#and she was raised not to have a northern accent and she went to a grammar school and everything

[writeforfandoms]

Homeward Bound 1

Find the series masterlist

Welcome to my newest wip, because dragons are my absolute favorite fantasy creature. Also, please leave canon at the door, this is a full on fantasy AU we're now entering.

Seriously. I have so much world building already done for this. Come ask me questions.

We've got a bit of a slow burn, dragons, baby dragons, and drama. What more could you want?

Eventual Simon Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, fantasy au rules, literal dragons.

Word count: 1k

You huffed as, yet again, Kyle and John invaded the nesting area. They had gotten more polite over the last weeks, but still. 

Truly, though, you couldn't entirely blame them. They were both in the group for this upcoming Hatching, and were very eager. John had been passed over last time, and Kyle was new this time. 

You would never tell them, but you had a good feeling for them, for this season. 

“Quiet down,” you told them, stern and no-nonsense, refusing to smile at their silliness. 

“Aw, we jus’ wanted te see,” John wheedled, his northern accent still strong despite his time in the capital. 

You rolled your eyes. “Quietly, then,” you stressed, taking a quick look round. Most of the dragons were still calm, only one or two first timers fidgety and anxious. Good enough. Nothing to fuss over. 

Kyle nodded eagerly, making a face at John. But the two were quick to look around the nests, whispering to each other. 

You just closed your eyes and leaned back in your seat. They'd be fine. And if they weren't, they'd get hissed at. 

Good enough. 

Yawning briefly, you blinked lazily up at the ceiling of the cave, which stretched far above your head. Strategic perches had been hewn into the rock over generations of dragons, giving plenty of spaces above the hatching grounds for the dragons to observe. The seating had been added for humans to observe, long before you. 

In a matter of weeks, the seats would be filled, and the cave would be the site of great joy once again. 

Kyle cleared his throat softly, prompting you to look at him instead of the ceiling. You raised one eyebrow in silent question. 

“You know best,” he murmured with a little smile. “How are they looking?”

“Healthy,” you murmured. “No issues that I can see. It's a good clutch this year.” 

“Good.” Kyle smiled, clearly pleased. “That's good to hear.” 

“You don't have long to wait now,” you encouraged gently, taking pity on the young man. 

He nodded, looking at the nests and the mothers with something akin to awe in his eyes. “Not long,” he agreed in a murmur. 

Your lips twitched in a smile, a little against your will. You had appearances to maintain, after all. “Go on,” you murmured. “Either go say hi to some of them, or go elsewhere.”

He shot you a look, a little startled and a little betrayed, but he nodded. He made the smart choice and went to the silver near you, greeting her. He'd be fine. 

You, instead, looked for John to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble. It took you a moment to spot him, way out by Ilsbet. Rather to your surprise, she had tucked him into her nest. 

Could be first-timer instincts, although most first-time mothers went the other way and drove everyone away from their nests… 

You meandered your way over there, smiling when Ilsbet chirruped at you in greeting, stretching her head out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart,” you murmured, scratching under her chin. “You seem to have a pest in your nest.” 

“Oi!” John's indignation was muffled somewhat. 

Ilsbet purred, trying to encourage you closer. Probably so she could tuck you into her nest along with John. 

“No, sweetheart.” You patted her nose. “I can't. We've talked about this, remember?” 

She drooped, massive green body only squishing John a little. He oofed. 

“Oh come now,” you scolded gently. “None of that, hm? Or your rider will insist I'm tormenting you.” 

“Are you not?” The dry question came from behind you. 

You didn't jump, but you did slowly turn to look. Ilsbet's rider was big and broad, blonde hair kept short, the usual fabric covering the lower half of his face. Brown eyes stared at you, impassive and unimpressed. 

“No, Simon. I am not tormenting your dragon.” You kept your tone flat as you spoke to him, none of the teasing warmth you had for Ilsbet coming through. 

Simon grunted once and stepped around you, staring down at John in his dragon's nest. “Out.” 

“But–” John started to protest. 

“Out,” Simon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John sighed but got out of the nest carefully. Ilsbet didn't even notice, busy purring and chirping at her rider. You did catch a glimpse of four eggs, shells still soft beige flecked with gold. Good. 

You were quick to back off and leave Simon alone. He was notorious for being difficult to get close to, even among the riders. And since this was Ilsbet's first time nesting… Well. You expected him to be extra grumpy. 

But the hatching wasn't that far away now, thankfully. 

You made your way back over to your seat, settling down again. In a little while, you'd check on the mothers, see if they needed anything. See if you could get another count on the eggs. 

But that would be in a little bit. For now, you found Kyle and John, watching them talk quietly. Your gaze wandered back to Simon, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his body language had softened as he spoke to his dragon. 

He did have a heart. You'd known that, of course. You'd been at the hatching when he'd been selected. Dragons didn't select people who were heartless. 

Although how such a sweet dragon had selected someone as reserved as Simon… You would never understand. 

John and Kyle left, and Simon left not long after them. Your domain returned to quiet, the sand warm even through your shoes. All was as it should be. 

You breathed out slowly, eyes drooping half-closed again. This was better. 

Not too much longer until the hatching. 

Not that you went a single day without seeing Simon, as he came in to check on Ilsbet often. It was almost like he didn't trust you. 

Honestly, you weren't sure if it was just you, or if he was just like that in general. After several days of dealing with him, you were inclined to think he was just like that. 

Well. The hatching would be over soon, and then it was unlikely you'd see much of him for three more years.

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 24

First / Previous / Next

After her meal - Fen had no idea what the local time was yet on Minaren, so it could have been breakfast, lunch, or dinner for all she knew - she said her goodbyes to Zhe and told her where she was docked. "I'm leaving in a day or two, so come and find me before that if you want a job." Fen winked and Zhe's fur rippled a blush.

As they walked away, Fen wondered why she did that. Zhe was cute enough she supposed, but she was looking at hiring her, she probably shouldn't try and date a future employee. Besides, the hole in her heart Ma-ren left hasn't healed over.

Minaren was a beautiful station and the head of the K'laxi governemnt. What it wasn't was a good place to source a crew for a mercenary group. If Zhe signed on, that was still only one other person. The manual for her frigate - she'd still have to name it - said that a crew of four was the bare minimum for safe operations. Where was she going to find three other people who wanted to sign on with a new merc with a lot of money and not a lot of jobs?

Gord had mentioned that most stations and starbases had a Basement - not literally, but sometimes yes. The name came from an illicit bazar in the mainenance tunnels of an old human orbital in Sol that had been inhabited for millennia. Somewhere that people weren't and so the kind of deals that happened out of the prying eyes of the public and the authorities took place. Finding a place like that as an outsider was tough, but Fen had a few ideas.

She walked around a bit until she came upon a less developed section of forest. The deeper she went, the less she saw the uniform of K'laxi officials and more the plain clothes of people who saw Minaren as a job, or better yet, an opportunity. After about twenty minutes she found what she was looking for.

The dive bar had a sign that was hand painted in the raised and rounded K'laxi script. She pushed open the door and stepped in and waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. The place smelled of spices and old frying oil and just a twinge of ethanol. K'laxi could drink alcohol like humans, but it didn't affect them the same way. K'laxi didn't get drunk like a human would, but alcohol would cause them to slow down and cool. Too much would induce hibernation. They were originally a forested mammalian type animal deep in their past and there is evidence that their ancient ancestors hibernated when food was scarce. Their planet rotated without a wobble and without a tilt like Earth, so they didn't have seasons per-se. Walking around, Fen could see ears slowly swivel to listen to her approach and some of the more 'sober' K'laxi glowered at her approach.

The bartender put down the mug he was drying - didn't matter where you were, there was always glassware to clean and put away - and in thickly accented Colonic said "Friend, I think you are lost." It was without malice, but it also brooked no discussion.

Fen smiled and flashed a toothy smile. The bartender unconsciously flinched as the aggression and his ears flattened. "Sorry my friend, I don't think I'm lost. I'm looking to get a glass of vikolen and nobody out there-" she gestured towards the more public part of the station "-seems to be able to make one worth a damn. Any chance you can help a girl out?" Once when a K'laxi trader had come passing through home, she had remarked how Fen's Gen'mil accent sounded thickly of the northern regions that her familial line originated from. Back on K'lax it was a source of derision for some. She sounded like a bumpkin supposedly. Fen knew as well as anyone how to turn that to her advantage.

At the rapid fire greeting and drink order in K'inmar the bartender's face flashed through at least three emotions. He went from the blank face of trying to steer a lost tourist away to surprise and then to suspicion. The only humans he knew that could speak K'inmar that well were in the intelligence corps and they did not order vikolen. It was supposed to be nearly undrinkable to most humans. Not poisonous, just bad tasting. "You want a vikolen?" He didn't even try and hide his surprise.

"Sure do. Haven't had one since I left home, and every time I tried to order one, I was told they didn't have the ingredients or that nobody ever ordered them. I figure here, on Minaren, I had better be able to get a classic vikolen." Fen's little show was gathering a small audience. Not even K'laxi ordered vikolen regularly. It was more a stunt cocktail that was for youths ordering their first drink on a dare, or for the elderly who took it as a tonic.

The bartender's tail twitched. "You know what? Fine. It's been a while since we had a show here. Two Stars, up front."

Fen took out the cash and laid it on the counter, and sat down. The bartender scooped up the money and reached under for a wood and stone mug. He dropped in some herbs and began to muddle them into the bottom while he hummed to himself. Fen smiled at the realization that he was humming the incantation to Olenar - the old god of drinks and celebrations. He was making the vikolen right. Fen joined in on the second verse when he added the spirit. The eldest in her familial line back home drank vikolen and everyone knew the song. The bartender flicked his ears in amusement, but didn't stop humming. Next was the alcohol, a clear strong liquor flavored with bitter herbs. Finally, clear water and a drop of blue Vik essence. He placed the drink in front of Fen with two hands, just as the song finished. "There. A vikolen my matriarch would be proud of. Be honored, friend"

Fen took the drink in two hands, as it was given and lifted it to her nose. As she brought it closer, the woodsy, bitter smell filled her nostrils. It reminded her of her Matriarch, Dem'iril as she would sit at the head of the long wooden table - one of the only things from K'lax they had - and she would tell stories to the kids, explaining the world. She took a sip.

The warmth spread down her throat and into her stomach. The bitter flavors activated the far back of her tongue, and she was able to taste the dryness of the drink. As she swallowed, she breathed in again slightly to get the afterflavors. She placed the mug on the bar and sighed happily. "Friend, you would make Olenar themselves happy with that draught. Nicely done."

The bartender stood back, his mouth slightly open. "Y-you drank it. You drank it like my matriarch."

Fen's head tilts slightly. "Of course I did. It was excellently made. It would be foolish to waste it."

At that, Fen turned. The patrons of the bar were all staring at her. One of them - a young kid, probably barely old enough to be in here - spoke up. "You're... not K'laxi in disguise, are you?"

Fen laughed, and that broke the spell. Everyone laughed along with her, including the bartender. "No, I was raised as an orphan by the Gem'mil line, far from here."

"Gen'mil?" One of the elder K'laxi at the bar and turned, his eyes rheumy from age and drink. "Gen'mil is a fine family, with an ancient history. They've fallen on hard times. It's a shame." His ears flattened.

"They will rise again, friend. It is the way of the world. Families rise and fall. So long as we still live, we will prevail." Fen took another large sip of the drink. It was even better the second time.

"Hah." The bartender's ears faced forward, and his fur rippled. "You may look human." He poked Fen's chest. "But you have the heart of K'laxi. You're always welcome to drink here."

"Well then, I think we celebrate the discovery of a new bar with a round of drinks for everyone!" Over the roar of the crowd, Fen reached into her pocket and took a fistfull of Stars out and slid them to the bartender. "Whatever anyone wants to drink, until the money's gone." She looked back at the crowd, and then to the bartender again. "Or until you think everyone's had enough."

The money disappeared and the bartender nodded. "Looks like I have my work cut out for me then. Excuse me." He stepped away to handle the flood of orders that came in. Fen sipped her drink again and smiled.

It turned out that it was already evening when Fen showed up, and the money lasted deep into the night. By the end, Fen was helping the bartender - his name was Ullen - with handing out drinks and singing along in the endless drinking songs that started up. She only had the one vikolen, the whole night, but that was more than enough. She felt light on her feet and floaty. The herbs were slightly intoxicating to humans when combined with the alcohol.

Late, late into the night, Fen and Ullen had chased the last of the stragglers out and he had gratefully locked the door. Fen was behind the counter taking another load of glassware out of the washer, and reading another tray of dirty glasses to wash. "Everyone's out?"

"Finally, thank the Ancestors. Thank's for the help, Fen."

Fen laughed. "Don't worry about it, Ullen. I caused the ruckus."

"Speaking of which." Ullen had a smaller, though still decently sized stack of Stars and he slid it to Fen. "This is what's left of your money, you gave me enough to have everyone drink free for almost three days."

Fen slid the money back. "Take it, Ullen. Think of it as an investment in your success... and also payment."

Ullen's ears swung back and forth. "Payment? For what?"

"Information. Can you tell me where the nearest entrance to the Basement is?"

Ullen crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating, but his tail swished back and forth, giving away his amusement. "I suppose you don't mean where I keep the extra Olenian herbs."

Fen said nothing.

Ullen sighed and walked over to the door, verifying it was locked. "Come with me." He walked behind the bar and bent down. He lifted up a slightly wet anti-slip mat and there was a silver ring inset into the floor. He pulled up and twisted at the same time, and there was a hiss and a square meter of floor rose up until it was two meters tall, supported my beams. A lift.

"You have an entrance to the Basement here? Come on Ullen. That's too much." Fen approached the lift, but did not step inside.

"I promise Fen, it's on the up and up. Honestly, when you first came in, I figured you were an out-of-your-depth merc looking for a Basement entrance, but I had no idea you were... who you are." His fur rippled again. "I promise, it's real. We've always been friendly with those... underneath. Head on down, and walk spinward. You'll come to the entrance. This week's code is "Tep'ra'fel is not immortal."

Fen's breath caught in her throat. "Tep'ra'fel was the K'laxi word for the Human Empress. 'The undeniable' was the most accurate translation. K'lax has been a vichy state of the human empire for nearly half a millennium. "That's... quite a codeword."

Ullen smiled with his teeth. "That's how you know it's a good one. If you're afraid to say it, you don't need the Basement."

Fen stepped onto the lift and it slid down into the floor.

[countrymusiclover]

18 - Dealing with House Frey

Part 19

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila

Leaning my back against a tree I stood guard outside the maesters tent set up in our camp while Chezney went in searching for the ingredients needed for a tea that could abort a baby.  I didn’t wish to do anything to the babe in my belly if I was wrong in thinking it was Jaime’s.  So we needed this to be our last stitch backup plan just in case.  “Are all the ingredients there?  I’m not sure how much longer we have before the maester returns.” 

“I’m doing my best, Hael.  There’s far more different teas in here than I thought they’d be.  If I give you the wrong one it could possibly kill you.” She shouted as quietly as she could but enough where I could hear her. 

Wrapping my arms around myself tightly I spoke back to my best friend. “I know you’re not a maester but I still have faith in you.” 

“I appreciate it.  Now keep watch so we’re not caught.” Chezney warned me from inside the tent. 

Hearing footsteps approaching me from behind I saw hands cover my eyes before I could get a glance at whoever was behind me. “Who do you think it is?” 

“Tyrion?” I joked recognizing the thick northern accent so easily the second he spoke. 

Robb lowered his hands, spinning me around where my hands landed on the chest plates of his armor. “He only wishes, Hael.  What are you doing out here?” 

“Chezney wasn’t feeling good so I told her the Maester might have something to help her.  I’m simply waiting for her to find what she needs.” 

Robb tilted his head. “You could’ve told me.  I just saw the Maester tending to some wounds from the battle the other day.” 

“I didn’t wish to bother you.  You have far enough on your plate as is.” I sent him a sympathetic smile. 

He raised his right hand placing it on the side of my face.  “Never worry about asking me for anything.  You’re my Queen.  I’ll give you whatever you want, just say the word.” 

“Thank you.” I leaned up on my toes bringing my lips up onto his.  Robb deepened the kiss tilting the side of my face upward in his palm. 

Chezney suddenly poked her head out into the area not seeing Robb standing there at first. “Haelesa, I found the moon te - medicine I needed for my stomach ache.  Hi Robb.” 

“Chezney, I hope the medicine ails your pain.” He nodded at her. 

“Your grace.” A stark guard bowed to the wolf. 

The three of us turned our attention to the guard who handed him a sealed piece of paper quickly leaving us alone.  He unfolded the scroll reading it out loud. “House Frey, requests your presence at his castle Lord Stark.  You and your foreign wife.  If you refuse you will no longer have my permission to use my crossing.” 

