#no burn scars today sorry lads

[lovely-blue-galaxy]

Rich with some fun socks~

Inspired by this post! from @rat-with-a-tophat

[spooky-pomegranate]

So I found your “Violence and Timing” fic which led me to ao3 and I binge read every chapter. It is really good. Like really good. Like really fucking good. Like I was up all night last night just reading through those chapters because it’s so good. I just had to let you know because wow. I’m kinda sad I finished all the chapters so far because I feel like I just finished a tv show and I always get sad whenever I finish those. So yeah… just letting you know your writing is top tier.

It Was Supposed to Be Simple:

Captain Price x F Reader Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: For Price, it was supposed to be a simple mission. For you, it was supposed to be the most important meeting of your life. But nothing ever goes to plan, does it? (A/N: Thank you so much @peepawsbeardhair ! That's incredibly sweet to say. I've put a lot of excerpts from that story on Tumblr and people seem to eat it up, but I've never posted the first chapter. Maybe it's time?! )

--------------------- RUSSIA. DECEMBER 2022 ---------------------

“Bravo 5 how copy?”

Captain Price’s surveillance crackled to life in his ear as Gaz responded, “Approaching Building 1 from the west now sir.”

“Rog. Ghost what’s your status?” The bitter winds burned his lunges with each deep breath.

Another crackle, “In position on the east. Ready to breach on your order Captain.”

The blizzard had made for good cover. In the ten minutes Price had occupied his overwatch position nearly half an inch of snow had gathered on his back. His fingers ached as he pinched his radio.

“Alright lads. On my order in 3, 2, 1. Go!”

For the next several minutes gun smoke, fire, and blood filled the air. The mission was simple. Enter the building, kill any armed guards, and secure the intel.

The location, albeit currently freezing Price to his very core, hadn’t been a complicated one either. An old remote KGB intelligence outpost deep in the heart of Siberia; small, run-down, minimally guarded.

“Nothing that’ll win you chest candy.” Ghost had quipped when Laswell briefed the trio on the mission.

While Price fired another sniper round into the building, he thought back to the last words Laswell had said to him before he had boarded the helo at base.

“We have solid intel the Russians are planning something John. Something big. I know this isn’t the type of job I usually ask of you boys, but we need this intel and we need it now.”

Price didn’t mind that it was a straightforward mission. In fact, he was looking forward to something simpler. Scars and nightmares often reminded Price of his more complicated missions. He hoped this trip wouldn’t add to either of his unwanted collections.

Another cackle over the comms, “Captain, the building is clear.”

“Copy you Lieutenant. You have eyes on the intel?”

“Yes sir. But Captain…” Price heard Ghost’s voice waver ever so slightly. The most minute change in pitch.

“Bloody hell Price, you’re gonna want to see this.”

--------------------- LONDON. DECEMBER 2022 ---------------------

“Just a hot coffee black. You know what actually, can you add a shot of espresso in there? Sorry, yeah thanks.”

“One red-eye. Anything else today?”

“No, no that’s all thanks.”

You knew the caffeine wouldn’t help your shaky hands. The extra shot certainly wouldn’t quell your uneasy and empty stomach either, but you moved onward, grabbing your order and heading out to the street. You had more important things to worry about today.

As you took your first sip a text came through on your cell.

“In the lobby now. They want to move meeting w/ Deputy CTO up. Didn’t say why. Can you be here in 10?”

Luckily you’d been pacing around the same three London blocks for 20 minutes now.

“Be there in 2.”

You crossed the street and made your way into the towering high-rise lobby. It was crowded with businessmen. You tried to scan the room for your boss. Where the hell was he? Damn it, all these men in suits looked the same.

“Didn’t get me a coffee then?”

“Jesus! Oh my god, I didn’t see you sitting there. Why the hell did you scare me like that!?”

You nearly spilled your coffee whirling around to face your boss. He’d been quietly sitting in a corner, briefcase and winning smile in tow.

“And why are there so many people in this goddamn building right now anyway?”

You tried to calm yourself a bit. The espresso was a bad choice. Your nerves were on fire.

“Did you forget who we’re meeting with today? Half the people in here are Secret Service. We’re lucky the CTO has a few minutes to spare for us between these international summit meetings. ”

You looked around the room. Now that he’d said it, you realized there weren’t a lot of grey hair men in the lobby. Most of these guys were younger, closer to 30, and their posture was straighter than anyone who normally spent 8 hours a day slumped over a desk.

“Right, yeah that makes sense.”

“Hey.”

You looked back at your boss. He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“We got this okay. Don’t be nervous. You’ve made something that’s gonna change the world, so let’s change it okay.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay. You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” He huffed out a low chuckle. “Let’s head to the elevators. We’re meeting on the 56th floor.”

Your boss grabbed his briefcase, you clutched your coffee, and the two of you made your way across the room. As you waited for an elevator you took a final look over the cramped lobby when you thought you saw… him. He was in a black jacket, dark jeans, boots, and a hat pulled low over his face. You were sure it was him. It couldn’t be. But it…

“You coming or what?” Your boss’s voice cut through your racing thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m coming” You entered the elevator and tried to put the man’s image out of your mind. It was probably just the coffee and your nerves. A mirage brought on by stress and anxiety. You really didn’t need that extra shot.

A very official-looking staffer met you on the 56th floor. She led you to the meeting space, a modern but sterile-looking conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows, tinted glass separating the room from the hallway, and a massive oak table with a dozen chairs.

“The Vice President and Deputy Chief Technology Officer will be with you both shortly. Please have a seat.”

“Wait the Vice President? Like the Vice President of the United States? He’s coming to our meeting? I thought we were just meeting with the Deputy?” The sentences jumped out of your mouth quicker than you would have liked.

“Yes, as you may know, the Vice President has made technology and anti-terrorism efforts a focus of his office for several years now. He’s been briefed on your work by the CTO and is eager to discuss further details with you both.”

And with that sudden news, the staffer disappeared, slipping back out into the hallway.

As you watched her figure move down the hall behind the tinted glass, the walls felt like they were starting to push in on you. Could the ceiling be dropping in on you too? You took another sip of your coffee, nerves fully on fire again.

Several more minutes of pacing and pep talks occurred before the conference room door opened again. The staffer was back with important friends this time.

After the most formal introductions of your life, your boss took over with his presentation. It’d been decided a long time ago he’d handle the flashy intro and you’d seal the deal with the demo. This was your baby after all and no one knew it better than you.

As your boss finished the pitch you stood from your chair, resting your hands firmly on the briefcase he’d brought. The leather was cool and soft.

You locked eyes with your boss. His eyes crinkled at you again. You felt the air come back into your lungs and the walls didn’t feel so close anymore. You could do this.

As you slipped your hands inside the briefcase the sound of heavy boots echoed outside. Black shadows in the shape of half a dozen men darkened the tinted glass separating the conference room and the hallway. Then came the voices; deep, angry, decidedly unAmerican.

“If you fucking muppets don’t let me into that room I promise you you’ll regret ever stepping foot in this bloody country.”

An agent whipped opened the conference door, nearly tumbling over as four combat-clad men pushed their way inside.

“Diaz, what’s going on?” The Vice President eyed the fumbling agent.

“Sir, we need to move you to…”

The agent's voice was cut off as the windows behind you exploded rocking you forward. Shards of glass rained down on your back as your ribs collided with the oak table. Every ounce of air was knocked from your lungs as you crumbled to the floor. The table toppled over onto its side in front of you while behind you the room opened up to the London skyline.

Total silence enveloped the room except for a high pitch buzzing that felt like it was crawling its way out from deep inside your ear.

Enormous pain rippled throughout your chest as you reached above you for the briefcase now precariously dangling off the edge of the table. You pulled the smooth leather to your chest.

As your braced your forearms on the ground and pushed yourself up to your full height you heard a murmur of a deep voice. Someone was trying to penetrate the ringing in your ears, but you couldn’t understand. The buzzing was still too loud.

Fully upright you came face to face with one of the foreign soldiers. He towered several inches above you, a British flag squarely on his chest. His steely blue irises glanced over your body and when his eyes came back to rest on your face his pupils were nearly double in size.

Then the soldier lunged at you.

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

Price wrapped one of his hands around your waist and the other on the back of your head as he tackled you to the floor. He didn’t care about the bruises he’d leave on your hip as he pressed his full weight roughly against you. He needed you on the ground now.

“Get down! Sniper on the roof across the street. Soap take him out now!”

“On it!”

Before Soap could pull out his rifle the first shot rings throughout the conference room. Price watches as it slams into a businessman’s chest ripping flesh and bone. He can taste the terribly familiar scent of coppery blood in the air.

Before the crimson cloud can even reach the carpet, another shot. This one takes down the stubborn agent who delayed Price getting into this room. A mist of blood plumes where the man once stood. Price grits his teeth.

Then another bang. This time the staffer is down.

Soap fires next. His Scottish timbre yells out, “Sniper down.”

Ropes drop down outside the building. Price knows this means the fight is just beginning. He quickly kneels removing himself from you and grabs your hand, yanking you to a seated position. He can see tears forming in your eyes. He can’t worry about exfiltrating a civilian now. Secure the high-value officials and eliminate the threat, those words repeat in his mind like a command he’s ordering to himself. There are only seconds before this room will be invaded.

But he won’t leave you here out in the open, he can’t watch another civilian die if he can stop it. So without saying a word he looks at you and points to a spot behind the overturned table. He hopes you’ll understand his wordless intention. You hadn’t answered him when he’d asked if you were alright after the blast, a shot eardrum from the blast most likely.

Price lets out a small breath as he watches you scurry to cover behind the overturned table.

He reminds himself of his own order, secure the officials. Price barks, “Gaz, Ghost get the VP and CTO out of here now! Roof’s compromised take the stairs. Go!”

“Moving now sir.” Ghost answers.

Then comes the smoke, the Russian voices, and the sound of boots crunching on carpet and broken glass. Prices slides in next to you behind the cover of the large overturned oak table, shoulders and thighs pressing up against each other. He can feel your body shaking. He doesn’t need to see your face to know that tears are down your cheeks by now.

Price peers around the table. The smoke is thick. Wait, he tells himself. The haze will thin out soon with the windows blown away. Wait … for the moment to strike. Wait… for the enemy to compromise themselves. Wait… because everything in Price’s life depends on the perfect balance of violence and timing.

One of the Russians get’s impatient and fires a rogue round into the ceiling. Patience pays off and Price shoots his pistol. One down.

The smoke is clearing fast now. Price moves from his cover behind the table. Soap emerges from the receding smoke with him. They fire and fight together, pushing their way forward toward the London skyline with bullets, knives, and brute force. Russians falling one by one in their wake.

There’s no one left in front of Price to gun down when he hears a scream from behind him. You’re standing by the door, briefcase clutched to your chest, and knife to your throat. One of the Russians must have taken the stairs from the roof down, sneaking into the room during the fighting.

Price tries to remind himself to wait. To wait for the right moment. To pair his violence with perfect timing… but your eyes. Your eyes beg him not to. Your eyes beg Price to move now, to fight now, to save you now.

So he moves. Price raises his pistol and fires. But at that same moment, you move and two bodies hit the floor.

Fuck. What had Price done?

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

(Read the rest of this story here)

[ammstify]

Welcome to part 2 of my completely self indulgent Persona AU I made for my friend and I’s silly, gay, adult men ocs because I’m obsessed with this franchise!

Why don't we begin, shall we?

(**NOTE: This is part 2 of my Persona OC AU long post! You can find part 1 on my profile, or in the links down below! Also, I will be referring to my best friend and I's characters by their first name initials, sorry!)

Also obligatory tag for my awesome mutual, @greetings-inferiors! (Btw, love what you've written so far for Persona Green, keep it up!!)

When we last left off, I discussed in full about my best friends special boy and oc, F, and his own Persona Achilles!

Today, we'll be discussing my character this time; My handsome man N! (Completely unrelated to N from Pokemon Black and White, love that depressed prince though <3)

N is a 25 (if 2002) year old, or 30-31 during Persona 3's time (2009-2010), or 39 during Persona 5's time (2016). Regardless of age though, he's a handsome Mexican lad, who despite being just a smidge shorter than his lover F, is a pretty tough and strong dude! He's a masc brunet with a love for Greaser and biker fashion, who loves reading cheap romance novels, working on cars and motorcycles, exercising in the morning, and listening to 80's rock. He is very calm, cool, suave, and a really chill guy despite his sometimes pessimistic attitude!

Though like F, he too struggles with his own trauma and demons. But, through F's love and support, as well as his high-on-life attitude, N overcomes it one day at a time, healing their scars together while living with their heads held high.

N's chosen Persona of course is the other Mythological hero of the Trojan war, and the major supporting character of Homer's Iliad, Patroclus! Or Pátroklos, depending on the version/language used!

Unlike Achilles, who takes a human-like form, Patroclus takes a more robotic shape, resembling that of a transformer of sorts. Its big yet sleek, with parts of it reminiscent of both a badass old style sports car, like a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans-am, and some of the sickly designed cars from Mad Max!

The torso is big and bulky, with a leather jacket-like shape forged from the black steel cover the silver-blue metal skin below, with thick spikes similar to the ones on Achilles armor. Only instead of silver, they're a gold-ish tinted bronze. Its arms are thick and bulky too, with transformed metallic parts lining it all the way down to the hands.

Within its forearms, a pair long of bronze spear-like blades lie within, which can be ejected out similar to stiletto blades, or the Mantis blades in Cyberpunk 2077! This represents the two spears Patroclus had taken while acting as Achilles, in order to fight off the oncoming Trojan's! From its stomach, up, and hanging over its shoulders lie thick pairs of silver pipes, two on each side, resembling exhausts that pump out thin wafts of silver smoke. When the Persona is engaged though, it puffs out big plumes of black exhaust, revving up as it prepares to attack!

