#also i guess this will be the first time they talk post aoife finding out about a varmont prince leading the charge on malconaire

[forgottensebastian]

Winter Mornings | Sebastian & Aoife

Sebastian had guessed that he had not been the only one to insist that the Malconaire ladies enjoy one of the finer suites that the castle had to offer, for when he had mentioned it to the servants they were not only unsurprised by this request, but seemed to have already begun undertaking it.

But he, more than the others, hoped that they had all rested well and had spent the evening laughing and whispering into the night, with the knowledge that they would not have to wake before dawn to make themselves available to be at Valentina and Cassimir's beck and call.

He'd ordered that food be brought directly to their quarters in the morning, so they need not rise before they were ready.

He also meant not to appear quite so eager to see them, but when it became late midmorning, he found that he was rather anxious to see how they had all gotten on -- and to confirm that Valentina and her son had continued to leave them alone. He may not have much say as to what happens at Malconaire, but he would not allow for them to be mistreated in his father's house.

He was admitted into their quarters by a servant who was attending to them during their stay and found that only Aoife was there. She stood, almost statue-like, by the window and it was only when she turned to look at him that he felt something was wrong.

There was something in her look that Sebastian could not quite place. "Lady Aoife? Are you alright?" He asked, softly. She looked as though she had not slept at all and there was something else, too, besides exhaustion that seemed to wear on her. Whatever it was, he did not like seeing her like this. He was determined, in that moment, to do whatever he could to help her.

He just didn't imagine that he and his family happened to be the very cause of it.

[mire-mire-mire]

Nine black-crowned herons today

While on my walk, I saw three of my favorite bird at their usual spot. Then, I saw four more in another spot I often see them at. Then, I saw two more at places I don't think I've ever seen them at. Usually, I see a max of three per walk. Since I saw nine, I thought that that ought to be a sign from the universe. Some things I think are just too perfect or too unusual to *not* be a sign or something. So I looked up what seeing black-crowned night herons (and herons in general since bcnh is awfully specific) means. Herons are seen as elegant and beautiful, both because of their physical appearance and their beautiful habitat (where land and water meet). They are also patient hunters, waiting motionless for the right time to strike. This can relate to patience, serenity/calmness, and silence (and taking the time to look inwards and reflect).

The website I used talked about herons in various religions and mythologies. I'm not going to utilize most of them because they aren't my background, but I did see a section on Celtic traditions. My family traces back to Scotland so I feel fine about applying this to my life. The story goes that the god of the sea, Manannan Mac Lir, loved a girl named Aoife who was turned into a crane. They lived together until Aoife died, and then Manannan turned her body into a bag that he kept all his treasures in. It is said that this bag is guarded by a heron (or an egret, which are often grouped in with herons because they are so similar). (Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac came on shuffle while writing this post, and herons are said to be the goddess Rhiannon's votive animal, so...)

I am also adding my own knowledge about black-crowned night herons to this mix. They are seen as very smart because they are one of the few bird species to use "tools". They will throw objects into the water to distract/lure fish in order to grab them. For the sake of not making this post any longer than it already is, we're going to ignore the debate on whether this can be considered tool use or not (thank you, anthropology background).

Lastly, I decided to look up what it could mean to see your favorite animal/bird, because seeing three times more than usual has to mean something, right? I couldn't find anything directly relevant, but I found a quick article about what your favorite animal could say about you. It asked me to think of some words to describe my favorite animal, and why it is my favorite. I first decided I really liked bcnhs because I just thought they looked so silly. It was one of the first bird visitors to our new house down here. Plus, they are smart (see above paragraph). Continuing with the article, there's a theory that your favorite animal represents how you think/want other people to see you. So... smart and silly. That sounds about right.

So what does all of this mean? The universe (or whoever is sending these signs) is telling me I'm beautiful. In a time when I'm feeling especially insecure about my appearance, I need to remember that I am still beautiful in my own ways. And if my favorite bird wants me to believe that, who am I to deny it? It's hard to make myself think that way, but I guess I do need to try. Their beauty and that of their habitat is another sign to spend more time in nature- sign me up! I'll try to drag my mom out birding this weekend. Their hunting style can also mean that I need to be more patient and wait for the right opportunity to come up. Combined with the $8.88 receipt I have from the metaphysical store, I think that means a good opportunity is coming. Maybe it's the fact that I finally got a job. I did turn down another job to wait to see if I could get this job, so maybe this means that I made the right decision. I think this may also be a sign to meditate, or do something else that allows me to reflect on myself, maybe set some goals for myself, get back in touch with myself. Maybe I'll start journaling again.

Seeing so many of my favorite animal must mean that people do see me as smart and silly, which is how I tend to see myself. Coming into a new job where I will be meeting new people and potentially making new friends (which I desperately need), hopefully this means that they will also see me this way and in a positive light.

The last thing I'm going to say about this (I think) is that I saw one juvenile. I think this means that I'm still growing into myself, how I see myself, and that I can make these kinds of changes down the line. I know I need to put in the effort. I can try meditation or journaling or whatever and see how I feel about it. Maybe it will help.

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan xOFC); part 4

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent.

I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate.

A/N:Hi there, sorry I didn’t post last week, classes are killing me! Finan is a lil dick here, but Aoife is developing in such a great woman, I love her. Hope you enjoyyyy. Baciotti, Cate.

Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior.

General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence

Chapter’s warning: Angst, strong language and I think that’s it? Let me know if you think there’s more! Words: 3426 Chapter Three.