“Then we must go otherwise we’ll never get closer to my family home or Kings Landing.” I touched his forearm and he nodded in agreement. 

By the time we had reached Frey castle the sun was nearing sunset over the crossing waters.  We were escorted into a large open throne room where Walder Frey sat at the center.  He was an elderly man glaring at me and Robb until we stopped walking. “My honored guests... be welcome within my walls and at my table.  I extend to you my hospitality and protection in the light of the Seven.” 

“We thank you for your hospitality, my lord.  I have come to make my apologies, my lord, and to beg your forgiveness.” Robb responded to the man of the House. 

Lord Frey turned his head with many young girls entering the room, groups standing on separate corners of the room. “Don't beg my forgiveness, Your Grace.  It wasn't me you spurned. It was my girls.” 

Muttering under my breath I heard Chezney gasp counting off the number quietly. “That makes eleven girls.  Four different mothers and the newest one being the fifth.” 

“One of them was supposed to be queen.  Now none of them are.  This is Arwyen my daughter.  My daughter Walda, my daughter Derwa, my daughter Waldra.  My eldest granddaughters Ginia and Neila. Serra and Sarra, granddaughters, twins. You could have had either.  Could have had both for all I care.  My granddaughter Marianne.  My granddaughter Freya.” The old man listed off his many daughters and apparently granddaughters until he reached the second to last one. “My granddaughter...Wertha.  Waldra.  Waldina.” 

The young blonde girl corrected her grandfather, meeting my gaze. “I'm Merry.”

“Fine.  And here's my youngest daughter Shirei, though she hasn't bled yet.  Clearly you don't have the patience for all that.” The lord rolled his eyes at her, glancing back at the young wolf. 

Chezney leaned closer to me whispering. “Would he really have wed Shirei off to him so young?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him.  Considering he’s gone through four different girls that fast.” I whispered back in response. 

“My ladies.  All men should keep their word, kings most of all.  I was pledged to marry one of you and I broke that vow.  The fault is not with you.  Any man would be lucky to have any one of you.  I did what I did not to slight you, but because I loved another.” Robb began giving an apology to the room of noble ladies and their lord, sparing me a glance over his shoulder when he declared his love for me.  “I know these words cannot set right the wrong I have done to you and your house.  I beg your forgiveness and pledge to do all I can to make amends so the Freys of the Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends.” 

Walder nodded simply. “Very good.”  

“My lord, may I say something before you?” Playing with the clasp of my northern cloak with the Velaryon sigil stitched into the back of it when he didn’t refuse me.  Stepping up around Robb who had taken some steps backwards I didn’t move my gaze from the elderly lord. “I know that the position any of you young women are in is not of your choosing.  I have taken the opportunity away from you to marry a great man and for that I do apologize.  In return I’d like to offer something else.  I’d like to offer some of you the chance to marry a young noble lord among eight bannermen of house Stark or of House Velaryon.” 

“Haelesa.” Robb gasped in a warning tone but didn’t move to interrupt me. 

Clasping my hands together in front of my gown I sighed seeing some of the girls' faces light up when I spoke my next words. “Lord Frey,  I’d like to propose a way to bring the Stark’s and Freys back together as friends.  With your permission I’d like to offer your daughters and granddaughters the opportunity for them to get to choose the men they marry.” 

“Lady Stark, I wish to speak with you privately now!” Robb strided forward grabbing my wrist dragging me out of the room causing everyone to stare and watch silently.  I didn’t know what to say as he dragged me into the nearest empty room of the castle slamming the door behind me where I knew I was somehow in trouble with the wolf of the North. 

[londonhalcyon]

YO KSKSJSJS, Before year's end. Here's mad witch question thats been gnawing at me. Im VERY bad at figuring character accents (doesnt help that all the HP content I know and consumed is either dubbed or made in spanish kdjsjsk) So here's the quesh: *What accents do the character's have?* Specifically Lily, Mérula, the kiddos 👀👀

I’ve simultaneously thought about this a lot and not nearly enough. So I’ll answer with a general caveat: I’m well aware there are numerous dialects and accents within the broader UK regions, so if I’m not specific, it’s just because I haven’t figured it out yet.

Here are some of the characters I’ve thought about so far:

Lily: Her accent is an ever-changing mess. She was born and raised in Southampton (England), went to school in the Scottish Highlands, spent a year in Egypt, spent four years in Darwin (the Northern Territory, Australia), traveled to a bunch of different countries, and lived and worked with people of many different nationalities. In general, she has an English accent with various other influences, but it changes based on where she is and who she’s with at the time. She sounded a little Australian when she first returned to the UK, but she’s begun to veer more Scottish since living in Hogsmeade. But stick her in a room with her parents and she’ll instantly speak with a hint of a Hampshire (regional English) accent.

Penny: She was born in London but has spent most of her life around Scotland (Wigtown, Hogsmeade, etc.), so she sounds more Scottish than anything else. (Similar for many of the other Hogsmeade residents—the Byrnes, Darrows, etc.)

Merula: She lives in the English countryside, but because of her upbringing, I feel like she would have more of the geographically neutral “typical British” accent. She speaks with contemporary Received Pronunciation a lot of the time, though she can sound more “posh” and aristocratic when she wants to (she never wants to).

Kathy: She spent the first sixteen years of her life in Donegal, so her accent is distinctly Irish, though how strong it is varies based on the situation. She also speaks some Irish Gaelic (interestingly, Sam doesn’t, beyond a few words).

Sam: She’s lived in London longer than she lived in Donegal, so she’s more English than Kathy is. But her Irish slips out on occasion—during moments of emotion or exhaustion or when she’s around Kathy.

Robin: He has some sort of southern regional English accent, but I haven’t worked out what.

Mason: He’s Welsh. I’m not sure what dialect he speaks or how strong it is (his mother was born in Wales; his father wasn’t), but he does live in Wales, so at least part of his accent reflects that.

[arickaandherfictionalothers]

Descendants Canon Chapter Two: The Jr Council Finishes Preparations

Gifs top to bottom: Aricka Charming, Doug Crystalsmith, Ben Florian, Aziz Ababwa, and Chad Charming.

The days flew by fast leading up to the arrival of the first wave of transfer students. Thus, the Auradon Jr Royal Council was up to their ears in paperwork and finalizations such as:

Dorm assignments- each VK would have an Auradon student who would help them acclimate to their new environment and how things worked

The placement tests the VKs would take as soon as they were settled in their dorms.

Basic schedules for each transfer student, which would be completed once they selected their electives and language classes.

Preparations for all immunizations and physicals the kids would need, because who KNOWS how messed up the immune systems of a VK was.

The week went by in the blink of an eye and before anyone could believe it, it was Friday morning and the day the VKs would be arriving at Auradon Royal Preparatory School. Aka Auradon Prep.

The Jr Royal Council was assembled on the front steps in a certain way, as pertaining to their royal statuses:

Jane stood by her mother, who was standing to the left and two steps behind Ben and Audrey, who had made it to the final rounds of the selection process for the future ruler of the United States of Auradon.

Chad and Aricka stood behind them, Sebastian, Emma and Doug on either sides of them as Cinderellasburg/Charmington/Sardinia, Hanover and Stonehaven were very close allies.

Aziz, Jordan, Lonnie and Ruby were together, Aziz escorting Jordan and Ruby, Lonnie being her free spirited self, as Northern Wei, Agrabah and Tangletown were allies.

And bringing up the rear was James and Amber as the youngest of the council.

The band was playing “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah,” one of Aricka’s personal favorites, as the limo rolled in. The council moved as one, descending the steps in tandem to reach the limo as it pulled to a stop.

Chad put his free hand over his sister’s, patting it twice to soothe them both, as he raised his hand to wave regally, arm over his head, a firm strong wave to the school and to the limo. Aricka was a bit shyer, as was her public persona, raising her hand and wiggling her fingers slightly, a beatific smile on her face. The duo had earned their nickname of “The Charming Twins,” rightfully.

The limo rolled to a stop and the door opened to reveal the new students-

The first one out being Aricka Kore Page, who immediately broke protocol and ran to Aricka Charming and the girls embraced eagerly. “I’m back-!” She cried and Aricka C beamed.

“Oh I know it was only four months but I missed you-!”

Next came a purple haired teen, immediately followed by an ebony haired boy, who crossed his arms and stood in front of the smaller teen protectively. Right after the tan boy exited the car, a royal blue haired beauty emerged, wearing royal blue head to toe wearing a heart charm necklace, with a tiny coronet in her hair.

The next duo was a teal haired beauty and-

Aricka Charming gasped softly, as she knew the next student - it was Harry. He was even more handsome in the real world, pale skin, striking blue eyes accentuated by a smokey eyeshadow, and he wore the familiar yet unfamiliar red pirate coat and hat. He scanned the assembled teens, and when those eyes met hers, he froze momentarily, before relaxing just as quickly.

Next came two more teens, who went and stood by the purple haired teen. One had black and white hair, and was wearing black and white clothing head to toe with pops of red accents. The other was fair, wearing mostly black gothic style clothing, with a green emerald pendant necklace around her neck, and her green hair fell around her shoulders in waves.

And the last one was a boy wearing bronze colored clothes, with a bandana over his head, with few curly blonde strands peeking through. He had a relaxed smile on his face and he was looking around himself in awe.

Once all the teens were out and assembled, Ben addressed them. “Welcome to Auradon Prep,” he says, walking down the line and shaking all their hands. “I’m Crown Prince Benjamin Florian, and it is an honor to finally be meeting all of you. It is my sincerest wish and hope that today marks the beginning of a new era for our kingdom. I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry from your trip here, so if you’ll follow myself and my council we’ll show you the bathrooms, get you some snacks and then begin your orientation!”

Ben offered his arm to the purple haired teen, who glanced at it dubiously before allowing it, and he began guiding the VKs into the school.

Chad did the same to the blue haired girl, who flushed a bright red before willingly accepting the offer, and Doug offered his to the teal haired pirate, who rolled her eyes but also accepted. Sebastian was already joyously reuniting with his girlfriend, who kept an arm around his back and he kept his around her shoulders.

Aricka Charming was startled when someone cleared their throat next to her, and she turned to see Harry standing there. “Shall we, my pretty?” He asks, and offers her his own arm as the other princes had. She blushes and nods, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm, putting her free hand on top of it, and they all made their way into the school together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@astralshipper @rosieshipper @hyperionshipping @sappy-secrets @yeehawselfshipping @letsgofoletsgo @tsundere-selfship @callsign-revenge

[denimbex1986]

'Oppenheimer star Florence Pugh has been impressing cinema-goers for years now, but her rise is set to continue.

Florence Pugh was cast in her first movie at the age of 17 and received a nomination for a BAFTA Rising Star Award just a few years later. Her roles have ranged from period dramas to horror movies and superhero action films.

Among her most notable roles are those in Midsommar and Marvel's Black Widow. In Christopher Nolan’s upcoming movie Oppenheimer, Pugh plays the role of Jean Tatlock, J. Robert Oppenheimer’s love interest. The film also stars Cillian Murphy, Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, Robert Downey Jr. and more.

Below, we’ve taken a look at everything you need to know about Florence Pugh.

How old is Florence Pugh?

Florence was born on 3 January, 1996, making her 27. For those interested in horoscopes, that makes her a Capricorn.

Where is Florence Pugh from?

The 27-year-old Little Women and Black Widow star grew up in the UK, though she often has fans believing she’s from the US. Florence is well known for her ability to put on accents for her different roles, including her very convincing American accent.

Florence really is British, having been born and raised in Oxford. Apparently, she hasn’t convinced many people of that so far though. Florence addressed the issue on the Off Menu Podcast with James Acaster and Ed Gamble earlier this year.

When host James praised the accent she’d 'put on' during the podcast, Florence said: "Well, I can do northern quite easily. My gran is from Grimsby so I grew up taking the p***out of my grandad."

She added: "So many people think I’m American. Then when I do things publicly, like if I present an award or I’m on a stage talking, they’re like, 'That is the fakest English accent I have ever heard. What do you think I... how... what?"

She also added: "Sometimes when I’ve done Instagram Stories, [they’re] like, 'Oh my god, Florence Pugh sounds like she’s doing an accent,' and I’m like no, that is me. That’s literally me. So sorry."

What has Florence Pugh been in?

Florence starred in The Falling with Game Of Thrones actress Maisie Williams in 2014, a mystery film about a boarding school. In 2016 she starred in Lady Macbeth, which won her huge acclaim, and several awards.

She starred in the 2018 BBC drama The Little Drummer Girl, opposite Alexander Skarsgård, and then went on to play an amateur wrestler in 2019's Fighting With My Family, before starring in horror Midsommar. Also in 2019, she played Amy March in Greta Gerwig's adaptation of Little Women, opposite Saoirse Ronan and Meryl Streep.

Pugh also co-starred with Harry Styles in the Olivia Wilde-directed Don't Worry Darling in 2022.'

[wingsandarrow]

"You're tellin' me. Kill for a Big Mac." Most of the food Daryl had gotten before or after the apocalypse came from a can or from the woods anyway, so no big change there, but he did miss fast food-- one of those stupid things he'd never really noticed until it was impossible to find, like real brewed coffee or ice cream. An actual cheeseburger might put him on his knees. He ignored the look, content to let her stew on that one for a bit. In general, he didn't do a lot to try to overturn people's assumptions about him. He'd learned a long time ago that he couldn't. They'd think what they wanted, and he had sort of brought that one on himself.

"Ugh, that was horrible. Damn Yank." He shuddered at her attempt at his accent. Kyleigh's sounded just as strange to him, somehow even more northern than the usual northern accent. He might have held it against her back before the world went to shit. He'd seen firsthand that the apocalypse didn't do away with all prejudices, but it went a hell of a long way. Nobody looked at him and immediately thought 'white trash' anymore, and he didn't give a shit where she was from as long as she didn't try to kill him. Her company was growing on him too, and as much as he knew he shouldn't get attached--the prison falling apart had proven that much--he knew she'd be just one more person he had to miss when she was gone.

He was oblivious to her reaction to his appalling table manners. It was easy enough to blame that on the apocalypse too, but it probably wasn't true. He might have washed his hands or grabbed a spoon before, or he might not have, but he wouldn't have thought much of it either way. Nobody had raised him with those things in mind. Nobody had really raised him at all, unless they were counting Merle teaching him how to shoot a gun and chug a beer. "Could be a lot worse. We're in the south, so money's on okra," he agreed with a shrug, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth at her obvious delight in it.

It widened into a short huff of a laugh as he licked jelly off his fingers. "'Course I didn't eat a dog. Dogs are cute." He'd always gotten on well with dogs, and kids. They liked him, for some reason, and Daryl found them both easier to get along with than most people. They both brought out the protective side of him that hadn't really been allowed to thrive until the world ended.

"No. The only thing I will agree to is that cows and pigs were delicious and I seriously miss eating them. But I draw the line at feet for any animal." The fact that Daryl said dogs had her looking at him as if he had suddenly spoken another language. Not that she would judge him for that, it was hard to find any kind of food these days even if you were an experienced hunter such as himself. Yes she had seen him out in the woods a few times before, and for a human he was damn good at tracking and knowing what was alright for the others to eat. But dogs? What the hell! They were just trying to live like everyone else! She never once thought that he might be messing with her, these days a person's words meant a hell of a lot more than anything else. And honestly, if someone got hungry enough they could probably eat just about anything.

But the mention of some moonshine brought the smile right back to her face. Most human liquor didn't affect her much but whatever those backwoods boys put in that shit could definitely give her a good buzz. And she had to admit she was a bit curious as to how much the man with the crossbow could handle. "Yeah you guys grow up with that shit don't you? Soon as you get off mother's milk it's the shine for y'all!" She tried her best to mimic his accent but it just sounded horrible on top of her already thick Boston one. Once he let his guard down a little Daryl wasn't so bad and that was a very scary thought. This wasn't the kind of world to make friends in, nor was it the kind to let a damn human close enough to find out what she was.

Her thoughts were disrupted by watching him just jump right into that jelly, only imagining the other shit those fingers had been in. She got it though, they couldn't waste precious water on things like washing their hands. But he just dove right in as if his hands weren't covered in God only knew what. Must have one hell of an immune system! Just as Daryl asked what was in the can she popped it open and let out a happy sigh. "Corn! I know it's not a five star meal or anything but its a lot better than some damn redneck feet." With a grin curling her lip she set the open can down and shook the other near her ear. "Hmmm wanna bet that it's another vegetable or something else? Also please tell me you didn't really eat a dog. I mean I can understand if you had to, but I highly doubt you're that much of a redneck man."

[hella1975]

guys what the fuck do you wear to a horse race lol

[togrowoldinv]

Love Me How?

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Wanda and Reader were friends and teammates before the blip, but when the final battle is over they do not see each other again until after Westview.