Connecting down from these pipes, to the topmost area of its stomach, also known as the Sarpedeon's midriff, a large furnace like hatch lies there, with a large visible hole piercing through the grating, lined with that same bronze-gold. This represents the fatal wound Patroclus had received from the Hector, the Trojan prince, while disguising as Achilles!

And not only that, but the blue flame that floats within the furnace-like engine that fills the torso. Despite its appearance, the area around the flame is cold to the touch, and will instantly freeze you if touched. This represents not only Patroclus' life force, but also his still existing soul even after death, and being set free by his boy being burned upon a pyre! Not only that, but it represents the damage N has faced in his own life, with the metaphorical cover over his heart/soul damaged and scarred.

For Patroclus' legs, much like its arms, they are made up of transformed metal parts laid over bronze wire-like thigh muscles, and hefty metallic calves with two deep azure blue motors. The right motor has the name "BALIUS" printed in bold black, while the left has the name "XANTHUS" printed in bold white.

The names and motors themselves reference quite a few things actually! Firstly, the names reference the two immortal horses Balius and Xanthus, who, while not chosen to pull Patroclus' chariot, were very close to him and only allowed him to touch and care for them. During his death, it was even said in the Iliad that the two horses wept for him!

Alongside that, it also references Patroclus' own love for horses, and a slight connection to the symbolism of dice that is often associated with him. Whereas the motors themselves on the other hand connect to N's love for engineering and his connection to being a car mechanic, which happens to be a big part of his life!

Anyway, the two motors connect down to a large pair of wheels for the feet, which allow Patroclus to zip around fast! Upon its back, it probably has a place for N to grab onto and catch a ride on the Persona if needed. Lastly, for its head, it has a metal drill-like Greek olive wreath headpiece, its mask-like silver head similarly shaped to N's while partly protected by the exhaust pipes. Its eyes glow a deep blue, and its hair is shaped similar to N's, resembling a layered slickback undercut, with a pair of thin metal strips resembling twisted overhanging strands!

Similar to Achilles and F, I'm not entirely sure was Patroclus and N's Arcana would be persay? Maybe the Moon, or the Emperor? Heck, maybe even Death or the Hierophant! But I do know that much of Patroclus' skills would focus on Bufu/Ice magic, a few healing spells, and a signature physical move! Think kinda like Morgana, Yosuke, or Makoto's Persona kits!

Also, can you tell I've thought about this one a LOT in-depth?

Anyway, now we can FINALLY GET TO THE CHARACTER DETAILS FOR N!

For his SEES gear, it would be a bulky black leather jacket with a blue or white tanktop underneath, zipped up partway for protection, but also comfort! He likes to have his chest show a little :3c Ofc, he'd have the signature SEES special armband on his shoulder. N would also have a pair of off-black pants, with pair of solid leather gloves, his white Evoker holster wrapped around his right thigh, aviator goggles, and a pair of big bulky combat boots equipped with steel tips!

That's right, his weapon are boots! Unlike Chie though, whose style of fighting mimics the kung-fu and karate films she loves, N's is a combination of Kickboxing, Muay Tai, and Jeet kune do! He strikes with his fists before delivering a combination of 1-3 big, badass kicks to knock out his opponents! Think kinda like how Spike Spiegel fights in Cowboy Bebop!

Anyway, for his Phantom Thieves costume, its a lot similar to his SEES outfit and normal war, but with a twist. The main inspiration for it is none other than the outfit of the protagonist of th Mad Max film series, Max Rockatansky! More specifically, the outfit he wears within the 2015 video game. N dons a wholly leather outfit like Max, and surprisingly, Makoto! (btw can you tell she was an inspiration for this? Like a LOT?!)

Between a leather jacket, with a single leather pauldron, leather belts, leather harnesses, leather jeans, leather boots, leather gloves, how many times can I say leather? And of course his mask, which unlike F's, is an ornate metal mask like this one, but yknow with the bottom half cut for his face, giving a strangely elegant appearance to this overall tough and rough outfit!

And last but not least, N's codename.... Fury, named after the "Furies", also known as the Erinyes or Eumenides, the Greek goddesses of death and vengeance who punish the wicked and sinners!

Yes, I know N is a cisgender man, but I thought it'd be a really cool name and tie-in, given that Patroclus' death is avenged by Achilles!

"But, Ammy, wait-" I hear you say as you look down, "Why is there another part???"

Well my dear friends and readers, due to the big size of this one too (and because I'm a sneak), I'm doing a part 3 where I'm going to discuss the 2nd Evolution/Ultimate Personas of F and N, as well as some fun miscellaneous stuff! Maybe even answer some questions, so I hope you look out for it after enjoying this one!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

[afatlotofchance]

Commission-story 4: Vali's Vampire (part 1)

This commission was done for the same person that asked the two first stories I shared on this blog, and... it is halway between story 1 (the cute love story of two big guys) and story 2 (a harsh kinky medieval soft-torture story). As we are entering the spooky season of autumn, I invite you to read this vampire story, this vampire romance. With all it implies. A vampire romance must only be a tragic, painful, beautiful by morbid romance. A vampire story will always be something disturbing and creepy - though sad and sexy.

Romania, 1894

The people of the village felt sorry for Vali.

“Poor lad. Doesn’t deserve all that.”

Even though, it was hard to tell if they felt sorry for Vali because of the storms, or because of his wife.

The storms destroyed Vali’s crops. Stefania blamed Vali for it.

The storms made a hole in Vali’s roof. Stefania blamed Vali for it.

A bolt of lightning had burned down the old tree of Vali’s garden. Stefania blamed Vali for it. 

Everyone around here knew Vali. He was born and grew up in the village. All the elders could tell you how he was as a child: smiling, polite, faithful, hard-working. 

In a similar fashion everyone around here also knew Stefania, for she too was born and grew up in the village. The elders also remembered her as a child. Capricious, spiteful, ever-complaining and greedy. Just like today. 

Of course, her parent’s beatings and teachings had managed to calm her down for some time, grooming her into a quiet, pretty and pleasant young girl. But as soon as she was wed, and far away from her parents’ grasp (who died soon after), she returned to her true self, the one of a nasty little thing. 

Nobody knew why Vali chose her out of all the girls of the village. He was himself quite a good-looking man - fair eyes, strong brows, brown hair, without any kind of scar or deformity - despite the roughness and crudeness his farmer life gave to its appearance. Field work had given him strong muscles - bulging arms, wide shoulders, thick trunk - while generous meals and abundant drinks at the inn had rounded his face, curved his belly and widened his thighs. He was certainly one of the village’s strongest men, and could have easily beaten Stefania into submission. Yet, he supported her cries, and screams, and insults, without ever raising his voice or flinching. Some called him a true saint. Others called him a true fool.

And now, if this first plague wasn’t enough, came the storms… Bad storms, frightening storms. “The work of the Devil” some said. Heavy and violent rains, sometimes turning into hail. Howling winds calling forth black clouds turning the day into a pitch-black night. And of course, the lightning, great white spears hitting the ground and burning down trees. The water, the wind and the celestial fire destroyed not only the growing crops of poor Vali, but also everything he kept in his granary. The couple was left with barely anything to eat. While Vali tightened his belt and started working twice as much, Stefania could only weep about their misery and berate her husband for his inability to protect their food or gain money faster. The people of the village were generous with them, yes, and offered them a loaf of bread, a ham or some potatoes from time to time - but this charity wouldn’t last forever. And Stefania never liked these people much anyway.  

Stefania, despite being born to mere cobblers, living in a humble village and being the wife of a farmer, had always dreamed of another, higher, much different life. The life of an aristocrat, the life of a princess, the life of a lady, filled with wealths and luxuries. She had seen, several times, noblewomen in their horse-drawn carriages pass by the road near the village, and each time she envied their pretty dresses, their shining jewels, their loyal servants and their beautiful husbands. In this God forsaken village, dressed in ugly rags, eating raw or boiled vegetables, walking and working in the mud, she felt humiliated, smothered, slowly dying. She knew that there was better out there, she knew that she deserved better than that, and she knew she was better than all of this. 

And she was ready to do anything to make her dreams come true.

“We will sell the farm.” she declared one night.

It had been a foggy day, followed by a rainy night. Far away, you could hear the faint rumblings of a heart storm thunder, the kind that merely echoes in the darkness, without any lightning to split the dark skies.

“This is the only way for us to obtain money fast.” she went on.

“We don’t need to do that now.” Vali objected. “We don’t need huge sums of money for now. Just little ones. If we are strong, hard-working and wait until next summer, we can…”

“What if there is another storm? Or a freezing spring, or if the crops burn in summer? No! It is all too risky, too dangerous! We lost too much! I can’t possibly let you gamble on some fickle land and capricious weather!”

“Farming is not gambling, and these lands are not fickle. These lands are my family’s and farming is hard work.”

“I am telling you, Vali, that we need to sell the farm! We can’t wait anymore! I’m starving! With the money we’ll get, we’ll be able to move out of this dreadful village, into a bigger, safer city. There we could… we could become servants for a wealthy family! Gardeners, nurses, gate-keepers, floor-scrubbers, the jobs aren’t lacking! It will provide us with a roof, with food, and with money for a time until…”

“I don’t want to move out of this village, Stefania. I love this village. It is my home and family. I am telling you, I won’t sell this farm.”

“You are acting stupid! Stubborn and stupid like a child! We need to sell it! Once you’ve gained some decent and honest money, you will…”

“With this farm, I earned decent and honest money, Stefania, just like my parents did. Remember? This was my father’s farm, and my grandfather’s farm, and this is now my farm. I won’t sell it. It is my duty to keep it.”

“Duty? You don’t have any duty, you big oaf! To who will you transmit this piece of swampy land? To your son maybe? Ha! Don’t make me laugh! As for your father, he is dead, and your grandfather, he is rotting away! Corpses don’t care what one does with their farm! Their eyes were probably already devoured by the maggots!”

Vali hit the table with his fit. For the first time in her life, Stefania saw harshness, coldness and darkness on her husband’s face, and for the first time, she heard angriness in his voice.

“Stefania, don’t insult my family, and don’t treat the dead lightly. You seem to forget that I am your husband, and thus you are bound to obey me. I let your vile tongue run free to spit all the poison you want on honest and decent people, but remember that it is still my right to close your mouth so that you’ll choke on your own venom. Are we clear?”

Stefania was boiling with rage.

“Don’t you dare say such things to me, Vali! Don’t you dare threaten me! Never, ever have you dared such… such an infamy! You are a prideful, stubborn and wicked man, Vali! Threatening your own wife! You want us to starve and die rather than selling this rotting wooden box! A coffin, this is what this farm is! A coffin with a cursed land, haunted by your rotten ancestors! You want us to die, Vali, but I want to live! So go play with the corpses and ghosts if you like, die this instant if that pleases you, but you won’t…”

They were interrupted by loud, booming noise, so deafening it seemed almost as if the thunder was right outside of their house - but it was just someone hitting violently on the door. 

“Who could it be at such an hour? And why are they knocking so loudly?” Stefania complained. “What rudeness. Well come on, don’t stand there, go!”

Vali, still vibrant with rage, got up and opened the door. 

Outside of it stood a massive black silhouette.

“Excuse me, is this Vali’s home?”

“I am Vali. What do you want of me?”

“Merely to salute you, old friend.”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember me, Vali?”

“Your voice sounds familiar.”

“It is because we have been friends, Vali. Brothers of milk, brothers of tears. May I enter? The rain is cold.”

Vali nodded and gestured for the man to enter. The stranger squeezed himself through the small door. Vali was flabbergasted to find someone taller and wider than him. In fact, this mysterious guest was so big, his flesh seemed to sink into the frame of the door, and he had to push himself to pass the threshold. Vali feared that he would get stuck, but the man managed somehow to compress his bulk to pass the door, and when inside immediately expanded back into a huge, gargantuan fat man. 

Vali only knew of one person, one friend, who was taller than him. But it couldn’t possibly be him… And yet, when Vali raised his head to look at the stranger’s face, he recognized those small and narrow eyes on top of a rounded nose. 

“Dragomir? Is that you?”

The stranger smiled, his pointy teeth shining in the dark. 

“Yes, Vali. Long time no see.”

XXX

Vali and Dragomir sat near the chimney and talked there for a long time. Now that his old friend was here, Vali had forgotten all about his anger and the unpleasantness of his wife. He was all smiles, laughs and joy, for he hadn’t seen Dragomir since he was a fourteen-year-old lad. Dragomir and him used to be best friends, well more like brothers, raised by the same nurse, partners in games and partners in crime. They cherished each other dearly and cared one for another, through protection, gifts and other lovely things. Their adventures together had however been brutally interrupted when Dragomir’s parents passed away. Now an orphan, he was soon bought by a nobleman from a far away city who wished to make him his personal assistant. It was a very good situation for Dragomir, but the two boys still cried heavily upon saying goodbye. 

And, after thirteen years, they were reunited. A lot of things had changed in thirteen years. Beginning with Dragomir’s body.

Back when he was still a child, Dragomir was a tall and thin boy, almost skeletal. He was nicknamed the “branch”, the “twig”, the “bone”. His skinniness was due to some sickness, that also prevented him from doing any hard work at home or in the field, and made him vomit food that was either too hot or too cold. 

Yet, here he was, as fat as a winter hog! A true mountain of flesh dwarfing Vali, who was reputed for being one of the biggest men of the village. 