Chapter Four: Iron and Water

Finan’s sadness had soon turned into anger and he was now spending most of the day striking the air with his sword. The rest of his time was spent drinking in the alehouse. He was looking, to put it in the kindest way possible, miserable. His hair and beard had grown out of control and it looked like he hadn’t washed since the Dane had left. His vest was stained with ale and food, and all the women, that once had fought for his attention, were keeping their distance. Aoife hadn’t spoken with him after the day Sithric had left, and the violent beating of her heart while he held her hand was just a pale memory. The day after, he couldn’t even watch her in the eyes, and she had felt ashamed of her weakness, and a fool for letting it affect her as it was. She had just consoled him, that was it. She could not hide, however, that she already missed his quick remarks and the small yet joyful smile he reserved to her. And even more than that, she was concerned with his health – all that ale could not be good for anyone – and angry with him for failing to comply what Uthred had asked him to do: protect the Lady of Mercia. A person cannot feel all those emotions and remain sane, of course, and she was spending her nights laying in bed sleepless. Days were passing by and Finan was looking worse and worse, often drunk, cranky and lonely constantly. Aoife was spending her time assisting either Osferth or Aethelflaed and their combined insistence had persuaded her to deal with the warrior. She had expressed her desire to improve her fighting skills and they had affirmed more than once that no one could help her better than Finan. They could not care less about her abilities with the sword, they just wanted the two to spend more time together, they were shamelessly hoping for them to be a couple. “No one can teach better than him. If I know how to use a sword is all thanks to him.” Osferth said out one morning, while him, Aoife and Aethelflaed were eating in the hall. It was a weirdly domestic picture. They had, somehow, become a group of some sort and Aoife was happy and proud of Aethelflaed, threating her stepbrother not only with respect but also as a friend. It eased her mind. “You almost died in the last battle.” Aoife pointed out. “But I did not, did I?” “Also, he needs to take his mind off Sithric.” the Lady interrupted, she knew they could go on for hours without her intervention; she wanted to be clear with her, sure that it was the only way to convince her. Also, she was fearing for the warrior sanity, she had grown fond of him with time, and she could not think of a better way to help him and, as a consequence, help Uthred “And you are the only one he might listen to.” “And if not, you will force him to.” Minutes later, Aoife was walking down to the alehouse, weapons swinging around her waist. She loved the weight of the iron against her tights, it sent shivers down her spine for the excitement. It wasn’t hard to find Finan. He was drunk of course, passed out on the table. The maid of the alehouse was watching him, half in pity and half in disgust. Aoife could not blame her, she too felt the bile to the throat when she walked close enough to smell him. Really, it was disgusting, but it was also pitiful. She was surprise by how much the situation had affected him, never would she have imagined for a warrior to feel so deeply about any kind of situation. Somehow, it made her fonder of him. The maid noticed Aoife and smiled at her “You’re here to take care of him?” “I mean, I’ll try!” Aoife answered with a laugh and the girl giggled, stepping aside gracefully to let her sit in front of Finan. The warrior had fallen asleep soundly with his cheek against the table and his mouth agape. She huffed heavily and grabbed the almost empty jug of ale. The cold woke him up abruptly. He grasped for air, waving his arms trying to grab something and his fingers closed around nothing. He felt backward, overturning the bench in the process. “Sweet Jesus Christ!” he shouted, all wet in beer. The maid was laughing and, while she too found the scene particularly amusing, Aoife could not help but watch him in disgust, leaning against the back of the chair with her arms crossed. He stood up with difficulty, spatting and cursing ì and stumping his feet like a child, grunting for minutes. “You done? My patience is running thin.” Aoife said, no emotion in her voice. The Irishman watched her in disbelief, sitting down with a thud “Leave me alone, woman.” he croaked, head in hands, he clearly did not feel like talking. She huffed again, angry with that man who had let go of his life so easily; she stood up and, grabbing him by the hair, pulled his head backwards to make him look at her. “Stop being an arseling. Uthred had asked you to look after the Lady and you have done nothing but drink and cry over yourself. You will sober up and clean and stop being such a little boy. Have I been clear?” He looked at her, initially speechless, then a vein popped up on his neck and he put his fist through the table “You don’t know what it means to spend every day with a person only for them to leave you forever.” The maid run away, scared of a possible scuffle, but Aoife didn’t even notice her. She was seeing red and she would gladly put his head through the wood next to his fist. However, she prayed God to give her patience, she tightened her arms against her chest and sat back, straighter than before. “The woman who raised me was struck by a spear in front of my eyes.” She replied coldly “I can imagine the pain.” Finan finally watched her and at least he had the decency to look mortified, Aoife was ashamed, she did not want him to pity her. She did not want no one to pity her. “I apologise, lady” he grunted quietly, and she knew that he could see that her eyes had watered. She couldn’t stand it and gestured him to just let it go. “Listen, I’m not here to compete on who’s the most miserable. I need your help.” *** He had unwillingly followed her to the stream. His head was throbbing, his entire body hurting, and he just wanted to sleep. However, Aoife had other plans and pushed him in the cold water with all his clothes on. Partly it was to sober him up, partly because his smell was unbearable and partly because she was still angry with him and it was the most Christian think to do to avoid killing him with her bare hands. It was a shock for his body, and he felt like drowning for the first few moments, but when his mind started clearing up, he stood up easily, yet shivering. He felt like a fool. It was winter, after all, and it was a miracle that the surface of the stream had not frozen yet. It would soon, though, Finan could tell. Aoife was on the bank, arms crossed and that obnoxious angry expression on her pretty face, she did crack a smile, however, when he stumbled on his feet, trying to get out of the water and felt face first. “Do not laugh at me, woman.” he growled, but he was happy to please her “It’s bloody freezing”.” “Wash yourself out, warrior.” she shouted, now laughing openly  “I shall come back with some clean clothes.” And as fast as she talked, she left. Finan watched her walking away, taking her time doing so, and even if he was shivering, he stood still, admiring her young body moving so sweetly. Unholy thoughts filled his mind, and he groaned, ashamed and drunk, and fell again under the water. She had to ask Osferth for help in looking for Finan’s clothes. When the monk closed the door of the Irishman’s room on her face, she rolled her eyes and pouted, she was looking forward to take a peek of his private life and his belongings and her friend was playing with her. Osferth was soon out with an armful of clothes and she thanks him, already running back to the river, not wanting Finan to freeze in the water. When she saw him, however, she halted suddenly. He had stripped down and was facing away from her, his naked body in full display. He was too far for her to have a good look at his back, which even from distance seemed muscly and sprinkled with scars. He had the broadest shoulders she had ever seen and only then she came to the realization that she had never seen a naked man before. God knew she was enjoying the view and He could easily read the unholy instincts she was drawn to. Anyone could guess them, just looking at her face. She knew she was sinning, but she could not push herself to care about it; again, she would renounce to heaven for Finan without hesitation. If it did not show how weak her will was, she could not imagine what would. Then he turned around and she completely forgot about her sins and will. The water was covering him just above his hips, his flat stomach and tonic chest in full display for her delight. She had never wanted anything more than to run her fingers on his skin and savour it with her lips and the tip of her tongue and her teeth; and then embrace him and kiss him like she had never kissed Sir Cenric, their body becoming one and her clothes dropping at her feet and his fingers dipping in her skin, her nude flesh, her soul. Sinner. She felt her cheeks