Note: In celebration of one year of WandaVision, I thought I’d do a Wanda inspired fic. She has been living in my head rent free for a while now after all. It also features Sam Wilson because I love him. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

“Do we still really have no leads on Wanda? How is this possible, Sam? She can’t be hiding that well,” you say dramatically, overwhelmed by the weeks you’ve been searching for Wanda and never having any success.

“I don’t know, y/n. There was the thing in New Jersey but I talked to Monica Rambeau and she said Wanda just kinda flew off into the distance. My bet is she’s in another country,” Sam explains and you sigh, leaning your head down on the table you are sitting at. Sam puts his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. “I’m sorry. We’ll find her. It’ll just take some more time.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. I just miss her is all,” you lift your head. “Thank you for your help, Sam. It means a lot.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Sam replies with a smirk.

“You’ll never stop calling me that will you? I’m not that much younger than you,” you try to sound serious but you can’t help but smile.

“Oh yes you are,” he laughs. “But you have grown up a lot during this search for Wanda. We’ll find her and we’ll bring her home,” Sam says seriously. You nod.

It’s three more weeks before anymore headway is made in the search. This morning Sam was alerted by a source in Northern Europe that there was some kind of shift of energy that could possibly be Wanda using her powers.

You and Sam jumped quickly to get on the quinjet and investigate. The whole way there you were praying it was Wanda. You needed it to be Wanda. It was hours before you landed and unloaded to trek across the forest in hopes of seeing Wanda. You practiced a speech in your of head of what you should say to her.

But as you stand before Wanda now, you forgot everything you were going to say.

Sam approaches her first. She’s sitting on the steps of an old cabin, drinking a cup of tea. Her body seems to move in calculated, incremental motions as she raises her eyes to meet Sam’s.

She holds up her palm towards Sam as a way of telling him to stop getting any closer. He looks back at you confused. And when he turns back Wanda has moved from the steps and into the cabin.

You both take the opportunity to move closer to the cabin and that’s when you catch sight of Wanda in a red suit levitating in a bedroom.

“What the hell?” Sam asks when his eyeline meets where yours has landed.

“She was just out here? Is that some Doctor Strange shit or something?” You ask and Sam shrugs.

It’s then that the red suited Wanda drops from your view and the Wanda you saw upon arrival walks back towards you and Sam.

“Are you here for what I did? I’m sorry,” Wanda finally speaks in her accented voice to the two of you. Her voice barely makes a sound. Like she hasn’t talked to anyone in weeks. She sounds heartbroken and apologetic.

“We’re not here for that. We just want to help you,” Sam explains and Wanda looks past him to see you.

You haven’t said anything to her yet because what do you say to someone that you’ve always loved? She had found a home in Vision before you even had a chance, so you were her friend. One of her best friends.

You feel like an idiot for not staying with her after the final battle. You said you needed some time to be on your own, so you went back to your own place and moped for weeks. Not realizing that your best friend was going to create a whole grief driven fantasy of her life.

And now seeing her in a desolate place both physically and mentally, it breaks your heart. You should’ve been there for her.

“What about you?” Wanda directs her words at you and a lump on your throat forms.

“I just want you to come home, Max. Please,” you say, managing to hold back tears for now.

Wanda sighs and you and Sam share a look, not knowing what to say next.

“I’m going to make a call. You talk to her,” Sam says quietly so that only you can hear before walking off towards the tree line.

“I don’t have a home anymore. I don’t need to be saved either. I’m perfectly content out here,” Wanda says.

You dare to take a few steps closer to her and stand by the stairs of the porch. She looks at you and you can see the glassy film on her beautiful green eyes. You see how tired is, how in pain she is.

“You do have a home, Wanda. We don’t mean to imply that you need to be saved. We just want you to know you’re not alone,” you explain.

“Aren’t I? Everyone is gone. My Vision, my parents, my Pietro, Natasha, Tony. Everyone is gone! My children!” Wanda yells in grief. She tries to be angry, but her voice comes out broken.

Your heart breaks a little more with each person that she mentions. Especially Natasha. You were always the closest with her and Wanda.

“I’m so sorry. If I could make any one of those people come back, I would. I understand why you did what you did. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I know you,” you say, taking a deep breath before continuing again.

“Wanda, I should’ve been there for you. After the battle, I just kind of left and I was only thinking of myself. I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t being a great friend to you,” you explain as you look off into the distance.

“You don’t have to apologize. You were grieving too. And I don’t think anyone could’ve stopped me from doing what I did. Not even the people I trust the most,” she confesses. Wanda moves closer to you, her hand finding yours.

You squeeze her hand and Wanda speaks again. “Tell me why did you come all this way to find me?”

“We want to have you again with us, Wanda. Whatever is left of the team, we have to try and help put this world back together,” you explain.

“Hmm. What’s the real reason, y/n?” Wanda double crosses. She can always tell when you are holding your true intentions back.

“The real reason? That may be too complicated to say. I think you should just come with us back to New York,” you explain, trying to break your hand from her grasp, but she only holds you tighter.

“Y/n, come on. Tell me,” Wanda pleads.

“I wanted to find you because I wanted to tell you that I love you,” you say shyly.

“You love me how?” Wanda asks.

“I’m in love with you, Wanda. I think you know that I always have been. But that’s not- I don’t want you to think I’m only here for that. I do want you to come back home with us. With me,” you explain, feeling the weight shift from your chest to your stomach at confessing your love for your best friend.

Wanda falls into your arms and you are taken by surprise. Her head lays on your chest and her hands grasp the front of your shirt, desperately clinging onto you. You bring your hands to run up and down her back in a soothing motion.

“I want to try and find my children. I know they have to be out there somewhere,” Wanda says, her voice muffled by pressing so close to your body.

“I’ll help you,” you run a hand up her back and into her hair, softly pulling her closer.

“And I want to be with you,” Wanda says, a bit more clearly as she starts to stand upright again and looks you in the eyes.

“Wanda we don’t have to do anything. If it’s too soon, or you don’t want to ever or-”

She cuts you off with her lips. It’s a tentative kiss at first, but once your hands settle on her hips she deepens the kiss.

“You know I think I’ve always loved you too,” Wanda says breathlessly. “I just never let myself feel it.”

You kiss her once more and don’t stop until you hear Sam walking back up to the cabin.

“Hey y’all, damn I see I missed a lot,” Sam says with his signature grin as he approaches the two of you.

You both blush and Wanda leans into you again. You walk to the quinjet together hand in hand.

“You ready go to home?” You ask Wanda as you enter.

“I’m with you again. I’m already home,” she says with a kiss to your cheek and a squeeze of your hand.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 19

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 19 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story

The girl was extremely pale, with an oval face and round eyes which were especially attractive. She was wearing a light pink skirt, her hair tied back. She looked like a young woman. She rubbed her eyes blankly in the dark, looking from side to side.

"Where am I. . .?"

Chu Wanning said: "You are in Return to Truth barrier I set up."

The girl was taken aback and said fearfully: "Who are you? Why is it so dark here? I can't see you, who's talking?"

Chu Wanning replied: "Did you forget?. . . You're already dead."

The girl's eyes widened: "I'm. . . I. . ."

Slowly, she remembered.

Lowering her head, she folded her hands across her chest. She murmured in a soft, unwavering voice: "I. . . I'm already dead. . ."

"Only souls can come to the Return to Truth barrier. Here, their hatred will be eliminated. No matter whether the dead person has transformed into a vicious ghost or an ordinary spirit, they will retain their original and personality appearance, known as their 'Return to Truth.'"

The girl was frozen for a while as if she was gradually remembering the past. Abruptly, she dropped her face and silently wept.

Chu Wanning said: "Have. . . you been wronged?"

The young girl sobbed: "Are you King Yan*? Or Bai Wuchang*? Are you here to avenge me?"

*(T/N: King Yan [阎王爷] is the one to judge the dead while Bai Wuchang [白无常] is one of the deities to escort spirits to the underworld)

Chu Wanning held his forehead and said: ". . . I'm not King Yan or Bai Wuchang."

The girl sobbed quietly. Chu Wanning was quiet for a while and didn't speak. He waited until her cries calmed down a bit and then said: "But I am here to help you air your grievances."

When the girl heard this, she choked and raised her gaze, and said with a mixture of joy and sorrow: "Then you really are Lord Yama*!"

*(T/N: Same person as King Yan)

". . ." Chu Wanning decided not to continue this topic with her and instead asked: "Do you know what you've done after you died?"

"I don't know. . . not really. I just remember that I was so, so sad. I wanted to get revenge. . . I wanted to go to them. . . I wanted to find him again. . ."

When the soul had just awakened, it would take a minute for all their memories to return to them, but it didn't matter. Chu Wanning patiently asked her: "Who did you want to go to?"

The girl whispered: "My husband, Chen Bohuan."

Chu Wanning was astonished. Chen Boyuan - wasn't that the name of the eldest son of the Chen family?

He asked: "What. . . what's your name? Where are you from?"

The power of Tianwen was infused with this illusionary barrier, and the dead who entered would almost always talk honestly with Chu Wanning. Therefore, the girl replied: "I'm a concubine, Luo Xianxian. I'm from Caidie Town."

"Before I came, I read the analects of Caidie Town. There are more than 500 households in this town, and there's no Luo family. Who is your father?"

The girl slowly remembered the details, her eyes filling with even more sadness: "My father used to be a scholar in the village. He was my father-in-law's brother-in-law's close friend. A few years, he contracted tuberculosis and passed away. Then I was the only one left from my family."

"Then why did you die?"

The young girl froze for a moment and then she sobbed: "I had no other option but to die. They, they lied to my father and stole the secret recipe for the butterfly fragrance powder. They beat me and scolded me, threatened me, and told me to leave Caidie Town. I. . . I'm a weak woman, where else could I go? I didn't have a single relative left in this world. . . The world is so big, where could I go? Apart from the Underworld, where else could I go? Where would there be room for me. . ."

After she recalled the events of her life, she seemed to have infinite bitterness and sorrow in her heart, She was desperate to talk to someone. Chu Wanning didn't even have to ask anything else, she slowly continued on her own.

It turned out that Luo Xianxian lost her mother when she was young. She heard from his father that she had an older brother, but her brother was separated from them in the chaos of the Lower Cultivation Realm, and they never saw him again so she didn't know whether he was dead or alive. When her elder brother was lost, Luo Xianxian wasn't even a year old, still in swaddling clothes. Later, she tried to remember her elder brother, but she still had no recollection of him.

There were only two people left in the Luo family were Xianxian and her father. The father and daughter depended on each other. They wandered around and finally built a small house in Caidie Town and lived there.

That year, Luo Xianxian was five years old. The Chen family's oldest son, Chen Bohuan, was two years older than her.

At that time, the Chen family hadn't made its fortune. Several members of the family lived in a two-bedroom earth-rammed hut. An orange tree was planted by the low wall of the small courtyard. In autumn, the tree was full of fruit and it grew over the low wall and snuck into the Luo family's yard.

Luo Xianxian tilted her head. The branches full of oranges looked like lanterns during the Lantern Festival. She was shy and introverted. She didn't play with others. She was always alone. She would dutifully be peeling some beans, raising her head from time to time and peeking at the orange tree peeking over from the Chen family's yard.

The oranges were temptingly yellow, and against the sunlight, you could almost taste the sweet and sour fullness of their juice.

Luo Xianxian looked eagerly, gulping and swallowing from time to time. Her cheeks were sore from the cravings.

But she never reached out to pick one. Her dad was a scholar who had been inferior to her father-in-law's brother-in-law. He failed the exam, but he didn't lose his backbone. His sour scholar brain was probably hurting but he always coached his daughter to be a "gentleman."

At the age of three, Luo XianXian knew that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed. She never reached out to pick the oranges that were close at hand, even though she craved for them.

One night, Luo Xianxian sat in the courtyard humming and washing clothes by the moonlight.

Her father wasn't very strong, so he had to go to bed early. The poor man’s child had to take charge of the house. The little girl rolled up her sleeves, soaked her thin arms in the barrel, and rubbed her face earnestly.

Suddenly a hoarse cough came from the door, and a young man covered in blood staggered in and stared at her.

The little girl was so frightened that she even forgot to scream.

The young man's face was dirty and bloody, but his eyebrows were very handsome. The two people stood frozen staring at each other for a while. In the end, the young man couldn't stand up anymore. He sat down slowly against the base of the wall, panting, and said hoarsely: "Bring some water."

Xu was that kind of young man who didn't look like a bad person or perhaps Luo Xianxian was simply too kind-hearted. Although afraid, she still ran back to the house, made a cup of tea, and held it up to the young man's mouth.

The young man wasn't very polite. He threw back his drink, then wiped the corner of his mouth. Rolling his eyes back, he stared at Luo Xianxian's pretty face. His eyes glazed over and he didn't speak for a while.

He didn't speak, Luo Xianxian didn't either, she just blinked timidly. She held her hands at a distance she thought was safe enough and sized up the stranger.

". . . You look like an old friend of mine." The young man suddenly grinned, squinted his eyes and smiled eerily. With the bloodstains on his face, it was really quite terrifying. "Especially the eyes, they're so round. It looks like you could gouge them out, stick it in your fingers and swallow it in one bite."

When he said such horrible words so plainly, even with a little smile, Luo Xianxian trembled even more, and subconsciously covered her eyes.

The young man said: "Heh, clever girl. Just cover them up. Don't keep staring at me. I can't control my own hands."

He spoke casually with a northern accent.

Moonlight fell into the courtyard. The young man licked his chapped lips and suddenly saw the orange tree stretching into the yard. For some reason, his eyes lit up. His pupils flashed in the light, the lustre brightening for a moment before dimming back down. He raised his chin and motioned.

"Girl."

Luo Xianxian: ". . ."

"Pick an orange and peel it for me."

Luo Xianxian finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, slightly trembling, but she didn't hesitate to say: "Sir, that's not my family's fruit tree. It belongs to someone else. I can't pick one."

The young man was taken aback. She wasn't sure what went through his mind but his face slowly sank.

"I told you to pick one. I want to eat an orange. Pick it for me!" The last phrase was harsh like he spat it out through his teeth. Luo Xianxian shuddered, still stubbornly stood her ground.

The little girl was soft-natured, but her bones were the same as her stubborn father.

"I won't."

The young man's eyes narrowed. He raised his nose, his expression changing: "Do you know who you're talking to, brat?"

"If you want to have some water, I-I'll pour it for you. If you want to eat, there's some food inside, but the orange tree isn't mine. I can't pick it. Father said taking something without asking is stealing. I'm a gentleman. Wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed. You can't fish. . ."

In her rambling, she started talking about fish instead. The half-grown girl blushed. She insisted on what her father had taught herself and ended up completely fumbling her words, but under the young man's gaze, she was violently trembling, and her legs were weak.

The young man was speechless.

Hearing such a little kid, especially a young girl, say things as odd as "taking without asking is stealing", "wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed", and - and "I'm a gentleman"?? pfff, he normally wouldn't be able to stop himself from laughing out loud.

But he couldn't laugh.

On the contrary, there was a strong resentment in his chest and his heart was being crushed like it was being trampled by a horse.

"I hate your kind, so-called. . ." He supported himself on the wall, shakily rising to his feet, and hissed out: "Good man, gentleman, hero, benevolent."

Under Luo Xianxian's horrified gaze, he slowly moved his injured foot, he moved over to the orange tree. He looked up, sniffed the smell of the orange tree almost greedily, and then a red gleam of rage flashed in his eyes. Before Luo Xianxian could react, he climbed the tree, shaking it, trampling, kicking, and hitting its branches.

All the oranges on the branch crackled and fell to the ground, rolling away. The young man's smile was twisted and he shouted wantonly: "Taking something without asking is stealing! Wealth can't be lusted after! The mighty never yield!"

"Sir! What are you doing! Stop! Dad! Dad!"

Luo Xianxian hadn't wanted to call for her father. Her father was a weak, powerless scholar so there wasn't much he could do. But she was a little girl after all, and she was so terrified that she finally broke down.

"What are you shouting about! Your dad can come out and I'll cut him down too!"

The little girl was scared silly. Small water droplets rimmed her round eyes, tears forming.

The Chen family next door went to a neighbouring village to visit relatives so the whole family was away. No one could stop this lunatic.

The little madman shook the oranges all over the ground and still wasn't satisfied. He stomped on the ground several times, crushing several oranges, growing ferocious. She didn't know where he found the strength, but he jumped over the wall and flipped into the Chen's yard. In the courtyard, he found an axe and chopped down the whole tree. Then he turned around and cackled.

He laughed and laughed then abruptly stopped. From his squat, he straightened himself, staring blankly in a daze.

Suddenly, he turned his head and waved to Luo Xianxian: "Girl, come here."

". . ." Luo Xianxian didn't move. She was frozen to the spot, the little cloth shoes embroidered with yellow flowers digging into the ground.