“He must eat so much, in his fancy city manor.” Vali thought. “He must have feasts every day and every night. He was really lucky to be chosen by this nobleman.”

Vali couldn’t take his eyes off Dragomir’s body - a body so different from the one he used to know, the one he regularly hugged or hit. It was now a body of wealth, of abundance, of domination. A beautiful body of riches. Dragomir’s face was now as round as the full moon, with a double-chin that spilled over his tight collar and his white bow-tie. His shirt and vest, immaculate, were stretched to the point of almost popping by his belly the size of a haystack, a belly so big Dragomir, in fact, couldn’t have closed his jacket even if he wanted to. And his pants! As black as his jacket, as beautiful as his red-lined cape, and as big as a ship’s sail! It was simple: Dragomir’s pants were so big Vali could easily fit whole into just one of the legs! And up there… Between the tight vest and the small bow-tie… His shirt was so white it blinded Vali, but the cloth couldn’t hide it… Dragomir’s chest. Bigger. Plumper. Fatter. Two firm mounds of flesh, which reminded our farmer of the generous chest of some of the most charming girls of the village, and this thought made him blush. Hopefully for him, Dragomir hadn’t noticed anything - he was too busy speaking. 

A long, complex, flowery monologue, detailed to Vali everything that happened to Dragomir after he left, said all there was to say about his new houses and brought him the latest gossip concerning the members of the government. Many things Vali didn’t really pay attention to, for, to be honest, Dragomir was dreadfully boring. Now that he had learned the language of the cities, he spoke long and twisted sentences filled with delicate, eccentric words Vali ignored the meaning of. He spoke of names and places Vali had no idea about, and he talked so easily of money, expenses and spendings - without any shame, restraint or care - that it shocked deeply Vali. It shocked him and it made him quite sad, for now he was realizing that Dragomir and him were part of two different worlds.

He was a wealthy and cultured man, belonging to cities, politics and banks. Vali was an humble, dirty, nearly illiterate peasant. They made a strange duo, Vali thought bitterly. He was there, a big, stinky, raggedy man with a skin turned red by the sun, and Dragomir was in front of him, an even bigger man, dressed finely with an expensive suit, impeccable, without any stain on his delicate clothes or noble pale skin. The hunched servant in front of the caped master. 

Quickly, Dragomir began asking questions about Vali’s situation. He wanted to know every single detail of the farmer’s life, just like he had shared his own little (and often boring) details. Vali, torn, between a desire to share everything with his truest friend and the shame of his own life compared to this extraordinary existence of Dragomir - who was now nearly a stranger - decided to merely mumble vague answers, even though each time Dragomir pressed him for more details and more information.

“I have never forgotten you, Vali.” he insisted. “Every day, every night, when I lied down or when I woke up, I kept asking myself, what could possibly have happened to him? Where is he right now? Is he happy? Is he sick? Is he…”

Dragomir stopped for a time, before turning his eyes towards Stefania.

“And I see you are married!”

Vali’s wife took this as an invitation to share the discussion. She took a chair, sat next to Dragomir - in fact, very close to Dragomir - and began describing him her wedding to Vali by the detail. Usually, it was a tale of woe where she listed all the accidents and incidents, all of the bad omens she receives, all of the mistakes and failures of her husband. But today, she had to adapt to her audience, so she rather told a glorious tale of a beautiful and perfect Vali swearing his undying love for her in a beautiful pastoral, almost arcadian, setting, under a blue sky filled with singing birds and a shining, golden sun. 

Dragomir listened carefully, nodding to everything Stefania said, even though his piercing eyes never left even once Vali. Stefania went on speaking about her own family, about the death of her parents, about the kindness of Vali and her proudness to be his wife. She finally ended up talking about the dreadful storms.

“Storms? Really?” said Dragomir.

Vali noted something strange in his voice. He was obviously trying to fake surprise, and failed to do so. In fact he sounded… almost amused. 

Stefania painted him an apocalyptic picture, a true Wild Hunt trampling down their farm, a fight between demons and angels cracking the sky open in a swirl of wind, water and fire. She concluded by how now Vali and her were doomed to misery, poverty and hunger. 

“It was the Devil’s doing, good Sir! God couldn’t possibly punish people as good as ourselves! The Devil wanted Vali’s ruin because he was too good, and he succeeded! We don’t have nothing anymore! We are forced to sell the farm! We will go away, become homeless beggars on the road!”

“No.”

Dragomir had said this word softly, and yet it seemed that it spread in strong, piercing echoes throughout the entire room, stunning both Vali and Stefania. 

“No, I won’t let it be. Vali, my friend, I can’t possibly leave you in such misery. I’ll help you. I’ll give you enough money to repair your farm and survive this year.”

“Dragomir…”

Stefania, overjoyed, interrupted her husband:

“Good Sir, we thank you kindly for your kind help! You are our salvation and savior, and we are redeemable to you, in body and soul! Your feelings are the most noble! We will pray for you at the next mass.”

Dragomir laughed.

“Oh good Sir, we can’t possibly thank you enough! You are saving our lives! To last for this year, we would need at least…”

Dragomir whispered a “shush” and, quite surprisingly, Stefania immediately stopped babbling. 

“No need to give me an amount. I’ll give you what I want.”

Dragomir slipped his dark-gloved hand into an inside pocket of his jacket, and took out a purse the size of wolf’s heart. He threw it on the nearby table, and it opened, spilling glittering golden coins.

Stefania had a shriek of surprise, followed by a moan of pleasure, her hands tightly clutched on her heart. Vali opened wide eyes, flabbergasted and pale. 

“Oh, thank you! Thank…”

“No.”

This time, it was Vali who interrupted Stefania.

“No, Dragomir, this is too much. I can’t possibly accept…”

“I insist, my dear friend. I want you to receive this money. If it can also help you for the years to come, then I’ll be more than pleased.”

“No, Dragomir, I can’t possibly… It… It is not right! I don’t like it!”

“What are you saying, you stu…” started to shout Stefania before calming down. “Darling, we need this money. Without it, we will starve.”

“I don’t want to steal from you, Dragomir.” Vali insisted. “And this feels like stealing. In the worst way. Exploiting your kindness and generosity… A freud. That’s it, it feels like a fraud. And I can’t possibly accept so much. We barely found back each other and…”

Vali stopped for a time, looking into the fire. 

“We are not beggars yet.” he finally went on. “We still have hope. If we work hard and honestly, we can survive on our own. I appreciate your gesture, and I know you mean well, but I possibly can’t… It is not right.”

Dragomir had… an expression on his face. The weirdest expression Vali ever saw on a human face. He couldn’t put a name on it. Was he disdainful, or admirative? Surprised or curious? Or maybe all at once, or maybe none, maybe it was something more complex, something only a city man with a big vocabulary could name… 

Dragomir slowly leaned forward, took off one of his gloves, and took Vali’s callused hand into his own. Wide, fat and plump. Pale and smooth. Very strong. But very cold. 

“Vali. Look at me in the eyes.”

Vali did so. And he felt… something. Something he hadn’t felt for such a long time… something wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Fear, trust, adoration and shame rushed in his head and twirled like the storm’s mad winds. 

“Vali, I don’t want to turn you into a beggar. I couldn’t stand the thought of you… I just couldn’t. I don’t want you to become a thief or a crook either. I am deeply sorry if my gift offended you, but please, accept it. I am not acting out of pity or charity here, for I am by no means a charitable man. This is a gift. A present. To my friend. My truest, dearest, oldest friend. Brother of milk and brother of tears. I left you so long ago… and we haven’t seen each other since. And we probably won’t see each other again for a very… very long time. If ever. So please, accept this gift. A friend’s gift. A symbol of my trust, of my faith, of my devotion to you. You are a good man, Vali, and awful things happened to you. I want justice in this world, and if this storm was the Devil’s work, then… think of myself as one of God’s angels. Please. I cherish you so much… I can’t possibly let you in the hands of Famine, misery and Death. They are no ladies of good company. I want to at least try to do something to help you. I can’t just abandon you like that. I just can’t.”

Vali felt tears in his eyes. His heart was beating fast and hard, so much it hurt. He quickly took his hand away from the one of his friend, smiling.

“I’ll accept your gift, Dragomir. Thank you.”

The gentleman, satisfied, raised his enormous body off the chair, which suddenly bolted up like a spring upon being released from the crushing weight of its charge. 

“I must be going now. I am pleased to have seen you again, Vali. I hope we will be able to meet again.”

“Another day. I would like that too.”

“Another night.” mysteriously answered Dragomir. 

Stefania tried to salute him, but he paid no mind to her, didn’t even look into her direction. He rather turned his back to the couple, his black cape twirling and dancing around him, before opening the door. He squished his mass through the frame and disappeared in the darkness of the night and the rain. 

“Wait!” said Stefania.

But it was too late. Dragomir had vanished in the shadows.

XXX

Vali woke up in the middle of the night. There was a noise. A weird one, inside the house. He turned in his bed, trying not to wake up Stefania - only to realize that she wasn’t there anymore. 

Another sound, louder than the first one, followed by some mumblings. Half-asleep, Vali got up and went out of the bedroom.

He found Stefania in the living room, in front of the fire, several bags by her side, putting on her coat. 

“Stefania? What are you doing?”

She looked frightened upon hearing his voice, but quickly smiled.

“Nothing! Go back to sleep, it’s nothing!”

“Stefania, why are you dressed up?”

“I… I heard a noise outside. I am going to look at it.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“No! No need!” she shouted.

“And all those bags, what are they for?”

“It’s… a…”

Vali looked at the chest on which Dragomir’s money had been stored. It was now opened and empty. 

“Stefania! The chest is opened! The money is gone!”

Stefania sighed and brandished a knife.

“You poor stupid fool… Couldn’t you have just go back to sleep?”

“Stefania?”

The ugliest expression Vali ever saw on a human face appeared on Stefania’s traits. 

“I am leaving you, Vali. I took the money, and I am going away, and you won’t stop me or I’ll stab you.”

“Stefania… I don’t understand…” stuttered the man.

“This money! This is too much! Too much to simply mend a roof or buy food!” she screamed. “I could buy a house, a manor with all that! Move in the city! Have pretty dresses, and rare jewels, and servants, and fine diners! This is what I always wanted! This is my dream, this is my life, Vali! God sent it to me and I have to take my chance!”

“This is Dragomir’s money! You can’t do that!”

“For years I have been a slave, trapped by you in this horrific coffin! If I have an opportunity to get out, I’ll take it. You are a stupid man, so stupid you would waste this money! But I am clever! I know exactly what to do with it! And you are just a rock tied to my leg! You drag everything, you stop everything, you ruin everything! You are a dead man Vali, a walking corpse with an empty head and an empty heart! Dumb, blind, stupid! If I stay, you’ll lead me to ruin!”

“Stefania, stop it!” Vali shouted. “Don’t you hear yourself? You’re mad! Mad with the gold… The fever of the gold! You need to…”

“Stop telling me what I need to do or not to do!” Stefania screamed. “You think you can go on giving me orders? Now I have the money! I have the power! I give orders!”

“I am your husband!”

“Oh, really? Is that what you are? Even in bed? Huh? Where are the children, Vali? Why haven’t I fallen pregnant yet? Where is the love? Where is the flesh? The other men would act like the animals that they are, but you… you don’t have any life or heat in you. A corpse without any passion or desire! Not with me, nor with any other woman for that matter! You dare tell me I’m mad? You’re the sick one, everyone knows that!”

“Stefania…”

“Else, why would you have your parents and mine arranging this wedding? They paid well to cover your derangement. But all the money went into my parent’s grave, and now it is time for me to find a new source of income.”

Vali felt all the dark emotions he had bottled up for so long come back boiling into his mind. Stefania reminded him of very dark times, and with this memory came back all of the poisonous whispers of… of the dark things. Of the wrath, of the hate, of the rancor and the grudges, of the despair, of the shame, of the injustice, of the punishment, of the vengeance and of the forbidden thing. 

He had managed to forget all that. For years he had been working so hard so forget all that… And now, she dared to…

Think something else, Vali said to himself. Focus. This money. She wants to steal this money. Dragomir’s money. Your friend’s money. Your friend’s trust. Dragomir’s love. She won’t get away with it.

Groaning, Vali stomped in front of Stefania, trying to catch her arm with his big hand. They were thin as twigs, he thought. I could easily break them. 

But she was fast. Hate and greed excited her so much she was now fast, agile, and deadly.

She escaped Vali’s clutches, and stabbed him - right into his stomach, his wide and bulging stomach, an easy target. She smiled and immediately stabbed him two more times - above the stomach, in the chest - before hitting him on the jaw with her elbow. Vali fell on his back. She was giggling like a child.

“Thanks for finally giving me some sort of pleasure.” she laughed. “Goodbye Vali. May you rot in your coffin-farm and this dreadful village.”

She took her bags, opened the door and fled in the night. Vali, his cramped and bloody torso hurting and burning, managed to get up. He still felt his wife’s elbow in his jaw. A coldness was starting to sip in his body, making him shiver. His flesh was tingly, his wounds were stinging. 

She’s getting away, he thought. 

He walked towards the opened door, but once the threshold passed, he started to stagger. The fresh, humid air of the night hit him like a wall of ice. His legs felt weird and weak. The coldness was in all of his body now, and his head was buzzing. His cranium felt tight, as if his brain was being crushed by an iron belt. 

It was hard to see. The rain had been reduced to a mere fog of water. With that and the clouds before the moon, it was hard to see.

He walked a bit before falling to his knees. He was cold. Too cold. 

Only then he realized what was happening.