warm up and quickly turned her back to him; it was too late, however, he had already caught her watching and was now smirking. The cold water had sobered him up and he was thinking straight for the first time in days, as straight as he could think with the pretty lady staring at him with lust corrupting her otherwise innocent features. He laughed lightly when she turned her back to him, she was not fast enough for him not to catch a glimpse of the red spreading on her skin. He was grateful for her, his Aoife, awkwardly standing on the bank, amusing him enough to let him forget Sithric’s betrayal and his shame for his behaviour of the last few days, even if just for a moment. Aoife heard him walk out of the water and she turned around, covering her eyes with a hand. It was her way to try and save the appearance, to not give him the pleasure of knowing that she liked what he had to offer. She was not ready for the mockery, not in that specific context. Of course, it was all in vain. “You can watch, I don’t mind.” he laughed, and she threw the clothes straight on his face, making him laugh even harder. She had to admit that she had missed that barking and the way his eyes crinkled when he was happy. “Be quiet and dress up.” she mumbled embarrassed, but she was smiling and wasn’t even trying to hide it. Her anger had been gone as fast as a sneeze; he had an alarming power over her emotions. She thought she could die for the shame when he pulled his tunic over his head mumbling “I do love to be admired.” “Stop staring at me, warrior.” They were walking back to Saltwic, side by side, their knuckles brushing lightly; he could not take his eyes off her and she was trying hard not to look back at him that her neck was hurting. “Then look at me, lady.” he mumbled through a smile, and his hand brushed harder against hers. Something in his voice, made her obey swiftly. She raised her chin just enough to meet his gaze and her lips unintentionally curved up in a wider smile. He smiled back and caught a strand of her hair between his finger “I haven’t told you how pretty you look, dressed as a true warrior.” “You really need to learn how to be quiet.” she mumbled, still smiling “But that brings us to what I need you for.” she stand straighter “I need to improve my fighting skills and I need for you to help me.” He leant against a tree, his smile even wider then before “And how am I to be rewarded for my help?” She rolled her eyes, trying to appear as if his words hadn’t affected her, but she was blushing “What do you expect for me to answer, Finan?” “I have a couple of things in mind.” “With silver, man. Silver.” He tilted his head “I am only playing with you, Aoife. Of course, I will help you.” “Raise your arm, Aoife! Higher!” Finan shouted. He was sat on the fence just outside the estate with Osferth and Aethelflaed, watching and enjoying Aoife beating up a young warrior, Betlic. There wasn’t much to do in Saltwic, so the other warriors had clustered around them, searching some type of amusement. Aoife was having fun, beating Betlic with a wooden sword. She was quite sure that she wouldn’t enjoy it as much in a battle, but Betlic was a patience man and was taking each stroke as a true gentleman. He was also kind enough to stop when Finan shouted his instruction to the lady, and everybody except Aoife seemed to have noticed that he was watching her with enamoured eyes. Wouldn’t she be already smitten with Finan, she would have taken him in consideration; but the reality was that she could not take her eyes off her instructor, and she was losing concentration, stumbling on her own feet and on the blade of her sword. Aethelflaed and Osferth were particularly enjoying their time, their attention divided between Aoife’s clumsy strokes and Finan’s growing jealousy. Every day was the same, he would choose a warrior to fight with Aoife and they would rapidly get flustered by the young, pretty girl; she would be her kind self and laugh with them and ask them if they were all right after every stroke, and each time they would be less shy and more forward with their romancing. She would be oblivious about it and Finan would soon grow frustrated with them and with his own jealousy that he failed to hide; then, at some point he would explode and curse everyone and leave. It was embarrassing for him but amusing for the others and bets begun to be made on how long it would take him to get angry. That day, he exploded, as always and sooner than ever before. He was all red in face and cursed everyone, but he did not leave; he snatched the fake sword out of the young man’s hands and pushed him aside, placing himself right in front of Aoife. “Time to fight.” Watching him now, Aoife could barely remember the miserable man he was just days before, he looked healthy and happy enough; she was no fool, she knew that he was not over the pain yet, but he was coming to terms with Sithric’s betrayal quicker that she would expect and she was smug enough to believe that he was mostly her doing. And it really was, everybody knew that; she was honouring her word to Aethelflaed and Uthred, constantly keeping an eye on the Lady, she had taken care of Osferth, assisting him in his recover, and she had also kept Finan’s during the day, so that he would sleep all night long in his bed and not drown his sorrow in the ale. She was the mother of them all, really. She was still admiring him with her head in the clouds, when Finan hit her on the ribs, hard enough to make her stumble backwards and fall on her bottom. Mud splatted on her clothes and the small crowd around them started laughing. She grew frustrated and embarrassed and she stood up on herself, completely ignoring Finan’s hand. He smirked, playing with his sword “Again.” It was hard to watch, yet incredibly amusing; she fell, once, twice, three times, Finan’s smile growing wider and more arrogant each time. Aoife was covered in mud and her entire body was in pain, but she would not stop, she kept going and falling and going again. “Are you not tired yet?” Finan asked amazed after the umpteenth time. The sun had just started setting, and they had been there since dusk; they were both tired and out of breath. However, Aoife charged him again and without a word; and, as any other time before, Finan blocked her blow without hesitation. This time, though, she was ready. She kicked him in the shin, taking him by surprise; he bended towards the pain and she used his temporary weakness to push him on the mud, face first. She kicked his sword out of his hand and when he turned around and raised his face from the mud, she pointed her blade to his throat. “Yield thee.” She was looking him straight in the eyes with a new confidence, her hand trembling lightly for the effort, but her grip secure and tight. Finan could not disarm her, and he did not want to; she was looking like the angel of vengeance and he would not only surrender to her he would give her his heart and soul. He dropped his head in the mud and closed his eyes “I yield, my lady.” Aoife closed the door of her room behind her back. Aethelflaed had asked her if she wanted company but she had kindly declined. She was tired, and smelt of sweat and mud. Her entire body was aching. She was also torn; invaded by contradictory emotions. She was happy for the progress she was making with the sword, amused every time she thought about Finan all covered in mud and proud of defeating him. And yet, at the same time, she felt miserable. Every step she was doing towards her warrior life and the achievement of her long-aspired dream was a step away from her past, her nun life. Since she had left Wincelcumb she had yet to find a moment for herself, to mourn the death of the Abbess and address that dark place in her soul where she hid the memory of the lifeless eyes of that Dane and the pleasure she felt in killing a human being. She had spent all her time taking care of other people, and now that she thought about it, she came to the realisation that it was not only her will to help, it was also a way to escape the dark corners of her mind. And now, she was alone with them. She kneeled on the hard, cold stone floor and prayed, while tears streamed down her face; she prayed for God to forgive her young soul, not for the kill – that was necessary – but for the pleasure that came with it, that feeling of almightiness that was nothing more than human arrogance. She mourned the loss of the mother she had no memories of and the Mother that had raised her, she asked for forgiveness for abandoning her Sisters in a time of grief and shock. She cried because she was forgetting her former life quickly and she was not missing it. At some point in her prayers, she felt as a weight was lifted from her shoulders; a ray of sun entered through a hole in the wall and caressed her face, and she felt free. Somehow, she felt that it was the Abbess, forgiving and protecting her from the heavens and her mourning become smiles and her smiles laughs. It was the closure her heart needed and washing herself from the mud felt like a rebirth. She was ready now. Chapter Five.