Seeing her hesitating, the young man calmed down his voice and said as sweetly as he could, "Come here. I have a treat for you."

"I. . . I don't. . . no, I don't want to go. . ." Luo Xianxian mumbled. Before she finished speaking, the young man suddenly grew irate again——

"If you don't come here, I'll go into your house and slice up your father!"

Luo Xian trembled harshly but finally took small steps towards him.

The young man squinted at her: "Hurry up, I'm not waiting all day."

Luo Xianxian lowered her head and moved towards him. When she was still a few steps away, he suddenly stretched out his hand and violently pulled her over. Luo Xianxian let out a scream, but it only reached the back of her throat before something was shoved into her mouth to gag her. The young man stuffed an orange into her mouth. It wasn't peeled or washed, but covered in the dirt and pushed into her mouth.

The young man tried to force her to eat it in one bite. The orange split open and was rotten inside. Half her face was covered in the rotten fruit, but the lunatic was still smiling. He crushed the fruit into her face, stuffing it into her mouth that she was desperately trying to keep closed.

"Aren't you a gentleman? I thought you didn't eat stolen food. So what are you eating now? Huh? What are you eating now!"

"Haaa. . . no. . . I don't want. . . dad. . .dad. . ."

"Swallow it." The young man narrowed his eyes and stuffed the last bit of fruit into Luo Xianxian's mouth. His pupils gleamed with an eerie light and he shuddered. "Swallow it!"

He watched Luo Xianxian forcibly swallow the orang. She muffledly choked out "Dad". The young man was silent for a while, then he suddenly smiled.

That smile was more terrifying than his hideous face.

He stroked Luo Xianxian's hair with satisfaction, squatting in front of her, and said softly: "What are you calling your dad for? Shouldn't you be called out to me? Isn't the orange I gave you sweet? Was it delicious?"

With that, he picked up another one off the ground.

This time, he didn't stuff it in her mouth. He carefully peeled off the orange peel and cleaned off all the white piths attached to it. Then he wiped his hands, broke off a piece, and brought it to Luo Xianxian's lips. He whispered: "If you like it, eat some more."

Luo Xianxian knew that she had encountered a madman today. She had no choice but to lower her head and silently ate the orange that the madman handed her. The sweet and sour juice melted down her throat and her stomach churned. . .

The young man squatted there, feeding her slices of oranges. He seemed to feel better and even started to gently hum a song.

His voice was rough, very hoarse, like a broken gust of wind, vague and inaudible. Luo Xianxian could only make out a few words.

"Three or four flowers fall into the pool, the bell chimes once or twice on the shore. The best thing is to be young, a light-footed horse, you can see the end of the world. . ."

He suddenly said: "Girl."

". . ."

"Tsk." He curled his lips and reached for Luo Xianxian's slender face, "Let me look at your eyes."

Luo Xianxian shivered. She was powerless to resist. She could only let the young man inch forward, his bloody finger coming closer and closer to her eyes.

"This is how it is," he said.

Luo Xianxian whimpered and closed his eyes. She was really afraid that this madman would, on a whim, poke out her eyes like they were fruit.

But the young man didn't poke them.

The other coldly said to her: "Didn't you teach me the saying that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed? I've also got something to tell you."

"Hmm. . ."

"Open your eyes."

Luo Xianxian's eyes were tightly closed. The young girl laughed in exasperation and hissed: "Don't be like that. Open your eyes!"

". . . Do you think I won't be able to gouge your eyes out if you have them closed?!"

Luo Xianxian forced her round eyes open, her slender eyelashes trembling, and tears streaming down her face which looked pitiful and fearful. She wasn't sure how to make this stranger happy. He suddenly let go of her cheek, his hand lingering in the air, and then gently patted her head.

He gazed into her eyes, and a trembling smile shook from the corner of his mouth. His smile was distorted, ferocious, and just a bit miserable.

He said: "There are men in Linyi. Twenty of them are dead."

After he spoke, he turned around and his figure sank into the darkness and gradually disappeared.

Only the mess on the ground was the only evidence that such a person, covered in blood in the middle of the night, had been here.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[tomtenadia]

My warrior queen

Rowaelin month day 7 - Fairytale AU

So, this is a bit a strange fairytale. I am not a fan of Disney style princesses so I went for something different. I wasn’t even going to write this prompt but then inspiration hit and honestly I had to rein it in because otherwise this was going to be a 10k words one shot.

To be honest I am not even sure if it follows the prompt but here you go...

I hope you will enjoy it.

-------------

In the northern part of Erilea there stood a land of unforgiving winters and majestic mountains. The place was called Terrasen and it was ruled by a queen. Her name was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. It was rumoured that she was the most stunning woman in the whole continent and that she had a long line of suitors trying to win her hand. So far, no man had ever accomplished the task. No one seemed to be a match enough for the fiery woman. She had standards, very high apparently and rumour had it that she rejected many potential rich men from other kingdoms as soon as they mentioned they would cover her in gold, lavish dresses and fine jewellery.

She liked her luxury, fine dresses and jewellery, but she if she had to settle down she would not to do that with a man who would treat her like a prize to show around at parties.

No, she was looking for a man who treated her as an equal, and was not scared of a woman who could defend herself and have a high skilled competence with knives, swords and bows.

Far too many men had been horrified by her past times.

Tough. She was not going to give that up, because they thought it was very un-lady like. Screw it. She was the queen. 

It was a balmy afternoon and she was in the training yard with her sword master Brullo, practicing her sword skills, when Ress, one of her guards interrupted them. At his side stood a tall man with silver hair and clothed in a dark green cloak. The stranger was broad-shouldered and incredibly tall. Definitely close to 2m. His eyes were a beautiful pine green and the man emanated a certain air of danger. She could tell he was a born and bred warrior and that sparring with him might be quite amazing if he accepted. A rival with a challenge. Brullo was skilled but she had a feeling he was not pushing her as much he could just because she was the queen. Truth was, she wanted to be pushed to the limit. Wanted a sparring partner who ignored her title and just treated her as an equal warrior.

“Your majesty,” said Ress, kneeling in front of her “I present you with your new captain of the guard.”

Aelin sheathed her sword at her side and took a step closer, circling around the new arrived and taking stock of his frame. 

“What’s your name, captain?”

“Rowan Whitethorn, ma’am.”

A gasp surged from both Brullo and Ress for the lack of use of her title, but Aelin smirked, loving that already. Maybe he was the one.

“Ress told me you come highly recommended.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She is your queen,” shouted Brullo from behind her “show some respect, you oaf.”

Aelin turned and glared at her master at arms.

“Brullo, Ress, leave me alone with the captain.” Not a request but an order.

“Yes, your majesty.” They both bowed and walked away.

Aelin grinned then once they were gone sat on the edge of the fence and grabbed the knife she kept on her thigh and started peeling her apple “you must excuse them. Brullo might kill in the name of lèse-majesté.” She explained, taking a bite of her fruit, “I would just recommend you to use my title in public. When we are alone and in training you can call me ma’am or Aelin.” She stared at him and saw surprise in his stark features “in training? I am your captain of the guard, ma’am.”

She got off the fence and walked to him, flipping the knife in her hands and Rowan approved of her skills. Maybe that assignment would not suck as he feared. It looked like he did not have to guard a weak queen who mostly used him as an errand boy, but one that appeared fierce and capable of handling a sword probably just as much as him.

“I know, captain, but I am looking for a sparring partner who would actually present a challenge. One who is not afraid of inflicting a few bruises to his queen. Brullo is good but he holds back a bit too much for my tastes.” She looked up at him, meeting his green eyes. Gods, the man was stunning as well.

“As long as you promise not to put me in irons if I scratch your esteemed highness.” His eyes glinted with mirth and she laughed hard.

She walked away and then turned and threw her knife at him.

Rowan grabbed it with a very easy gesture.

Gods, he was all of a sudden drawn to her. She threw a knife at him and his male nature found the gesture a turn on. He could not deny that the queen in front of him was stunning, probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Good reflexes,” then she threw the apple, Rowan grabbed it and took a bite, never averting his gaze.

“Meet me here tomorrow at nine, captain.” And she walked away swaying her hips on purpose.

Rowan looked at her walk away and thought that his new assignment was not bad after all.

Back in her quarters, Aelin shed her boots and started removing all the weapons stashed on her body.

“Do you really need all that metal on you?” Asked a voice at her back. Aelin turned and saw Lysandra, her lady in waiting.

“You never know who is ready to attack you on the streets, I need to be ready to defend myself.”

And threw a few knives on the bed.

“Maybe if you actually stopped wandering around Orynth on you own and used your guards? They are here to protect you, you know? That’s why you pay them.”

Aelin shedded her fighting leathers and remained in her undergarments while Lysandra held out one of those horrible gowns she hated so much.

“And where’s the fun in that?”

“You are the Queen.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. She loved Lysandra like a sister but the woman was a proper lady and had been trying for years to teach Aelin to be less wild and more approachable to men. As the queen it was expected of her to marry and then sire heirs to the throne. She had no patience for all that crap.

“Rumour has it that your new captain of the guard is quite hot.” Lysandra tied the corset and Aelin whimpered at the damn cage “Elide has seen him with Ress.”

“Hopefully he is not scared of sparring with me like a true warrior.”

Lysandra was about to reply but Aelin lifted a finger “I don’t care.” And walked away. Ready spend another afternoon in a tedious council meeting.

*

The next morning she almost ran to the training grounds. Once at the site she noticed Rowan was already there, sitting on the ground and sharpening his sword. He had trousers tucked in his high boots and a white shirt with the first three buttons open. The sleeves were rolled to the elbows and a stunning tattoo in the old language swirled around his left arm and she could notice a hint of it on his chest as well, from the opening in his shirt. She stood in silence staring at his powerful arms running the wet stone on the length of the sword and her treacherous mind pictured those powerful hands on her body.

She cleared her voice and saw Rowan raised his head “Good, you are here.” In a powerful move he stood.

“So, captain. Where do we start this morning?”

“We’ll do some conditioning to strengthen your muscles a bit, then we can choose sword or knives. The choice is yours.”

In private he did as she had told him and didn’t use any title and she was grateful for that. 

“I’ll take the sword.”

For the first hour he put her through a gruelling series of exercises that, according to him, would reinforce the muscles in her arms, her core and her legs. She was not a frail lady. After years of training she had build her body to be quite toned and alethic but apparently she could do a bit better.

“Good, take a break.” He sat at her side and she drank from her canteen.

“So, how did you end up here in Terrasen?”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Your accent. You are definitely not from here. Wendlyn, perhaps?”

Rowan nodded “Born and bred in Doranelle.”

“I visited a few times. Very hot place.” She looked at him “why Terrasen?”

He was silent for a moment as if to ponder his answer “I needed a change of scenery. I have been here a few years already. Mostly worked as a hired guard for some rich lords. Then I saw that the palace was looking for a new captain of the guard and here I am.”

Aelin knew there was more to the story, but she didn’t push.

“Let’s go, captain.” She said standing up again “show me how to fight like a real warrior.”

And Rowan did not hold back. For over an hour they trained relentlessly and Aelin was now sporting some cuts on her arms, a bruise and a limp from when she slipped on the ground after Rowan disarmed her for the umpteenth time. She realised at the end of the session that she was not even remotely skilled as she thought.

“We better stop here for today.”

“No,” she grunted, still sitting on the cold ground exhausted.

“Aelin,” and the way he said her name made her heart race “You need to rest for the day and have a healer see to those cuts.”

“Thank you for not holding back, for not treating me as if I was made of glass.” 

Rowan placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her as she tried to stand, when a jolt went through both at the contact.

Their heads snapped up in surprise and their gaze met.

Aelin’s heart started to race madly. What had just happened? Was that the bond? She heard about that. All the girls dreamed of eventually find their mate, to look a man in the eye and feel the bond snap into place. She thought it was just a kids fairytale but as she looked at Rowan’s expression she knew he was thinking about the same thing.

They were mates.

He was her mate and she was his.

*

As she limped back to her quarters she could not stop thinking about what had happened with Rowan. How was that possible? And how was she going to solve that? According to the stories, once the bond was in place it was difficult to resist and painful to ignore, but what if Rowan didn’t want to be her mate? He’d be tied to a queen, making him king consort. It was far too much to force on someone. It was in moment like this in which she wished her mum was still alive. She’d need her support right now.

“Your majesty, what happened to you?” Said a horrified voice at her back. She turned and saw Chaol, one of her guards.

“Oh, I had an amazing training session with the captan.”

She saw disgust in his face “did he hurt you?”

Aelin rolled her eyes “No, well technically yes, but we were training so it’s okay.”

“You are the queen. He cannot treat you like that.”

Aelin was fuming when a familiar figure joined them in the courtyard.

Chaol drew his sword, pointing it at Rowan’s throat and Aelin felt a surge of rage in her “Put the sword down.” She commanded.

“Majesty, he hurt you.”

“It’s called training,” said Rowan, moving Chaol’s sword aside in a bored gesture. His eyes on hers, ignoring the man in front of him.

“She is your queen.”

“She gave me an order. I followed it. If she wants to punish me for hurting her during training I will take anything she will inflict upon me. Until that moment I would order you, as your captain, to go back to you patrol, or I’ll have you scrub the stables.”

Chaol stormed away back to his post and Rowan and Aelin remained alone.

“Rowan, we should talk—” he shook his head.

“Not here.”

Aelin nodded “let’s go to my library. No one is allowed in there. We will have privacy.”

He followed her and once in the room she locked the door for good measure and then collapsed on the sofa exhausted.

Rowan looked around the room and stared amazed and the astounding collection of books. The bookcases where floor to ceiling high and there must have been thousands of books.

“The perks of being the queen. I have unlimited funds to gave in in my obsession for books.” Then he turned and saw a piano against the window “do you play?”

Aelin nodded and he moved a step back in her direction “Rowan…”

“We are mates.” He said in a gentle tone that disarmed her.

“You don’t have to…” she had no idea how to tackle the issue “Rowan, I will not force you into something you don’t want.” She sighed “I thought it was just a fairytale mothers spun to their daughters before bed. But I felt it. The power of the bond, curse through me when you touched me.” She stood and took a step to him “and when Chaol had his sword at your throat I was ready to rip his head off if he touched you.”

“Aelin, it’s up to you, I am your subject and if you decide to follow the bond I will not reject you.”

She looked at him and for an instant she had a glimpse of another Rowan, one that under the warrior face was in fact a loving and caring man. Her heart ached. She could not force something on him that he didn’t want.

Rowan went on his knees in front of her and bowed his head “If I accept the bond I will be your king consort.” He looked up at her “I am just a warrior, with no power or gold to offer or alliances. Accepting me would be a very bad move for a queen. I have nothing to offer you.”

Aelin kneeled in front of him and took his face in her hands “For the first time, I found a man who is willing to fight me like a warrior. A man who treats me like an equal, something I have been searching for a very long time. A man who is not afraid of me or who does not feel the need to tame my wild side. You are that man, Rowan.” She caressed the stark lines of his face, the gesture feeling natural all of a sudden “It’s your decision. Not a command from a queen.”

“It would be political suicide.”

She laughed “you let me deal with the council and the politicians. It’s my life. And I think my citizens might like the idea that I choose one of them as their king.”

Rowan nodded.

“This is new, for both of us. We barely know each other, but if you want I would like to get to know you better.”

“It’d be my honour, my queen.”

She smiled at him “but we are not stopping my training. I am not giving up on that. You keep your territorial male nonsense at bay.”

He nodded and Aelin kissed his forehead “thank you, captain.”

**

Two weeks had passed and Aelin had continued her life as normal. Rowan had been true to his words and kept training with her and she realised that under his supervision her skills were improving, to the point that once she had even managed to disarm him. She had celebrated by jumping into his arms for a hug. One that he did not deny her.

They had also started to spend time alone in the library and learn about each other. He had told her the real reason why he moved. A raid had attacked Doranelle, setting the city on fire. He was not quick enough and his family died in the huge fire and some of his friends too. So he had decided to help for a while, but as soon as the worst was over he had left Doranelle.

Aelin had heard about the raid. She had contacted the royal family there and offered her help, but they had been proud and replied with a no thank you.

Slowly they had also been getting closer, feeling the bond between them getting stronger with each passing day. And with it its side effects.

Aelin one day had almost put a woman called Remelle in irons when she saw her flirting with Rowan while he was guarding the throne room. He had ignored her but Aelin had felt jealousy spread like a wildfire. Through the bond she felt the same from him during a meeting in the throne room. As captain of the guard he was at her side on the throne and he had to suffer through a parade of men walking to Aelin and promising her riches beyond imagination and power.

You’d better look interested he had mused through the bond. A nifty trick that had appeared very recently.

I am disappointed that no one so far had offered me a unicorn

Aelin threw a sneaky glance at Rowan and saw him fighting the smirk threatening to appear on his face.

