obscure rule that he might’ve made up on the spot. An overgrown hall monitor that acted like every little infraction could mean life or death.

(It was all in the name of protecting the AI, but it was also getting on everyone’s nerves, and it almost made Byakuya regret ever involving himself in the biker’s business in the first place.)

Makoto and Kirigiri were doing whatever it was they were doing. Byakuya rarely saw them, and when he did, he never made any attempt to speak to either of them. It didn’t make much of a difference from his previous dynamic with Kirigiri, but with Makoto, it was almost like a repeat of what had happened just after the first trial. But this time, Makoto never made any attempt to approach him.

Which was perfectly fine by him. Regardless of Makoto’s intentions, his betrayal was unforgivable. There was no reason to associate with him any longer.

And lastly, there was Hagakure.

It’s not clear if the self-proclaimed clairvoyant had given up on Mondo, given the overnight change in personality (at the very least, there was no more need for a suicide watch anytime soon), but he seems to have latched on to Byakuya, for no clear reason. Frequently calling out to him whenever they crossed paths, dogging in his steps like a very determined stray. Chattering incessantly, even when Byakuya refused to deign any of his ridiculous stories with a response, often trying to herd him into the cafeteria so they could “lunch together, bond, maybe share a cup of joe? Even rich guys like joe, right?”

“...Did you mean ‘coffee’,” Byakuya replies in a flat, deadpan tone that was more resigned than irritated, during what must be the dozenth time that Hagakure had intercepted him, and maybe the third time he conceded to the other man’s insistence; if only because Hagakure had been particularly persistent recently, and would probably end up following him and broadcasting to Fukawa or Monokuma or anyone else exactly where Byakuya was seeking refuge, when not in his room.

(Not to mention that he was a little hungry himself, though he could only imagine the kind of common swill someone like Hagakure might consider coffee.)

“Hey man, to-MAY-toes, po-TAY-toes, right?” Hagakure just shrugs, and half-guides, half-pushes Byakuya by the shoulders into the cafeteria.

It’s midday. The place is empty, with even Celeste missing from her favored spot at her table. Hagakure shuffles him into the kitchen, tells him to wash his hands, and then-

-shoves two things at him. One, round, pale brown and still damp, with a slight papery texture beneath the moisture. The other, a piece of smooth, green plastic shaped like a ‘T’, with something silvery running parallel to the top. He skates his thumb lightly over it, and finds the edge of it sharp; a tiny blade.

“Whoa, careful! Don’t hurt yourself!” Hagakure tugs the tool back out of his hand, inspecting his fingers. “Like, come on. I even gave you the vegetable peeler, this is easy mode.”

“...What?”

Hagakure doesn’t explain right away, instead occupied with rolling up his sleeves, tying the brambled mass of his hair back with a strip of white. Arranged on the kitchen counter is a selection of tools, a colorful assortment of vegetables, and a hunk of something dark and pink, occupying the cutting board. There’s already a pot on the stove, and Byakuya watches Hagakure’s hand fiddle with some dark, invisible button across the top of the oven, and a telltale blue flame clicks to life. “We’re making gumbo! And you’re my assistant for the day.” He announces, with the same cadence of a cooking show host. He’s beaming, as if he hadn’t just said something utterly, completely insane.

“...What.”

It’s hard to make out, but he swears Hagakure rolls his eyes at him. Which would be infuriating enough to comment on, if he wasn’t also holding out the aforementioned vegetable peeler out, handle first, towards him. “Gumbo. It’s kinda like, curry I guess? But it’s a lot more soupy.” Apparently not put off by Byakuya’s unresponsiveness, he pushes the peeler into his slack hand. “I mean, I guess I’m not surprised you haven’t tried it. It’s not Japanese, or like…fancy, rich guy food.”

That snaps him out of it. “What,” He repeats, emphatically, with feeling. “Do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, like I said, making gumbo-”

“No, I mean-” Byakuya waves the objects in his hands, and feels only a little ridiculous in doing so. “I’m not- using these.”

Hagakure winces at that. “...No offense, Toga, but, uh…” He hesitates. “It’s…not exactly a good idea to give you a knife right now, you feel me?”

Byakuya can imagine his eyes tracing down his face, to the still-pink line on his jaw from this morning, and feels his face grow even warmer, with nothing to do with the open-flame stove not a meter away from him. “That. Is. Not. The. Point.” He hisses, emphasizing each word. “And - don’t call me that - you said we were here to get coffee.”

He spits these words like they’re poisonous, and Hagakure is still for a moment. He thinks that he’s managed to get his point across, but:

“Aww, Togster…you really did wanna get coffee with me?” Hagakure sounds genuinely touched, one hand pressed to his chest. Byakuya was about two seconds from throwing the stupid root vegetable in his hand against Hagakure’s equally stupid head. “We can have coffee after we make food. Besides, aren’t you sick of the meals we’ve been doing recently? Like I’m not a picky guy, but ramen and bread every day for the past few days is getting kinda…bleh, y’know?”

The worst part of this was that Byakuya agreed with him on that front. Even with his newfound habit of only eating when there was no one else around, or when Alter Ego threatened to stop reading for him until he took a meal, the selection was paltry to begin with and had only grown more unappealing with time.

“Your job is easy,” Hagakure continues, and grabs something hanging off the handle of a nearby oven, and drops it over his face, obscuring his vision for a moment. He jerks backwards in alarm as it settles to hang around his neck, only to realize that it’s an apron - a pale, mint-green thing that’s one size too small, with some still-visible stains splattered across it, and Hagakure had somehow gotten behind him and tied the thing in place already  - “You just gotta peel the potatoes, and I just gotta cut everything up. The roux’s already done, so all we gotta do is dump the ingredients in and let it do its thing.”

Byakuya is still reeling a little from being forced (though, there wasn’t much he could’ve done in protest, with both his hands occupied) into an apron. The things in his hands are so unfamiliar to him that they may as well be OOPart pieces in the making.

Besides him, Hagakure was whistling away, chopping meat with the silver blur of a large kitchen knife. Completely oblivious to anything around him; and Byakuya realized, he could leave right now if he wanted, and it wasn’t like the fortune-teller, of all people, could stop him.

He’s about to do just that when the other man looks up, knife stilling. “Something wrong?” He asks, with a tilt of his head. And before Byakuya could explain that, yes, there was something very wrong with this entire situation: “D’you need help?”

“No.” He says automatically, and immediately kicks himself for it.

“Oh, then-?”

“I don’t-” Byakuya says at the same time, and frowns sharply at the interruption. “I. Don’t do this sort of…thing.” It comes out a lot less assertive than he would like, and sounds a lot more pathetic than he means it to be.

“Oh. Well, yeah, I figured.” Hagakure shrugs, as he scoops up the mess of pink on the cutting board with the edge of his knife and drops it into a metal bowl. It lands with a loud, wet slap, and the bowl rings as it shakes against the counter. “No time to learn like the present though, right?”

Byakuya feels his eye twitch. In some ways, talking to Hagakure was more frustrating than negotiating with most white-collar businessmen, and more akin to arguing against a very enthusiastic wall. “I’m not supposed to do this kind of thing,” He tries again. “I’ve never had to prepare my own food in my life.”

It echoes what he told Makoto, that night he dragged Byakuya to the kitchen to prepare him a meal. But this time, it feels much less like a boast, and more like an admission. Like he couldn’t even do this much.

If Hagakure noticed the grimace passing over his face, he made no comment. Instead, he plucks the items out of Byakuya’s hands. “No time to learn like the present, my man.” He twirls the peeler between his fingers, and it spins, a foggy green circle. “It’s like a pattern, you pull the peeler down, turn it again, and repeat.” He demonstrates, hands moving quickly, with practiced ease. “Don’t worry if you miss anything. We don’t need it to be super clean, we just need most of the skin off.”

And he offers the peeler back to Byakuya, a gleam of white teeth on his face. Deceptively kind, poisonously pleasant. “Think you can handle that?”

Byakuya shoves his hand away, his patience thinning to a thread. “Take the hint,” He snaps, reaching behind himself to try and undo the knot. “I’m not doing this.”

“What? But it’s easy!”

“I don’t care,” He yanks at the ties, feels them come no closer to being loosened, and feels his face reddening with frustration, humiliation. He needs to leave, now. “I’m leaving.”

“Aw, Toga, come on-”

Byakuya reaches for the knife, left abandoned on the cutting board, and there’s a clatter as Hagakure backs himself against the ovens. “O-okay, okay, sure! Sure, jesus, okay!”

Byakuya rolls his eyes at the overreaction, already tuning him out, then starts awkwardly maneuvering the knife to try and cut the apron off. Arms twisting awkwardly to catch the bladed edge against the side of the knot. It’s not easy - he could swear, the blade seemed sharp enough when Hagakure was using it to dice meat, but now it slides clumsily against the twisted cotton, dull as a stone -

“Jesus,” Hagakure says again, but less panicked now that it was clear his life was under no immediate threat. “Okay, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I am not-”

“You totally are, man. Just - don’t slash me, please, and hold still -”

Hagakure gives him a wide, cautious berth, as if still worried he would suddenly turn into some violent, knife-swinging killer, edging until he’s out of Byakuya’s peripheral and standing behind him. A slight tug around his midsection later, and the apron is flapping loosely against his stomach.

To show his thanks, Byakuya sets the knife down before he pulls off the apron, not so much as handing it over as simply dropping it in the other boy’s direction.

He makes to leave, but Hagakure stops him - or tries to, throwing one hand out while scrambling to catch the apron with the other - “Wait, wait,” He still sounds jovial, but there’s a thin edge of nervousness to it now, residual after the earlier scare. “Listen, you don’t hafta help if you don’t want to, but like…can you just hang out? Here?”

“...You want me to stay. In the kitchen.” Where it was overly warm with a pot of water building into a steady boil, heavy with the smell of various condiments and spices, and pervaded by a general stickiness on the tile. “Why?”

“U-um, well…”

Byakuya sighs. He’s wasted too much time already. The coffee he was promised earlier was looking like a lost cause, and frankly, he wasn’t interested in eating anything anymore either. It would feel too much like accepting undue pity, somehow.

Apparently sensing his impatience, Hagakure finally blurts out: “Because-! I’m, um, scared! To be alone! So…”

Byakuya only stares. Even with his hair tied back, the shape of Hagakure’s head is still a round, dark splotch, albeit smaller than usual. And it bobs up and down like a dandelion as he ducks his head, hands clasped in an exaggerated plea. “Please, man, I literally can’t ask anyone else,” He begs. “Mondo’s all psyched-out and freaky serious now, Hifumi and Celeste were weirdos to begin with, and I’m sick of third-wheeling for Hina-chi and Saka-chi! And there’s no way I’m hanging out with Toko!”

He doesn’t mention Makoto or Kirigiri. Which, Byakuya assumes, makes sense, so he doesn’t bother to ask about it. “How do I know you aren’t trying to kill me,” He says instead, deadpan. 

Hagakure snorts. “Have you seen me?” And then immediately winces. “I mean - shit, sorry - but seriously, I’m pissing my pants every time Monokuma shows up. And at every crime scene, and every trial. You really think I could get over myself to off someone?”

“None of Monokuma’s motives struck a chord with you?”

“Well - I’d be lying if the first one didn’t make me nervous,” He nods. “But I divined how my parents were doing a bunch of times, and they were always alright, so that didn’t worry me too much. And the thing about secrets; well, mine is that I’m actually on the run from this yakuza boss I accidentally pissed off. I owe him a debt of eight million yen.”