[thewrittenpost]

Twenty Questions Tag

I was tagged by @cohldhands​; thank you so much! I’m gonna put this under a Read More to keep things small!

1. Is there any scene from any piece you’ve written that actually scared you? If so, describe the scene.

Scared, not so much. I was disgusted with the scene I did for Xavier and his necromancy, because he’s just not good. At all. Like, he kills a girl to summon a dead warrior for his army, and his biggest concern afterwards is that his robe is ruined. Like... dude. That’s your priority? Ick.

2. What genre do you feel most awkward writing?

Ooh... I’m not good at sci-fi. Or mystery really. And despite the fact that I seem to stick at least one romantic pair into my works, I’m not exactly... great at it. At least past hugs and innocent little kisses. I can do those. Anything more than that is just awkward.

3. How many different types of writing do you write? Types of writing include novels, short stories, poetry, song lyrics, etc.

Um... I did some short stories for class, and I’m attempting novels. I’m not great at poetry, unless you’re counting like... haikus (and even then...). So I guess two?

4. How old were you when you first started writing?

Ooh... I was in fourth grade when I really started, so I must have been like... nine? I wrote this horrible story about a girl and her dog for another classmate, whose reading level was far below “typical” levels, and gosh, I was so proud of it when I wrote it, but man, do I want to forget it now. I seriously hope my classmate took it home with her at the end of the year, and that my teacher doesn’t remember it. Unlikely, as she remembers me reading under the desk during class, but I still have hope that she forgot that part of the year.

5. How confident are you in your writing?

I’m... not. I mean, academic writing, like research papers and what not, I’m pretty confident in, but my fiction? Uh, yeah, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I can’t get the images in my head down on the paper right and it’s just... ugh, I’m not good enough for it. But I’m practicing, and with practice I should improve!

6. Have you ever written and posted anything that was very personal to you?

Not really. I put some stuff in fanfiction that was more personal, but nothing very major. I’ve considered it, but when I’ve talked about those things offline, I got brushed off and some people told me it was no big deal and to get over it, so I just... avoid it now. Honestly, if I ever post something that came out of a personal place, I’ll probably write it as a fiction and never tell anyone.

7. What inspired you to start writing?

I was a huge reader growing up; my Nana always told us if we wanted to watch something based off a book, we had to read the book first, so that was a thing. And then I just wanted to write.

But as much as I say I try to forget that fourth grade “book” I did, that classmate was actually a huge part of it. Like, there was nothing that she could read/understand/test on in our class library. Keep in mind, she was at like... a kindergarten/1st grade reading level in fourth grade. And I wanted her to have something to read... which is how Suzy and her dog Bozo became a thing. Not sure if Suzy was actually the girl’s name, but it sounds write for 4th grade me.

8. Which of your OCs do you relate to the most?

Out of all of them? Probably Violet. I’ll be honest and admit that a lot of her traits are also mine. She’s not quite me; she’s a lot more assertive for one, and she’s not exactly one to back down from what’s right (in her eyes), but some of her backstory came from my life. (I’ll leave it to y’all to guess which parts as I post more about her)

If not Violet, then it’s probably Tobias. I completely relate to hiding the bad things behind a smile, so that’s a thing.