She tried not to smile either, it was not polite.

They hadn’t told anything to anyone about them being mates. It was all still too new and they needed time to adjust, so she had to suffer the tedious courtship from men who were as interesting as a bowl of broth with no salt. But they had decided to tell soon. The solstice ball was almost upon them and she was going to announce that she had found her mate and that all other men could just fuck off for all she cared. Her council was going to kill her, but she couldn’t care less. Rowan was her mate and even if they hadn’t even kissed or been intimate, she could not deny how strong the pull between them was becoming. Even being away from him was getting hard.

While she left the throne room, Rowan stepped at her side, taking his place as he usually did. Two more guards were trailing behind them at a distance.

“Are you getting me my unicorn, captain?”

“I’d do everything in my power to make you happy, but I think they really are a legend.”

“Everything?” She looked at him with a wicked grin “well, I need more training, captain. And it’s an order.”

She said the last sentence out loud and Chaol looked at them in disappointment. Her guards and maids had not appreciated the marks that training left on her. Lysandra complaining that a lady should not turn up for court with a bandaged arm and a limp.

Aelin ignored the protests relentlessly.

During training Rowan never gave her special treatment. Not even now that they were mates and she respected him so much for that. 

They had been training with knives and close contact when she did manage to win an encounter and Rowan lost his balance and they both tumbled on the ground. Aelin on top of him. Her face had smashed on his chest and she inhaled sharply his scent of pine and snow. Rowan smelled like home, like Terrasen. She looked up at him and his expression was curious. That was the closest they had ever been. Rowan had been a proper gentleman and always been respectful of her, especially when alone in the library.

But now… now she wanted him to grab her in his arms, rip off her clothes and make her forget her name.

Some of her thoughts must have trickled through the bond because his stare grew lustful. Her eyes landed on his lips and a moment later he was kissing her. And rutting gods, she almost combusted on the spot. The kiss was not gentle, she could taste the desire in him. Aelin’s hand were in his hair and pulled him closer and felt his arms tighten around her back.

Rowan had tried to be respectful and not to give in to the instinct that had slowly been taking over him recently. With the passing of days the bond between them had become much stronger and he found himself needing her. To wake up in the middle her smelling lemon verbena and feeling an insane need for her. He knew that was the downside of a new mating bond. It would drive him insane until he could finally claim her. But he would not rush her.

He was still of the opinion that he was her worst choice, he had tried again to convince her that choosing him was a political mistake. That as queen she should think about alliances. But Aelin had always refused to listen, saying that she was not going to marry a stranger just for the sake of an alliance. She was not a romantic and kept repeating her that they were mates and the council could not stop that. She had told him of her plan of announcing their bind at the solstice ball. The idea scared him but he would follow her. 

***

Solstice was upon them and the castle was buzzing for the celebrations. The guests had started to arrive and to gather in the ballroom.

Rowan was posted outside Aelin’s quarters, ready to escort her to the ballroom.

Two weeks had gone by since they kissed on the training grounds and since then they had been barely able to keep their hands off each other when they were alone.

Rowan would go as far as to admit that feelings had started to develop for her. Deep, strong feelings.

“So, who is going to be at your arm tonight at the ball?” Asked Lysandra while dressing Aelin. She had chosen a deep green gown with laces in silver to match Terrasen colours. Her hair was tied in a braid that was then tied in a complicated fashion on her head. And on top of it her tiara. She was not going to a ball with her crown. At her neck Lysandra had clasped a necklace with a pendant a kingsflame. Her mother had left that for her and Aelin would wear it on special occasions.

“It’s a surprise,” replied Aelin with a wicked grin. She had managed to convince Rowan to agree to dance with her.

“Oh, is it one of the lords?”

“Are you going with Aedion?” She changed the topic.

“Yes, as soon as you are ready I will join him. If you are okay.”

Aelin turned and hugged her friend “of course. I want you to enjoy the evening and if you end up spending the night in Aedion’s quarters I will not complain.”

Lysandra blushed “you are ready.”

Aelin stared at her image in the mirror and was looking forward to Rowan’s reaction. 

Rowan heard the door open and jumped to attention, then saw Aelin step away from the big doors and he was sure his heart stopped for a moment. Her gown matched his uniform in shade of green. She was stunning, she was the most perfect creature he had ever set eyes on.

Stop staring, captain. We need to maintain the ruse a bit longer.

Rowan looked at her and nodded briefly “shall we go, my queen? Your court awaits you.”

While they walked she could see Rowan scanning the area “relax, captain.”

“Aelin, my job is to keep you safe. Both as your mate and your captain. And might I say that your idea of inviting the citizens to the festivities is a dangerous one?”

Aelin sighed. He had raised his concerns every single day since she had explained to him the tradition. On the solstice the castle had always been open to everyone. The ground would host a fair with vendor and some stalls. The ballroom and the banquet hall were the only two room open to everyone. She had explained that her father had started the tradition and that the solstice was a big thing in Terrasen and she had continued such celebrations as a legacy to the late king.

Rowan had yielded but she could feel he was nervous.

“Have you given your guards rotations so they can enjoy the festivities as well?”

He nodded “and I told the vendor selling alcohol that they are not allowed to sell it to any of the guards. If they do I’ll take their licence.”

At the door of the ballroom he saw Chaol and Ress and Rowan nodded to them and the two men opened the doors.

The ballroom was incredible. Metres and metres of fairy light adorned the walls instead of the big candelabra. Snowflake shaped decorations hung from the ceiling and spruce and holly adorned the big windows.

Aelin stepped inside and everyone pulled aside and bowed. In the crowd she spotted aristocracy and citizens alike.

Once in the centre of the ballroom she turned and Rowan stepped at her side. Hands behind his back and back straight. 

He was nervous. His life was about to change but as he looked at her smiling at her people, he realised that if his life had her in it, maybe it wasn’t going to be so scary after all.

Aelin stared at all the people gathered around her and tried so hard not to stare too hard at Rowan. He had his uniform of captain of the guard, the one reserved for special occasions. The deep green of the fabric matching his eyes and the silver of the trimmings at the hem accompanied his hair. He was stunning.

No improper thoughts, my queen.” He told her, sensing where her mind had wandered.

As if you restrained yours a few minutes ago when you saw me. I must admit that the sparring room surrounded by weapons is a massive turn on.

Rowan cleared his voice at her side and she tried not to laugh.

“Good evening dear citizens of Terrasen and thank you for joining us tonight for this solstice celebrations. Like every year we follow the tradition started by my father and gather all together here and have fun. This year, however I have a special announcement that I hope will make this day a bit more special.” She then spoke and noticed her council member look at her with a puzzled expression. Lysandra was holding Aedion’s hand and looked curious. Her cousin was downright terrified.

I am at your side was all that Rowan said through the bond.

“I want to use this night of festivities to announce that I have found my mate.” A chorus of gasps echoed in the room.

Aelin took Rowan’s hand and pulled him closer to her side “Captain Rowan Whitethorn is my mate. We have accepted the bond a few days ago.”

They had discussed the whole thing in the library. Both had confessed that feeling were starting to appear. The attraction was definitely there and Aelin had confessed that the idea of not having him at her side pained her. Rowan had made the same admission. She then had explained to him that if he was going to accept the bond he’d become king consort and he’d have to drop his job as captain of the guard. Rowan had accepted with the condition that she would keep on training with him. Aelin had, of course, accepted. And after that they had officially accepted the bond and that night he had claimed her and she claimed him, body and soul. They were now one and there was nothing separating them.

“My queen,” said Darrow, the head of her council, bowing to her “you should have consulted the council before making such an important decision. Also, may I suggest that the captain might not be the most suitable candidate?”

Aelin was raging, but as queen she had learned to restrain her wild side. In public, at least.

“Darrow, thank you for your concern but this is my life. Who I choose as my king consort it’s not your concern. I told you all before, I will not be sold in marriage for the sake of an alliance. Rowan is my mate. You cannot ignore the bond.” Aelin looked at Lysandra and saw that the woman was sobbing happily.

Then cheers erupted from the crowd, the common citizens, the ones who approved their queen choosing one of them.

“All hail the queen,” shouted one of them “all hail the king,” chanted another one and slowly everyone joined in, Lys and Aedion included. Her councilmen were the only ones who stood silent. Oh well, that was a battle for another day.

Rowan went to his knee and took her hands, bowing his head at the same time “my queen, I have no riches, no power, no land to offer you. All I can give you is my loyalty and my love. Until my last day. To whatever end.” He recited out loud for everyone to hear.

Aelin squeezed his hand and pulled him up. They were equals, something she had told him over and over again. She would not allow him to bow to her or to feel diminished. He was her world. 

“To whatever end .” She whispered back while holding his face and kissing him deeply in front of everyone.

Her buzzard.

Her equal.

Her friend.

Her mate.

[weshallc]

Happy Robbie Burns Day. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🥃🗡️

Extract from Berns Night (available at all good fanfic sites & @fic-al .)

CHAPTER FIVE: Ae Fond Kiss.

“Who Shall Say That Fortune Grieves Him. While The Star of Hope She Leaves Him?” Ae Fond Kiss, Robert Burns 1791

“I Pictured A Rainbow, You Held It In Your Hands.” The Whole of the Moon, The Waterboys 1985

Paddy cleared his throat, and everyone sat. Bernie held her breath. She was relieved when he started reading from his phone in his own soft Northern English twang and didn’t attempt a Scottish accent. He did struggle a little with more than the odd word and she noticed it was in parts an English translation of Burns’ Address to a Haggis. She thought her dad would be shaking his head and laughing if he were watching these antics held in his memory. As a shiver left her, she wondered if Marianne was also looking down with pride and amusement.

Bernie bit her lip. This was the difficult bit, if trying to read an 18th century Scottish poem out loud wasn’t hard enough. She knew from years of experience Paddy had to keep reciting while removing the Sgian-dubh from his woolly knee-length socks. He then had to pull the small dagger out of its black leather holder and plunge the blade into the Haggis at just the right moment in the text. She went to hold on to her chair but was surprised when a long, thin hand grabbed hers. Tim’s hand was cold, but sweaty at the same time, and she squeezed it back.

The verbal response of the audience to Paddy whipping the blade out of its sheath made Bernie giggle, and she heard a snort from her neighbour. The following stab and slash into the unsuspecting pudding received equal responses of gasps and murmurs. She felt the boy’s hand slacken in her own and his breath released from his chest at the same time she let her own lungs relax. Bernie felt Paddy was doing the same, pausing as the crowd regained its collective composure. He dared to give her a quick glance, and she beamed in approval. She wished she could go over to him and push back the wayward kink of hair that had fallen over his face during the dramatics.

Paddy finished the poem with ease, following the tricky bit. He didn’t seem to mind stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words. It wasn’t like anyone was going to correct him. There was much relief all around when he finally toasted the Haggis, and everyone could raise the complimentary whisky they had been nursing since the beginning of the festivities. Not everyone had been patient and some found they were toasting with an empty glass, supping air. A nervous Bernie would have been included in this number, but Trixie had passed on her dram so she could at least properly take part in the toast. Paddy received a standing ovation. He didn't appear deceived it was for his faultless performance, but knew it was more for effort or maybe they were just hungry and glad it was finally over.

[whump-town]

Ambushed

Warnings: attempt sexual assault and Emily's potty mouth

No Pairings

Summary: A bathroom break goes very, very wrong

It's whumptober so I have to at least try this month to make things awful. Also, this is for @olivinesea, who has been waiting on this fic for months... maybe longer

Hotch’s order had been for Reid to follow him, that it would be the two of them departing tomorrow morning at four a.m. for Charleston, West Virginia. The way Hotch had marched across the catwalk with his file spoke measures about his mood before his clipped tone did. The second Hotch roughly called his name Reid flinched, looking pleadingly to Emily. Knew he was the target and was pleading with her to find some way to save him. With a sigh of resignation, she leans her head into her palm, knows what she’s about to put herself through for the sake of Reid and Hotch.

If Hotch has a problem with her rather blatant insubordination, he doesn’t say anything about it. He comes in and sees her, her go-bag at her feet and two coffees in hand, and raises an eyebrow. Ultimately, he carries on his path towards their SUV. Sharing not a word just a glance that she takes to his equivalent of a motion for her to follow him. She knows his silence to be of low social battery drained by the early morning and fatigue, nothing personal.

Besides four a.m. is way too early to be talking to anyone.

It gives him time to think, to try and not sour this entire trip with his bull in a china shop mood. He’s just unsettled, has this awful feeling in his stomach that he’s grown accustomed to developing whenever they take cases in the mountains. It’s not that he is afraid of them, this isn’t a matter of ghosts or monsters, but there is so much uncertainty every time you enter them. He spent his entire childhood roaming the Appalachian Mountains, knows them by their many dimensions. Chasing squirrels, knee-deep in rotting leaves every fall. The cooling breeze sweeping through pine needles, snakes striking at ankles. The trees swaying to tunes unrecognizable to his ears. Hearing his mother’s voice calling his name, turning to find nothing but shadows. Knowing someone, something, is watching around every turn.

Quantico is about all the Virginia he can handle, the city nestled warmly where the southern Virginians rarely touch it but northern Virginians are everywhere to be seen. The accents not so thick and the city full of tourists-- people from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, etc. Fewer woods to get lost in.

Charleston?

He’s going to be neck-deep in the mountains everywhere he looks.

Emily’s here so that’s bound to make this whole trip more interesting. With her annoying wit and much to be desired charm. It’s like she can feel him thinking about her. With a yawn Emily sits up in her chair, shooting a sleep-stained scowl at him. She rubs her fists into her eyes, attempting to force herself back to awareness. “That coffee went right through me,” she tells him, clearly annoyed. She’s prone to oversharing but, for some reason, with him, it’s so much worse. He assumes it’s just because she knows it exasperates him. Doesn’t anger him but he typically sighs and shakes his head.

Secretly, he likes it. The way she’ll invade his person like no one else has the courage to. Casually laying across the couch and putting her feet in his lap or leaning against him. Talking like they’re lifelong friends and not two people distantly connected for the last twenty years as enemies, tied together by their hatred for one another. Only recently having learned there’s something more, still a nice enough connection that binds them as friends.

She squirms in the seat, bladder a little too full to be comfortable. The darkness outside consumes every indicator of where they are on the road. She can hardly make out the tree lines and aside from yellow precautionary signs aligning them with the turns on the road, there are only thick, choppy clouds of fog. It’s a little after five-thirty so they still have to be in Virginia. “Where the fuck are we?”

He grunts, furrowing his eyebrows at her explosive fuck cutting so harrowingly through the peaceful silence. It’s not an unusual occurrence, he’s used to the way she effortlessly tears through the walls and caverns he builds up around himself. “Strasburg.”

She groans, “really?” She should have made Reid come on this stupid trip. She could still be in her own bed, pressing snooze and rolling back over. Instead, she’s got to pee so freaking bad and she doesn’t know if Hotch is in one of his “no stops” moods or not. He’s such an asshole about making stops when they’re on the road. “I’ve got to take a leak, boss, so… We’re looking at a bathroom stop soon or new detailing on these seats.” She looks down at the worn seats, runs her fingers over the loose seams and torn fabric. “Not that they couldn’t use it.”

He seems more agitated with her oversharing than with having to stop-- looks like a bathroom break in her future.

She stays silent for a few minutes, just watching what she can from outside her window until the next town comes into view. She shoots him a glance, wonders if he’s actually going to stop, and breathes a sigh of relief when he uses the turn signal, pulling them in that direction. There was no way she was going that long without a bathroom break.

Hotch pulls the car into park, frowning when he sees the lack of lights guiding their path to the gas station and even around the side of the building where he knows the bathrooms are bound to be. Leaving them standing in the dark facing the woods. She’s already unbuckling, moving quickly so she can go pee, but he beats her out of the car. Opens his door first and announces, “I’ll go with you.” She frowns, cuts his back a dirty, confused look but doesn’t say anything.

He’s already standing on her side of the car when she gets out, glaring ahead at the empty field and then towards the woods.

“So you do care,” she mumbles, bumping her shoulder against his. “You don’t want me to get eaten by a bear.”

He grunts, still half-distracted by the darkness and the threat it presents.

She’s imagining him fighting a bear. “You know,” she keeps his pace, curiously looking around as they go. “I think you’re a really tough guy,” she says, “but Hotch vs. A Bear just… I’m rooting for you, really, but I’m not stopping to see who wins. No offense. I think you’d put up a good fight but I think, as a general rule of thumb, watching your friends get mauled to death by Pooh does not fall into the typical bonding experiences that strengthen dynamics.” She’s rambling, not in the same way Reid would have. At least with Reid, Hotch would still likely have the semblance of not only control -- the timing to include himself in conversation -- but also a clue about what the in the world they’re even talking about.

She sees him glare at her and so she glares back, “I said no offense!”