Byakuya is certain he doesn’t miss the way Hagakure glances at him then, based on the way his ponytail twitches as his head turns imperceptibly. He decides to ignore the obvious bait, and moves on: “Fine, then. Then what’s your reasoning that I won’t try to kill you?”

“Oh.” Hagakure pauses. “...I didn’t, uh…think about that.”

Right. Byakuya can’t find it in him to be surprised about that either, though some bruised-up part of his pride does rail against the implication that he wasn’t dangerous. Like being blind meant he was harmless, helpless, defanged - he struggles against the implication, but only sickens himself more with the truth of it.

“I mean…do you want to kill me?”

Byakuya snorts. “I want to leave,” He leans back against the counter, feeling the hard, smooth edge of the marble dig against his back. “Obviously, I’m not crazy enough to spend the rest of my life here, waiting to kill or be killed.” He pauses. “And…I’ve been looking into possible causes for my…circumstance, and it’s looking more and more like it would require the work of a trained doctor, using specific equipment to resolve. Which this place,” He gestures around him. “Isn’t exactly equipped to handle.”

The other boy scratches his head. “Um, yeah. I mean I know that much. We all wanna get out and all, but like…do you want to kill someone to make that happen?”

Not in the slightest. He probably held responsibility for the deaths of multiple people at this point, but he had never had to kill them himself, nor witness the moment of their end. Dirtying his hands with someone else’s blood never appealed to him, and it was far more sophisticated to orchestrate someone else handling the messy work.

But his answer must show on his face, because Hagakure nods, satisfied. “Well, there you go! Also, I ran a divination on whether one of us would die today, and it’s not in the cards or the stars or divine intention, so we’re good!” He claps his hands. “Anyways. If you don’t wanna help, that’s all totally cool. All you gotta do is stick around.”

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffs. But he was getting sick of the earlier conversation - sick of talking about himself, sick of thinking about himself - so he stays where he is, crossing his arms as Hagakure busies himself with the ingredients. “How do your divinations even work, anyways?”

“What, you interested?” Hagakure flashes another white smile, and even through the haze Byakuya gets the impression that it’s a salesman grin. He could practically hear the cartoonish chime of a register. “My current going rate’s ten-million yen a reading, but for you I’ll throw in a buddy’s discount of twenty-percent!”

Byakuya gives him the most unimpressed look he can manage. “I’m not interested in wasting money on frivolities.”

“It’s not frivol-anything, man. They’re a hundred-percent legit! …Thirty-three-percent of the time,” He amends, sheepishly, at Byakuya’s withering stare. “But when they’re real, they’re real! With a hundred-percent accuracy!”

As he talks, his hands blur, moving with practiced ease. The small pile of potatoes changing from brown to pale yellow, to small, misshapen chunks, the green stalks of celery disintegrating under a knife, sharp-smelling and darkening the wood beneath it with its moisture. There’s a steady, fluid grace to it, and Byakuya watches on, feeling a sense of deja vu - faintly envious, partly entranced - the last he felt this way, he recalls, was being a child and watching his mother work in her studio, hewing faces out of stone.

He hasn’t thought about that memory in years, and he clicks his tongue sharply, irritated. Hagakure jumps at the sound. “M-maybe it’s more like a ninety-eight percent accuracy?” The fortune-teller tries, hurriedly. “Uh, it depends on how clearly I can convey it, I mean. Like how good the client is with understanding me…dialect differences and all that, though my English is pretty solid-”

“Why fortune-telling, anyways?” He cuts off Hagakure’s rambling. “I can’t imagine it’s an inherited position. You don’t seem the type to be taking up someone else’s legacy.”

“Oh! Well…” He turns to the pot, scrapes a bowl of brown slurry into its bubbling contents. “It was my dad who got me into it - not that he was a fortune teller or anything - but he knew stories about fortune tellers and priestesses and stuff, from where he grew up. It was pretty interesting, and I guess that’s what got me started.” He stirs, sniffs, tosses a handful of green shapes into the mix. “He actually bought me my first crystal ball, though it was just a cheap souvenir thing. I couldn’t’ve been older than, like, six or something.” He laughs. “Wow, I haven’t thought about this stuff in forever.”

“Am I dredging up bad memories?” Byakuya drawls, and Hagakure shakes his head.

“Nah, just old ones. But I got super into it; started begging my Ma to read me divination textbooks for bedtime, she thought I was going crazy. Dad just said it was normal for little kids to be a little crazy about something they like, though.” He shrugs. Another sniff, a sprinkle of red seasoning. “He was the first person I did an accurate divination for, actually. Like a real divination, not just for pretend.”

He goes quiet for a moment, wooden spoon scraping against the inside of the pot. Byakuya frowns. “And what did you ‘see’?” He asks, though only about half as sarcastic as he intended.

“Saw him in the hospital. And then leaving.” He replies simply. He turns, and scoops up the chopped ingredients in his hands, tossing them in with a hiss. “It was clear as day in that little glass ball, like I was watching a TV screen, except also kinda…I don’t know, wiggly? Like a dream. But I got shook up so bad I dropped it and broke the damn thing, and the next day my Dad went to the doctor for a check-up, and they shipped him to the hospital right after. Some genetic, hereditary thing, they wouldn’t even tell me what it was. I think Ma thought it’d freak me out if I knew, but I was just more freaked out not knowing.”

He reaches blindly behind him, searching hand patting at the counter, the cutting board. Byakuya hesitates, then grabs the bowl of chopped meat and passes it over. Its contents splash into the pot. “Thanks. Anyways, the weirdest thing was that I wasn’t, like, scared he was gonna die, or anything. For some reason I knew he was gonna make it, but I was more worried that he was gonna…hurt? Get even worse?” He pauses. “I kept on doing divinations afterwards with a tarot card set, just to see how he was doing, and each time it told me he was gonna be fine.”

His voice sounds a little thick, indistinct. Byakuya was beginning to regret bringing up this topic; he would hate it if he was suddenly expected to have to comfort a grown man. But instead of bursting into tears, Hagakure leans to the side, tucks his face into his elbow, and sneezes, gunshot loud. “Phew! Jeez, the paprika.” He sniffs, and Byakuya’s unease turns back into a comfortable sort of annoyance. “Anyways. Where was I…?”

“...Your father.” He hesitates for a moment. “When he passed away.”

“When he-?” Hagakure turns fully away from the pot to stare at him, mouth open, before breaking into a laugh. Doubling over so and wheezing like he just got punched. “Dude! No way, are you- did you really think that?!”

“What? Am I wrong?” Byakuya feels his face heating red again, with nothing to do with the steam. “Shut up. The way you were talking about it, you were acting like he kicked the bucket,” He snaps, and Hagakure stifles another laugh. “It’s the logical progression of things. You saw him get sick and die, and then-”

“No, no, dude, I said I saw him in the hospital, and then leave - oh, yeah, I guess I can see how you’d think that now.” He stands up straight again, swiping a hand across his face. “Oh man. No, I meant ‘leave’ as in literally leaving, like at an airport? He got better and swung back around, but got a job offer overseas right after, so he never really came back to settle permanently in Japan.” He turns back to the pot, turning the heat down low. “He sends postcards for me all the time, and he and Ma vacation together every year around the holidays.”

So that was it. Byakuya feels an irrational surge of exasperation, as if all his previous pity had just been wasted. “What does he even do? Your father?”

“He teaches quantum mechanics.” At Byakuya’s stunned expression, he snorts. “What, I’m not kidding! He test-runs all his lectures and speeches and stuff to me, and now I know way more about that stuff than I think most people ever need to!”

‘Prove it’ is on the tip of Byakuya’s tongue, but he holds back. He probably would never recover if Hagakure did somehow manage it and make him look like a fool. Hagakure stirs the pot in silence for a moment longer, before asking: “What about you?”

“What?”

“Your parents.” A shot of cold immediately runs down his spine. “Like, I know your dad’s a big rich unmarried bachelor hotshot, but what about your mom? Ah- ” Hagakure presses hand to his mouth. “She…is she, like…?”

“She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” He replies, stiffly. “We’re estranged.”

“O-oh. Um. I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine.” He pauses, looks down at the tile floor. It was a mutual disavowment, around the time he made the decision to try for Togami heir. She was relieved to be rid of him, he was sure, and he was glad to be out of her house full of stone statues and hollow eyes. “I haven’t been in contact with her for several years. We’re as good as strangers.”

He really should just leave it at that. There’s no reason to elaborate any further, nor does he want to; he glares down at his feet, trying to count the tiles, and watches as the dark lines dividing them squiggle and disappear the moment he loses focus. And finds his mouth moving against his will. “My mother is Genevieve Delasol.”

“Cool.” A pause. “Wait, what!?”

Byakuya scowls and looks away as Hagakure turns back to him. “Like, the Delasol?! World-famous artist lady? With the sculptures? Miss Modern Michelangelo?!”

“Don’t call her that.” She had always hated that stupid nickname that the press forced on her, and so did he, though not for her benefit. It was a tasteless, and frankly disrespectful moniker. “But yes. Her.”

“Dude…” There’s awe in his voice, as if it were something impressive. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not. She birthed me like any other human.”

“Still! Like, they talked about her in my elementary school art class. Her stuff is so-” He splays his fingers near his head, puffs his cheeks to mimic the sound of an explosion. “Like, I remember seeing pictures of her stuff for the first time, and it freaked me out. One of the older kids in the neighborhood told me she was freezing people into rock, that’s how real her stuff looks.”

“She’s a good artist, but she was an awful mother.” Byakuya says flatly, immediately draining the rest of Hagakure’s enthusiasm. “We’re not continuing his conversation.”

“Right, right. Um. Sorry.” He taps his fingers against the spoon, ladles some of it into a little dish to taste. “Okay, um. Could you pass me some dishes? From that cabinet in front of you - to the left - yeah, thanks.”

The concoction he scoops into the shallow dishes Byakuya hands him is…unappealing. At least visually - a muddy brown sludge that glops thickly off of his ladle - but it smells good, spicy and warm. One of the bowls is passed back, and there’s a conflict of sensation as Byakuya tries to decide if he’s hungry enough to risk it, something that he couldn’t even clearly oversee the process of making.

“You’re surprisingly well-versed in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, well. I get into hot water a lot when my fortunes don’t work out, especially with my, uh…higher class clients, so I had to get used to taking care of myself. Didn’t wanna bother my parents with it, ya know?” He flicks off the stove, covers the pot, and reaches to the right for the rice cooker. Opens it with a sharp smack to the lid. “Like, I don’t think I’ve seen my dad face-to-face in…it feels like two years. Maybe longer.”

He holds out his hand. Byakuya passes over his bowl, and he plops some rice into the center of it, before handing it back.

“I can’t finish this much.”

“Sure you can, you’re a growing guy.” There’s the roll of a drawer being pulled open, then a clatter before a spoon is being dropped into his bowl as well. “You better eat all of it, by the way. Every grain of rice has seven gods, so you gotta eat them all so you don’t get cursed.”

“...What kind of saying is that?”

“Dunno, but my Ma used to say it all the time. Come on, let’s go into the caf-”

He halts suddenly, halfway to the door. Byakuya nearly runs into his back, and just barely keeps from spilling his bowl. “What-”

“Um. Hold on.” The previous casualness of his voice is gone, and there’s a hard thread of unease running through it again. “Uh…wait out here for a moment, okay?”