9. Have you ever written self-insert fanfiction?

I have, and nope, no one will ever know which one ever. Middle/High school was a bad time for me and fanfiction ideas, let’s just leave it at that.

10. What is your favorite piece you’ve ever written about?

Ooh, that’s a good one. I don’t actually know. I’m pretty fond of the ones I’m working on now, but... I tried writing out a script in high school (it’s gone, don’t ask) based off the Japanese Internment during WW2. It’s a really important thing for me to have tried, and I intend to go back to it one day, but that’s got to be my favorite because of how personal that time period is.

11. How frequently do you actually sit down and write?

I’ve been really good about sitting down and working on my stuff, whether it’s brainstorming, worldbuilding, or writing little bits every day! It’s my resolution for the year, and I’ve pretty much stuck to it!

12. How many hours at a time do you do research on your writing?

It depends on the thing I’m writing. Like... the Japanese Internment takes far less time to research because gee, I’ve got tons of sources already at home, and I’ve already done a bunch. But the less I know, the longer it takes. And because I don’t trust the internet sometimes, I double-check everything I find on it, so it takes a little longer.

13. Do you like to branch out in your writing or do you tend to stick to what you know?

I... tend to stick to what I know. Maybe one day I’ll branch out, but for now, I’ll stick to what I’m comfortable with. I have a hard enough time with that, you know?

14. What would your antagonist of your current WIP say to you if they saw you in person?

Huh. Frog Prince’s major antagonists are themselves, so they’d probably yell at me. Xavier from Death’s Eyes would tell me to make myself useful (in some way) or he’d just kill me. And since the antagonist in Villain’s Intern is technically a hero, he’d probably give me some inspirational speech or something.

15. Do you consider yourself your OCs’ god or just kind of a guiding hand (or other? If other, please list)?

Hahahahahahahaha, other. I’m the poor historian desperately trying to figure out what happened so I can make a reasonably accurate retelling of the events, I have no hand in any of this, help me

16. What do you think you’d be doing with your time if you’d never gotten into writing?

More video games. Probably more reading. Maybe more crocheting and sewing, because I’d have more time to do those!

17. Have you ever written a smut piece?

....Yes. I don’t remember if I ever posted it, it was awkward and horrible to write, I’m still not comfortable with it. I can read smut without much issues, but writing? That’s something I’m not quite sure practice will help with. ^^’

18. What was the first thing you ever wrote about?

Not counting school work? Suzy and Bozo. A girl and her dog. Silly adventures a 4th grader could think of.

19. What is the most creative creature you’ve ever created for world-building?

Uh.............. most of mine come from other things, but I suppose Matelus has these fire rock things that I haven’t talked about much. They’re rocks mostly, but they’ve got lava as the equivalent of blood, and can breathe fire, and they’re actually pretty passive. Some of them have gems that would be like... hair, but not all of them. They don’t attack people, except in defense (because people try to steal the gem hair) and they mostly just... make things. They’re more the smith part of Matelus than anything else, and I want to hug them. Except they’re rocky and hard and kind of spiky, so probably not a great idea.

20. Tell me one random fact about your WIP that you have yet to tell your followers.

Uh... I... don’t know. What’s not a spoiler? Um... so, relation-wise in the Frog Prince world, the major conflicts link back to the same family. Like, Gwen and Rhia are sisters. Scarlet has to face her curse because she’s trying to find Gwen. Rhia becomes Alba (Snow White’s) stepmother, and Gwen and Rhia’s grandmother is the one who curses Aoife (Sleeping Beauty). Like, they’re all connected and I feel like it might get too convoluted and messy, so it might change, but as things stand, that’s the way it is.

I also feel I might have said that before, but... yeah. I’m not going to tag anyone, but if you want to do it, please please tag me so I can see what you answer too!

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 3

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate.

A/N: Ciao dolcezze! Hope your doing well! I’ve been super busy with my master’s degree but the chapter’s here! Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There’s a lot of Finan here, finally! Have the nicest week! Bacetti, Cate!

Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior.

General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence

Chapter’s warning: Mention of blood, angst, fluff

Words: 4455 Chapter Two.