“Go to the bathroom, Emily.”

She smiles as she makes her exit, feeling triumphant with herself. She’d seen that little smirk, not a quirk of lips detectable to the naked eye but the way his eyes had flipped up. Looking to the stars, eyes searching up and away from her. A Hotch smirk and the very best kind.

Distracted by the graffiti all over the walls she hears the faint thump of something outside and humorously wonders if it’s a bear. “Hotch v Bear”, round one, and she’s in the damn bathroom.

While she’s washing her hands her stomach growls and she wonders if he’ll end up following her into the gas station too if she goes in for a snack. The man’s a shadow when he’s worried. She’ll probably try to reach for a snack and find him right underfoot mean-mugging the cashier for no apparent reason. A snack though… She’s starving and maybe if she’s feeling feisty enough she’ll start an argument with him until he gets a snack too. It’ll entertain her for a while.

“Hey,” she frowns when she steps out of the bathroom and finds that he’s not there. Not leaning against the wall like she thought he’d be. “Jesus, did that bear really get the--”

A gun cocks in her ear, slow but unmistakable.

“Slowly put your service weapon on the ground and raise your hands.”

She’s frozen in the spot. Eyes glued to their shadows cast out far around them. Drawn out caricatures of them.

“Do it or I’ll kill your friend.”

It wasn’t a bear.

She reaches for her gun, steady and slow movements. Her fingers curl around the metal and she wonders if she’d be able to move fast enough. That there’s a good likelihood if Hotch isn’t within her line of sight that he’s already dead and if she doesn’t do something she will be too. But she can’t risk it.

“Rob!” the man grabs her gun before she’s got it on the ground. Jerks it back from her grasp. To their left, coming around the section of the building facing the woods and completely dark, another man steps out. He’s younger than she is, probably thirty-fiveish, and dressed in work gear. Jeans that have plaster and paint stains and a t-shirt that is stained to the point of no return. “Get the G-man.”

Rob nods, disappearing just as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Listen--” as soon as she can open her mouth the gun taps the back of her head. A sharp warning followed by the order to shut up. No negotiating then.

A grunt turns both their attentions to the side of the building. Hotch stumbles out before Rob. His hands bound in front of him by rope and when he looks up to find her she watches him blink blood out of his eyes. There’s an open wound across his forehead, blunt force trauma split the skin open and now the wound weeps fat crimson tears down his face. His mouth is taped shut, deep grey cutting into his pale mouth. He’s disoriented enough to fall, tripping over his legs as he’s shoved forward.

Rob keeps a gun pointed at his head the whole time but looks to the man behind her. Waiting for the next instruction and as the man gives them she watches Rob react the same she does. Whatever is happening here Rob is an accomplice but he’s not in charge.

“Walk.”

The gun nudges her forward. She bites back her anger, annoyed with this constant nudging business, but her voice is still laced with it. She can play even-tempered but it’s going to take more control than she wants. But she has to play along. Unless she wants to die tonight or, worse, watch Hotch die. “Where?” she asks “Tell me where I’m walking.”

“The woods,” her answer comes, grunted and annoyed. “Now walk.”

Rob pulls Hotch up to his feet (so he’s stronger than he looks, Emily notes) and pushes him forward again. Hotch manages to stay standing this time, bringing his bound hands to his face to swipe at the blood. The glimpse she gets of his blood-stained fingers is what brings her to motion. To be close enough to inspect the wound herself.

“Straight ahead.”

She steps forward, shivering as the wind blows and she’s reminded that despite it being the middle of June it’s likely only sixty degrees out here. Getting out of the car, she hadn’t been planning on being kidnapped. If she had maybe she would have grabbed her jacket. Her fault, she supposes lack of forethought on her part.

As she steps into his gait, the two of them shoulder to shoulder but not close enough that she thinks Rob or the other man will say anything she glances over at him. A look she means to use to articulate her worry and to ask if he’s forming a plan on how to get them out of this. She’s met with his blood-stained eyes. He doesn’t know how they’re getting out of this. It hits her hard, unforgivingly.

If he’d set his shoulders and sent that haggard, worn look she’d understand he thought they were up against fools not even worth the exertion of escaping from. That the bump on his head pissed him off more than hurt him. Something akin to annoyance would mean he already had his plan, she should wait for the cue. Here, in the place she’s searching for his tactile brilliance, is trauma. He’s locking it down behind walls as quickly as he can but she still sees it. Trapped, they’re trapped and he’s blanking on what to do.

Well, maybe he gets a little leeway. He did get hit in the head.

So, fine, she’ll do it herself.

Can you fight? Dave said it was creepy, the conversations they passed through glances, and now she’s hoping creepy is enough to keep them alive.

He looks back, one glance over his shoulder, and gives a sharp nod.

Good.

Next comes the part she’s not really sure how works. The part where she never actually says anything at all, they just move together. Concisely at the same time. She moves for the unknown man and Hotch knows to go for Rob. Both trusting that the other can handle their target. She can hear Hotch take Rob off his feet at the same time her body smacks into the unknown man. The air is taken from her body, leaving her to pause for a dangerous second as her body fights to get it back. His elbow swings sharply into her cheek, smacking dancing lights behind her eyelids.

She’s trained for this kind of stuff. This shouldn’t be so hard.

It’s a bit of a panic, throwing her hands down. Just punching down blindly and hoping the blows land.

There’s a gunshot-- it takes her too long to recognize the sound. Her ears ring and her body aches. The wrangling limbs, the man underneath her, stops as they all identify who it is overcoming as the largest threat.

It’s Rob, blood-flecked across his face.

Hotch’s blood splattered across his face.

Emily screams, disembodied as she throws herself towards Rob but she’s stopped, grabbed by the hair, forced back down through the leaves, and sticks. The leverage pins her to the man’s chest, both pulled upright. All she can do is stumble back. She’s immobilized by the forearm he presses against her windpipe. “I oughta kill you,” he growls, smacking the gun against her temple. Not enough to draw blood but it cracks, makes the area of her scalp throb. “Stupid fucking bitch,” he pulls her tighter, ignores her fingers scratching at his skin as he cuts off her ability to breathe. “Both of you. I should have just killed both of you in that damn bathroom. Started with the G-man and I could have had hours, until day-light, with you trapped in that bathroom.”

He eases his hold on her not out of preservation of life but in his realization that he’s angry with himself for being so reckless. He and Rob had never had problems before. One woman wasn’t all that hard to control and after seeing Hotch and Emily walking so close, bumping together they thought it could be fun. Force him to watch and see if that makes this any more fun. To see him bargain for her life or sit there lifeless in his resignation that he could do nothing.

But Hotch was stronger than he looked.

“No!” her voice is scratchy from the pressure had against her throat. Combined with her desperation it cracks, pops like roaring embers in a hearty fire. “Stop! You’re killing him! Get off of him!”

Rob has Hotch pinned to the ground, his hands around his throat.

The other man holds Emily still, prevents her from being able to pull herself away. This isn’t how he’d intended for this to go but, he has to admit, this is fairly interesting as well. He’d expected it to be G-man that was forced to break. A big strong guy like him doesn’t take losing well. Feeling Emily shiver and cry in his arms is nice. Her desperation hums in his veins, arousing him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He doesn’t want to lose that just yet.

“Get off of him, Rob.”

Hotch’s arms are still bound, all Rob had to do was push him over. It was over in a flash, leaving Hotch face down in the dirt one second and watching the trees above him fade out as Rob pushed down harder against his windpipe, his fingers digging into his neck. He couldn’t move. Unable to do anything more than turn and twist his hips, his arms pressed into his groin where Rob had immobilized them the second he threw his hips over Hotch’s.

Rob doesn’t let go, not immediately. He pushes down a little harder, wants to feel the snap of the other man’s neck but his name is called again. This time, not the light order the first had been. Rob doesn’t release Hotch and with an annoyed huff, the other man raises a gun. Emily cries out again, stunned by the gun right by her head, and flinches falls with a crash to the floor when the trigger is pulled. Her head a roaring buzz, trying to swivel its way off her neck. No matter how hard she pressed down on her ears she feels the throbs of pain as if her head was swelling. The world pulsing.

Rob’s dead.

She looks up and she’s looking right into his eyes. Shocked and open, not expecting the betrayal of his partner.

“Hey beautiful,” the other man crouches down beside her. Takes advantage of her confusion, of her shock. Her friend dead. Knowing she’ll follow soon after. “You never told me your name, you know. I’m Mark.” He strokes her hair back from her face, pushes her down to the ground.

Fighting is futile.

She had a chance with Hotch. Their odds nearly even, two against two. Even tied up and bleeding, they’re a threat that can’t be replicated and certainly not by an Unsub. Not one who takes women from gas station bathrooms in the ugly hours of the morning. Not ones dumb enough to take federal officers.

But it’s over.

It’s over and Hotch is dead.

“Don’t cry,” Mark whispers against her throat. He wipes her tears away with the back of his finger, shaking his head and mockingly comforting her. “But,” he holds her head, tenderly cupped in his palm. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Emily turns her head from Mark’s hand, finds herself looking at Hotch. His still body, head turned away from her. This is how it ends. Hotch dead and she’s powerless. She’s left his turned cheek, even he can’t bear to see. So she looks to the scar under his ear from New York, the hearing he lost and never fully recovered. A scab from shaving this morning. His hairline, the greys that were popping up around his temples and ear. Still sparse enough that he doesn’t look aged by them. And the blood. The wound Rob inflicted on him in their initial meeting. It doesn’t bleed now, it hadn’t been agitated in their fight. Color had started to creep into its edges, bruising to further demonstrate its anger in having been disturbed so violently.

Now he’s just dead.

She tries not to make a sound when Mark gets her pants undone, tries to make out unaffected. His hand cups at her hip, cold fingers curled around her. There’s a certain level of invisibility she’d felt on the other side of the yellow tape. After years of having used her body to get things, to win Ian Doyle’s trust and eventually his secrets, she’d thought herself too clever for this. Got too comfortable, perhaps. Surrounded by the likes of Hotch and Dave and Spencer and Derek. How many times had she stripped down to just an undershirt, leaned in too close over one of their shoulders just because she felt comfortable? Knew they wouldn’t hurt her.

But she’s losing.

After all the ways she’d won, all the ways she’d found victories in men’s selfish desires, and now she’s laying in the woods. She’s losing.

She’s going to die too.

But she doesn’t.

She jerks, unprepared for the sudden sharp pain across her temples. Her hands coming up to protect her ringing ears and not expecting the dead weight of Mark over top her. She writhes away, feels something hot and wet landing on her breast, sliding down her ribs. Sticks and rocks push against her shoulders but she fights with a terrified panic, crying in her blinding fear. Her fist connects hard with an audible crack of bone against bone and everything stops.

She pushes herself up and back, the back of her hand swiping through blood and sweat across her face. Leaves give beneath her, too slick with dew to hold properly as she moves backward. Sticks dig into her skin. Rocks turn over as she kicks them. Until she’s got an actual picture of what’s happening. Until her brain can work over details.

Mark is on his chest. His head split open, a terrifying weeping wound. Shot.

“Hotch?” she’s removed. Only partially aware of things as she takes them in. Of Mark’s death. Of the damp ground beneath her. Of the chill in the air. Of her own pounding heart. Of Hotch laid out on his back, eyelashes fluttering but open. Gasping sounds -- from her and from Hotch. His chest rising quickly with his shallow breathes.

Her knees scream smart pain as rocks and twigs dig into her flesh, deadened leaves chilled by the night’s air seeping through the material of her pants. She doesn’t even realize she’s moving, it’s automatic. It’s uncontrolled. “Hotch?” she touches his cold skin, taps at his cheek an indistinct beat she hopes will raise him from whatever unconscious solace he’s found. He breathes, shallow but audibly as his body tries to work again.

She touches his throat, grazes her fingers against miserable, chilled skin. He’s alive. Despite all the odds. Despite what she’d seen. Alive.

She cries as she leans forward, pressing their temples together. Cheek to cheek, their cold skin warm against one another. “I thought you were dead,” she sobs, fully allowing herself now to break. To feel the terror and isolation she’d felt thinking he was gone. Killed right in front of her. “You fucking bastard,” she holds onto his clothes, feels his hand come up and his fingers fumble to grasp her. To feel her alive and well. “I thought you were dead.”

He lets out a huff of breath, as close to relived laughter as he can manage. “Me too.”

She pulls back just enough to look down at his face, his pale lips twitching up and the blood caked across the side of his face. “I’m never going on a road trip with you again,” she says.

He nods, breathlessly whispering, “fair.”

She shivers, the breeze picking up. “Can you walk?” They can’t be that far from the car. She’s already pushing her hands into his pants pockets before he can answer, in search of the keys. Distracted to the point that she misses when he shakes his head. When he admits things are a little worse than what she thinks. “What do you mean--” and she looks down, his left hand shakily lifting off his abdomen.

“Shit!” she pushes his hand back over the wound. The first thing that comes to mind is to ignore the problem but that’s not very rational. “Why couldn’t it have been a bear?” That seems like it really beats watching him bleed out in the woods. She lowers her head, turns away from him for a second. She can’t lose her cool. He just saved her and now she has to return the favor. At this point, she refuses to go home without him.

Her earlier remark about bonding has aged like milk.

Something cold nudges her hand just faintly grazes her fingers. Despite everything they’ve been through in the last hour she still flinches, tries to move her hand away from what she suspects is a spider. There are sticks poking her back and ass but she’ll be damned if she’s going to become a jungle gym for a spider to crawl all over. Except she looks down and finds fingers, Hotch’s right hand pushing at her fingers.

It’s candy. Slowly, trying to find her courage and work through her panic, she lifts her palm back up. Looks at the stark contrast of his white mint on the decaying leaves.

She laughs.

They say nothing and yet they share an entire conversation. All glances, his pain pinching at the corners of his eyes, fatigue weighing him down quickly, and her slight humor over his grandpa candy. The mint is crushed, it hadn’t survived their rough journey well. “Are you trying to tell me my breath stinks?” she asks, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow to dare him. A playful sort of smirk on her lips as she declares, “Because I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the balls, Hotch.”

He smirks and as he opens his mouth a branch cracks, a flashlight shines right into their eyes.

“Hands up!”

Emily raises her hand to cover her eyes, wincing. “We’re -- We’re federal agents!” The flashlight lowers just a bit, enough so that she can see it’s a man standing before her.

“Your buddy hurt?” he asks.

Emily looks down, Hotch is already looking back at her. He’s shivering now and she knows whatever is about to happen is all on her. “Shot,” she answers. “Some guys they… they ambushed us? Dragged us out here.”

The man nods, “can he walk?”

She looks back down, Hotch’s eyes sinking shut, fighting to stay open. “I -- I don’t know? Maybe?” No. No, but she’ll drag his ass out of here if she has to.

“Alright,” the man steps forward, and Emily tenses. “I ain’t gonna hurt you little lady but you ain’t getting that big fella up without some help.”

Hotch remembers very little of what happens next. Standing seems to pull all of the blood from his body, at least there isn’t any in his head. Everything is confusing, a strange man is on his left and Emily on his right. He wakes up in a truck bed, rocking back and forth. His head in Emily’s lap and the cold wind grabbing at the blanket pulled under his chin. “We’re almost there, Hotch. Just hold on.” But she sounds like she’s underwater. Far away.

And then everything is still.

“And that’s how I saved us.”

He follows the sound of the voice over to his right, to Emily. She’s sitting up in bed, legs curled underneath her. There’s a chunk of gauze taped to her temple but she’s not wearing a hospital gown. She looks good, nearly restored to the Emily Prentiss he’s used to seeing around the office. The others are gathered around her, Dave smirking at what must have been a rather grandiose retelling of what happened.

“Technically,” he rasps, “I saved you first.”

Emily’s face betrays the first thing she feels hearing him. He’s been laying there for four days, unresponsive. He’d been on a ventilator the first two days. Throat nearly swollen shut from Rob’s attack, bruised badly. But now his eyes are open and he’s challenging her, picking a fight having been awake a whole minute. She's weirdly thrilled to see him glaring at her, too high and too exhausted to hide it.

“Are we really going to start keeping score?” she asks.

His eyes burn, they’re too heavy to keep open. He lets them slide shut, smirking still. A moment passes, maybe longer, and he feels a hand take his. Plastic sitting uncomfortably against his palm. It takes him a moment, the drugs trying so hard to pull him back under. It’s the mint he’d given her.

She doesn’t smile now, they share no knowing glances.

He hums, closing his hand around the mint.

“Considers us even,” she whispers.

He manages to crack his eyes open just a sliver, voice is completely gone but she just barely make out what he says: “not a chance.”

[ladyrivia]

Spitfire (Chapter One)

Summary: Anya Donato, a seasoned agent in the DEA transfers from New York to Columbia to take down Escobar. Upon arrival, two particular men catch her eye, Javier Pena and Colonel Carrillo.