“Why-”

“Dude, please. Just for a moment.” He sets his bowl down on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

And then he’s out the door before Byakuya can make any protest, leaving him alone in the kitchen, now uncomfortably quiet without the soft hiss of the stove. He stands there, stunned, feeling a little bit stung - no, irked - at the sudden dismissal.

He wasn’t about to take orders from Hagakure, regardless of whatever weird pseudo-symbiotic-relationship the other boy thought they had going on. He walks towards the door, moving to elbow it open-

“I’m telling you, just leave him alone.”

He freezes, ducking his head down. Hagakure’s voice is high and scratchy with nervousness, but firm despite that. “For the last time-”

“I-I-I-” Someone else stutters. The voice is familiar, and Byakuya feels his gut drop in recognition. The last he heard it, it was seething with malice, spit like venom at his feet. “I j-just wanna l-look at him…”

Hagakure lets out a long-suffering sigh, indicating that this wasn’t the first time he’s had to deal with this. “Seven hells, Toko, I really don’t get you,” He grumbles. “You said you hated him, right? I mean, you said so at the trial, and you did…all that.” He coughs. “He wasn’t interested to begin with, and there’s really no way to turn it around after that.”

“I-It was t-to prove that we’re th-the same!” Fukawa shrieks, trigger-sudden and indignant. There’s a sharp thump as she stomps her foot, hard enough to rattle some nearby furniture. “If I d-didn’t do that, he w-would’ve never a-accepted what h-happened to him!”

Byakuya frowns at that, and sets the bowl aside in favor of sinking into a half-crouch, ear pressing up against the door, beneath the tiny window. What was she talking about? Not accepting my own condition? Don’t I know myself better than anyone else?

“That’s not up to you to decide,” Hagakure starts.

“I-It’s not up t-to you to p-protect him either!” She spits back. “Y-you’ve been keeping him a-away from me recently, wh-what’s with you? D-did you have some k-kind of awakening, or something?!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my type is none of your business - and anyways, ain’t it logical to wanna keep away from you?” He grumbles, then yelps. “C-calm down-! I just mean - you know, you…you don’t exactly give off warm and fuzzy feelings about hanging out with people!”

Toko barks a laugh, shrill and mirthless. “Wh-which makes him perfect for me,” And Byakuya feels disgust roll down his back. “I-I know I’m m-miserable, a-and unfriendly and unloveable,”

“Hey,” Hagakure says, a little more gently than before.

“B-but s-so is he! H-he’s just b-better at hiding it, p-pretending to be a, a perfect, white-horse prince,” She spits the words vehemently. “I-if he was p-perfect, th-then maybe, I c-could just be s-satisfied with - with being n-near him, with b-being used…”

She trails off. Byakuya fights the urge to physically cringe at the mere suggestion, instead gritting his teeth, nails scratching lightly against the door’s tacky surface. “B-but, he’s not perfect. S-so, that means I c-can reach him - i-it’s possible for someone l-like m-me to actually be with him,” She giggles, and the sound is far too childishly delighted to suit her mouth, and far too chilling to have innocent intentions behind it. “I-I dragged him off his p-pedestal, s-so now I can actually touch him.”

It’s vile, listening to her. The sound feels like a filth that clings to him, sliding into his ears, contaminating him from the inside out. Poisoning him, paralyzing him.

He’s only vaguely aware of his body sliding down lower, unable to maintain the awkward pose, curled over and unable to brace himself properly against the swinging door. He sinks into a squat, ears straining.

“...Um, ew.” Hagakure mutters succinctly. “Okay, first of all, no you can’t. Pretty sure Monokuma would have some problems about that, he’s all gung-ho about decency and stuff. Second, Toga’s still not gonna be into you. You blew that chance when you, uh…”

“When I w-what? S-strung up Chihiro?” She snorts. “H-he would’ve done the s-same if h-he was a-actually as perfect as h-he said.”

The contamination sinks deeper, claws curling cruelly into his chest. I would have never, He thinks through the tinny, lightheaded hum in his skull, but there’s a sickening sense of dread that twists in his stomach as he realizes he can’t even be sure of that. He might have. He would’ve had no use for Chihiro if he wasn’t blind, he would have barely even hesitated if the opportunity was there - to defile someone else’s corpse for nothing more than his own self-righteousness.

He’s probably had this realization already, but it’s revolting to hear it come from Fukawa. He should go out there, tell her to shut up, to leave him be-

“-a-and anyways, y-you still didn’t t-tell me why y-you’re so obsessed with p-protecting him.” She’s still saying, distantly, and it feels as if the door is suddenly several times thicker than it was previously, muffling the sound dramatically. “Y-you don’t have a-anything in c-common, I don’t s-see why you’d want t-to be near him, u-unless…y-you’re doing it for someone else, aren’t y-you?”

Hagakure doesn’t respond. Makes no sound to confirm or deny it. Byakuya waits, ringing intensifying, disease festering into his lungs. It was getting hard to breathe. His pulse thrums in his ears, too loud to think, not nearly loud enough to drown their voices out.

“I s-saw you with Makoto,” She continues, and the confirmation of Byakuya’s suspicion does nothing to make him feel better. “He- he asked you t-to do this, right? To protect him, h-how nice,” She snarls, disgusted. “L-looking out for his p-precious boyfriend, when he won’t d-do it himself-”

“That’s…that’s not it,” Hagakure protests, but he doesn’t sound convincing, voice so hesitant and soft that Byakuya barely catches it. “Mako-chi’s just…busy, right now-”

“Y-yeah, too busy trying to g-get out of here so Byakuya c-can get fixed, so he can s-stop f-feeling guilty - h-he doesn’t want to have to look at him, b-but he can’t help s-sticking his nose in anyways, he’s s-so sweet it makes me sick.” Byakuya legs shake, cramping, but he forces himself still, keeps his ear flattened to the door despite the nausea building in his gut, the light-headedness in his temples - “B-but it’s too much work t-to comfort him or drag him a-around, s-so he has to get s-someone to do it, right?”

He wouldn’t, is Byakuya’s immediate thought, but it’s weak, even in his own head. Makoto hasn’t sought him out all since that night in the bathhouse because Byakuya had requested it; had demanded that he leave him alone with as much vitriol and firmness as he could muster, and as with so many other things, Makoto had obeyed. But while Fukawa’s words are acerbic and biting, they’re also painfully, terribly logical.

He wonders now, how he must have looked to the others. Slowly falling apart, barely eating, rarely showing his face. So utterly different from how he tried to portray himself at first, an ill-fitted facsimile of how he used to be, how he should be; it’s no wonder Makoto would go behind his back to take care of him. Between disobeying him again and trying to keep him alive, the choice must have been easy.

The fact that that choice had to be made at all, however, made Byakuya want to…

There’s a thud as his legs finally give out, his knees smashing against the tile, but he hardly notices. Not while the sickness spreads, a physical decay in his torso eating away at him, swift and insatiable. He’s not hungry anymore, but he feels emptier than he’s ever been. 

The door swings open suddenly, bumping against his shoulder, and he sways, unsteady. Hands reach out, catching him before he can fall over.

“Whoa, hey,” Hagakure sounds muffled, underwater. He hooks his hands beneath Byakuya’s arms, trying to pull him upright, and only then does Byakuya realize that he’s not really breathing. Probably hasn’t been for the past few minutes. “Toga- I mean- you okay?” 

Of course not, he wants to snap, but talking would mean opening his mouth, and that would mean breaking down into tears like a petulant infant, so he clamps his mouth shut and tries to get as much oxygen as he can through his nose. Slow, stuttered, wheezing breaths, teeth sinking into raw, just-healing skin and breaking it bloody all over again. He leans away from Hagakure’s grip as much as possible and tries to brace himself against the wall, shaky hands against the cool bumps of the tile. Trying to count them, one by one.

“I,” He manages to grit out when he was marginally more calm, ignoring Hagakure’s worried clucking. His voice quavers, and he swallows hard around the shrapnel lodged in his throat. “I’m going to go.”

“Dude, come on-”

He lurches forward, clumsily dodging Hagakure’s attempts to support him, and walks as steadily as he can out of the kitchen. The moment he crosses the open space of the cafeteria and into the hallway, he breaks into a sprint for his room. As far away from prying eyes as he can manage.

__

(When he opens his door later that night, he finds a plastic container and a spoon sitting by the threshold, its contents long cold.)

(He eats it anyways and scrapes it clean, and leaves it sitting empty outside of his door again.)

< previous - from start - next >

[livetoariel]

I pulled my hand up with the ring on it and looked deeply into his eyes. “Is this going to replace the other physical marks that prove I’m yours?”

He pressed his cold nose and lips against my throat and growled “Not a chance.” He bit down hard enough to draw blood, but didn’t start drinking. “I’m going to continue making sure there’s no question, no matter the angle.”

I like to think that sometimes Astarion is just a feral weirdo.

2k of unedited drabble under the cut. 18+ only this is not ok for kids.

We stopped in Berdusk after leaving Beregost without looking back. It took some time to get there, travelling at night and I don’t think we said much to each other while we travelled. I had pulled myself into my own mind and could feel myself brooding about everything that happened in the three days we were in my old hometown. 

One day while we were camping, waiting for the sun to go down, Astarion looked up from the book he had buried himself in. I could feel him watching me. He took a breath like he was going to speak, then paused. 

I scowled at him, “What?” I ground out.

“Nothing, darling,” he said, shaking his head and going back to his book.

I sighed and laid down to try to get at least a little sleep.

We made it to a little tavern in Berdusk a few hours after full dark. The harried looking bartender shoved a key into my hand and barked the door number at me before moving around me to shout at the (drunk?) halfling that was climbing across one of the card tables. 

Astarion turned to the card tables, with a wicked glint in his eye. “Darling?” he said to me, hopefully, looking back.

I took a handful of coin out of my pouch and rolled my eyes, “Give me your bag, I’ll go upstairs with it.”

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, handed his pack over and sauntered over to the tables.

The room was comfortable, it had a fireplace, a small table with two chairs, a plush looking couch and a bed that was going to be big enough for the both of us. 

I placed our things gently on the table and started unbuckling my armour. I stripped off my travel worn clothes, and left just an over-large shirt and underwear on. I spied a canteen of water and small basin in the corner. I took some time to wipe my face and hands, brush out my hair, and decided I should also take time to clean some of the travel dust out of my armour. 

I cleaned methodically, falling into a nice rhythm, completely losing track of time. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door banged open and Astarion strode in with purpose. 

I placed the piece of armour I had in my hand on the floor beside me as Astarion approached, leaning over me. He sat himself down, straddled over my hips and pulled my face in for a kiss. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, wrapping my right hand around his shoulders. I had been so in my own head since Beregost. With everything that had happened, between Tuille, Tomal, and my mother, I feel like I’d been neglecting Astarion’s needs. 

I pulled back from him to apologize, but he seemed to know that’s what I was going to do. He immediately hushed me. He grabbed my left hand and pulled it up to his lips. “I know you think you need to worry about me, but this is about you.” He kissed my knuckles softly and turned my hand over. He kissed down my palm, onto the inside of my wrist. He pulled away slowly and tapped at my wrist, “this is for later. I want to show you what I won.” he said, smiling slyly. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something in his closed fist. I looked up at his face quizzically. He smirked at me, grabbing my left hand again. He flipped it so it was palm down in his hand. I looked back down at my hand and there was a beautiful gold ring with a rough cut pink gem set in the middle of it. 

I looked back up at him and opened my mouth. No words came out. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, with an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard for months. 

I nodded. It was perfect for me. There was no way he won it tonight, but I didn’t want to say that to him.