“I am dying. I am dying. She killed me.”

He felt terrified. He feared what was going to happen to him. He thought about hell, about damnation, about sin, and he deeply regretted it. He regretted not to have been into confession. He regretted his actions. He regretted his being. He regretted his own essence, his own life. He started to cry - and, suddenly, the pain started. Violent aches making him scream, as if Stefania was stabbing him again. 

He screamed her name, without any answers. He cried her name, and still no answers. He then merely called for help. He called his neighbors, his priest, everyone he knew, every name he could remember. No one answered. His limbs were getting numb, and his throat dry.

“I failed.” he thought. “I failed. I died for some gold. Worthless gold.”

A whisper in his mind answered: “Not worthless gold. Dragomir’s gold. His gift, for you. His friendship, his trust, his love.”

Vali thought to himself: “I still failed. I couldn’t keep that. I couldn’t protect it. She got away with it. I betrayed Dragomir. I failed him.”

He lied down on the ground, for it was too tiring to stand up and so easy to just lay down. He was tired. Weak, tired and cold.

“Dragomir.” he whispered. 

He remembered his surprise upon seeing his friend’s new appearance, and this surprise made him laugh. He tried to remember Dragomir as he was before, and the image of the sick scrawny kid appeared, the picture of the weak not-so-little-fellow he cared for and played with… Vali smiled and wept at the same time, for he was both happy and sad. But more than that, he was so tired.

“Dragomir!” he shouted boldly, and he decided that would be his last word. 

“Usually I wait until my name is uttered three times, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

Dragomir. He was there. Standing over Vali.

“Dragomir! You’re… here.”

“I was always there. What happened to you? All this… blood.”

Dragomir licked his lips. 

“She stabbed me. I am dying.”

Dragomir lost his composure and looked torn. Torn between pleasure and sadness. 

“She? Who? Your wife?”

Vali tried to nod but he shivered so violently he decided not to move. He tried to say yes, but found himself unable to say this simple word. His tongue just wouldn’t let him pronounce this short sound. 

“She went… with the money. Gold fever. Mad.”

“She stole the gold? It doesn’t surprise me. She reeked greed.” he answered with calm before kneeling down. 

Vali studied Dragomir’s face. It was so beautiful. His cheeks were so round and fleshy. He wanted to touch them, to caress them. To kiss them. And his pale skin… He wanted to feel it. Feel it rubbing on his body. These thin lips… he also wanted to kiss them. To lick them. And these pointy teeth… he wanted them to bite his own lips, bite his own tongue, bite his own body. 

Vali’s dizzy and blurry mind was now filled with all sorts of lustful and indecent thoughts, as if dying was breaking down the wall he had carefully built all these years. But he did not care. He felt like a dream. With before his eyes, a spectral beauty. Vali felt so light it was as if he had no body at all. Which was quite funny, for when he fell down, he was so heavy… to heavy to stand up, to heavy to move… He felt so heavy and now he felt so… ethereal. It was a word Dragomir said, a word Vali didn’t know the meaning of, but one he thought fit well in this situation.

“I am sorry, Vali.” Dragomir whispered. “I am sincerely sorry. I haven’t felt sorry for… such a long time. But I do.”

It was still a calm voice, but one with no pride, joy or confidence. It was the sad voice of a lonely man.

“I can’t even cry… I am sorry for causing all that. For I caused all that. I just wanted to play a bit and see you again and… Maybe I was foolish for thinking I could just go back. I am now a harbinger of doom and misery. I am the mad men’s king, I am plague personified. Vali… Just because I wanted to see you again, I tore apart your life, I turned the woman you loved against you. I only know how to destroy and…”

Vali laughed.

“She never loved me and I never loved her!” he said.

His breathing sounded almost like a whistle.

“I… To hell with that. T’is where I’m going anyway. I can’t love her. Can’t love… women. I’m sick. Drago… I’m sick. I… I loved you. Cause I’m sick.”

Vali felt a new pain in his chest. Not a physical one. He bit his tongue as tears rolled down his chest. 

“I loved you. Ever. Since kids. I… I still. Drago…”

Vali found out he couldn’t say no more. He didn’t have the strength. His eyelids were so heavy… the ground so comfortable… and the cold was going away… 

Dragomir smiled, and laughed too. 

“As usual… I shouldn’t be surprised. I should know by now that everything turns out good for me. I knew I was a lucky boy, but that lucky? Blessed be the blood gods!”

Dragomir laughed, much louder this time. A laugh that echoed through the land. 

“Oh… such a waste of blood. Oh, I’m going to enjoy this so much! It will be fun!”

Dragomir giggled. He had the same manic, childish glee as Stefania had earlier. 

“If you love me, since I love you too, shouldn’t we kiss?”

Dragomir leaned on top of Vali’s body. Vali felt it, and it was dreadfully heavy.

“It will sting a bit, my Vali…” Dragomir whispered in his ear. “But don’t worry. You’ll live… you won’t feel pain… and you’ll be mine. Forever.”

[dollscircus]

Loosing Sight and Mind

Kingpin!Tanker ft an oc

@generalnoschicken :) have fun

Cw; violence, torture and death. Angst with no comfort. Sorry lads

Context; 1

Their head spun with pain while their body burned with a white hot pain. They tried to move but couldn’t. Some fucking spell kept them in place.

The large man stood over them while a cigar between his teeth, he was a slimy fat man who smelt horrible. He nodded at the fire elemental who was kneeling next to Tanker on the floor.

Fire boy reached down to Tanker’s exposed leg, touching his hand to their leg. The pain was slow at first, slow until it was burning and Tanker was screaming. Wait- no they weren’t. The spell kept them from making any sounds.

Their mind went blank until Fire boy moved his hand, the leg still hurting. They wanted the move but their body refused.

“Now, what do we say?” The fat man asked while carefully putting his foot against an open wound on their arm, pain swirling through arms and shoulder as he pressed his foot harder in the wound.

Fuck you.

Fat man’s a telepath. They don’t need to speak to get their point across. His lip curled before he raised his foot and slammed in down on the wound.

Fuckyoufuckyou eat shit. Die.

Their mind swiveled with pain and rage.

“All you had to do was loose. Tanker. That’s all you had to do!” Fat man bellowed, “you lost me money!”

He paused, like a light bulb went off above his head.

“How about an eye for an eye?”

Oh god

The next few moments were a blur, just pain. Hands gripping their face and fire all over their face the sensation of their body moving. Shifting then the taste of metal in their mouth.

Growling echoed through their mind while their vision swam and filled with red.

“Tanker!” A familiar voice echoed in their mind; they were cold, they weren’t wearing anything however they felt something warm around them. “Dammit, Tank, come on.”

“Liv?” Tanker’s voice finally came out, their head rolled to the side to glance around the room. The same room but this time it was soaked in blood. Two things that used to be human sitting on the floor.

“Did I do that?” Tanker’s remaining eye didn’t leave the blood masses, the succubus holding the wolf tried to heal them as much as she could. Liv moved their head away from the sight and held Tanker to her chest.

“Ignore them, I’ve got you. I’ll take you home.” Liv was trying to figure out how to pick them up without hurting them.

“Olivia-“ Liv jolted at her full name, she glanced at Tanker who’s battered expression was twisted with horror, “did I do that?”

Liv took them to their crappy apartment, where they rested for a few days.

They got out of bed to go to the bathroom, for the first few days they avoided the mirrors but today they decided to be brave.

Their hair was pushed back, their face had ever so faint burn scars around their right eye. Liv was never a healer.

Their right eye was gray and they couldn’t see out of it.

They stared for a few moments before slamming their fists into the mirror. The glass shattered all over the bathroom sink.

——

David was annoyed when his phone rang, it was 2 in the morning. Who the hell is calling him?

His voice came out as a grumble, “Hello?”

There was silence on the other end, aside from the faint dripping of water. After a second of listening, he could hear breathing. Trembling.

“Who is this?” He asked, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. There was a faint chuckle on the other end. He didn’t know why he said this but he spoke again.

“Tanker?”

There was a faint chuckle again, or was it a sob?

“Tanker, is this you?”

They let out a sound that was a mix of a laugh and sob again. It quickly devolved into sobbing. David’s breath quickened and his heart pounded in his chest.

“Please,” he hated that his voice trembled, “Where are you?”

The sobbing slowly turned to screaming. A distraught and tired scream then it all stopped as they hung up on him. Despite that, David called out to them while his eyes began to let tears stream down his face.

“Tanker!”

——

The phone buzzed as David tried to call back. Ignored by the sobbing wolf, curled in a ball and clawing at their hair. They were weak. David wouldn’t want them back.

Of course.

[t-o-m-hollands]

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY. 

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs​ for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices. 

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime).  After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.  

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.  

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.  

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket. 

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline,  you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?” 

***  

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you. 

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.   

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.  

Chloroform. 

*** 

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.  

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.  

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.  

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.  

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.  

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.   

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?”  the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.  

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.   

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.   

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees. 

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.  

 He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.  

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.  

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts. 

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man. 

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?” 

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.  

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.  

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?” 

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.  

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.  

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor. 

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”  

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you. 

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?” 

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.  

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?” 

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.” 

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.  

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.” 

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?” 

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”  

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.   

 “Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.” 

*** 

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.   

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment. 

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father. 

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.  

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.  

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.  

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments. 

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

*** 

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom. 

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe. 

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown. 

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to say. 

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up. 

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm. 

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level.  “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise. 

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over. 

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen. 

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.” 

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat. 

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea. 

“Famished,” you confess. 

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by. 

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end. 

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance. 

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?” 

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face. 

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you. 

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.  

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea. 

 A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke. 

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

 “No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.  

 Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

 He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark. 

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth. 

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.” 

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated. 

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?” 

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves. 

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how. 

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same. 

[ephyla]

Midsummer Relaxation

Midsummer was approaching and the people of New Berk have been scrambling all over, preparing for the celebration. The sun barely sets anymore, and everyone was absolutely exhausted. Hiccup was supposed to overview the entire preparation of the feast but all he desired was a break. Thank the Gods for marrying such a wonderful woman.

oOo

Midsummer was approaching and the people of New Berk have been scrambling all over the village for days, preparing for the celebration. The sun barely set anymore, and everyone was absolutely exhausted, prone to often make mistakes that drove the Chief of New Berk wild. Hiccup was supposed to overview the entire preparation of the feast, but also had to settle petty quarrels between sleep-deprived Vikings; avoiding sharp flying objects on the occasion. It was the perfect recipe for chaos and he was worried that they will not be ready on time. If one thing went according to plan, three more things would set them back again. Food went missing, tables were broken, celebrative outfits were set on fire. All he wanted to do relax, he felt like he’s been awake for seven days straight and his mind isn’t cooperating anymore, just begging to shut down for a whole month. By now, he was just acting like a wandering draugr. He really wondered how his father managed to handle this without breaking a sweat and dearly wished he was by his side, guiding him. 

His wife was by his side the entire time, shouldering half of the responsibilities. Even she, despite being quite tired as well (he swore he saw her take a power nap on top of a ladder last time), handled it better than himself. She seemed to be fuelled by a spark of positive energy. He remembered a few years back when the twins explained the change in their friends’ attitude towards the Midnight Sun, since then, Astrid found a dark place to sleep so she doesn’t get any more of those embarrassing memories again. What kind of Hofferson would ever call a Jorgenson handsome? Of course, the sun still had its effects on her, but her overzealous demeanour toned down to a bearable extent. While it did seem a bit overwhelming sometimes, it kept Hiccup’s spirits up. It was their first Midsummer as a wedded couple and he really didn’t want to mess this up. 

Today, however, she had suddenly requested to immediately go home after being done with only half of her duties done. For someone who prides herself on being so effective and getting the work done, it was very unusual of her to abandon her responsibilities. This worried Hiccup, so he didn’t object and watched her dash towards their house. He didn’t know how much time passed, the sun remained in its usual elevated position, but he felt like tonight will be a four blocks of ice kind of night. He felt like there was absolutely no progress made today despite getting up in the early hours. He couldn’t even track the time since the sun was barely moving. Some muttonhead decided it was a smart idea to open Sven’s sheeps’ pen and let the uncoordinated Vikings chase them like toddlers who could barely walk yet. If he could get his hands on that person, he swore he was going to get an earful that even his late father, Stoick, would be impressed by. He hoped that Astrid got enough rest so she can go back to being her feisty, short-tempered self. He would greatly benefit from that. The Berkians, despite being completely out of control, would never cross with a hot-blooded, axe-wielding Valkyrie and would sober up at the speed of light. 

Speaking of his beloved blonde wife, he saw her approach him with a smile on her face. Even though he was absolutely exhausted, he smiled back, her presence bringing him a sense of comfort. He extended his hand to her and she took it, bringing her closer to him, enlacing her waist, and pressing small kisses on her neck. She giggled in a very un-Astridlike way. 

“Well, I’m not one to object to this kind of greeting, but we’re in the middle of town and people are looking.” Astrid said as she observed around her. Gobber was covering a kid’s eyes. Some villagers had a dumbfounded expression on their faces, rarely seeing Hiccup initiating such an intimate gesture; apart from the occasional lip or forehead kiss. Others just cheered or ignored them. Hiccup let out a small whine and rested his head on her shoulder, keeping his arms wrapped around her form. 

“I missed you.” He whimpered.

“I wasn’t gone for that long, babe.” She replied as she stroked his hair. Her poor husband has the bad habit of overworking himself, and the fact that no one can distinguish between day and night definitely didn’t help. “Come home with me, I have something to show you.” 