Chapter Three: Injures and betrayal

“I will not let you fight this battle, Aoife.” Uthred repeated. Aoife had tried all day long to convince him to let her fight, and even now that they were preparing the horses to leave Aylesbury, she was not desisting. She had pleaded him to the point where she knew she was appearing pathetic, but she wanted to begin her new life as a warrior and that battle was an opportunity for her to prove her strength. She was scared of course, every time she closed her eyes she could see the young Dane she had killed; she wasn’t very sure she liked to kill, but she had spent too much time doing nothing but standing next to Aethelflaed, feeling an intruder in such important manners. And more than that, killing Haesten – or being part of the battle that would eventually kill him – was the only way for her to revenge her Abbess’ death. She was aware that her mind and attitude was quickly changing; she had always had a temper, but she was one for peace and forgiveness; of course, a fight in the nunnery was nothing compared to the siege she had found herself fighting back, but she was still scared of how quickly that dark part of her was emerging and she had to learn how to control it. Not now, though, now she needed that darkness to keep giving her the courage to plead the Dane warrior to bring her into battle. “Lord Uthred, let me fight!” Exasperated, Uthred held her shoulders tight, shaking her just enough to catch her attention and shut her up. “You will listen to me now, woman. You had sworn your sword to Aethelflaed and she’s still in danger. You will prove your value by protecting her. It is and order, have I been clear?” The warriors had left that same evening, bidding their goodbyes to the two women as if they were going for a hunt and not to face death. Finan had smoothly kissed the back of Aoife’s hand before mounting on his horse, and she had felt her cheeks turning red and warm at the contact. He was so confident, Aoife could easily guess that he was experienced with women; he knew the tricks to make a lady fall at his feet. Not that he needed tricks, he was a warrior, a handsome one to say the least; and while his scars promised troubles, his smile could soothe the most turbulent soul. Father Beocca was right, he could well be a prince of the dark and she would follow him to hell without complaints. Standing next to Aethelflaed and Edward, she watched the warriors leave the security of the fortress and disappear in the distance. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see them again, if they would fight together again or if they would just greet her the few times they would meet, until forgetting her name. She was sure she could never forget that weird group of warriors, especially the mysterious prince of the night. That same night, Aoife effectively took on the role of guard of Aethelflaed. At supper time, she was even able to make Steapa smile with her overprotective attitude. The Lady herself cracked a smile and asked her to relax, they were safe there and she should enjoy the food as much as she could; who knew how long it would take before they would taste meat like that again. Aethelflaed then asked for her to wait outside her rooms while she ate and confronted her husband. She was playing with her dagger, sat on a chair, ear pricked and muscles ready to step in if required. In that moment she felt like a true guard. She wondered if Uthred would be proud of her keeping her promise as well as she could. Anyway, she was confident – and again she was being arrogant – she could win over “Lord” Aethelred smoothly, she had subdue braver pigs. She could hear talking, even some commotion, but nothing to be afraid of, and before the moon reached the peak of the sky, the Lord of Mercia had already left the rooms, without acknowledging the presence of the warrior lady against the wall. When they woke up the morning after, they discovered that Alfred had reluctantly accepted to support Uthred in the battle. Aoife was relieved, Alfred’s numbers would increase the chances of success of Uthred’s plan. A plan that she thought was quite stupid: too much was being left to fate and probability, but what did she know? She was just a nun after all. When the day came, Aoife woke up with bad feelings clenching her stomach. She was fearing for the life of Uthred and his men. Aethelflaed had then asked her to get ready to help the injured. She cut pieces of clothes and drawn water from the well all day long, but it had not put her mind to rest. She was spending too much time by herself, thinking of how many men could have already fallen under Danes’ strokes. She had spent most of her monastic life helping the physician of the monastery, growing healing plants, cauterizing wounds and staying next to the dying patients until their last breath, it was not the idea of blood and death to make her hands shake, it was the fear of finding out that her new friends were injured and being unable to save them In the afternoon, she was praying in the chapel when a messenger came. He was bringing a letter from Uthred. The battle had been won, and they were invited to ride to Aethelflaed’s estate, where they would be joined by him and his men. “I’m surprised he knew how to write!” Aoife commented and they laughed, until the laughs became tears, of relief and happiness. In less than an hour, they gathered the horses, belongings and guards and before dawn they left Aylesbury. Aoife couldn’t stop smiling. Saltwic, Mercia Saltwic was a welcoming place. Aoife’s room was right next to Aethelflaed’s, of course. Inside, there was a big, comfortable bed, with a clean chamber pot next to it. There was also a fireplace, with a small wooden tub and a kettle filled with fresh water. She put the kettle on the fire and let the water warm up while she undressed. After the stay in Aylesbury and the ride to Saltwic, her clothes needed to be washed; she, too, was covered in dust and sweat and she sat in the tub for a long time, rubbing her body with a clean cloth until her skin turned red; she took her time to wash her hair and brush it with the small wooden comb she had taken from her room in the nunnery. It made her sad to think of what she had left there: her books, her chessboard, her mother’s doll. However, she smiled thinking about the Abbess, which would have lectured her on the volatility of earthly goods, “All we need – she would have said – is God’s love and mercy.” On the opposite, Sister Aeskel, the physician, would have laughed and hugged her, reassuring her: she would not have the time to read, nor to play chess, living as a warrior, and she was too old to still own a doll. Her belonging would have forever been a remainder of that young girl that had grown up with them and then had left the nest. Only thinking about her, Aoife was happy again. She hoped Aeskel was all right. There was a light knock on the door and Aethelflaed came in without waiting for an answer; she looked happy, almost excited, not at all bothered by Aoife’s nakedness. She, on the opposite, was quickly becoming red from embarrassment. “I have something for you.” the Lady chirped and only then Aoife noticed she was holding something in her arms. “Lady.” she protested “You have to stop buying me gifts, you’ve done enough for a lifetime.” “Oh hush. I noticed that you looked very uncomfortable in my dress and I wanted you to wear something more… appropriate to your role.” she sat on the bed and, with a proud smile, showed her friend what she had brought. They were clothes, as Aoife had already guessed from her words, but not the common clothes of a lady. There were two tunics, one red and one blue, a linen shirt, two pairs of brown trousers and brown shoes. “I asked my seamstresses to have them ready for our arrival” Aethelflaed said “are you happy?” Aoife was at loss of words “Happy? Lady, this is too much!” “It is not.” her friend assured “Also, the blacksmith is working on your warrior clothes, but it is going to take some time. And here” she threw are a small leather bag “your first