I still wasn’t ready to express myself with words, but I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. I pulled away and dug into the hidden pocket I had crudely sewn to the inside of my shirt. 

I pulled out the plain gold band I had been carrying around with me since we left my mother’s house. 

“I wasn’t sure when I should give this to you,” I said, rolling the ring around in my hand. “It was my father’s. I didn’t think my mother really deserved to keep it. Will you accept it now?” my eyes flicked to his for half a breath. It wasn’t really Astarion’s style, but it meant a lot to me to have this ring back.

He wrapped both his hands around mine. “Carquyn, I would love to wear this ring for you.”

I placed it on his finger, kissing his hand once I did. 

“Now,” he started, leaning back a little, “I am positively starving, my love. Would you mind?” He pulled my wrist back up to his teeth and kissed over my pulse point there. 

“Of course,” I answered. The piercing, split second pain came as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I could feel him swallowing methodically, slowly, like he was savouring every drop. I sighed contentedly. I watched as his hips started grinding slowly into me, small moans starting to slip out of his lips as he drank leisurely. 

I used my free hand to start unbuckling his armour and undoing his various laces.

He pulled off my wrist before I even started feeling the tell tale tingling of needing to stop.

He licked his lips and leaned in close to my ear. “I’m not done with you yet,” he practically purred in my ear. 

He slid off my lap to stand in front of me. He finished doffing his armour and dumped it onto the floor beside the couch. He also stripped off his plain shirt and breeches. He reached down and gestured for me to stand up with him. 

I pulled the shirt I had on over my head, dumped it on the floor with his clothing and pressed myself against his chest.

I pulled my hand up with the ring on it and looked deeply into his eyes. “Is this going to replace the other physical marks that prove I’m yours?”

He pressed his cold nose and lips against my throat and growled “Not a chance.” He bit down hard enough to draw blood, but didn’t start drinking. “I’m going to continue making sure there’s no question, no matter the angle.” He palmed my chest and bit into it with a bit of force. He pulled away and watched the blood trickle down toward my ribs. 

He licked his lips and pulled me back against him and kissed me. He tasted of my blood and the familiar sweetness he seemed to always carry with him. I melted into his arms, letting myself truly relax for the first time since before Beregost, it felt like. 

Astarion pulled away for a second. “I need more,” he said breathily. 

I moved my hair off my neck and tilted my head slightly. He bit down hungrily and started taking generous pulls of blood, somewhat sloppily. I felt some blood trickle out the sides of his mouth and drip onto my skin. He was too busy grinding his hips against me to notice. 

“Astarion,” I breathed. He let go and looked at me, with a frenzied look in his eyes. 

“I’m going to ravish you, darling.” he smirked, his blood-streaked chin really selling his words. 

He flipped me around so I was facing away from him. He bit down hard on my shoulder in more of a possessive manner than he would if he was drinking from that spot. He snaked his hands around my waist and dipped his into the underwear that was separating his skin from mine. He held me still with hands and fangs while he ground himself against me. 

My heart was hammering and my breath was catching with every move he made. It had been long enough I felt like a spring that was coiled and ready to explode. 

He unlatched his fangs from me long enough to push my underwear down for me to step out of. His followed suit.

“Kneel.” he growled, pushing me to my knees. He kneeled down behind me, pressing himself close to my back. He gathered my hair off the back of my neck into his hand, and bit down on the nape and side of my neck in quick succession, leaving marks and drops of blood that I really hoped he would clean up later. Every single bite had an underlying feeling of possession and need that was making itself evident as he continued to rut his hips against me. He was hard and leaking, obviously ready to press himself into me. 

I glanced at him over my shoulder, his eyes strained into slits as he licked a few drops of blood from my back. “Astarion,” I whispered again, “can you please stop toying with me and fuck me?”

He let out a feral sounding growl, pushed my upper body down, holding my hair and wrists in his right hand and let his left roam over my body. He pressed his hard dick into me, meeting no resistance. He started rocking against me slowly, pushing my shoulders and head down even further into the rug. He picked up his pace and bit down on my shoulder again, rutting into me in time with the swallows of blood he was taking. 

I could feel myself coming unravelled at this side of Astarion. He hadn’t felt this out of control for a very long time. 

He let go of his fanged hold on my shoulder and bit a few more times across my back. My whole mind went blank at the feeling of his fangs piercing my skin. I could feel the blood dripping off his mouth and chin onto my back and shoulders. There were even a few stray drops that landed on my face. I could taste some blood at the corner of my mouth. 

He straightened up behind me, pulling me with him, my wrists and hair still firmly in his grip. He held them tight under my chin so my back was flush against his chest.

His free hand gripped my hip as he continued to rock himself into me. The new angle had me gasping, already unravelling against Astarion’s chest. 

The hand that was on my hip moved to my abdomen, pressing me impossibly further into his almost frantic, feral movements. 

I gasped and let out a keening moan. The noise seemed to spur him on, he groaned into my ear and let out a breathy “Yes yes, like that, Quyn, give me more.” The hand on my abdomen moved lower and he started gently rubbing the pads of his fingers over my clit. I let out another breathy sigh, ready to let him take me to the end. I pressed the back of my head against his shoulder and whispered his name almost silently. I knew he would hear the desperation in my voice. 

He let out a low moan, letting his hips snap hard into me. He grabbed my chin and pressed his lips into my ear. “Come,” he growled, putting the perfect amount of pressure on my clit and throat, hitting all the right spots inside and out. I felt the coil in my abdomen spring free and let my eyes roll back in my head, allowing all the pleasure wash over my body until there was nothing left to feel except the man behind me. 

I had barely come back to my senses before I was being pushed back down on the rug. Astarion sunk his fangs into me one more time, holding me still under him as he chased his own release into me. He groaned while he sloppily moved his hips, sliding in and out of me. The groan morphed into a whimper and I felt apologetic kisses on my back and small aftershock movements of his hips as he came back down from wherever he went. 

He kissed my back and shoulders and few more times before letting go of my arms and hair to pull out. 

I hated the loss of the feeling of his body against mine but definitely needed to sit up. I turned to face him, finally seeing the mess he made of himself. 

He smiled sheepishly. “I think I got a little carried away.”

I just reached over and smudged some blood across his lips. I’m sure I didn’t look much better.

[finkinthisfrew]

Anything (pt.1)

A Matty Healy Fanfiction

cw: nightmare, boring plot set up (I promise Matty comes in, pls bear w me)

Chapter 1

I woke up shivering. Sweating. Stomach-churning. Sitting up and shaking my head, I grabbed the book from my nightstand and started reading to distract myself before I could register what I had dreamt and let the tears that had welled up in my sleep fall. I knew the pattern well and I wasn't going to let it ruin yet another morning. Thankfully these dreams happened less often than they used to, maybe once or twice a month now, yet somehow they never seemed to upset me any less.

After a few minutes of reading, I picked up my phone- 48 minutes until my alarm was meant to go off. 

Well, I guess it could've been worse. I sighed to myself. 

Trying to ignore my exhaustion, both emotional and physical, I tore off my sheets and hopped out of bed to start my day. 

Shuffling into the bathroom in my oversized sleeping shirt and thick knit socks, I turned the tap on and plugged the sink, letting the water pool. Splashing water on my face I tried to shake off the sleep that still bogged down my mind. 

The dreams definitely didn't help much with my terrible sleep schedule, though they weren't always the cause of it. I'd always struggled with sleep, ever since I was a child. I was always an anxious kid growing up which led to countless restless nights. I'd gotten better as I'd grown older, but my recurring nightmare set me back into my old habit of staying up too late and waking up too early. Unfortunately, it's something I've grown accustomed to.

As I looked up at myself in the mirror, I saw two green eyes with dark circles under them staring back at me. My dark brown curly shag haircut was messy from the tossing and turning in my bed, the ends dripping wet from the water I'd splashed on my face. 

Suddenly I wasn't there anymore, my vision was replaced with a flashback to my dream, black eyes staring back at me. 

Gone as quickly as it appeared, I once again stared back into my own green eyes, now filled with panic. I dove back into the basin to splash more water on my face. 

I took a deep breath and turned back into my bedroom. Determined to not let my recurring nightmare dictate the rest of my day, I decided I would treat myself. Today I would put on my favourite clothes, do up my hair and makeup and take myself to my new favourite coffee shop.

I opened up the door to the beautiful handpainted wardrobe I'd just bought last week and began to sift through all the hanging fabrics. Picking out my favourite jeans and a long sleeve shirt, I closed the door to my wardrobe and stepped back to admire my new apartment.

I had just moved to London a month ago for a six-month-long residency at an art gallery. I had been shocked when I was first offered it but jumped on the opportunity immediately. A six-month trip to London with free housing and endless hours to work on my art? It was a dream come true. 

The housing that the gallery supplied me with wasn't anything extravagant, but it was definitely charming. My apartment was on the top floor of a three-story walk-up, boasting giant slanting windows that brightened the single-room apartment even on the gloomiest of London days. I had found various charming vintage pieces of furniture and art to spruce up the bland basics I'd originally been supplied with, and it had finally started to feel like a home away from home. 

As I glanced one last time into the full-length mirror, I admired my outfit. My vintage light-wash perfectly worn-in Levi's fit me like a glove, and my new beige fitted long-sleeve mock neck looked effortlessly sexy, the semi-sheer knit material showing my black bralette in a casually immodest way. After I put my thin black sunglasses over my now brown smokey eyes and slid on my black vintage cowboy boots, I popped my AirPods in as I locked my apartment door.

Singing along to the opening lyric of an upbeat playlist, I started to get excited about my little trip to the coffee shop. I had just discovered it last week, finding out that they sold what I believed to be the best cookies I'd ever had in my life. Noticing the sun peaking through spotty clouds, I quickened my step down the stairs into the tube as I decided I'd take my coffee and cookie to a park to finish my book and maybe draw up some new ideas for pieces to make. 

Twenty minutes later I found myself saying "I'll have three cookies please" to the friendly barista, trying and failing to not blush at the fact that I knew that the extra two cookies I was buying for later wouldn't even make it home. 

Excited that they hadn't run out of cookies yet, I stood at the counter, humming and letting my toes tap along to the music in my ears while I waited for my iced latte. Considering how my day had started, I was positively chipper. 

I had already begun to daydream about some new pieces I wanted to sketch out as I stepped out the door of the coffee shop. I was about to turn to walk towards the park when suddenly something slammed into me and I lost my footing, falling straight to the ground. 

Disoriented, I gasped for breath as the air had been knocked out of me. Looking around to see what had hit me, I was met with a pair of chocolate-coloured eyes. 

"Oh fuck! I am so sorry! Are you okay, darlin'?" the eyes asked me earnestly.

I opened my mouth to answer yes before I noticed the searing pain that engulfed my entire chest. 

I winced, and then, I blacked out.

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Bitter like a lemon

~ Arthur Morgan/GN!Reader ~ Platonic implied ~ 1.5k words tumblr hates me, I'm convinced... anyway projection time !!! ....................................................................................................

....................................................................................................

Jealousy. What a nasty, horrible feeling. It wasn’t anything anyone wanted to have or experience, often resulting in guilt or one of the layers of self-pity at the end of it all. Unfortunately, you were a very jealous person. Add that to perfectionism and a need for exterior validation? Yikes… You’d taken up art again recently. Well, somewhat. Those silly doodles in your journal hardly amounted to anything. Sometimes, you’d spend hours, and hours, and hours, sketching away at a piece. The graphite scratching against your paper was the only thing some gang members would hear from you all day, at times. Other times, you didn’t know how to get the thing right, so you gave up.