No warnings! Except maybe google translate spanish.. Enjoy!

The fierce Columbian sun shined through the windows of the airport, giving Anya a bright welcome as she trudged down the stairs to customs. She dragged her suitcase behind her, duffel thrown over her shoulder carrying the remaining items of her previous life that was not already shipped down to the Embassy.

“Pasaporte, por favor.” passport, please. Digging through the inner pocket of her jacket, she pulled out her passport and required forms, handing them over to the man who was clearly tired of his job. “Gracias señora..Donato.” Thank you Mrs..Donato. He looked over the forms, stamping them and entering something into the system. “Bienvenida a Columbia.” Welcome to Columbia. He gave a tight lipped smile as he gave back her documents.

“Gracias.” Thank you. Anya replied, shoving the forms back into the pocket and continuing what seemed to be the never ending process of transferring to her new station in Columbia.

Anya walked to the ARRIVALS sign, where she was told that an agent would be picking her up. A handsome man walked towards her, his dark brown eyes scanning over your body. Perv. Anya thought, straightening her back and preparing to turn down whatever offer this man had.

“Excuse me señora, did you happen to see an agent on your flight?” Oh. Of course. He wasn’t expecting a woman to be joining. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a glare.

“I am the agent,” Anya dug through your pocket once more, showing him the shiny DEA badge before putting it back. “Señor.” His eyes widened, realizing his mistake, opening his mouth to form an apology, but she quickly cut him off. “Not another word. Can we just go now, I’m tired and ready to get the hell out of this airport.” He nodded, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and walking towards the exit. Normally, she’d argue and snatch her bag back, but she was too tired to care.

He led Anya to his black 4 door SUV, with scuffs and minor dents in it, showing its age. Throwing her bag in the back, she settled in the passenger seat. The car smelt heavily of cigarettes, which wasn’t too different from the car she sold right before heading to Columbia. If you were in the DEA, you either had a drinking problem or a smoking problem, if not both.

“I’m Javier, Javier Pena.” He was still trying to recover from his mistake earlier.

“Anya Donato. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes were focused on the city as they drove off, trying to get a sense of the area that she would now be living in. “Got a cigarette?” She looked towards him.

“Yeah,” He took out the pack from his front pocket, opening the carton for her to take one. “Here, lighter is in the console.” He grabbed one for himself and waited for Anya to finish lighting yours before handing the lighter to him. She took a long pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds before breathing it out, rolling down the window half way to allow fresh air to replace the smoke.

They smoked in silence, letting the nicotine settle her nerves.

“So.. where’d you transfer from?” Javier had never felt more awkward in his life. He normally always knew what to say, but with you he was at a loss.

“New York. Got tired of the snow and the cold.” She felt a smirk form on her face when she looked at him and said, “And I think you boys needed some help down here.” He looked at you, lips twitching into a grin

“Saying we’re incompetent?”

“Perhaps.” The banter eased the awkward vibe in the car, the two continuing to smoke while Javier pointed out places, whether it be a bad neighborhood, a good dive bar, or what she was most interested in, the best food choices.

“And here we are, home sweet home..” The car pulled into the Embassy, the security guards at the gate recognizing Javier’s car and immediately let him through. “I think the ambassador already left for today, I think they said something about a meeting.” He shrugged, clearly having not paid attention. “Let’s get you checked in here then we can get you set up at your new place.” He chucked the cigarette on the ground when he got out of the car, leading to the entrance of the large building. She opted to throw your cigarette butt into the trash can, grumbling something about littering.

“Pena!” A southern drawl called out. “You were supposed to pick up the new agent, not hire a new prostit-” Javi silenced him with a look.

“Agent Anya Donato,” She stuck out her hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m Steve Murphy.” He shook her hand.

“No harm done, you aren’t the first to assume.” Anya gave a pointed glare at Javier.

“Well, uh, welcome to the team.” Steve gestured to three desks pushed together in the bullpen. “That empty one is yours.” The group meandered to the desks, Anya plopping down in the uncomfortable office chair.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Carrillo get you your gun and fitted for Kevlar. For now you should get acquainted with our favorite narco.” Javier lifted a large box labeled ESCOBAR, putting it on the desk in front of her. Anya sighed, sitting up in her chair and taking the top off the box, finding it filled to the brim with papers.

“Where’s the coffee?” Her northern accent came out with the last words.

“The caw-fee is over there.” Javier mocked her accent, snickering when she flipped him off before retrieving a cup of shitty office coffee.

~

Hours passed, Javier was clicking away on the typewriter, Steve meandering around the office, retrieving information from the different intel groups that were scattered around the building. Anya’s eyes were starting to strain, the words becoming blurry on the paper. She snatched Javier’s cigarette box from where he placed it on the far corner of the desk, he got tired of taking it out every time she wanted to steal a cigarette.

“Don’t you have your own?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We’ve been over this Pena, I would’ve brought my own but Uncle Sam would’ve gotten pissy about it and I haven’t exactly had time to go get my own, nor do I have a car to do so.” Anya took a puff, then quickly took a swig of coffee. Not even 24 hours in and she was already returning to her bad habits.

“How many cups have you had?”

“..4..” She mumbled around the cigarette before looking up at Javier, eyebrow raised again. “Maybe 7.”

“Shit, Donato, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

“You’ve been pouring over those papers for hours, why don’t we head out of here and go grab a drink with some of the guys?”

“You sure they’ll want me interrupting boy-time?” It was Anya’s turn to raise an eyebrow, she normally isn’t one to turn down drinks, but given the reaction she got upon first meeting her new partners, she wasn’t exactly excited to have to repeat that experience so soon.

“Of course, you’ve already interrupted it here,” Javi gestured around. “C’mon, I’m sure the trip down here wasn’t exactly easy. A few drinks could do you good.” He was pretty much begging her to come along at this point, he wanted to spend more time with her, get to know his new partner before they had to go guns-blazing into some drug lord's hideout.

“I guess so.” Anya put the lid back onto the box, downing the rest of her coffee and throwing it into the trash can near their desks. Javier quickly finished what he was typing before slinging his jacket on.

“You ready Donato?” She nodded and followed him back to his car.

~

The drive to the bar was short, the time filled with her asking clarifying questions about Escobar. Arriving at the bar, there were already other police vehicles parked. When she turned to ask him, he said, “We go here pretty much every night, it’s a good way to wind down.”

“Ah.” Anya and the New York DEA department had a place similar, except it was a 24 hour dinner/bar combo. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to get emotional, especially when she’s the only woman on a team full of men. The second she shows emotion it’s over. Everything she’s ever worked for, benched and it being chalked up to being ‘too emotional’.

They exited the car, Javier leading her to the usual spot that him and Carrillo liked to sit. It was a corner booth, allowing them to monitor everyone coming in and coming out.

“Why isn’t Steve here?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows at the realization that Steve wasn’t with the group, but she saw him leave shortly before they did.

“He has a wife, Connie. She’s a sweetheart, I think you two would get along.”

“You barely know me.”

“We’ll that’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Javier gave her a smile, and she couldn’t help but give him a slight grin in return. Approaching the corner booth, Anya noticed a man already sitting at the table, but he stood up upon seeing the two walking towards him. His stare was intense, she could tell he was trying to get a read on her. He was undeniably handsome, but in a different way than Javier. Javier was charming, definitely an expert in flirting and wooing a woman. The stranger was just… hot. His uniform fit tightly around his biceps, a 5 o’clock shadow sculpting his face, a watch decorating his arms that she wished were—

Get a grip, Anya. She cursed herself out in her own head as she ogled at the man.

“Carrillo, cómo estás?” Carrillo, how are you? Javier greeted the man.

“Quien es tu amiga?” Who’s your friend? Carrillo ignored his question, nodding to Anya.

“¿Recuerdas que mencioné que íbamos a conseguir un nuevo socio?” Remember me mentioning we were getting a new partner?

“Soy Anya, Anya Donato.” I’m Anya. She could tell that the man was surprised that the new partner was a woman, him continuing to analyze her every move.

“Colonel Carrillo.” His hand dwarfed Anya’s when they went to shake hands, they were warm, she could feel the calluses formed by years of hard work. Javier gestured for them to sit, him sliding in next to her and Carrillo sitting opposite of them. There was already a bowl of peanuts at the table, broken and discarded shells in a bowl next to it. Carrillo had obviously been munching on some before they arrived.

The waitress came by, dropping off menus and taking drink orders. The men had ordered whiskey.

“Aqua y…” Anya thought for a moment, deciding what drink she was in the mood for. Glancing over the menu, she decided to go with a classic Columbian cocktail. “Refajo por favor.” Water and a Refajo please. Carrillo and Javier gave her a quizzical look. “What? When in Rome..” She grabbed a peanut and cracked it while looking over the menu. Anya leaned over to Javier. “What’s good here?”

Carrillo was captivated by the woman. He certainly wasn’t expecting her when Javier said him and Steve were getting a new partner. While she was shorter than the two of them, she carried herself with the same confidence, even while having to look up to meet his eyes. He watched as she glanced over the menu with her big brown eyes while ordering her drink, the slight shade of pink that crossed her cheeks when they questioned her drink choice. Carrillo slightly tensed when she leaned over to Javier, a sense of jealousy sparking. Reúnanse, Horacio. Get yourself together, Horacio. He cussed himself out in his head.

“If you’re looking to try something local, you could try the Bandeja Paisa. It’s our National dish.” Carrillo grabbed another peanut as he spoke, cracking the shell with ease. He watched her fidget with the peanut in her hand while she looked for the dish on the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you Carrillo.” Anya gave him a warm smile as she pulled back from Javier, placing the menu on the edge of the table so it was easier for the waitress to grab when she came back. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and took their orders, Carrillo got a steak and Javier got a burger.

Anya finally attempted to crack the peanut, finding herself unable to. Carrillo noticed and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the peanut then back at her. She tried playing it off as if she was just fidgeting with it.

“Son of a bitch.” Anya muttered under her breath after a couple more tries. She could throw vicious punches, down a man twice her size in hand to hand combat, but she couldn’t crack a damn peanut.

Javier watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed her struggling with the peanut. It was cute watching her try to play it off when Carrillo noticed, but he could see the pink return shortly there after. Javier had snuck off earlier to read her file, the ambassador had given it to him and Murphy days prior, but they didn’t bother reading it, assuming it’d be another guy like them. He read about her work in New York, how she helped take down some Cali Cartel members. Anya would go in undercover, taking down sicarios in club’s bathroom in a dress and heels when she would lead them back there for what they assumed to be sex.

After watching her suffer with the damn peanut for a few more moments, he reached down to grab it, easily cracking it and handing it to her.

“Thanks.” Anya muttered, the blush returning to her cheeks, redder than before. She munched on the peanuts while she grabbed another, yet again failing to crack it on her own. Javier chuckled and helped her crack it again. This repeated until they had a cycle of Anya handing him a peanut and him cracking it for her, dropping the peanuts into her hand and putting the shells in the bowl.

The spark of jealousy returned in Carrillo when he watched Anya finally relinquish the peanut to Javier. Es un puto maní. Para. It’s a fucking peanut. Stop. Carrillo returned to insulting himself in his own head, but he couldn’t help s small twitch of a smirk when Anya’s blush returned to her face.

“So tell me about the Rumpus Room.” Javier asked Anya while he cracked yet another peanut for her.

“That shitty place? Finally decide to read my file, asshole?” Anya snorted and took another sip of her drink.

“Call me an asshole all you want but I’m the one cracking your peanuts, gringa.” Javier waved the peanut in front of her.

“Gringa? Come up with something original, lindo.” Pretty boy. She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Wonder where you learned that one,” He gave her the unshelled peanuts. “You gonna tell us or what?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Nothin’ much to say,” Anya said between crunches. “Awful place, smelled like cat piss.” She scrunched her nose. “Wasn’t anyone high profile, just a trafficker of theirs. Put on a tight red dress, strutted into the club and I had him in an instant. Practically drooled over me.” She shook her head. “We danced a bit and I whispered some..” Anya was worried of the reaction she would get, her plan worked well, but some think she’s promiscuous and a whore for how she took down these men. “Something dirty in his ear and led him to the back. Disarmed him quickly and just beat the shit out of him. Nothing special.” She practically chugged her drink, trying to ignore whatever reaction the two men had.

Well, there certainly was a reaction in their pants.

“In a dress and heels,” Javier whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Best not.” Anya let out a sigh of relief, neither of these men seemed to care about her unorthodox methods.

“You went in there without a weapon?” Carrillo’s fists were clenched, how could her superiors put her in such a dangerous position?

“Can’t hide much in a skin tight dress,” She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “Though I did hide a knife in my bra. My boss didn’t know about that.” A smirk came to her face. Carrillo did not find any of this funny. No backup or weapons, what if they had caught onto her? Over his dead body would he send—

Para, para, para. Stop, stop, stop. Carrillo pleaded with his mind once more as the waitress returned with refills and their meals.

The rest of dinner was filled with exchanges of stories, both men finding themselves enamored with the lively stories Anya told, the alcohol and time spent together making her feel more and more comfortable with the two. She was hungrier than expected, digging into her Bandeja Paisa.

“My god Carrillo!” Anya praised Carrillo for his recommendation, which was something he definitely wanted to hear again.

It was about midnight when Javier noticed Anya starting to slump, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with her.

“I’m okay seriously, I feel fine.” She felt the alcohol hitting her.

“You’re clearly tired, c’mon carñira, it’s time to get you home.” He groaned when he realized her apartment was empty, that was something they were meant to do before she arrived.

“Qué es?” What is it? Carrillo noticed the look on Javi’s face.

“Her apartment is empty. We were meant to get the essentials moved in before she arrived but with everything—”

“Bendejo.” Idiot. Carrillo muttered. “Ella puede quedarse en mi casa esta noche, tengo una habitación de invitados preparada.” She can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room set up. Javier eyed him, jealousy blooming in his mind. “Que? Quieres que duerma en la misma cama donde te follaste a las prostitutas?” What? You want her sleeping in the same bed you fucked prostitutes? Javier knew he was right, he wasn’t prepared for someone to stay over.

“My Spanish is good but I think I’m a bit drunk, fill me in?” Anya seemed to sober up a tad after nursing her glass of water.

“I may have forgotten to set up the furniture in your apartment..”

“You can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room.”

“Oh. Yeah that.. that works, just need to grab my bags from his car.”

“Consider it done.”

~

“There you go. Take care of her.” Javier gave a slight glare at Carrillo, warning him if anything happened to her. Stop it Javi. You just met her today. She isn’t yours. “Goodnight, carñira. See you tomorrow.” He shut the back door of Carrillo’s car, where he had brought her bags over.

~

The drive to Carrillo’s house was quiet, Anya looking out the window and gazing at the city’s lights.

Upon arrival, he insisted on opening her door for her, wrapping his hand around her waist to make sure she didn’t trip up the stairs to his house. He knew she wouldn’t trip, she knew she wouldn’t trip, but neither said a word and played along with the excuse.

“Make yourself at home, here’s the guest bedroom,” He opened a door on the left. “Sorry about the boxes in there, work seems to follow me home.”

“Oh no worries, I’m the same.” The evidence boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, all of them combined was definitely taller than her.

“Bathroom is through that door,” Carrillo pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “And that door is my room, so if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before Anya spoke.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here rather than a hotel in the city.” Or Javi’s apartment. Both of them knew the unspoken words. She did pick up a few words from their earlier conversation, something about in the same bed as fucking prostitutes let her everything she needed to know about Javi’s habits. “Goodnight, Anya.”

“Good night, Carrillo.”

[brian-in-finance]

LONDON — Caitríona Balfe has been waiting her entire career to be offered a project in Ireland. After filming Kenneth Branagh’s semi-autobiographical drama “Belfast,” about a young boy growing up in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, the 42-year-old actress is still waiting.

“Technically, I still have not worked in Ireland as an actor,” Balfe laughs as she reflects on the film, which shot in Surrey, England, last fall. “It’s really strange. But it’s something I’m always looking for. It was so lovely. Even though that accent is not my own accent, it’s very close. It’s one I’ve grown up listening to. Being part of something like this touches you in a different place. It pulls something a little bit different from you when you’re doing something that is so personal or has that personal tie.”

Balfe grew up about 90 minutes from Belfast, on the other side of the Ireland border, in Monaghan. The actress describes her hometown as a “small, one-horse town” (it didn’t even have a movie theater) and she remembers going back and forth between Ireland and Northern Ireland throughout her childhood.

Her father worked as a police sergeant and her mother was responsible for raising Balfe and her four siblings — an experience that feels related to the circumstances depicted in “Belfast,” which is now playing in theaters nationwide. In the film, Balfe plays Ma, a hardworking woman raising two boys in 1969 Belfast while her husband, Pa (played by Jamie Dornan), commutes to England to earn a living.