“I’m sorry Milady, I still have work to do, we’re behind schedule and Midsummer is in a week.” His reply a bit muffled in her shoulder.

“Go and have yer fun, lad. You’ve worked more than anyone here and deserve some respite. And besides, how can ye refuse yer wife’s invitation?” The young couple turned their heads to look at Gobber approaching them.  “Ah, I remember when Stoick was acting just like ye, never knowing when to stop. It took Valka threatening not to share their marital bed anymore, snapped ‘im right out of it, and practically dragged ‘im home. The next morning they kept yawning all over the place, creating a chain of never-ending yawns. Now that I think about it, that’s probably how ye were concei-“

“-OKAY! That’s enough Gobber. I got your point.” Hiccup exclaimed in horror. While he was used to hanging around people that did not have a filter, Gobber was probably the one he feared the most. Since his best friend’s demise, the blacksmith has been recounting stories of him. Some were great to listen to, remembering the bravery and leadership of Stoick the Vast; but some were just better to keep to oneself. With the approach of the Midnight Sun’s peak, Gobber has gotten worse and Hiccup would’ve much preferred wearing the earbuds he made once during his encounter with the Death Song, just to save himself of the embarrassing images his mentor so crassly described to him. 

Astrid looked at Gobber with a mixture of disgust and amusement, before deciding to grab her stunned husband’s arm and pulling him towards their house, away from the growing crowd of curious Vikings. She hoped her parents didn’t witness this whole ordeal. 

“Astrid, I don’t think I have the energy to do what Gobber obnoxiously suggested, maybe-“ Hiccup said as he was being pulled by his wife.

“-Hush you. That’s not what I had in mind when I came to get you.” She cut him off, continuing to pull him towards their house. She let go of his arm once they crossed their threshold’s doorframe and closed the door, locked it just in case those nosy Vikings decided to rudely barge in. 

After being exposed to the sunlight for so long, Hiccup’s eyes had to adjust to the darkness of the room, illuminated by a couple of candles. He could smell a pleasant fragrant scent in the room and spotted their bathtub in front of the lit fireplace; the rugs been removed. Astrid led him to the bathtub and sat him down on the chair that was deliberately placed right next to it. She saw his questioning gaze.

“Gobber was right about you working harder than anyone here in this village. You deserve to relax a bit, take some time off.”

“You know I can’t afford to relax, now. Not when Midsommer is so close. Those sleep-deprived Vikings aren’t going to lead themselves, they can barely listen to me when I’m there. I’ll rest once we’re done.” He said, preparing to stand up again. Astrid pushed him down.

“I’ve asked your mom to take your place for a bit. She’s surprisingly unaffected by the sun’s constant presence. And she agreed that you needed a day off. Everyone could see how tired you are.” Astrid started unbuttoning his (GUARD STUFF). “And I want to take care of my husband. Will you let me?” Hiccup gulped, his words not coming out. He simply nodded. It’s been a while since she saw him being bashful around her. She gratefully smiled at him and pecked him on the lips. 

She proceeded to fully undress him, and took off his prosthetic, placing it within reach of the chair. Gone were the days Hiccup felt ashamed of showing his scar. Astrid made sure to show him how much he meant to her, leg or no leg. When he was coming home after a rough day of chiefing, she would give him his ice blocks and tell him to take care of his migraines while she took care of his leg, massaging it. She would sometimes bring it to her lips and kiss it, showing her appreciation to him. He would always beam at her every time she did this. She frowned when she saw the current redness of his stump, also spotting a blister forming. 

“Let me help you get in the tub. Just relax. I’ll massage your leg when I come back, I’m going to get some food from the Great Hall.” She said as she rose from her kneeling position. Her cooking did improve over time thanks to Hiccup and Gobber, but she wanted his day off to be perfect, which wasn’t the case for her cooking yet. She tried to make a nice intricate meal for the two of them, which is why she left so early. However, her attempts were all in vain as the food always ended up burning. In the end, she had to admit defeat. 

Hiccup grabbed her wrist. “Join me?” 

Astrid contemplated his words for a few seconds before nodding. She can grab dinner later. She wrapped her husband’s arm around her shoulder and helped him get into the tub. The water wasn’t too warm since they were in the hottest month of Berk, but it wasn’t cold to the point he would start shivering after being submerged for a couple of minutes. 

Hiccup looked over at his wife undress. He had seen her in this state countless times, even before they were married; but it always felt like the first time. He was the only Viking that she allowed to see her like this, with her guard down. Her body wasn’t unscathed. It was filled with scars and burns, proving that this woman was a warrior that has been through so many battles and came out victorious every time. She wouldn’t hesitate to swing an axe to a skull if someone ever looked at her funny. So, this woman allowing him to witness her in her most vulnerable state was an absolute honour to him, that he would never take for granted. Her scars were a part of her and accentuated her beauty and he made sure to always remind her of it. 

“Allow me.” He said as he extended a hand towards her. She knew what he wanted and turned her back to him. He rose, sat on the edge of the tub and pulled the leather band that kept her braid in place off. He slowly undid his wife’s braid, letting her gold strands cascade down to her lower back. He then gathered her hair in his hand and swept it over her shoulder, exposing her freckled neck and scarred back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and placed a loving kiss on the largest scar she had. A scar trailed from her right shoulder to the left side of her hip. She was proud of that scar as it was a reminder of her saving his life from an assassination attempt. During the yearly Thing meeting between multiple tribes, when the dragons and some Viking tribes were still cohabiting together, a spy has been placed within them, trying to poison the Dragon-loving Chiefs. Astrid and Heather caught on pretty quickly and managed to expose the spy in front of all the Chiefs. Being surrounded, no one expected the spy to suddenly lunge himself at Hiccup with his sword. Astrid, being the closest to him and desperate to keep him unharmed, had used her back as a shield. The wound hurt like Hel but it was worth it. She was so scared to have failed him as his then-General, she didn’t care that she put her life on the line to save his. A Chief protects his own, but it’s also the General’s job to protect the people AND the Chief. Hiccup wouldn’t let her leave his sight for weeks after that, eternally grateful and forever scared he was going to lose her that day.

“You’re absolutely beautiful.” He told her. His eyes were filled with wonder to this Valkyrie in front of him. She smiled gratefully at him and climbed in the bathtub, sitting opposite of him. 

She took his stump in her hands and started to delicately massage it, coaxing a few moans of relief out of him. Her nimble fingers were definitely a gift from the Gods. She managed to soothe the knots in his leg with great accuracy. All day, he had to focus on the utter chaos happening in the village that he didn’t have the time to focus on himself and his discomfort, ignoring the pains coming from his leg begging him to take the weight off of it. She carefully avoided the small blister forming near the bottom of the stump. 

“Mmmh, this feels so good.” Hiccup sighed with pleasure as he closed his eye, focussing on the sensation.

“You’ve been standing for too long, babe. I know the Midsummer celebration is stressing you out, but you’ve got to start listening to your body when it tells you to rest.” He opened his eyes, looking at her hands doing their wonders underwater. 

“I know, I know. But it’s a bit hard to do that when we keep progressing backward each day. I swear to Odin, every time I look away, someone messes up something, I just can’t do it.” Astrid’s hand rose to swipe Hiccup’s bangs back, revealing his beautiful green eyes. Since the start of the preparations a few weeks ago, he didn’t have the time to let her cut his hair.

“You can’t do it on your own. Remember, you have me. You have your mom, Gobber, Eret and the gang. We’re all here to help you. You just have to accept the help instead of shouldering most of the responsibilities. We’re willing to take some of the load off you.” She said as she grazed her thumb over his dark eye bags. “I can assure you that not only the work will get done much faster, but you’ll be more productive with a rested body and a peaceful mind.” She kissed his forehead. Hiccup wrapped his arms around her, making her sit in his lap. He savoured the rare peaceful moment he had with his beloved wife. She had the gift of shutting all the voices tormenting his mind and the gentle touch to relax his body in the blink of an eye. She was everything to him. He could be the best version of himself when she’s with him and never took her for granted; not since the betrothal gift incident.

“Just don’t forget you’re still human, there’s so much your body can handle before it shuts down.” She added. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I might have been pushing myself pretty hard.” Hiccup replied, raising his head to look at her. There was a warmness to her that he never thought she would ever have; especially directed towards him. He remembered her words of encouragement back on the clifftops, as he was losing hope. I am the person I am today because of you. Over the years, he saw how she started to warm up to him and the rest of the people. She had been trained for years to be this fearless, unemotional warrior. Back then, the fear of losing the people you love was at its peak, so she was quick to learn how to shut her feelings down and just train from dawn till dusk. Today, she was a softer and warmer person; which didn’t mean she was weaker by any means. But with the end of the Dragon War, she has found herself a partner that saw her as an equal. They both found themselves a new purpose in life and didn’t have to fear the threat of a dragon raid any longer, which allowed them to find happiness along the way. They were happy here.

Astrid got off his lap and reached for the soap that was earlier placed at a reachable distance. She looked back at him. “Soak.” And so, he plunged his head underwater before coming back up with his bangs fully covering his eyes. She stifled a laugh as did he. “I haven’t planned to cut your hair today, so I’ll do that next laugardagr, you think you can survive until then?” She started washing his hair with the soap in her hands.

“You made a whole schedule just to help me relax? A schedule? Did I mistakenly marry Fishlegs?” This earned him a pinch on his nipple. “OW! You know they’re sensitive. I did not deserve that!” She laughed as she brought her hands back to massage his scalp. The nipple pinching forgotten, his eyes rolled back into his skull, fully appreciating the head massage. “Ooh yeah, that feels nice.” Astrid brought his bangs back down to cover his eyes and gathered the excess foam and piled it upon his head in the form two horns. She exploded in laughter at the ridiculous sight.  “Wha- Astriiid!“

“You look like Snotlout’s pet yak! Oh Gods- I can’t!” She wheezed. 

Hiccup was not impressed and got rid of the foam and swiped his bangs back, exposing his frown. His small smile betrayed him though. It was rare to see Astrid lose composure and in a burst of full-blown laughter. It made him break his frown and laugh with her. 

“You, young lady, are in reeeally big trouble. Do you have any idea who I am?” 

“Yakkity’s long lost brother?” She joked.

“Okay, that’s it, come here you!” He grabbed her by the waist and started poking her sides, knowing very well she was ticklish there. “I shall not tolerate this type of disrespect on my island.”

She tried to grab his arm, but this time he was prepared and pinned her arms by wrapping an arm around her and continuing tormenting her with the other. How she wished they were fifteen years old again. “N-No- St-Stop!” 

“Then say, ‘My husband is the strongest and most handsome Viking in all of Midgard’. Say it.” 

“Hahaha, N-not on yo-your life!” Having minimal movement of her arms, Astrid tried to reach downwards instead of fighting the death grip he had around her. She pinched the inside of his thigh, so very close to his precious jewels, making him jump. “Astrid! No!” He stopped tickling her but kept his arm around her. 

“I will pinch higher if you don’t let me go, babe.” She tried to catch her breath from all the tickling.

“You’re awful, absolutely awful.” He whined as he let her go. 

“You’re lucky this is your relaxation time.” She said, a small glint in her eyes. 

“Oh yeah, what kind of torment would you inflict on your poor one-legged husband?” He challenged.

“Something that would require you to use your cane for the next day or so.” She fired back; a small, dangerous smile etched on her face. Hiccup’s eyes widened and he gulped. “But we’re both tired and I did promise to take care of my sweet husband, haven’t I? So, behave.” She flicked his exposed forehead. 

“Ow. How did I get myself into this mess?” He rubbed the sore spot.

“You kidnapped me and threw me on top of a tree.” She replied with a straight face.

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, you’ve had soap in your hair for long enough, rinse.” She ordered. He dived in again, washing off the soap.  

“Can I wash your hair?” He asked.

“But it’s your time off.” 

“Yeah, but it’s yours too. You worked just as hard. You deserve to be taken care of too.” He replied.

“You worked harder.” He rolled his eyes.

“Astrid, this isn’t a competition. I want to take care of my wife. Will you let me?” He grabbed her hand and slowly spun her around in the narrow tub and made her sit between his legs. 

“You’re always looking for an excuse to touch my hair.” She jokingly said. There was an element of truth though. He loved touching her hair, combing his fingers through her long strands. Since they have gotten married, he insisted on combing and braiding her hair in the morning. There was just something intimate and therapeutic about touching her hair. She was protective over it, never letting anyone but him touch it. The first time she let down her hair for him was during the incident that left her temporarily blind. She was not able to see how much soot covered her precious hair, so she entrusted it in his care. He remembers his heart beating so fast that he thought it was going to burst from his chest. He felt honoured, and has been craving to touch her beautiful golden locks ever since. 

Astrid on the other hand, hated when people touched her hair. It was her pride and joy (after Stormfly and her axe). As a child, every time her mom would braid her hair, she would always pull too hard, leaving her sore. The twins were more chaotic when they were kids. They would get away with anything because kids will be kids. As a prank, they decided it would be funny to set her hair on fire, forcing her to cut it above her shoulders. That day, she saw red and very nearly beat them to death. They were all severely punished for it, but no one has ever attempted to touch her hair ever again. He remembered that day very well, it was probably the first time he saw her cry. That’s when he learned how attached she was to her hair. The way she preened on it every night since they became a couple on the Edge reminded him so much of Stormfly. Her dragon always made sure there was not a single hair out of place after a flight. It amused him how she trusted a dragon more than Vikings to manage her hair. Stormfly had the gentle touch that Astrid craved someone to have. She always wanted her rider to look the best. 

“Well?” Astrid asked as she looked back. Hiccup’s thoughts were cut off. 