Recently, you’d finished a piece that took you a few days to actually complete. With the additional breaks for robberies or the entertaining gundown with some stray O’Driscolls. You were kind of proud of it. Staring down at your finished piece for minutes on end, a small grin playing across your lips, pride welling in your chest, as well as relief for finally getting through with it.

Pushing yourself out of your tent, you clasp your journal tightly, eager to show someone around camp. But when you look up, everyone seems busy this morning, no one’s in their tents, save for the late drinkers like Bill, or Swanson wobbling about. No matter, you shrug it off. People are busy, and you can share your pride with someone when they get back.

Deciding to do something else in the meantime, you begin your morning chores. Carrying the sacks of grain across camp towards Pearson’s station, chopping wood, refilling the basins– but someone already did that, it seems. Heading back to Pearson to cut vegetables.

Just the easy stuff. For a while, you forgot about your piece with the help of several distractions around camp. A rowdy conversation with Sean here, threatening Micah a bit, earning a scolding from Dutch and an eye-roll from Hosea.

That was, however, until you saw Arthur scribbling away in his own journal around the stock fire, then you remember. You shuffle right back into your tent, grabbing your journal from off your cot, eager to share your enthusiasm with someone.

“Arthur.” you call out, earning a simple hum from him, focusing on his pencil. The tip of his tongue barely peeking out from between his lips, his brow furrowed in immense concentration. Walking right up to him, you take a seat in the grass next to him.

“Finished something earlier.” you prompt as you lift open the leather cover. Arthur’s eyes flick over to your hands, pausing his ministrations, watching you flip through pages of half completed sketches, random lists, or unidentifiable, scratched out patches of graphite. Finally reaching the page, you stop. Tilting your journal towards Arthur to allow him to see, a proud grin on your face, eager to see his reaction.

“That looks good, kid! Really like what ya did with that hand there.” He compliments, gesturing to one of the hands with the eraser end of his pencil, tapping on it lightly. His praise makes you happy, and you even consider drawing a portrait of Arthur as a thanks.

“I ain’t done yet but... Here’s what I got.” Arthur mutters gruffly, copying you and tilting his journal towards your direction. It’s nothing more than a simple sketch, but it crumbles the happiness you were just filled with. Replaced by a bitter self-hatred towards your own skills and not being good enough. Your greatest sin is comparing your achievements to someone else’s. You hate it, but you can’t stop.

“Looks great, Arthur.” you encourage, offering the same grin in return. You didn’t want to make Arthur feel bad about his own art, of course not. But it was hard to be happy for someone you felt envy for. Even harder to feel happy with the self-hatred blossoming in your chest.

Arthur gives a small nod in thanks, looking back down at his journal and going back to sketching. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look down at your own artwork again. All of Arthur’s praise felt useless now, and you can’t help but wonder if he was lying. If he saw how weird that hand was, or how disproportional one of the figures was. You hated it.

With a heavy exhale through your nose, you force yourself to stand up again. Walking right back into your tent, you throw your journal onto the ground carelessly. Your jealousy is feeding off of your insecurities, which is why you quit art in the first place. Now, you’re considering doing the same. It was overdramatic, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. You felt nothing but bitterness towards your drawing now. Towards all of them, really.

Laying flat on your back on your cot, you drape your arms over your face. Arthur was better than you. He should be proud, you wanted him to be. But you? Never.. You were talentless. You dream too big which turns those clouds back into air. You were stupid for even attempting.

Amidst your pity-party, there’s a subtle knock on the tent pole, the person’s middle finger knuckle tapping against it. They weren’t unknown for long. “Y/N?” Arthur. Of course. Maybe he wants to rub his art in your face. Or maybe he wants to praise you again..or maybe–

“You- uh.. left pretty abruptly back there. You alright?” He asks hesitantly, inviting himself inside your tent, despite the lack of acknowledgement to his presence. Staring down at you, his lips pull into a frown. It’s a pathetic sight, you imagine.

You’re an adult. You should be able to rationalize these feelings as mindless jealousy and insecurity. But, if you can’t get it right the first time, you weren’t good enough to try again, you felt.

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself.” You hear Arthur note, more of an observation than anything malicious. With a hefty sigh, he makes his way over to you, taking a seat near your legs on the edge of your cot. You turn your head just barely, to be able to look at him properly from a crevice between your arms.

“‘M fine..” You mumble unconvincingly. Arthur knew it. He always knew..somehow. Damn wise ass. He felt like Hosea sometimes, though you weren’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

“Y’look like John after he got bucked off Old Boy for the first time.” He chuckles. The sound was sweet, even if it was rough around the edges. It made the slight smile come back to your lips, and Arthur damn sure saw it.

“C’mon, kid, talk to me.” Arthur invites, though you knew he wouldn’t stop pestering until he got an answer. Evident by the gentle nudge to your thigh that you’d received. Sighing, you concede. “How are you so good at everything?” You ask rhetorically. Removing your arms from over your face, lazily dropping them down to your chest. Trying to avoid Arthur’s eyes with your confession, your guilt beginning to rise with each and every word.

“I could never be as talented as you are.. I mean- even your sketch looks better than mine. And mine’s actually finished.” You mumbles. You just wanted to curl into your little ball of pity until it went away, but it never does.

“You know you ain’t gotta compare..right?” Arthur inquires, quirking an eyebrow. His eyes never leaving you, his attention solely on you. You’d be a liar if you said that simple fact made you feel a bit better. That Arthur wasn’t forced to listen to you yap on and on about your troubles.

“I know, but–” You start, only to be cut off. “No. No ‘but’s. You’re just as good as any, even me. We ain’t gonna have the same style, and that’s fine.” He assures, patting your leg, drawing your eyes into his own.

“Now.. you can sit in here and wallow, or you can pick up that journal of yours, come back out by the fire, ‘n draw with me.” His invitation catches you off guard. You felt that same warmth coming back to you, trying hard to break through the coldness of your guilty self-loathing.

“Wallowing sounds pretty good right now..” You muse, to which Arthur shakes his head, standing up. “You know that ain’t gonna happen.” He states bluntly, bending down to pick up your journal off the floor, before dropping it right onto your abdomen. You let out a slight huff at the force, but you say nothing about it.

“So I ain’t got a choice here?” You ask sarcastically, staring up at Arthur. Groaning quietly as you force yourself to sit up again, grabbing ahold of your journal loosely. Part of you wants to lay back down and never try again. But, as Arthur shakes his head, you knew you couldn’t disappoint your friend.

“Fine.” You acquiesce. Arthur hums positively, nodding back behind him towards the entrance of your tent. Your knees groan in protest as you push yourself off of your cot to stand, clutching your journal closely as Arthur leads you outside, back towards the stock fire at the back of camp.

“Not one of us is perfect, y’know.” He murmurs. Damn, now he really sounded like Hosea. Chuckling to yourself at the thought. “Wish I was..” You mumble in response. “We all do sometimes.. But that’s a damn hard feat. You’re doin’ fine just how you are.”

.............................................................................................................................. this app hates me, i swear. But.. I'm finally getting around to requests. bouncing between 6 different unfinished fics rn </3

[rjzimmerman]

Will We Have to Pump the Great Lakes to California to Feed the Nation? (New York Times)

Coast to coast, our food producing regions, especially those stretching from the southern Great Plains across the sunny, dry Southwest, rely heavily and sometimes exclusively on groundwater for irrigation. And it’s disappearing — fast.

What happens to the nation’s food production if the groundwater runs out altogether? Unless we act now, we could soon reach a point where water must be piped from the wetter parts of the country, such as the Great Lakes, to drier, sunnier regions where the bulk of the nation’s food is produced. No one wants unsightly pipelines snaking across the country, draining Lake Michigan to feed the citrus groves of the Central Valley. But that future is drawing closer by the day, and at some point, we may look back on this moment and wish we’d acted differently.

For over a century, America’s farmers have overpumped groundwater, and now, as the world warms and the Southwest becomes drier, the situation is only growing more dire. Rivers are slowing to a trickle, water tables are falling, land is sinking, and wells are drying up. Each year, roughly 25,000 more farmers fallow their fields, putting both food and water security in the United States at risk.

States are aware there is a problem — many are trying to sustainably manage their groundwater. But it’s not clear how successful these efforts have been. My research team has found that groundwater depletion is accelerating in the Central Valley, in spite of California’s Sustainable Groundwater Management Act. In Arizona, groundwater is only managed in less than 20 percent of the state, leaving a free-for-all in the state’s unmanaged areas.

The United States has no plan for the disruptions that will befall our food systems as critical water supplies dwindle, causing the price of some foods to skyrocket and bringing us closer to the time when we may have to consider pipelines to replenish or replace depleted groundwater.

 Americans, particularly those living in places like the Great Lakes region, have already shown that they have little stomach for infrastructure projects that would move their local water to remote locations, even if it is to produce the food they eat every day.

It’s not just the political climate that makes tapping water resources in the East such an undesirable prospect. We’ve built systems of canals to move water around California and the Colorado River basin, but constructing a transcontinental pipeline or river diversion, at the scale required to sustain U.S. agriculture, would be staggeringly more complex, expensive and environmentally disruptive.

They would require significant landscape changes and human displacement. And because water is so heavy, it is extremely expensive to transport. Building the necessary conveyances would require decades of planning, have major environmental consequences and cost taxpayers astronomical sums — easily tens to hundreds of billions of dollars, and far more when you take the human and environmental costs into account.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Undisturbed

Gvidaro's ears betrayed him first. It was the feral cats, yowling in the early hours - a bloodcurdling sound, but unnervingly human. As such, it was far worse than the vixens, who might shriek in more distinctive ways - and troubling enough to cut through even the deepest of sleeps.

He shrugged his way out of the blanket and stepped out onto the balcony, and its own embrace of warm night air. The strays were just beneath, trapped in an impasse between two parked cars, each claiming the road for their own domain - threatening conquest, an expansion to their empire, oblivious to their own diminished, sorry state.

Even from the distance, they were a pitiful sight - ribs protruding under matted, patchy fur that might once have been tortoiseshell or calico, ears that might have once been whole, gummed up mouths that might have once been licked clean by a mother's tongue - but still their pride held firm. They were never peasants - just temporarily embarrassed kings and queens.

He hushed them away, and returned to the bed, his body seeking the imprint it had left; as if could return, finding its way back into a half-remembered dream. But that passage-way was sealed, and Gvidaro struggled even to make the journey back into oblivion. He grappled with sleep for a few minutes more, a quarry which eluded him amidst the slip of silken sheets, and then his bladder began its turn to protest.

It was as he stood there, polishing the porcelain, that he noticed the fly. Its form was unmistakeable: wings slicked back, proboscis poised, abdomen already plump with stolen blood. His, presumably, as it couldn't have been Maja's. Perhaps it had been there from the night before; perhaps it had flown in when he'd opened the balcony door. Either way, it could not be allowed to remain.

Gvidaro lost another ten minutes chasing the mosquito around the bathroom, perched precariously atop the toilet lid and on the lip of the bath as it clung to the ceiling, before he finally caught it by the shower-head. He washed the blood from his hands, wondering if it really had been his own, and headed out - but not quite yet to bed.

After his bladder's complaints of being overfull, the glass of his innards now felt half empty, and he needed to replace the water he had lost. Thus his journey took him down to the kitchen, where the tap-water was more suitable to drink (the streams from basin, bath, and even shower might well have been potable, but they were far from palatable to his taste).