“Caitríona has the rare combination of passion, intelligence, humor and generosity that makes up what you might call soul,” Branagh says of the actress. “Hers is a large one, which in her work, she is willing to share. … When shooting she was always prepared, and also, was always game to be surprised. We had the same goals for the performance: Truth. Simplicity. Heart. Easy to say, hard to provide throughout, but she did.”

“Belfast” went into production last October with serious safety protocols in place, and the opportunity to get back to work couldn’t have come at a better time for Balfe. She had spent the past four months holed up in her Glasgow apartment with her new husband, Tony McGill, and she was so excited to shoot the film that she missed the pair’s first wedding anniversary.

“I was in that apartment until the beginning of July,” she sighs. “It was quite a strict lockdown that we had in Scotland, which was great because they really managed to get a hold on the numbers. Ken talks about how he wrote that script during that time. I was not that productive at all. It was a really introspective time for everybody. I think we all looked at our lives and thought, ‘What the hell are we doing?’ I might have had a little existential crisis or two.”

Balfe is no stranger to looking inward when the calling comes. Although she grew up wanting to be an actress (she notes, “I wanted to be an actor since I was 3 or 4 years old — I was that annoying little child”), Balfe took a major detour in her 20s. She began modeling at age 18, walking in runway shows for fashion houses like Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Givenchy. She left her one-horse town in Ireland and moved to New York City. But after several years Balfe had to acknowledge that this wasn’t the career she wanted.

“I had always planned on coming back [to acting], but it’s one of those things where it’s hard to see where your path is,” she remembers. “I was definitely really unhappy. I got to that point where I was 27, 28 and I was miserable and I didn’t know how to get to do what I wanted to do. I started taking these random walk-in acting classes in New York to see if I still liked it and to see if I was any good. And I loved it. It took a while to make the decision and when I was like 29 I was like, ‘That’s it, I’m moving to L.A. Something will happen.’”

In Los Angeles, Balfe landed her first job: J.J. Abrams’ 2011 film “Super 8” playing the “dead mom.” She didn’t have any lines, but the experience was enough to convince her to keep going. She got a few more bit parts before she was cast as Claire Randall on “Outlander,” the role that changed everything.

“That role is such a gift, because within that fantasy world the range of what I’ve been able to do with Claire has been incredible,” says Balfe, who relocated to Glasgow for the Starz series, which will air its sixth season next year. “If this was more of a modern-day procedural or something like that I wouldn’t get to do half the things I’ve been able to do. I wouldn’t have been stretched the way I’ve been stretched with that role.”

The upcoming season of the show was a particular challenge for Balfe, who was pregnant with her first child during production earlier this year. The pregnancy was hidden for the episodes — Claire is now in her late 50s and menopausal — and instead Balfe’s focus was on exploring Claire’s trauma from the events that concluded Season 5. The character has endured a lot over the years and often bounced back, but this time Claire has to grapple with her trauma, something that excited Balfe.

“This season it was really amazing because for the first time I got to explore Claire in a way where she’s more destabilized than she ever has been before,” the actress explains. “That’s a lot to do with the events of last season, but I [also] talked to a lot of women and there’s a lot going on in the U.K. press in the last year about women who go through menopause and how that can really destabilize you [and] change your ability to cope with things. I was definitely bleeding that into what was going on in this season.”

She adds, “Psychologically, she’s really struggling from having the attack at the end of last season. She’s someone who’s always been able to compartmentalize things and been able to put things in a box and move on. But this is something she’s unable to do that with. She’s really struggling emotionally and mentally to keep her feet on the ground and keep moving forward.”

Although there are some similarities between Claire and Ma, Balfe was especially interested in exploring their differences. Claire is always ready to leap into the unknown, but Ma fears the world outside Belfast, even as she knows it might be best to move her family from the growing violence. Balfe watched a lot of footage and interviews with women from the time and sought to understand the challenge and complexity of raising a family during turmoil. While the story has its moments of darkness, there is a sense of levity throughout the film — which the actors also embraced behind the scenes.

“There was just a kind of buoyancy to the mood on set because we were all happy to be doing this great project together and Caitríona was central to that,” recounts Dornan, who had only briefly met Balfe before production on “Belfast.” “I found it very easy to pretend we had a real marriage and a real bond and that we were really parenting these two boys together. She made it very easy. … I think we approach work in very similar ways. We’re both super focused and ready but ready to have fun as well.”

Now Balfe is considering where she wants to take her career next. The seventh season of “Outlander” will film next year, and Balfe recently optioned the novel “Here Is the Beehive” by Sara Crossan and is developing the potential film as a producer. She also is ready to start directing.

“This is another gift ‘Outlander’ has given me,” Balfe says. “As a woman in this industry it’s important you create your own destiny, in a way. If you’re waiting on the phone to ring there are going to be huge lulls and dips. I think you have to look at different ways of how you’re going to sustain a career and have longevity.”

“She can and will direct, because she has plenty of things she wants to say, she has an eye for how to say them, and she is determined,” Branagh confirms. “I’m excited to see her develop that part of her work. She is an original and passionate voice, and six seasons of ‘Outlander’ is a hell of a training ground for the technical side of filming.”

After working with Branagh on “Belfast,” Balfe knows one thing for certain: She can’t settle when it comes to her future roles.

“Obviously, when you’re starting out in your career you don’t get those options,” she says. “You take what’s offered. You can have a little bit of power in saying no to some things, but really you’re lucky anyone’s offering you a job. I definitely want to do more work in Ireland. I think that’s really scratched an itch, for sure. When you get given great writing and a great role in a great project, it’s really, really intoxicating, so the next thing you want is great writing in a great role in a great project.”

She laughs and adds, “I’m screwed now, basically!”

(photos from dumspirospero67 on Twitter)

Remember… she can and will direct, because she has plenty of things she wants to say, she has an eye for how to say them, and she is determined. I’m excited to see her develop that part of her work. — Sir Kenneth Branagh

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Epilogue 2: A Queen’s Crown

A/N: I know this one is a bit short.  One more epilogue to go, and if you missed my update, it will be posted THIS WEDNESDAY at 7:30pm.  We’re ending the disaster that was 2020 with Aberdeen and Willy!

January 2023

Aberdeen Bloom was freaking the fuck out.  

Anna Wintour just walked into the room.

“Miss Bloom!  Hello,” she greeted, her signature accent filling the room as her dress swayed back and forth.  Every stylish, her boots clacked against the floor as she approached the photographer and set where Aberdeen was about to pose on a beautifully crafted, eccentrically pink upholstered couch in front of styled bookcases holding hundred-year-old editions of books.  

“Hello Ms. Wintour,” Aberdeen said as confidently as she could, shaking Anna’s hand.  Her own dress – a black, high-neck midi-length dress with sheer long sleeves and hand applied golden crystals she was styled in that morning – sparkled in the light of the room.  “It’s an honour to meet you.  Thank you for the profile.”

“It’s not every day a woman sets a record in the writing world,” Anna said.  “I would be a fool not to profile the youngest person to ever receive a Booker Prize for fiction.”

Aberdeen smiled.  Every time she heard that – the youngest person to ever receive a Booker Prize for fiction – she had to pinch herself.  She truly believed her life wasn’t real over these past few years.  Most authors dreamt of being nominated for awards.  Her first book was longlisted for the two biggest literary awards in Canada.  Her second book, published by Coach House again but then picked up by Knopf and published internationally, had won the two biggest literary awards in Canada and had just won the Booker Prize for Fiction, the most prestigious literary award in the world.  She was living in a dream world.

“And you must be the new fiancé,” Anna said, motioning over to where William was standing just out of shot, watching the photoshoot about to begin.  “Pleasure to meet you.  You must be in town to face the Rangers.”

“You as well,” William approached her to shake her hand.  “You made my fiancée’s dream come true with this profile.”

“Well considering how fashionable she’d been on the book tour,” Anna shrugged her shoulders, as if to say it was so obvious to have her in the pages of Vogue.  “I know some of the editors here kept tabs on it.  Did you employ a stylist?”

“No ma’am,” Aberdeen giggled slightly.  If Anna Wintour was about to compliment her on her style, she was going to drop dead.

“Impressive,” Anna nodded.  “Now let’s see the ring.”

Aberdeen held out her left hand.  Anna inspected the ring like a gemologist.  When William proposed with it, Aberdeen was blown away.  He’d designed it himself.  A 4 carat round diamond in a twisted halo design and pavé band.  It quite literally looked like a flower in bloom.  And for Aberdeen’s eyes only, an inscription on the inside of the band in the most delicate handwriting.  “Stunning,” she said, turning to the photographer.  “Make sure you get it.”

“Of course, Ms. Wintour.”

Anna side-stepped to inspect the set.  She took one last look at Aberdeen in her dress and high heels and perfectly waved hair and perfectly applied makeup.  Anna gave her an up-down and suddenly Aberdeen became nervous.  Anna looked towards the stylist.  “We need a crown.  Crowns.”

“Crown?  Crowns?  Multiple?”

“Her novel is titled A Queen’s Crown.  She’s the youngest woman – person – to win the Booker Prize for fiction.  Surely she should wear a crown in her photoshoot.”

“I—I’ll go into the closet,” the stylist nodded, hurrying out of the room.

Anna turned once more to Aberdeen.  “Enjoy.”

***

March 2023

“I’m not about to be murdered by Orla Bloom for not having our wedding in a Catholic Church,” William said as he stuffed pasta into his mouth at the dinner table.  

“But you’re not Catholic,” Aberdeen tried to explain to him, again.  “You don’t understand what we’ll have to go through to get married in a Catholic Church.  There are classes – like legit marriage classes we have to take.  And we have to get, like, permission from the diocese to enter into the marriage and follow a Catholic wedding forma—”

“Listen to me,” William said, interrupting her.  He grabbed her hand from across the table to calm her down.  He knew how stressed she was getting about getting married, if only because there was Toronto and Sweden and Northern Ireland and Scotland to deal with.  That didn’t even factor in hockey, making them only really able to have the wedding within a twelve-week span of the year.  That also didn’t factor in her job, which, between book tours and interviews and appearances and writing her next, also created limited time and availability for their wedding date.  But when she felt his hand wrap around hers, he saw her visibly relax.  “I love you.  We could go down to the courthouse right now to get married.  But this means a lot to Orla.  And I know you won’t say it, but I know how much this means to you, to be married in the same church you went to as a kid in Etobicoke,” he said softly.  “So we’re doing it there.  No ifs, and, or buts.  I’ll take any class I have to in order to marry you.  I’ll donate.  Give my blood.  Whatever.  We’re getting married there.”

Aberdeen couldn’t take it.  She got up from her seat and moved to sit in William’s lap.  She didn’t care that they were at the dinner table, and she didn’t care that William had to push back his chair really quickly to accommodate her.  All she wanted to do was melt into him completely.  “Thank you so much,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him.  “I love you.  You know that, right?”

William smiled.  “I do.  And I love you too.  That’s why I gave you that ring.”

***

TALK OF THE TOWN: Booker Prize-winning and Toronto-based author Aberdeen Bloom and William Nylander (you know, of the Toronto Maple Leafs) just bought “the last lot on the Kingsway” – an old 1970s style bungalow empty for some time now.  Sources say the couple plan to tear it down (of course) and build their dream home, a Scandinavian-inspired house where Bloom will no doubt produce her next great novels.  Bloom and Nylander will be two blocks away from her former and his current boss, Brendan Shanahan, President of the Toronto Maple Leafs.  Bloom has always said in interviews that she will never leave Toronto, so it’s fitting that the girl who was born and raised in Etobicoke would buy on one of the city’s most exclusive and coveted streets.

***

May 2023

“Vogue is coming to the wedding?  Vogue?!  Like…Vogue magazine?!” Aleida asked as she fed a now two-year-old Helena sitting in a high chair.  Aberdeen smiled wryly before nodding her head.  Aleida was still dumbfounded.  “Like…Anna Wintour Vogue magazine.  That Vogue magazine.”

“That Vogue magazine,” Aberdeen nodded.  “They’re profiling it for an issue, along with my dress fitting.  And then when the house is done, they’re going to do a feature on that too.”

Aleida looked towards Bee, who was just as shocked as Aleida was.  “We need to go shopping for new dresses.”

“We definitely need to go shopping for new dresses,” Bee agreed.  “I better let Aryne know too.”

“Guys, it’s still like, two years away.  We set the date for August 23rd, 2025,” Aberdeen smiled as she reminded them.  “You will have plenty of time.  Plenty.”

“I don’t know about that.  Weddings creep up on you quick,” Bee joked.  Aberdeen completely understood where she was coming from.  Bee and Morgan were getting married in July.  William and Aberdeen were invited, of course, and would be going.  Bee spoke a lot about the planning the past few months and always gave updates whenever the girls were all together.  “I mean, I thought a year would be plenty of time for the wedding.  And it is, don’t get me wrong…but it definitely came sooner than I thought!”

“You need to get the venue sorted now before anything else,” Aleida offered.  “You’re two years out so you should honestly have your choice in place.  But I don’t think there’s any venue in this city that would turn you down.”

“We’ve already booked,” Aberdeen smiled wryly.  She was just full of surprises for the girls today.  They looked at her, waiting for a response.  “The Aria ballroom at the Four Seasons,” she revealed.

“Ooooooooooh,” both women cooed simultaneously at the revelation.  Even Helena join in on the sound.  “That will look stunning,” Aleida commented.  “I can see it now – those floor-to-ceiling windows with flowers hanging and—”

“—don’t forget the drapery over the dancefloor—” Bee offered.

“—the drapery over the dancefloor—”

“—and the centrepieces…big, tall arrangements that stretch up—”

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Aberdeen held her hands up gently, causing Bee and Aleida to stop momentarily.  Aberdeen paused for dramatic effect.  “We’ve gotta write all this stuff down.”

The girls smiled and wiggled in their seats excitedly.  “I’m giving you Rachel’s number,” Bee said, immediately mentioning her florist.  “Your last name’s Bloom.  There’s gotta be a shit ton of flowers at this wedding.”

***

July 2023

Aberdeen had tears in her eyes as she watched Morgan and Bee say “I do”.  William had been holding her hand throughout the entire ceremony, rubbing the back of it gently with his own thumb.  When they finally had their first kiss, it was the only point he let go so he could whistle loudly and clap and cheer.  Bee looked extraordinary in her lace dress.  Aberdeen could only imagine what would be in store for her when she went wedding dress shopping.

When the reception began, Aberdeen couldn’t help but get even more emotional.  Knowing what Bee had gone through in her life, and seeing her dance with Morgan for their first dance made some tears fall down her cheeks.  William noticed almost immediately, even though he was behind her; he wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and nestled his head onto her shoulder.   “That’ll be us soon,” he whispered.

Aberdeen nodded her head.  “I know.  I’m so excited.”

“I love you so much.  I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”

“And I can’t wait for you to be my husband.”

“And baby daddy.  Don’t forget baby daddy,” he joked.

Aberdeen giggled.  She knew he said that to make her laugh, because even though these were tears of joy, he didn’t like to see her cry.  “Baby daddy too,” she nodded.  “I can’t wait to have a thousand more little Nylanders running around Etobicoke.”

“We’re going to take over the world.”

***

August 23rd, 2025

Aberdeen looked at her dad as he held his arm out for her to grab.  He looked so spiffy in his suit, and every time she saw him today, he had a giant smile on his face.  It hadn’t left since their early morning wake up call to get hair and makeup done.  He’d cried when he saw her in her dress for the first time.  Now, if it was even possible, his smile was even wider.  “Ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded, linking her arm with her father’s.  “I love you so much, dad.”

“I love you too, Aberdeen.  Every day I thank my lucky stars for you and Siena and Camden.  You’ve brought so much light to my life.”

Aberdeen’s bridesmaids had already walked out – Jacquie, Stephanie, Daniella, Kasha, and Siena as her maid of honour.  She knew Alex would be standing beside William at the front of the aisle, with Camden (now a smart-as-a-whip-16 year old) and some of his cousins there too.  The music began playing.  She took a deep breath.  The doors opened.

As she walked down the aisle with her father, she saw a lot of familiar faces.  Morgan and Bee, of course, cradling a six-month-old Andy.  Fred and Aleida, with a four-year-old Helena in the cutest little tutu-style dress.  Auston, John and Aryne, Zach and Alannah, Joe with his wife and kids, Pierre, Rasmus, Mitch and Steph, Jake, Courtney, and Luna, Justin and Audrey – so many of the Leafs.  Beth Zadakis.  Her editor from Coach House Books.  Her editor from Knopf.  Jason, Jennifer, and their four girls.  Brendan and his wife.  Her grandparents, who came in all the way from Northern Ireland.  Michael and Camilla.  Her mom.

And of course, William.  William, who was wiping tears away from his eyes.  William, who looked so dapper in his tux.  William.  

Her William.