payment.” Inside the bag there were five pieces of silver, Aoife shook her head vigorously “Lady, this is too much!” and she tried to give the money back. Aethelflaed held her hands, closing Aoife’s fingers around the bag “You have been a great guard and a great friend, Aoife. You deserve all of this and more for risking your life for me. Stop being stubborn and accept my way to say thank you.” For the first time since they had met, Aoife hugged Aethelflaed. There was a stream within walking distance from Aethelflaed’s estate. After two days of doing nothing, Aoife decided that she needed some type of normalcy in her life and, when the sun reached its peak, she walked to the stream, a basket of dirty clothes under her arm. It was a cold winter day, of course, and her hands, dipped in the water, soon turned blue. Nonetheless, she found quite calming to rub the linen on the stones, smoothed by the repetitive movement of the stream. The sun was almost setting when she heard the soft drumming of hooves on snow. And there they were, the men of Cookham, covered in dirt and blood and riding slowly towards Saltwic. There were also prisoners, Danes, who were coughing and stumbling in the white cold ground. Aoife collected the wet clothes in the hamper and run back to the estate. Her heart was beating fast, and she tried to suppress the desire to see the Irishman again. She had thought that being away from him would ease her passion, but she was wrong, and she run faster to reach him, to be sure he was fine. Aethelflaed was already in the hall when Aoife arrived, and invited her to leave the wet clothes to the servants and prepare herself to assist the injured. On her time in Wincelcumb, she had the pleasure to assist Aoife during her working hours in the infirmary. Most of the injured had been nuns who had hurt themselves working, but, once or twice, peasants had come asking for help with more serious injuries. Aethelflaed had watched Aoife cauterize wounds and heal ulcers without flinching. “God guides my hand.” she used to answer to her amazed face. It had been her strength and composure to play a fundamental role in her decision to bring Aoife with her. Aethelflaed watched her sweetly; that and the instant fondness she felt for her. Uthred was the first to enter the hall, followed closely by Sithric and Finan and then by the rest of his men.  Aoife could see that a couple of warriors were missing, but the presents didn’t look injured. They were tired, cold and hungry, however, and Aethelflaed invited them all to sit. Aoife had waited to see the warrior for days and yet, now that he was right in front of her, she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Had she done that, she would have found him already watching her fondly, yet tiredly. He had found himself thinking about her, once or twice during the mission. She had been a pleasant surprise from the beginning, and he would be a fool not to be attracted by pretty women. And she was, without doubt, extremely pretty. Seeing her, all busy in her role of healer, with her dark hair back in a braid – single braid for a unmarried woman, her cheeks and nose all red for the cold, he had forgot about more urgent manners. Manners that Uthred spare no time to address. “Osferth is at the alehouse. He’s injured.” Uthred said and before he could even sit down, Aoife had grabbed her cloak and was already running outside. She had grown fond of the monk, and without more information, she could not help but imagine the worst. Was her too late? She hoped not, she had yet to know him well and she did not want to lose a friend, or a potential friend. “Aoife wait!” someone shouted from behind her and she slowed down to let Finan reach her. She didn’t ask him why he followed her, he needed food and to sit near the fire for a while, but she could see how worried he looked. Knowing that he would not rest until Osferth was safe, she let him come her to the alehouse. He showed her the way up the stairs, to the last room down the corridor, one of the few with a door. Aoife tried not to show interest in the unholy events that were taking place in the other rooms but Finan caught her peeking in one of them and couldn’t repress a smile. Such an innocent creature she was. Osferth was laying on the bed, looking more tired than in pain, but probably he was just trying to be strong; the left part of his tunic was covered in blood, most of it dark enough to be dry, some of it a bright red. She needed to stop the bleeding. “Hi Osferth.” she greeted, taking off her cloak and kneeling at his side. She smiled sweetly, as Sister Aeskel had taught her, to appear calm and confident “Do you mind if I take a look at your wound?”. The boy nodded weakly, smiling lightly and she pulled out a knife from under her tunic to cut apart the fabric of his robe; slowly, being it stuck to his skin. The wound was wide but not deep, thank goodness. The bleeding was easy to stop, but she had to carefully clean it to prevent the infection. With a good bandage and some poultice he would be as good as new in no time. She had the kindness to tell him to, patting his cheek as if he was still a young boy. Finan was amused by the interaction, never had he seen Osferth at such ease with someone he had barely met. There was something about that girl that made everyone feel safe in taking their guard down with her. It was a powerful weapon. Only then, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a dress anymore but the clothes of a warrior: tunic, trousers and the belt with weapons around her waist. There was something about masculine clothes around her feminine curves that aroused him greatly and he was more than happy to leave the room when she asked him to fetch some fresh water to clean the wound. “I do not deserve your assistance, lady.” the monk mumbled when they were left alone, his voice was barely audible “I cannot even use a sword.” She was checking for others injures, but there were just bruises and light cuts, and pondered for a moment whether to answer him or pretend not to have heard him. She opted for the first “But you fought, didn’t you? And with great disadvantage.” She raised her eyes to his face, he was already watching her “I’m sure you’ve been great help and I am even more sure that Lord Uthred would tell the same. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so worried about you.” Before he could argue, Finan came back with a pot of water and a cloth. “To clean.” he explained, waving the peace of fabric, and Osferth could swear he was blushing. Aoife shot the warrior one of her already infamous smile “What a brilliant helper.” she murmured and took both things from Finan’s hands “Thank you.” Both men had heard that, and while Osferth tried to dissimulate a laugh with a cough, Finan couldn’t really care about his friend making fun of him – he would surely have told it to the others later – because he had recognized that tone of voice, many women had addressed him with such tone. She was playing at courtship. From that moment on, he became a source of distraction, following her around and staring at her openly. If she wanted to play that game, she had to know who she was competing against. Soon, she was too shy to keep working knowing that Finan was watching every move she made, touching her ever so slightly when she was close enough; all with that charming smile of him. And when she risked to make Osferth bleed again – she pushed too hard on his stomach, making him scream in pain and the wound stretched dangerously – Finan was sent downstairs again to ask for broth and ale while Aoife finished her work. She smeared some poultice, the one that helped fasten the healing and prevent infection, on the cut before covering it with a clean piece of fabric. When Finan came back, Aoife and him had to force Osferth, with threats and pleas, to eat and drink something before falling asleep. He was acting like a child, really, but he was not to blame; he had lost much blood and experienced very traumatic events; he was scared and unable to sleep. Finan and Aoife sat