“Oh...Uh yeah, my bad.” He started to massage her scalp as she did him. 

“Okay, I’m done. You can rinse.” He said after working on her hair for the past couple of minutes.

She dipped her head underwater and got rid of the soap before emerging again. 

“Thanks.” She turned her head and smiled at him. 

“I should be thanking you; this whole ‘bath’ idea was yours. It felt nice.” He kissed her exposed shoulder as he embraced her.

“Well, don’t thank me yet. We’re not done.” She patted his hand.

“Not done?”

“What, did you really think that was it? Come on, let’s get out before our skin shrivels up like a prune.” She got out of his arms, turned around, and grabbed him. She helped him up and guided him to the chair, passed him a towel, and proceeded to dry themselves before taking his prosthetic and putting it back on his stump. She started to put her clothes on, so Hiccup followed suit until she stopped him.

“Nuh-uh, just wear a towel, I highly doubt you want your clothes to be stained with oil.”

“What?”

“A massage, Hiccup. I’m going to give you a massage. Gods, even a blind man would know how tense you are just by standing near you.” She answered.

“Why are you getting dressed then? Don’t I get to give you one?” 

“Next laugardagr, after I trim that overgrown mop of hair of yours. Gods have mercy on my shears.” 

“S-Shears?! And by the way, my hair isn’t that bad!” Hiccup dramatically exclaimed. Astrid rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen a man with that much hair on their head, I swear if we shave everything off, we’ll have enough to make a scarf. No need for sheep anymore.” 

“First, I’m a yak, now I’m a sheep? Is that how you see me, Astrid? Nothing more than livestock? How you wound me.” He brought a hand up to his heart. Astrid let out a cackle.

“You are such a drama queen. Come on, get up your highness, there’s fresh meat to be tenderized before I chop it off and feed it to the village.” She helped him up and headed towards their bedroom.

“Please Astrid, can you be any more creepy?” It was his turn to roll his eyes. 

They finally reached their room. The shutters were sealed shut, preventing most of the light to penetrate the room. Candles were illuminated, giving off the same soothing atmosphere as downstairs, cutting them off from the agitated outside world. The bed was covered by a large towel, probably to avoid the oil soak into their sheets. Astrid made her husband lie down on his stomach, removed his prosthetic again, and sat on his butt. She started tracing his back muscles with feathery fingers which made him shivers. While Hiccup was still a lean man, he definitely wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old, shy boy that she found herself falling in love with. He quickly gained muscle mass thanks to dragon-riding and her extensive sword fighting lessons. Just like all the other riders, he started to lose some after the dragons’ departure a year ago. He remained, in her eyes, the most beautiful man ever.

 She caressed his back and leaned forward, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, making him sigh lovingly. He was clearly enjoying her pampering and she wasn’t about to stop any time soon. She reached for the small vial that was ready to be used from their bedside table and poured the contents in her hands and rubbed them together to heat it up a bit. Astrid proceeded to rub his shoulders first, trying to undo that visible tension. She added her bodyweight as she tried to loosen those knots that caused his painful backaches. 

“Mmh, yeah that’s the spot.” Hiccup moaned as she rubbed a specific sore area.  She continued her ministrations for a bit and slowly moved onto his lower once she was satisfied with how loose and relaxed his shoulders became. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked while kneading his legs.

“Like a newborn yak.” He replied, his voice muffled by the pillows. She sniggered, happy that he’s enjoying this so much.

Hiccup can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. He truly thought he was going to melt into a puddle under her magic hands. He knew he didn’t know when to stop working. His muscles could be aching and his bones could be breaking, but he never stops until someone does or until he collapses. He had big shoes to fill and couldn’t bear to let his village down. Not when his father did a tremendous job at leading. Once Stoick finally admitted to his blindness, he saw so much growth and potential in his son, and Hiccup did his best to uphold what his father saw in him. While Stoick had to lead alone for years, Hiccup couldn’t be any more grateful to have an amazing partner by his side, supporting him. He knew he wouldn’t remain sane had he lost her like his father lost his wife. He was no idiot. He saw how he struggled when his soulmate was believed to be dead and couldn’t possibly see a future without Astrid. She was everything to him and more. The entire village knew that.  They weren’t being led by the Chief and the Chief’s wife. They were Chief and Chieftess. Equals. One couldn’t function without the other. Some would say that they’re too dependent on each other and would lead the tribe to their downfall. But the Berkians knew better. Together, they were stronger than anyone.

“Turn around.” She ordered. And he complied. She sat back on his lap and leaned down to kiss him. He quickly wrapped his arm around her and savoured their kiss. They should do this more often. He missed having some quality time with just her. 

Just as his hands started traveling a bit lower, a large grumbling sound resonated across the room. They separated and looked at each other. The couple started laughing. 

“Well, someone is hungry. When was the last time you ate?” Astrid asked.

“Honestly, I can’t remember.” He sheepishly replied. She sighed. “Go sit in front of the hearth and let your hair dry. I’ll go grab some food from the Great Hall, I’ll be back soon.” She passed him his prosthetic and headed downstairs, leaving their household on the quest for food.

He doesn’t know how long he had been staring at the flames when she came back, a basket in hand. She approached him and sat on the floor beside him, handing him the food. 

“Thank you, Milady.” He smiled at her.

“Sorry about not having any meals prepared at home.” She timidly said, looking down at her bowl of stew. “I tried to cook something from my mom’s recipes but my cooking skills are still pretty subpar. No matter how hard I tried, it just wasn’t perfect.”

He recognized those words. It just wasn’t perfect. That’s why it took them so long to become a couple, to begin with. He knew he was romantic when it comes to being in a relationship. Even before he set his eyes on anyone, he already thought of perfect scenarios with his soulmate. All the gestures and gifts; anything to quench this loneliness he felt as a young boy. He wanted his partner to feel loved. That’s why the medallion incident hit him hard. Since when did he start neglecting Astrid, causing her to feel that exact same loneliness he once felt? He never thought she was a romantic, being a hardcore shieldmaiden most of her life. But he learned that she also longed for love, she was just better at hiding it. At that time, he was still self-conscious. He has never heard her telling him that she loved him, but hearing her share her insecurities, he realized that she has. So many times, through a variation of loving gestures that she reserved for him and only him. He felt guilty for being so blind, which is why he made up for it. She deserved the best. She deserved perfect.

“Hey.” He scooted closer to her, their shoulders bumping. “This seems pretty perfect to me.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “You have no idea how eternally grateful I am to have you. This whole thing you’ve prepared for me is just perfect. I love it. I love you. So much. Whether you managed to cook an intricate meal or just brought food back from the Great Hall wouldn’t have changed anything. You did this for me, and it made me so happy. And I get to spend some time with you. I couldn’t ask for more, Astrid. Thank you.”  He tenderly kissed her lips. 

“I’m glad.” She paused. “And relieved.” She confessed, a smile on her lips.

They happily ate in silence, occasionally striking a conversation or just randomly stole a kiss from each other; just enjoying each other’s presence. 

Their empty bowls were cast aside as they cuddled in front of the fire; savouring this rare moment of peace and quiet. Hiccup ran his fingers through her now dry hair.

“Will you let me braid your hair?” She looked at him for a few seconds before nodding and turning her back to him. He delicately combed through her silky golden tresses with his fingers, undoing the small knots and separated her hair into three parts. He expertly twisted the locks in a loose braid. Usually, Astrid wouldn’t braid her hair when going to bed as it provided a thin layer of heat for her neck. Winter in New Berk was just as merciless as Old Berk, but right now, they were approaching the hottest days of the year. While the air was still cool when evening came, she didn’t need that much coverage as the fire heated the room to a perfect temperature. 

Astrid passed the leather band that was hanging on her wrist to her husband as he finished tending her hair. He attached it and swept her hair over her shoulder. Placing a light peck on the nape. She shivered at the contact and fell back, trusting Hiccup to catch her, which he did. He pressed his lips on her now accessible forehead. She laid in his arms for a while, just relishing the feeling of having his arms around her and the small, tickling kisses all across her face. 

“Is this what you’ve been up to the whole time when you said you wanted to go home?” He asked.

“The failed cooking took most of my time.” She lamented.

“Did you have time to rest?” Astrid looked away. She knew she needed extra time to do the cooking, but she didn’t expect to fail that hard. In the end, it took much more time than she expected. Not that she felt like she needed a break, her husband needed it more than she did. But she was hoping to have more quality time with him. Unfortunately, after the fourth try, she decided to throw the towel. 

“I’ll rest when you do.” Just as she said that the blonde Viking let out a yawn. 

“Well, someone is getting tired.” Hiccup teased. 

“I’ve been tired since our beloved Goddess Sol decided to show off all her glory even more so than usual.” Hiccup fought back a yawn that didn’t go unnoticed by his wife. “Seems like I’m not the only one that’s tired. Come on babe, let’s get you to bed.” She freed herself from his embrace and got up, lending a hand to help her husband up too. They headed upstairs, leaving the dirty dishes for tomorrow. 

Once in their bedroom again, they undressed and put on their thin nightwear, hoping to finally get a comfortable night of sleep. They got in bed and Hiccup spooned her, letting her get comfortable in his arms. They sighed in content.

“Astrid?” He hesitantly called out, hoping she didn’t already fall asleep. 

“Hmm?” 

“Thank you.”

“You know you don’t need to thank me”

“I know, but you always seem to know what I need before I even do. So, I want to thank you. I really appreciate it. I love you, Milady.” He kissed the back of her head.

She squeezed his hand that was resting around her waist. “I love you too.” She sleepily answered.

He tightened his arms around her as he let sleep consume him.

Gods, how he loved that woman.

oOo

So this one-shot was written while I was writing another Hiccstrid story. I just needed a break since I was having a writer's block and I desperately needed some heartwarming fluff because the other one is heavy, at least for me it is. This one-shot could possibly have a potential smut scene one day, I just have no idea how to write those yet.

The other story will be posted soon, depending on how inspired I am. It's either going to be a long one-shot or a short chaptered fiction. To this day, I have written around 11K words, and it could possibly reach 20K. All I'm going to reveal for now is that Astrid is going to have a bad time. Hopefully you guys will be interested.

Also, would anyone be interested in a separate one-shot on how Astrid got that scar? I don't know why, I love Astrid so much that I need to read/write Astrid!Whump fics.

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 14

HAHAAA BACK IN BUSINESS BABY!

Hope you enjoy this one!!

Jesse sat against the broken column by the shrine’s entrance, a breeze brushing against his face. He brought his eyes up, looking at the clear blue sky through the ravine’s crack and listening to the faint conversations coming from inside the shrine. There was nothing for him here.

No answers to Lukas’ whereabouts, nothing about what The Awakening was planning next, the only thing these past few gatherings have given him was discomfort.

Nell was usually the one to talk him into attending each Gathering, but she was sick today. This was his first time coming here alone, and hopefully his last. Being by himself made him even more aware of how everything felt… Off. Whenever members saw him walk in, they’d stop by his seat to say hi and talk about what’s going on, if he was enjoying his visits, simple small talk. However, something everyone seemed too comfortable with was how close they’d get to him. Jesse was never too big on people being near or putting their hands on him, the only exceptions being a quick handshake, a pat on the back from his friends, or Aiden messing with his hair to annoy him. Those were harmless and only lasted a moment. But whenever Jesse would step into the shrine, he'd see a few people’s faces light up as they’d walk over to him with arms open wide, ready to hug him as if they were best friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. They’d pull him close, place their hand on his shoulder as they spoke about their day, and refused to loosen their grip even when he asked. Some people would look genuinely hurt when he pulled away.

There would be nights where these Awakening individuals, Nell included, would spot Jesse on the streets. Those were the worst days. The way they’d look at him with big, bright smiles that stretched from ear to ear, walking up to him and asking if he was coming to this week’s Gathering made him feel terrible. He didn’t want to keep coming, he already felt like he was betraying his own friends, but he was afraid of how the members would react if he refused to return.

He knew the members meant well and were just trying to be nice, at least, that’s what he believed, but they’re all so unaware of how horrible their leaders actually are.

“No, they aren’t called ‘leaders’,” He remembered Nell telling him before one of the Gatherings, “they’re Visions! They look after us.”

Brenner and Mahlon, the ‘Visions’, the individuals who preached about helping others, the individuals who gave guidance to their members and offered their support during trying times were the same individuals who unleashed their horrific lava creation onto the world. They were the same people who took away lives and watched the world burn with no remorse.

They were terrible.

Jesse had watched the older, white haired Vision--the man who had screamed vile curses at him and his friends--happily play with children outside of the shrine. He’d sit on the grass and tell them stories about The Awakening and The Hero after the Gatherings were over. It was so surreal to witness.

The Visions might’ve fooled these misguided people, but they haven’t fooled Jesse. He was waiting for someone, the leaders, Cecil, anyone to slip up and reveal their next scheme, but nothing’s happened yet. If they haven’t hinted at anything these past few weeks who knows how long it’ll take them. Jesse can’t keep coming here forever. Aiden and Olivia had questioned why he’s been leaving the house more often, and who the blonde woman greeting him every now and then was. He knew the excuses: “I just need to clear my head” and “Someone I kinda know” will only last him so long.

Today was going to be his last visit. There was nothing for him here.

“Is all well?” Jesse heard an older man ask. He brought his head up. Standing over him was one of the Visions. Mahlon. The Vision’s head was tilted down slightly, his foggy eye focused more on the broken column rather than the boy below.

“Yeah--Yes, Vision… Sir.” When Jesse spoke the Vision lowered his head more, ‘staring’ more in the direction from where Jesse’s voice came.