He felt his way down through the dark, but not carefully enough. Gvidaro counted seven steps out of thirteen, but stumbled down the last six after missing one, and landed badly on his ankle. It wasn't broken, just bent, and he managed not to cry out, but he already knew that the return journey would be more difficult, if not for the next few days.

He hobbled on to the kitchen, still in search of water, but now in the form of a pack of ice, to counteract the way the flesh was already beginning to swell. He and Maja had seen enough of that lately. The benefit of this hot weather was that he knew he had plenty of ice prepared, for use in everything from his morning coffee to his evening glass of red.

The freezer was a mess in itself, full of ends of loaves and leftover vegetables he'd sworn he'd turn to soup someday, and Gvidaro took a moment to instil some sort of order in the drawers, which turned into ten minutes emptying the fridge as well, and even a few of the cupboards, just to put it all back in roughly the same place.

By the time he finally made it back upstairs to bed, the first light of dawn was peering over the curtain rail, another intruder threatening to disrupt his peace - and this one less easily squashed under a small wad of toilet paper. It felt like this night had been one disturbance after another, a bombardment of his senses as he wanted only to return to sleep.

But still, his nose plugged with perfumed handkerchiefs, his gaze averted, the bedside lamp unused, he remained unmoved by Maja's corpse in bed beside him. She was sleeping, and needed none of his concern. She'd had her bladder removed, and her hearing, and her thirst - all of those little disturbances that might have roused them both. He'd made quite sure of that.

It was strange, how little it bothered him. He'd thought there might be a little trouble sleeping, at first - he'd read about the guilt, the regret, the haunting that kept some men up at night. But Maja didn't haunt him. She was just here - just like she'd been meant to be, before she left. Her presence didn't upset him, because that was what he'd wanted all along. If her spectre lingered in the house, that was only a bonus. He hadn't realised he could mummify that too.

No - he wasn't disturbed by Maja. It was the other things. The cats, and the insects, and the leftovers, and the water, and the pain, and the light, and the water again. Or some nights it was the drunks, or the sobriety, or the heat, or the dark, or the foxes, or a song that kept repeating in his brain, or an image he couldn't get out of his head. But Maja was here to comfort him. He felt her skin against his own, warm and lifelike to the touch. In her arms, he wasn't disturbed. He wasn't disturbed.

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue, part 6

The final chapter. For real this time, I swear.

            Millicent nearly scared the life out of him when she burst into his workshop, urging him to bring a needle and his healer’s bag and with Malenia nowhere in sight. It wasn’t Malenia in need of treatment, she’d quickly clarified -- it was one of her sisters.

            Miquella sprinted down the streets of Ordina, hot on Millicent’s heels. He’d grown into his new body somewhat -- at least he no longer felt like a child placed on a rack and stretched to adult proportions -- and he managed to keep pace with his niece.

            He found the infirmary nearly deserted apart from two anxious albinauric guards. Ducking under the stone archway, he fumbled through his bag and came up with the needle. “Malenia?”

            The infirmary was clean but spartan, a single room with a water basin and a half-dozen cots lined up in two rows. Malenia sat on the edge of the nearest cot, her unalloyed arm wrapped around a small, bedraggled figure.

            The girl startled at his entrance, gaze darting first to him, then to Millicent.

            When he first established the Haligtree, the new settlement had been flooded by the unfortunate castoffs of the Golden Order. Misbegotten, albinaurics, even a few omens, all risked the journey through the Consecrated Snowfield or the treacherous northern sea rather than remain in the Lands Between.

            He’d treated many of them personally, for ailments of both the body and the mind. Millicent’s sister bore a look he’d become all too familiar with in those early years, the skittish, hollow-eyed look of one who could not accept that she was safe. Her single golden eye darted from him to Malenia to Millicent, seeking the source of an attack that she knew was surely imminent.

            Millicent fidgeted, lingering just inside the doorway. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered. “We don’t have to fight here, they aren’t like the kindred.”

            Miquella easily slipped back into his old bedside manner. Replacing Malenia at the girl’s side, he gestured toward the bloody bandages wrapping the right side of her face. “May I?”

            She nodded, a sharp, jittery movement. The moment he began to unwrap the bandages, he knew that he would not be able to salvage her eye. Very carefully, he dabbed the tattered flesh around the socket clean. She sat stock-still through all of it, fists clenched tightly in her lap.

            “I’ll have to do some work on your eye.” Miquella sorted through the materials he’d brought with him, coming up with a collection of herbs and a mortar and pestle. He summoned a spark of holy fire and set the concoction to smoldering. “I need you to breath in as much of this as you can. It will put you into a deep sleep while I work. I can give you something more for the pain when you wake up.”

            The girl eyed the mixture fearfully, but she gritted her teeth and breathed it in all the same. Miquella caught her shoulders as she swayed, gently lowering her down onto the cot. A quick check of her reflexed confirmed that she was indeed dead to the world.

            As he laid out his surgical tools, he considered how best to proceed. The eye was a difficult area to treat, as compared to Millicent’s relatively straightforward shoulder wound. He couldn’t shake the notion, disturbing as it was, that the injury had deliberately been inflicted in such a way as to make treatment difficult.

***

            Malenia tapped Millicent on the shoulder and nodded towards the door. “May I have a word?”             While she knew that the girl had seen battle, many who could hold their nerve in a fight still lacked the stomach to watch a surgery. As Millicent followed her outside, she searched for some pretext to explain their sudden exit.

            Millicent unknowingly provided said pretext. Her voice sounded half hopeful, half disbelieving. “You’re really going to let her stay?”

            “She is welcome, as you are.”

            Upon learning of the existence of Millicent’s sisters, Malenia’s feelings had been rather mixed. On the one hand, they were her children. On the other, they had tried to murder her daughter. They worshiped the malevolent god that she had spent her whole life struggling against.

            Pollyanna’s arrival had tipped the scales rather firmly toward protectiveness. Her condition confirmed much of what Malenia initially suspected. Millicent only ever spoke of her childhood in vague terms, insisting that she could hardly remember most of it. However, it was painfully obvious that prior to her arrival at the Haligtree, she was utterly unaccustomed to being treated decently.

            “We don’t have to fight here, they aren’t like the kindred.”

            Malenia set her rage aside -- Later -- and turned back to Millicent.

            “And... And the others? If they were willing to come back?”

            “I would not turn them away.” This time she caught the half-formed question hidden behind the spoken one. She reached out, softly holding Millicent’s face in her hands. “I will always be grateful for what you did for Miquella. But that did not secure you your place here. That was never something you had to earn. Both you and your sisters will always be welcome here.”

            A solid weight crashed into her chest, arms constricting her middle. Brushing aside her surprise, Malenia returned the embrace -- it was the first time Millicent had ever hugged her back.

***

            Millicent leaned against the wall of the infirmary, alone apart from the silent figure in the cot. Miquella had returned to the Haligtree to make arrangements for their return, while Malena had left to speak with the wolf riders regarding taking up the search for the remaining three sisters once more.

            Pollyanna hadn’t moved since the surgery. Millicent drummed her fingers against her metal forearm, overcome by nervous energy. She wished that she possessed the slightest fraction of Miquella’s optimism.

            Surely Pollyanna seemed better than when she’d first dragged herself out of the Consecrated Snowfield. Her skin remained as white and bloodless as paper, but the scars peeking out from under fresh bandages had lost their feverish flush. She wasn’t moving, but her breathing seemed steady, no longer quick and ragged.

            A faint whimper startled her into action. As her sister stirred awake, Millicent caught her hand before she could tear the bandages away from her face.

            “Gods, you shouldn’t be awake yet! Wait here, I’ll bring Miquella...”

            “Wait.” The feeble grip on her hand tightened. Pollyanna remained curled inward, head down and shoulders pulled up to her ears. “Millicent I... I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t blame you.”

            The words spilled out unthinkingly, but she meant them. Seeing her sister in such a pitiful state, she couldn’t find it in her heart to hold a grudge.

            Pollyanna gripped her in a tight hug, face buried in the shoulder of her surcoat. Her voice wavered. “I missed you.”

            The admission hit her like a physical blow to the chest. Millicent held her sister for a long moment before she gently disentangled herself. “I’m going to find Miquella. Just wait here.” She hesitated, hands lingering on the younger girl’s shoulders. “I missed you too.”

***

            With Miquella’s attention fixed firmly on mixing another batch of medicine, it was a simple matter to slip out of the infirmary. Millicent set off into the snowfield, the hood of her cloak raised against the light snowfall. The sun had long since set, but she wouldn’t need her eyes to find what she sought.

            Pollyanna couldn’t have travelled far in her condition, and the others wouldn’t be much better off. They were certainly still nearby.

            As she pushed through calf-deep snow, Millicent focused on the ethereal tug at the back of her mind. Malenia and Miquella had been born inextricably linked, two bodies sharing the same soul. Then the Aeonia Bloom ripped Malenia’s being into pieces, spawning Millicent and her sisters in the process.

            Now that they were close, she could feel the same tug on her soul she’d felt when she first met Miquella. This time it felt harsh, grating like the ends of a broken bone. Millicent drew her sword.

            She spotted the shadow just as she crested another snowdrift, standing stiff and straight against the wind. A spear stood planted in the ground beside her.

            Maureen.

            Easily the most dangerous of her sisters. During Millicent’s journey to the Haligtree, they had fought outside of Ordina, but the memory of an earlier duel struggled to emerge. The red haze of the Lake of Rot. Her sister’s blood on her sword. Gowry’s approving smile. Had the fortunes of battle fallen differently, Maureen could have easily been the one sent aboveground to initiate the second Bloom.

            Millicent advanced, sword at the ready. Maureen had still possessed one eye at their last meeting. Now both were bandaged.

            “Millicent, is that you?” She bared her teeth in a grim smile. “... Knew you’d come...” Her words slurred, hampered by the blood washing down her chin. With obvious effort, she tugged her spear free of the ground and leveled it at Millicent. “Come on and finish it. Better your blade than the Rot.”

            Millicent marched forward, paying no heed to the obvious crunch of her boots through the snow. She sheathed her sword and took hold of the spear, easily tearing it out of her sister’s hands.

            Maureen staggered, then threw a feeble punch. Millicent caught her arm and pulled it across her shoulders, supporting the other girl as she turned them both back towards Ordina.

            “We’re going back to the Haligtree.” Millicent dragged her along, ignoring Maureen’s ineffectual struggling. “If you still want to fight after Miquella’s cured you, then I’ll fight, but I won’t let you die like this.”

            Her sister stumbled along in teeth-gritted silence. Millicent practically had to carry her, one arm around her waist and Maureen’s arm hooked over her shoulders.

            “What about the others?” she ventured. “Are they still alive?”

            “Barely,” Maureen spat. She remained silent for a handful of breaths, jaw clenched. “We all had to take on the Rot,” she whispered, her harsh tone suddenly turned brittle, “after you strayed. Father said that at least one of us might be strong enough to Bloom.”

            The long-suspected revelation speared her through the heart. “I’m sorry.”

            Maureen looked away, silent apart from her labored breathing. Millicent did not press her further. What could she possibly say?

            Lantern light broke the monotony of white and gray. The buildings of the gate town slowly took shape against the gathering darkness.

            “Come on,” Millicent encouraged, “we’re almost there.”

            She almost missed Maureen’s response, the fragile whisper barely breaking through the rushing of the wind. “Are you going back for the others?”

            “Just as soon as I get you out of the weather.” Millicent hesitated. “Do you think they’ll come?”