next to him, one on each side, and talked with him, about everything and nothing, until his breath became regular and he fell asleep. And then, they were left alone. Finan, who until that moment had acted confident and smug, suddenly found himself at loss of word and shied away from her eyes, so deep yet open, so clear yet unreadable. “You should rest too, Finan.” Aoife said, standing up to clean the room. She turned around when he didn’t answer and he shot her a tired smile under his unkept beard. “Don’t worry, lady. It’s not my first battle.” He said “And it’s not easy for a warrior to rest after such events.” Only then Aoife noticed the trickle of fresh blood running down his forehead and on his cheek. “You’re hurt!” she cried out, running to him and taking his face in her hands. Finan was shaken to the core by that touch and unwound against the palm of her hand. He hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in a long time, but that didn’t justify the fastening of his heart, nor the complete inability to control his body. “Let me clean you up.” she whispered sweetly, and he simply nodded, closing his eyes and leaning against the chair. While cleaning the cut she could see her hands shaking, it was not the blood, nor the wound, it was touching him. With one hand she was keeping his hair back, away from his forehead, and it was softer that she expected from someone who spent most time outside and riding his horse. The thumb of her other hand brushed against his skin every time she patted on the cut, his skin rough for the wind and the battle. What surprised her the most was that, under the smell of the battle – of sweat and blood and iron, there was such a sweet scent of wood and salt water, and she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and smell him, and taste his skin with the tip of her tongue. The nun in her was outraged by those unholy, impure thoughts; the woman in her was laughing, finally free by the chain of the Abbey. She was young and he was desirable, she was more then justified in those thoughts. Finan enjoyed every touch of her soft skin and somewhere in his mind he knew she was taking her time too. He was suppressing himself from reasoning; she was young, innocent and inexperienced; while he was older, malicious and he was taking advantage of her juvenile feelings because, after such a long time alone, he needed the affection. He did not really want to think about the fact that no other woman had made his heart pump as strong and his skin crawl as she was doing right there, only by cleaning a cut. He would have worried about it later. Too soon, however, Osferth burst their bubble, groaning and turning in his sleep. Aoife stumble backwards, suddenly aware of her actions. She turned away from the Irishman, cutting, perhaps forever, the thread of complicity and intimacy that they had just created. She bended over Osferth, covering her face with her hair, to shield him from seeing how affected she was by what had just happened. When he tried to say something, she stopped him, raising a hand, and with the lower, tiniest voice she had ever used, she said “Go back to the hall, Finan. I shall stay a little longer with Osferth.” There was no answer but a slam and when she turned around, he was gone. They day after was spent in celebration. Finan was not sure how Osferth and Aethelflaed had managed to convince Aoife to participate, but he was very grateful. Firstly, because she looked particularly pretty in that specific day; a clean green vest was embracing her body in such a lovely way that Finan had to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers more than once. Secondly, it looked like she was enjoying drinking ale, the redness spreading on her full cheeks. She was laughing loudly with Aethelflaed and even if he cannot hear what they were talking about, he was grateful to be standing right in front of her. He had smoothly withdrawn himself from the conversation with Sithric and other warriors and leant against the back of the chair, staring at her. And everybody had noticed that, including her. He didn’t care, though, he liked how she was squirming under his gaze. He knew that she too was thinking about the day before, about how their bodies had searched each other. He had felt something unusual, a need of a deeper and more intimate connection, and while part of him was scared, the other was intrigued, almost happy to be back on having feelings of the sort. He had imagined, once or twice, how his life would be with a wife and children, but the ghosts of his past were still hunting him, and they would probably be hunting him forever. They were the reason he had left abruptly the day before; those and knowing that she was ashamed of being that close to him. Of course, she was not to blame, she could have – and she deserved – a better man, a younger, smarter, easier man than him. And it made his heart ache. As always, he was rushing his feelings; he had only known her for a few days and there was also the possibility that all that desire was just a consequence of his need to give into his urges. As the right hand of Uthred of Bebbanburg, he spent long periods of time without touching a woman, especially now, with the outlaw situation and everything. Aoife was young and beautiful and such a complicated combination of strength and innocence; it was not unusual that he was aroused by her. As did most of the men in the room; he could say. He could not blame them for looking at her hungrily, but he could surely hate them. He was proud, however, that it was not their gazes to get her on edge, only his. Their eyes met, and he raised his cup in her direction, making her smile a little and blush profusely. Pretty girl. Before dawn, Aoife had helped Osferth to his room. Dinner was being serve in the hall and Uthred had ordered for the prisoners to be fed too; Aoife did not like the idea of eating under the same roof as them and she was feeling more tired than hungry; therefore, she retreated in her room and was fast asleep. Had she known, she would have never left Finan’s side. She woke up at first light, as every other day. She decided to go pray before visiting Osferth and when she left church, people were already working. After her time alone with God, she was feeling peaceful and she walked to the alehouse singing under her breath. Her spirit changed when she entered Osferth’s room. He was not alone, Finan was sitting on the bed next to the monk, head in his hands. Osferth too looked shaken. “What’s wrong?” she asked concerned, running to her patient “Are you feeling sick?” The young monk shook his head, but it was the Irishman to answer. “Sithric is gone.” Aoife shot Osferth a confused look “He betrayed us, lady.” the monk explained “He fought with Uthred yesterday and this morning he was gone. And with him, the prisoners.” His voice was plain, but she could see in his eyes that he was suffering. Finan wasn’t even trying to hide how much the betrayal had affected him; he was clearly upset, and Aoife could understand why. Among all Uthred’s men, Sithric was Finan closest friend and his betrayal was making him doubt that relation. Aoife too was shaken; she did not know the man well, but she was sure about his loyalty to Uthred and his companions. She had seen him laugh his heart out, joking and playing with the others as if they were family. It was weird. And by the face of the two men in front of her, it was worse that if he was dead. Aoife could not find the right words to comfort them and she hoped that her presence would be enough, or at least well accepted. With a small smile to Osferth, she sat down next to Finan, as close as possible, and she delicately reached to hold his hand in hers. His skin was warm and rough, as she remembered, and he stiffened under her touch, not used to affection. Then he slowly relaxed, his thumb grazing over her knuckles. The three spent hours in silence on that uncomfortable bed in that bad smelling room, Osferth laying on one side, Finan and Aoife sitting on the other, hand in hand. Chapter Four.