“No need to be so formal.” The old man chuckled, “You can call me by my name.” Mahlon said as he sat besides Jesse.

“You’re Jesse, if I remember correctly? Our newest member?” Mahlon asked.

“Right.” Jesse said through gritted teeth, his body stiff as a board. He tried to lean away from Mahlon. Just the thought of being associated with these people made him sick.

“And how are you liking it here?” Mahlon spoke gently, his voice was slightly hoarse.

Jesse answered with a lie, “It’s nice here.” He was afraid of locking eyes with Mahlon. He was half expecting the man’s blindness to be another deceiving trick, but anytime Jesse glanced at him, he saw a genuine look of curiosity on Mahlon’s face, like he wanted to hear more.

The mixture of Mahlon’s pleasant expression and Jesse’s fear of upsetting him prompted him to keep lying. He lied about the new friends he’s made here, how each Gathering had connected with him, and how much their words meant to him. As he kept lying, Mahlon kept smiling. Jesse couldn’t take his eyes off of Mahlon’s burn scar. Most of the old man’s face had been taken over by this fleshy-pink scar that stretched from the bottom left of his face all the way to the top right in a somewhat diagonal manner. The only remaining visible parts of his white, porcelain skin was a small portion where his right eye was, his mouth--where his long, thin white beard covered bits of the scar--and the upper left part of his forehead. Jesse had also noticed that only one of Mahlon’s eyes could open properly while the left one was melted shut. Jesse, admittingly, felt terrible that he couldn’t take his attention away from Mahlon’s distortions. It’s disrespectful--well, it’s not like the old man would ever know where he’s staring, but it was disrespectful nonetheless. The only other feature that would occasionally distract Jesse from the face was Mahlon’s long, white hair which flowed like a candle’s fire in the wind.

Jesse’s kind words sparked a rambling from the old man. Mahlon began talking about everyone’s first visit, how their family welcomes anyone with open arms, the variety of celebrations they’ll have throughout the year to look forward to… These were more words to ‘help’ Jesse feel more ‘comfortable’ here, no doubt. As Mahlon spoke, he’d gesture with his hands. The long sleeves of his robe would flow along with his movements. His attire was similar to Brenner’s. Both wore robes that were a deep shade of red. The ends of the sleeves and the bottom of the robe itself were aligned with a golden yellow. Unlike Brenner’s, however, where the bottom of his robe--and the collar around his neck--had a small, triangle slit, Mahlon had none. Instead, he had a hood that was quite difficult to spot due to his thick hair covering it. Another element Mahlon’s robe had that Brenner lacked was a thick, V-shaped golden line around his waist that could be mistaken as a belt. If Jesse really concentrated on the golden parts of the robe he could make out a variety of tiny symbols--mostly being odd shapes and dashes--on them. Their color was only slightly darker than the yellow they were sewn into, making them easy to miss.

In all honesty, the robe was elegant. It was clear so much time and effort was put into making sure this wonderful robe fit this horrible man. Someone so vile doesn’t deserve to wear something so graceful.

“So what is troubling you?” Mahlon asked. “If you’ve been enjoying your time here, then why sit out here all alone?”

“How’d you even know I was out here?” Jesse tilted his head slowly, curious and a little disturbed.

“Cecil, the lad. He told me.”

Cecil. Of course. What else has he been telling the Visions? He’s probably been keeping them updated every time Jesse so much as scratched his head, but now wasn’t the time to get upset. Jesse needed to make an excuse. Any excuse, as long as it was believable.

“I’ve been...” Jesse swallowed, “Thinking about a friend I lost.”

That was meant to be a lie, but it struck Jesse that it’s been nearly a year since Lukas had gone missing. He started to feel queasy.

Mahlon’s smile faded and was replaced by a look of sorrow, “I see.” He said in a whisper.

There was a moment of silence. Jesse hugged his knees, and Mahlon faced forward and stroked his beard.

Mahlon turned to Jesse again and spoke carefully, “I’m terribly sorry about your friend.”

“Don’t be,” Jesse had to force his next words out, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“If I may,” Mahlon said, “I had also lost someone close to me.”

“You did?” The sinking feeling in Jesse’s stomach grew.

“Yes, he was our Sense before you came along.” Mahlon began, “He had been a wonderful friend of mine since I was a boy, and I fondly remember the excitement I felt when I heard the news that he had been selected as my and Brenner’s Sense. We were all overjoyed. Even after our ceremony, where we were expected to remain resilient leaders, it truly felt like nothing had changed between us. We were three friends who worked together and achieved our dreams. Frankly, the whole experience felt like a dream.” He let out a pleasant laugh as he rested his head on his hands. “Antonin and Brenner made the last ten years of being a Vision possibly the greatest years of my life.” There was a sparkle of joy in Mahlon’s eye, “You’d be surprised how short a decade feels when you’re my age. Oh, it all went by so fast.”

Mahlon’s mouth twitched and he let out a sigh, “And perhaps I should have been wiser; spend an extra few minutes talking to him during breakfast, join him when he was training with Brenner, ramble with him in the library for a moment longer. I was so certain time was on my side. I truly thought that nothing bad could have ever happened to him.”

Jesse listened to Mahlon, and how his voice would get lower the longer he went on. It'd crack and shake at certain points of his recollection, and that bit of light in his eye began to fade. A part of Jesse wanted to feel bad, the other wondered just how blind Mahlon was.

Antonin, this ‘wonderful’ man, surely couldn’t have been the same man who was running towards Jesse and his friends the night they were fighting the lava beast. The image of the man’s black hair flying in the air as he was rushing to them, his sword held high, his red cloak torn, and nothing but hatred in his eyes as he screamed bloody murder at them under the smoke-filled sky was fresh in Jesse’s mind. Maybe Mahlon never saw this horrible side of his friend. Maybe he refused to see it.

And then there was that word, “Sense”. Jesse had heard Radar mention the word in the past when referencing The Awakening, he’s also heard that word in passing conversations in the shrine. He remembered Nell telling him all about their ‘community’ one day before a Gathering started, and they soon got on the topic of Cecil. “...He’s also a leader,” Nell had said, “...but he mostly protects the Visions. He’s like their own personal guard.” Jesse could hardly contain his disbelief. He couldn’t believe someone like Cecil was now another leader of the Awakening.

‘What a downgrade.’ Jesse thought to himself. To think the Awakening’s past Sense--a broad madman who was dead set on killing Jesse’s friends when the world was falling apart--had been replaced by some skinny, sickly pale blondie who used to flee from a fight when things became a little overwhelming. Even Cecil’s attire felt less-than compared to the Visions’ and Antonin’s. His red cloak went a bit past his waste and had a golden collar with a small, yellow button keeping the cloak together. There were no fancy symbols on it either--at least none which Jesse could see. It was jarring to see such an uptight, boastful man wear something so… Plain.

“Oh look at me, acting like he’s died long ago.” Mahlon chuckled sadly, “It’s only been a year; minutes for me.”

“You’re a fine boy,” Mahlon fixed his posture and faced Jesse’s direction again, “I’m absolutely certain your friend was just as wonderful a person as you.”

“Thank--” Jesse quickly hid his voice crack with a cough, “Thank you. He was… He was the best.”

“Our bodies may die on this earth,” Mahlon slowly rose, “but our spirits live on in The Hero’s hands.” Mahlon offered his hand to Jesse, “Will you be joining our Gathering today?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia woke up. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She did remember talking with Jess about what happened last night. They were on the bed, both worried about what was happening and about each other. Guess she just… dozed off. She felt well rested at least, that’s always important. What time was it though?

She sat up and ran her hand through her tangled hair before getting out of bed. Olivia dragged her feet across the guest room’s floor to the window and opened the curtains just a sliver. She peaked through the crack, hoping to see the sun and get a vague idea of what hour it was, but instead she was greeted with light gray clouds completely covering the sky. She didn’t see anyone roaming the streets, so hopefully it was still morning. That’s technically evening for Aiden and the others, isn’t it?

She still wasn’t used to this time difference. She didn’t want to get used to it. Her sleep schedule was already weird enough, she could only imagine how horrific it would get if she got adjusted to the hours here. And being active at night… The idea didn’t sound appealing to her at all. She thought back to the times she pulled all-nighters on projects, getting headaches from the bright redstone lamps shining down on her because the Sun had set and needing to leave the comfort of her own home and storm over to the nearest cave to find whatever material she ran out of before mobs would hunt her down. Those nights were the most infuriating, and she shuddered at the thought of living every single day like that. That’d be a life full of inconveniences.

“Hm…” Olivia looked around the guest room. Where was Jess? She would’ve definitely spotted him by now, or he would’ve given her a loud ‘Good Morning!’ from behind that’d always scare the socks off of her back when they used to live in the treehouse together.

The only place she could think of was downstairs. Maybe he’s having breakfast already.

Olivia quietly left her room, making sure to open and close the door carefully so she wouldn’t awaken anyone nearby. As she made her way down the stairs, she heard a faint conversation grow louder.

When she finally reached the end, she peeked over the wall and saw Jess and Aiden sitting together on the couch working on the flint and steel. They still didn’t seem too thrilled with each other, but it was much better than the anger and shouting from last night.

“Morning guys.” Olivia said as she began walking over.

Jess waved at her, “Morning!”

Aiden gave her a stiff “Hey.”, while he continued to focus on the tool.

“Is that the appropriate thing to say?” She asked Aiden, “Can I say ‘Good Morning’? Or do you have a special phrase for this specific time?” She sat down beside Jess, sinking into the couch cushion.

“ ‘Morning’’s uncommon, but it’s fine.” Aiden replied, “Most people usually say ‘Good day’ or somethin’ like that.”

She nodded then leaned closer to the table where the items and notes were placed, “Any progress?” She shifted around, trying to get a bit more comfortable, but felt grainy, sand-like particles stuck to her feet. She glanced at the floor to see redstone powder scattered everywhere. It clinged onto the ends of the couch and got stuck in between the cracks of the wooden boards. That powder was an uncomfortable feeling on the feet and a pain to clean up.

“It was kinda rocky at first, but we’ve figured out the notes with Radar’s help!” Jess started. While he wanted to show Olivia what they’ve accomplished, Aiden was still holding onto the flint and steel with one hand, and reading a page of notes in the other, so he decided to let Aiden be. “We coated the fire striker with redstone powder. It actually stuck to the metal pretty well, but we’re still being careful whenever we place it down. We also figured out we need to make this weird mish-mash of a gold and netherrack base? Mold? Something to fit the flint in--” Jess went on to describe their plans on how they were going to create a mold out of such odd materials when suddenly Aiden interrupted.

“Olivia,” He finally spoke up, “I--I’m sorry about last night.” He gripped the flint and steel so tightly he was afraid it was going to break. “I should’ve controlled myself better--I shouldn’t have told Jesse about you. I shouldn’t have even mentioned you.” He shot up from the couch and was fidgeting with the tool now. He kept running his free hand through his hair, not caring about the red powder getting tangled up with the strands. “I put you and Jess in danger when I just wanted to help. I know--” He swallowed, “I know you’re not from this universe, you’re not really my friends, but I still want to protect you. I wanna help get you outta this mess I started.”

Olivia stopped and stared at him for a moment, surprised by this sudden apology. She slowly clasped her hands together and blinked. “Aiden…” She said quietly, “It’s okay. I forgive you.” She didn’t realize how comforting that apology was. Even if the situation was looming over them, things felt a little better.

“We’ll figure a way out of this together.” Jess added in. “And uh…” He glanced at Olivia then at Aiden, “Yeah, I’m sorry about how I acted yesterday too.”

“No, you two don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Aiden pointed at Jess as he placed the tool on top of the papers.

“But I could’ve handled things better.” Jess mumbled and went silent for a moment. “Aiden, I know you want to protect us, but we’re able to help. We don’t need to be locked in here and supervised like children. We’ve saved the world--multiple worlds--multiple times. We can help! Heck, I’m the mayor of an entire town!” He exclaimed.

“I sometimes forget about that unfortunate fact.” Olivia commented, a little smirk on her face.

Jess turned around with his eyebrows raised high. He actually looks a bit offended by her joke. “And what do you mean by ‘unfortunate’?”

“Like I could forget the time you tried to decorate Beacon Town with lava-falls for Halloween.” She kept that playful but devious expression on. She propped one leg up and rested her arm on her knee, “You nearly burnt down a good third of the buildings.”

“I put it out!” Jess felt his face turn a light shade of pink. “Plus I was following Ivor’s advice! So the Halloween Incident was technically his fault!”

“Oh sure, blame the senior citizen.” Olivia chuckled. Aiden snickered along. Jess turned even more red as he tried to think of a witty comeback, but all he could do was give her a light shove then turn away, folding his arms and pouting like a little kid as he struggled to hold back his own laughter.

“Alright, but seriously.” Aiden was finally relaxed, “I was just worked up when I said that. We can take you two outta the house and wherever you need to be as long as you hide your faces well enough.” He went to the kitchen, “I’m gonna make myself some coffee. You two want any?” He looked back at Jess and Olivia.

“Yes please!” Olivia said.

Jess shook his head, “I’m alright, thanks though.”

Aiden took out a small saucepan and placed it under the sink. He turned the faucet on and kept an eye on the water’s level.

“Actually…” Jess perked up, “Speaking of lava, what did that lava monster you guys fought look like? I’ve been thinking about it ever since you’ve brought it up.”

“Now that you mention it,” Olivia said, patting down her frizzy hair, “I’ve been pretty interested as well.”