            “Amy will be over like a shot once she hears you have medicine. Mary...” She gnawed her lip. “You might have to drag Mary, but she’ll come around.”

            She couldn’t help but smile at Maureen’s tacit admission that she believed in Millicent’s promise of treatment. “I’ll bring them both back. I swear it.” Millicent stopped them both at the door of the infirmary, fist poised to knock. “Would you like to meet our family?”

[wikipedia-edits]

important wikipedia edits 4/23/23

Sources on page "Tap Water" deleted, replaced with "trust me bro"

Biography of Diary of a Wimpy Kid author Jeff Kinney blanked and replaced with "Haha Haha"

Every mention of Jennifer Lawrence in article on 2013 film American Hustle edited to add "(our bae)" after her name, director David O. Russel changed to "David O. poo"

Section of article "Magnetic Levitation" blanked, replaced with "Hi hi hi hi hi hi"

George Takei changed to "George bye" in article on George Takei

"I'm going gnome hunting. Take this with you.'"Millions wear the hats, billions deny it'" added to article on garden gnomes four separate times; IP address had to be blocked from editing so they'd stop adding it back

"This is the worst wiki I have ever read for an article. Very irritation" added to articles on video game Valkyrie Elysium, Chinese mountain Mount Emei, Venezuelan violinist Gustavo Dudamel, and New York City TV station WCBS-TV

Article on country music singer Ashley McBryde blanked, replaced with "Her songs are awesome because she sounds amazing because she got high pipe s she sings Ashley McBride her songs about me I love her and I love her songs. Ashley McBride she is beautiful"

"Independent government agency" changed to "my mom works there it is thw government" in article on the Federal Communications Commission

"hhhhhh," "yyyh," and "hyuh" added to infobox of article on Al-Qarah Mountain

"nooooiiiiioooooo I like u boyyyyyy hi" added to article on the North China Plain, a downfaulted rift basin

"my name is Jeff bezos and I am your mmmotjer :)" added mid-sentence in article "Administrative Division"

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from a wet Bar-sur-Aube where the temperature is 9c. We have had frost, mist, rain, sunshine and some days, temperatures of 14c, quite a wonderful week for me to do my walking.

It has been a very “strange” week, with three visits to the laboratoire…..no need to go into that now, baking again after quite a break, and taking the bull by the horns and contacting people for next phase of works “chez moi”.

I have also been “crowned” “coronated” call it what you will but the dentist has now implanted (well glued probably) my new crown, thank goodness. That has cost me an 💪 and a 🦵but means I can smile again (or is that grimace).

Anie rang and invited me for “Le gouter “, as I was expecting the plumber, I said I would let her know later in the day. I was invited for 17:00 but “Sods Law” the demonstration against pension reform was still in full flow which meant a snails pace in traffic movement. I eventually “abandoned” the car at the bottom of the town and “ran” (well tried to walk quickly) to her house at the top of the town. When I got to the top, yes you have guessed it, the traffic was moving normally. The “upside” was that I got my walk in for the day. We had lovely homemade apple tarts and (I suspect, bought) panattone.

Here is this weeks poetry excerpt, it is from “Winter-time” by Robert Louis Stevenson

“Black are my steps on silver sod;

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;

And tree and house, and hill and lake,

Are frosted like a wedding cake.”

So the next phase of works is for a new toilet and washbasin. I had a quote from my plumber back in 2020, however, when I asked him at the end of last year about replacing the items he said “you buy the washbasin and I will fit it”. Now I have worn some hats in my time but “plumber” or “purchaser of sanitary ware” is not one of them. How on earth do I know if this, that or the other will work? I asked my neighbour for her plumbers phone number and I made an appointment for him to visit and prepare an estimate. When he came out he said it was not possible for a wall hung unit as it was just a stud wall! The pedestal had never been fitted to this basin and the guy wiggled and pushed it and got it in place. After he had gone, I went into the toilet and there was a terrible stench, it appears as if all the wiggling has caused a problem with the siphon so now when you wash your hands the water runs onto the floor. 🤔solved one problem created another! However, his estimate was €400 cheaper than the previous plumber (2 years ago) ok, so no new basin, but I will have new tap and siphon on existing one. Oh have you noticed I am now understanding more about sanitary ware. 😂

As it was the resumption of the knitting group this week, I had volunteered to make the cake. Now what was I going to concoct? I decided on a lemon and sultana cake, the previous ones I had made were delicious. Well I mixed it up using a hand mixer (an ounce less sugar than the recipe) and it really looked good in the tin, but when I cut into it on Friday it was quite dense and although I had used rather a lot of lemon the taste was quite bland, oh dear, not a good start I fear! It was lovely to be there with old and new friends. One of the new ladies was unable to attend this time but she had sent me a message wishing us all a good afternoon and saying she would see us next time. I am so happy in my new role as “Brown Owl” “Arkela” or should it just be “Big Knit”? I showed the little hats and bootees I had knitted, it was suggested that I may be able to donate them to be sent to Turkey or Syria following the earthquakes. I will check that out, in the meantime I have knitted another hat and one bootee, it is just something small and simple to knit.

Life is being life, I am afraid, giving us the up’s and the down’s. At times we feel that things could not get any worse and it is at times like that, that it is important to look for the light….. it maybe just a tiny pinprick at the moment but if you keep reaching it will become a lot brighter. Life’s course is never smooth, there are bumps along the way and sometimes it feels like you have a mountain to climb, it makes for a stronger person. To anyone who feels that there world is falling apart, take heart, it may be the world as you know it now, but there is another world out there waiting to be discovered. I am sure there are people who are feeling this way right now, not just those affected by war, earthquakes but by loss in one way or another.

There is also a lot buzzing around in my head. I am planning a little something for next week (more of that later). Plus we are hurtling towards spring when thoughts will return to my garden. In the meantime, I am taking each day as it comes, not looking too far into the future as in doing so we can miss out on a great deal of the present.

I wish you all a good week, until next week!

[puravidadrilling1]

Water in Costa Rica: A Vital Resource for Sustainability

Water in Costa Rica is one of the country's most precious natural resources, playing a vital role in its biodiversity, agriculture, and everyday life. As a country known for its lush rainforests and abundant rivers, Costa Rica is home to an intricate network of freshwater systems. However, managing and protecting these water resources is critical for the nation’s long-term sustainability, especially in the face of climate change, population growth, and increasing demand for clean water.

At Pura Vida Drilling, we understand the importance of ensuring a sustainable water supply in Costa Rica. From groundwater exploration to well drilling and maintenance, our services are designed to provide safe and reliable access to clean water across the country.

Water Availability in Costa Rica

Costa Rica is blessed with significant water resources, receiving ample rainfall throughout most of the year. The country has 34 river basins, countless lakes, and vast underground aquifers that provide water for both personal and commercial use. While the country's Pacific side tends to have drier regions, the Caribbean and central highlands are rich in water in Costa Rica, thanks to frequent rains and an extensive watershed.

Despite this abundance, Costa Rica faces challenges in managing its water supplies. Urbanization, agricultural expansion, and tourism growth have led to increased demand for water in Costa Rica, especially in drier regions like Guanacaste. Additionally, climate change has caused unpredictable weather patterns, making it harder to ensure consistent water availability in certain areas.

Groundwater: A Critical Resource

One of the most reliable sources of water in Costa Rica is its groundwater, which is essential for communities, agriculture, and industrial projects. Groundwater is found in aquifers—natural underground reservoirs—throughout the country. These aquifers are tapped for various uses, including drinking water, irrigation, and commercial operations. However, the extraction of groundwater must be managed carefully to prevent over-exploitation and contamination.

At Pura Vida Drilling, we specialize in groundwater exploration and well drilling to ensure that water in Costa Rica is accessed safely and sustainably. Our team of experts uses advanced techniques to identify the best locations for wells, taking into consideration the local geology, hydrology, and water demand. This approach helps protect the long-term health of aquifers while providing reliable access to clean water.

Water Well Drilling and Maintenance in Costa Rica

As demand for water grows, particularly in regions experiencing seasonal droughts, water wells have become a crucial solution for providing a steady supply. Pura Vida Drilling offers professional water well drilling services for residential, agricultural, and commercial projects throughout Costa Rica. Whether you're looking to secure water for your home, farm, or business, we provide customized drilling solutions that meet your needs while ensuring environmental responsibility.

Our well services include:

Site Evaluation: We conduct comprehensive studies of your property to determine the optimal location for well drilling, taking into account the depth of aquifers and water quality.

Well Installation: Using the latest technology, we drill wells that are built to last, ensuring efficient and safe access to groundwater.

Well Maintenance: Regular well maintenance is essential to keep your water system functioning properly. We offer inspection, cleaning, and repair services to ensure your well delivers clean water for years to come.

Pump Repair and Replacement: If your well pump is malfunctioning, our team can quickly diagnose and repair the issue to minimize disruption to your water supply.

Permits and Regulations for Water Use

Accessing water in Costa Rica, especially through groundwater wells, requires adherence to strict regulatory frameworks. The AyA (Instituto Costarricense de Acueductos y Alcantarillados) is the government body responsible for overseeing water resources, including issuing permits for well drilling and groundwater extraction.

At Pura Vida Drilling, we help clients navigate the complex process of securing permits and concessions for water wells in Costa Rica. Our experience ensures that all legal requirements are met, so you can have peace of mind knowing that your project complies with local laws. From initial paperwork to final approval, we are with you every step of the way.

Sustainable Water Solutions for the Future

As Costa Rica continues to grow and evolve, responsible water management will be key to the country’s prosperity. At Pura Vida Drilling, we are committed to promoting sustainable practices that protect water resources for future generations. Our team not only provides access to groundwater but also advises on best practices for conserving and using water efficiently.

Whether you need a new water well, maintenance for an existing system, or expert consultation on groundwater resources, Pura Vida Drilling is your trusted partner in securing safe, reliable water in Costa Rica.

Contact Us

For more information about our water well drilling services and groundwater exploration, contact Pura Vida Drilling today. We are dedicated to helping you access the water you need while preserving Costa Rica’s natural beauty and resources for the future.

[charliesplumbing]

11 Tips for Choosing the Perfect Water Tap for Your Bathroom

When people think about bathrooms, the first things that come to mind are toilet bowls, mirrors, and sinks. However, other things in the bathroom also need attention, like water taps. Choosing one needs to be done correctly because it can impact the entire look and feel of the place. They have various styles and finishes, making the purchase process overwhelming. To help you find your water tap, here are some tips you may want to consider:

Get Professional Advice

An emergency plumber Brisbane Northside has been helping many homeowners ensure that every issue they have is addressed immediately. They do not need to wait for a new day to get their plumbing concerns fixed, especially if they require immediate attention and care. But aside from this, plumbers can also help you with other things you need, like choosing the perfect water tap for your bathroom. They can tell you the good and trusted brands and see what works best for your home.

Consider the Style

There are different types of water taps, so be mindful of which one to choose for your bathroom. Ensure that they have unique features and aesthetic appeal that will complement the other things in the space. Some of what you will see are waterfall taps, single-hole faucets, mixer taps, and wall-mounted faucets.

Check Compatibility

Once you have eyed a style or type of faucet for your bathroom, you must check its compatibility first and see if it is the right fit. Ensure that it is compatible with your sink type and the overall appeal of the bathroom. If not, it is a sign to look for other types of faucets.

Measure the Spout Reach

If the water keeps splashing on the basin when turning the tap on, it means that the distance of the spout to the sink was not measured correctly. The splashing will just keep happening, contributing to wasting water and wet floors. Measure the spout reach with the help of professionals to ensure you are doing it correctly. You also need to do the same when it comes to the height of the faucet.

Think About Installation Complexity

The installation of the water tap is a huge factor in choosing the right one. If they are complicated enough, either you get the services of a professional plumber or choose a faucet that is easy to install.

Consider Maintenance Needs

Before buying a water tap, think about its maintenance. Will it be high maintenance or low maintenance? Choose the one that you will not miss giving attention to, especially if you are not at home all the time. A faucet must be easy to clean to remove water spots and fingerprints with ease.

Check for a Warranty

Everything you purchase, even if it is not for your bathroom, must have a warranty. It helps you to be protected against defects. If you do not have a warranty on your water tap, there is a possibility that you will spend an amount for it to get fixed or replaced.

Assess the Aesthetics

Some people might think that water taps are nothing and could not affect the bathroom much. However, it is where they are wrong. Choosing the wrong faucet can impact the entire look of the place. They might be out of place, wasting all the efforts you have made for your bathroom.

Budget Considerations

Whatever product or service you get, ensure a proper and correct budget. The last thing you would ever want is to overspend, especially if the money is tight and will be used for other things for your home. Set a budget before buying water taps and remember the ones that are on your list. 

Match with Other Fixtures

Even the looks of your bathroom need to be checked and considered before buying things for them. It is not any different when it comes to purchasing water taps, considering that it needs to match other fixtures in your bathroom, including towel bars and showerheads.

Opt for a Trusted Brand

To find the perfect water tap for your bathroom, you also need to search for a brand that many people trust and buy. One search on the internet and you will see all the brands that offer high-quality and reliable water faucets, making them last for years with proper maintenance.

Everything you buy for your bathroom needs to undergo proper choosing to ensure that they are the right one. It is not any different when it comes to water faucets. May these tips help you find the perfect one for your bathroom.

[nzdepot]

$286.20 $158.90 Basin Mixer - Square Series FA0119B - Basin Mixer - FA0119B https://nzdepot.co.nz/product/basin-mixer-square-series-fa0119b-basin-mixer-fa0119b/?feed_id=169797&_unique_id=66cbe1fd0dcab Product Model FA0119 Series Ottimo Series MATERIAL & FINISH Finish Black Main Material Solid Brass Hot & Cold Pipe Material Stainless Steel 304 TECHNICAL INFORMATION Installation Type Deck Mounted Filter / Aerator Included Feature Filter Tap Hole 32mm Water Pattern Column Water Pressure Main Water Pressure Only SIZE & DIMENSIONS Cartridge Size 35mm Base Size 52mm CERTIFICATION WaterMark Approved WATERMARK Licence No WMK25816 WELS Approved WELS Licence No 1375 WELS Registration No T24639 WELS Star Rating 6 Star, 4L/M WARRANTY 1 Years Warranty 1 Years Cartridge Replacement PACKAGE CONTENTS Main Product 1x Tall Basin Mixer Installation Accessories 1x Hot & […] #

[darrellcrall]

Mexico City Faces Severe Water Shortages and Drought

One looming threat associated with climate change is the drying up of previously reliable water resources relied upon by thirsty and growing urban populations. In North America, Mexico City is facing a looming water crisis that places it in a situation similar to major cities such as Sao Paulo, Cape Town, and Chennai, India. These cities face a combination of scarce rainfall, compromised aquifers, and inadequate or mismanaged water systems.

Mexico City, with a population of around 23 million, inhabits a vast high altitude basin that once formed a water-rich valley, the heart of Aztec civilization. Vulnerable to droughts, the region is part of a vast area, covering two-thirds of the country, experiencing moderate to extreme drought in recent years.

The city’s Cutzamala water network, comprising an extensive network of dams, pipes, and canals, extends to rural reservoirs that neighbor the capital district. Operating at 30 percent of ordinary capacity in May, 2024, the system stood at a historical low (it was as high as 45 percent in 2022). The system supplies 27 percent of the city’s water.

Most of the remainder of Mexico City’s water comes from the aquifer above which the modern city is built. Certain areas of the city are sinking by as much as 20 inches annually, with municipal authorities pumping out twice as much water as is naturally replenished through rainfall. Compounding this issue, the Valley of Mexico is becoming ever more paved over, which impacts infiltration. Rainwater stays on the city streets too long, unable to penetrate the ground, and eventually evaporates.

Less affluent communities within greater Mexico City have long faced the reality of unreliable tap water. The working class community of Iztapalapa, with 1.8 million inhabitants, relies on municipal water trucks, which fill up water tanks or cisterns within buildings and residences. When municipal supplies run low, people pay private trucks to bring in water, and tapping water lines illegally is not uncommon. Water rationing programs are now expanding beyond such communities, with reduced flow (or water shut off completely on certain days) impacting 287 neighborhoods across the city. This is double the number of affected neighborhoods two decades ago.

Climate change is exacerbating an already challenging situation, as Mexico City’s average temperature has increased by 4.5 degrees Fahrenheit across the span of 100 years. This rate of increase exceeds the global average by a factor of two. In addition, “exceptionally hot days” have doubled in some neighborhoods of the city. The rapid increase in temperature, above what climate models alone would predict, reflects a heat island effect. Trees and wetlands are paved over with heat absorbing asphalt and concrete. At the same time, with heat intensifying thirst, water consumption rises beyond the tipping point.

Experts say that Mexico City does have means of addressing its water crisis, but they would require a long-term change in policies. Permeable pavement allows water to sink into the ground, while painting roofs white creates a reflective surface that reduces the absorption of light associated with high urban temperatures. When faced with a similar situation, Cape Town replaced water-needy invasive plants along the edges of reservoirs with species that were drought resistant. This significantly reduced reservoir losses. Other planners point to the example of Israel, which pumps desalinated water from the coast to inland residents, though this would be extremely expensive to set up.

[iremodel4u]

Tips To Consider Before Going For A Bathroom Redesign In USA

When the walls of your bathroom are in disrepair, and the space feels uninspiring, redesigning is a transformative idea. It not only gives your bathroom a fresh, appealing look but also makes you feel like rejuvenating your home. Before you embark on this journey, it's important to consider the essential tips. Homeowners across the USA have found these tips essential and valuable, ensuring a trouble-free future. Here are the essential tips to consider before going for a bathroom redesign in USA.

Size of the bathroom

In many cases, we have seen that the small-sized bathroom requires no remodeling. By any chance, if you have a small bathroom with rotten walls, then the best thing is to apply wall cement and paint. Applying wall cement and paint is a smarter idea and is the best method to rejuvenate your bathroom. Many contractors of bathroom remodel services in USA apply wall cement and paint in the bathrooms.

Upgrade to smarter basins

Smarter basins are the ones that have sensors and operate automatically. You do not have to turn on the tap to wash your hands. Keep your hands before the sensor and water will come out. Many times, we have observed that the mini basins are unable to drain the gunk and mini particles. So, upgrading your bathroom with a larger smart basin is a fair idea, as it can easily drain gunk.

Better western commode

The bathroom renovation services in Alabama or Saraland upgrade your bathroom with a better western commode. Many western commodes cannot flush out feces so easily, which later on leaves the stink and the unhygienic smell behind. The reason is that the commode is older and needs a replacement. So, upgrade to a better commode that can flush out feces with a single push.

Replace the geyser

During winter, hot water is a must, and to bath with hot water you will surely need a geyser. By any chance, if your geyser is old, make sure you replace it with a newer one. The older ones take a lot of time to heat the water. On the other hand, the newer geysers heat the water so easily, giving you hot water. The contractors who perform bathroom redesign in USA replace the geyser as well.

Change the tiles

It might be the case that your bathroom tiles are older and have become slippery. In this situation, all you need is to change the tiles and come with the ones that never slip. It is a smarter idea and is preferred by every homeowner. The contractors avail various tile designs for the bathrooms and ensure no cracks in the later period.

Final Words

If you are going for a bathroom redesign in USA, you need to consider the aforementioned tips. Consider these tips, and later on, you are going to give a new redesign to your bathroom. The contractors will be able to meet up your needs. Redesigning your bathroom is like rejuvenating your home in a better way.

[ap-emergency-services-24h]

Emergency Plumbing Services: Quick Solutions When You Need Them Most!

Whether it's a pesky leak, a stubbornly clogged drain, or a malfunctioning boiler, plumbing issues can disrupt your daily life and cause significant inconvenience. That's where our team of professional engineers comes in. At Emergency Plumbing Services, we're dedicated to providing rapid and reliable plumbing solutions whenever you need them.

Our Services

From tap repairs to boiler replacements, our wide range of services covers all your plumbing needs. Here are some of the issues we handle:

Tap Repairs: Don't let a dripping tap drive you crazy. Our experts can quickly diagnose and fix any tap-related issues to restore functionality to your fixtures.

Boiler Replacements and Repair: A malfunctioning boiler can leave you without hot water or heating when you need it most. Our technicians are trained to diagnose boiler problems and provide efficient repair or replacement services to keep your home comfortable.

Toilet Repairs: A malfunctioning toilet is not only inconvenient but can also be unsanitary. Our team can quickly identify and fix toilet issues to restore proper function and prevent further damage.

Leaking Pipes: Whether it's a minor drip or a major leak, our experts have the tools and expertise to repair leaking pipes promptly, helping you avoid water damage and costly repairs.

Shower Repairs: A faulty shower can put a damper on your morning routine. Our technicians can troubleshoot and repair shower issues to ensure a refreshing bathing experience.

Water Mains Repairs: Issues with your water main can disrupt water supply to your home. Our team can efficiently repair water main problems to restore normal water flow and prevent water wastage.

Faucet Repair: From kitchen sinks to bathroom basins, our professionals can repair or replace faulty faucets to eliminate leaks and improve water efficiency.

Drain Cleaning: Clogged drains can lead to backups and unpleasant odors. Our drain cleaning services can quickly clear blockages and restore proper drainage to your plumbing system.

Rapid & Reliable Plumbing Emergency Response

Plumbing emergencies can happen at any time, day or night. That's why our skilled and licensed plumbers are available 24/7, including holidays. When you're faced with a plumbing emergency, you can count on us to respond swiftly and effectively. Whether it's a burst pipe, a flooded basement, or a gas leak, our experts are equipped to handle any emergency situation with professionalism and expertise.

Our Strong Points

Available 24/7: Plumbing emergencies don't wait for convenient times to occur, and neither do we. Our team is available round-the-clock to address your urgent plumbing needs.

Professional Technicians: Our skilled technicians undergo rigorous training and certification to ensure they can tackle any plumbing challenge with confidence and expertise.

Troubleshooting: We don't just fix the symptoms; we identify and address the root cause of your plumbing issues to prevent future problems.

Quality Work: We take pride in delivering high-quality workmanship and lasting solutions that exceed our customers' expectations.

Emergency Plumber: Professional Plumbing Solutions

At Emergency Plumbing Services, we understand that plumbing emergencies can be stressful and disruptive. That's why we're committed to providing prompt, reliable, and professional plumbing solutions to homeowners and businesses across the region. When you need assistance, don't hesitate to reach out to our dedicated customer support team. We'll dispatch a skilled local emergency plumber to your location promptly, ensuring that help is always just a phone call away.

Contact Us

For all your plumbing emergencies and service needs, trust the experts at Emergency Plumbing Services. Call us at 07418356221, and our team will be there to assist you, day or night. Don't let plumbing problems disrupt your life. Contact us today for fast, reliable solutions you can count on.