“Oh jeez.” Aiden sighed as he turned off the water and brought the pan to the stove. He turned the heat to medium high, the knob making faint clicking sounds with each number he passed. “Man, we could only stare at that thing for a couple of seconds or our eyes would’ve melted off.” As the water slowly began to heat up, Aiden turned to a higher cabinet and swung it open.

“I knew it had a couple of eyes and a bunch of arms.” He pushed aside a few items and stopped when he spotted a small, crinkled, light blue bag.

“How many?” Olivia asked.

“Hero if I know.” Aiden let out a laugh, “More than five. It’d drag itself around with them, one arm would merge into another, and then when that thing brought one of it’s limbs back into the air--” He raised one of his arms over his head attempting to recreate the motion, “--you could see the arm split up into two or three more. And when it’s claws would hit the ground it’d send rocks and magma flying everywhere.” He splayed his fingers out, “I know a good chunk of forests burnt down, and some houses in nearby towns too, unfortunately. The library almost got hit too!” He explained while he opened and closed multiple drawers, trying to look for something.

“And the sound. Sweet Hero, the sound. It’s one of those things I’ll probably never forget. I sometimes hear it in my dreams.” He finally spotted what he was searching for--a tablespoon--and closed the drawer. He opened his bag of coffee, scooped up a hefty spoonful of powder, and added it into the pan, getting a bit of the powder on the kitchen counter. “So it’d start off real low, right? Almost sounds like a rumble, but then it’d open it’s mouth more and more until it’d let out this roar that left us deaf for nearly a minute!” He added a few more tablespoons into the water and began mixing the contents together, “Hadrian told us the sound was enough to shake the buildings, and that it’s body was so bright they thought it was day! He and Mevia used to travel the world a ton and they told us they’ve never seen anything like that creature before.”

“That’s insane.” Olivia’s eyes were wide. “That thing sounds just as dangerous as Ivor’s Witherstorm.”

“Tell me about it.” Jess was thinking about what such a beast would look like. Multiple eyes, a giant mouth, enough strength to shake the earth with each step it took. He could only imagine how horrendous the damage must’ve been, the smoke that filled the air with the fires it caused, the ashes flying everywhere, it was probably hot enough to melt a person’s skin off if they were unfortunate enough to stand too close.

“Now,” Aiden said as he tossed the tablespoon into the sink, “how bout that Witherstorm of yours? What was that like?”

Jess thought it was only fair to share their tale now. He went into detail about how the Witherstorm happened in the first place, how it kept following them and destroying everything in it’s path, how they had to travel across the world to create a weapon strong enough to destroy it, only for that plan to fail and leading to Jess having to kill it from the inside. This soon led to Jess going off about Ivor and The Order of the Stone, the Ender Dragon, and how Jess and his friends discovered the truth about them. Every now and then when Jess would mention the names of people he’s met, he’d ask Aiden if he’s ever interacted with them in this universe. Aiden needed their physical appearance to be described to get a good idea of them, but most of his answers were usually: “Don’t know them.” or a “I think we might’ve met ‘em?”. The only names Aiden seemed familiar with were Isa, Harper, and Otto. There was a big maybe on Gabriel and Soren.

“Hadrian and Mevia might’ve known them, honestly.” Aiden said at one point, “They’ve met a ton of people when they were ramblers.”

As Jess and Olivia kept going back and forth talking about the Admins, White Pumpkin, and everything else they’ve experienced, Aiden would listen along and chime in with similar situations he and his friends went through. His reactions were definitely mixed when he learned about their Cassie Rose and what she’s done. There’d be points where all he could do was laugh over how bizarre the situation sounded, and other instances where he couldn’t react at all because of how… Unstable Jess and Olivia’s Cassie Rose seemed. Aiden eventually came back into the living room with two cups of fresh, hot coffee in his hands. He sat beside Jess and placed one of the cups on the table for Olivia. She gave him a quiet thank you as they both continued to listen to Jess’ stories.

Jess was sharing his experiences out of order, but he was finally telling Aiden about Hadrian and Mevia. How they ran these twisted games and how he thought Lukas and Petra were killed right before his eyes--when suddenly Aiden jerked forward and choked on his coffee.

He hurriedly placed his cup down--spilling a bit of his drink--and broke into a coughing fit. Jess patted his back a couple of times to try and help him.

“You--your friends with Lukas in your universe?” Aiden asked between coughs.

“Yeah,” Jess answered, “I thought we--” He froze. Oh no. They never… Did they never tell Aiden that they knew Lukas in their universe? Or maybe they did--but did they never mention that they were all friends?

“And he’s alive?” Aiden said, his voice a touch raspy from the strain.

“Yes--absolutely! He’s still in one piece! We met cause of the Witherstorm and got real close throughout all those adventures.” Jess was speaking so fast, “Argh, I’m sorry, I thought I told you this.” How could he forget to tell Aiden something as major as this? Especially after Aiden had told him all about the struggles he and his friends went through after their Lukas went missing.

“No, don’t be. I probably--” Aiden stopped to cough again, “I probably forgot. I sorta remember you mentioning I kinda sucked in your universe.” He grinned. There was a sad look in his eyes. “But are Lukas and I… Are we friends there?”

Jess didn’t answer for a second. In that second he thought back to Sky City; the hatred and disgust in Lukas’ eyes whenever he had to face or even acknowledge Aiden. He thought about the many letters their Aiden had sent over that Lukas threw away. He remembered Lukas’ curious expression contorting to pure anger when Jess had mentioned Aiden wanting redemption. He doesn’t--

“Oh, absolutely!” Olivia lied. “Sure you guys hit a couple of rough patches here and there, especially after the whole Sky City incident, but you two made up!”

Jess went along, “You two live pretty far away from each other, but I know you and Lukas like to hang out at this one restaurant at least once a month to catch up.”

“The Shulker Spices?” Olivia made up the restaurant’s name on the spot.  

Jess snapped his finger, “Yeah, that one! Great stuff.”

“That’s good to hear… That’s probably the best thing I’ve heard in a while.” The soft smile on Aiden’s face faltered for a moment. Sure, he looked relieved, but Jess felt terrible. He hated flat out lying like this, but there was no way he was going to crush Aiden with the truth, and it’s not like he’ll ever know. They did the right thing. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Aiden’s body loosened and he let out a long sigh. “It’s been rough ever since he went missing.” He admitted, “Jess, you got a lotta good things back in your universe. Your friends are all still there, you’ve been able to take down any problems comin’ at you… I bet the people there must love ya.”

“But… Your friends love you too, don’t they?” Jess asked, gently placing his hand on Aiden’s back.

“Yeah--I didn’t mean to--of course they do!” Aiden quickly lifted his head back up, “And… You know…” His face got a little red, “I love ‘em too.”

Aiden went to grab his coffee to have another sip, “But you two need to get back to your universe. Once Rose comes back we can finish that flint and steel and get you two home.”

“Cassie’s still gone?” Olivia sounded concerned.

“She’ll be alright.” Aiden said, gesturing with his mug. “I know she can handle herself in extreme places like the Nether, but if she doesn’t come back by the end of tomorrow, we’ll have to hunt her down.”

The three sat on the couch, motionless for a minute, and couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about, so Jess and Olivia decided to finally make themselves breakfast. Jess helped himself to a couple of eggs; preparing a pan to scramble them in while Olivia mostly searched throughout the kitchen for ideas. She didn’t know what she was craving, she just knew she was hungry. As she scanned the contents of the pantry, something struck her.

“Sort of on the topic of questions, or--well, things about other universes…” She fumbled with her words as she reached inside to grab a small container of oatmeal, “I was wondering if there’d be anyway to, uh, see my place of death--my grave. If--if I have one.” She immediately held her breath after asking that question. She knew this was undoubtedly a personal thing to ask, but she’s been wanting to know for some time. She didn’t know when to ask before, and--and this felt like her only chance. She glanced at Aiden to see if he had heard her. He was staring right back at her, frozen in place with his coffee inches away from his face. His mouth was stuck open like he was in disbelief over what Olivia had just asked. Olivia even caught a glimpse of Jess being just as off guard by her question.

“I--We don’t--” Olivia stammered. She quickly turned away from the boys and tried to hide her face behind the pantry door, “We don’t have to! I understand if you don’t want to!” She said, “It might be dangerous to go outside anyways, I don’t mind if you describe it instead--”

“Is that what you wanna do?” Aiden asked, the energy of his voice absent compared to what it sounded like minutes ago. He set his cup aside and headed to the kitchen. To Olivia.

“Only if you think it’s safe.” Olivia’s voice was shaky. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have asked.

“If we go together,” Jess spoke up, “and hide ourselves, we should be alright.” He wanted to try and be supportive, but even he wasn’t too sure about this.

“Right.” Aiden said, focusing on Olivia. He folded his arms, “We’d have to do it soon. Today might be your only chance. If that’s where you want to go, I’ll take you there.”

[fandomficsnstuff]

A love left behind - Part 2

Summary: Your dad owns a ranch in between Thieves Landing and Armadillo, doing business with both Blackwater, Armadillo and Tumbleweed. One day three strange men show up on your land, a man with a scar across his face, an old bearded man whose horse has a literal mustache, and a tall and handsome man, both black and indian you think. What are they doing here and how will you deal with them?

(This is longer than the first part, put your seatbelt on folks!)

Charles Smith x Reader

You sat on a bench outside the stables, looking through an old journal of yours that your mother had given you before she died, it was hers once. You were reading what she wrote down when she was younger, she didn’t write much, so there was still a lot of space left to be filled out. You came upon an entry of your mother meeting your father, and you couldn’t help the small smile that came across your face, the way she described your father wasn’t at all how he was today. You were, however, interrupted by three horses entering the ranch, the three horses from earlier today. The three men had come back from Thieves Landing, surprisingly still alive and seemingly well. You closed the old journal and got up, walking towards them, your father still inside the house, apparently not having heard them.

“Well, you’re alive” you said with a small surprised tone, looking between the three men, your eyes unintentionally lingering on the tall one of the three, his arm was bleeding and you frowned “you’re bleeding, Mr…?”

“Charles Smith, but Charles is just fine” you nodded slowly at his words “well, Charles, my father is inside, why don’t you two go on inside” you nodded to John and the old bearded man, whose name you still didn’t know, and then looked back to Charles “and I’ll patch you up?” you could swear he blushed a bit at your words, but responded nonetheless “thank you, that’s very kind of you miss but-”

“That sounds like a great idea!” John interrupted, both Charles and you looking towards John, and you missed the way Charles looked at John confused. “Come on Uncle, let’s go inside,” John said, walking inside the house with this ‘Uncle’ fella. You looked back up at Charles “come on sir, let’s patch you up” you walked with him towards a small house on the property, walking inside you set him down at the dining table and began to look at his arm. “Who lives here?” he asked after a while, you barely glanced away from his wound “me” you shrugged slightly “I’m going to have to clean it, but other than that it’s not too bad” you got up to get your supplies, mainly bandages and some rubbing alcohol.

“You live here? Why not in the house with your father?” Charles asked casually, you glanced at him and he frowned “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude-”

“My father can be a bit… much, sometimes. Living in this house was my choice, I can still help out on the ranch but I have my own space here” you interrupted him, not wanting him to think he had overstepped a boundary that wasn’t there. You got back to him with your supplies, looking at him before clearing your throat “you’re gonna have to-... uhm… take off your shirt…” you said quietly, and once again, you saw him blush, but he did as told. You looked away as he pulled off his shirt, but once you turned around you’re quite sure your face went red like one of the tomatoes you were growing here. He was built like a brick house, a fact that was a bit easy to miss under his shirt. You cleared your throat once again, distracting yourself in patching him up.

You poured some rubbing alcohol on a clean cloth, giving him an apologetic look before gently cleaning his wound, he hissed slightly at the pain but kept quiet otherwise. Once that was done you inspected the wound once again, beginning to take out the bandage, “you’re good at this, who taught you?” Charles asked quietly, studying you as you slowly and carefully bandaged his arm, “well, I have learnt from experience, the Del Lobos did a lot more than steal our cattle or destroy our crops… once or twice, if one of us got too brave, they’d beat my father, so I had to learn in order to patch him up” you shrugged, not noticing the sympathetic look he gave you “did they ever… hurt you?” he asked carefully, not wanting to bother you or make you uncomfortable in any way. You gently shook your head at his question “no, not really, one of them slapped me once or twice, but nothing I couldn’t handle” you said calmly, finishing off his bandage, looking up at him,your hands still resting on his upper arm, over the bandage. You noticed the worried look in his eyes “I always paid them back” you gave him a smirk and a small wink and he smiled slightly, looking down. 

Once Charles had put his shirt back on you both walked outside, just in time to see John and Uncle exit the house with your father, both laughing, though John looked rather uncomfortable. John noticed both Charles and you talking as you headed their way, and couldn’t help but smirk a bit.

“Well as I said you’re welcome any time, Mr. Marston! We could sure use more of ya!” your father laughed, giving John a rough pat on the back, until your father noticed you and Charles standing together “the hell’s going on here?” he asked in a rough voice, you shrugged “Mr. Smith got injured helping us with that gang, so I just patched him up” you glanced up at Charles to find him already looking at you, to which you blushed and looked down, not noticing the way your father glared at Charles, who immediately walked to his horse, his tiny smile gone.

After the men had left you went inside of your own house, sitting down in an armchair and began to read from your mother’s journal again. After a while your father walked in, you glanced at him before going back to reading “hello pa” you said calmly, not noticing the look on his face, at least not until he didn’t respond, causing you to look up at him “pa? What’s wrong?” you put your mother’s journal on a small side table next to you, looking at him with a frown. He didn’t answer you once again, simply just walking to a chair next to the armchair you sat in, just glaring at you, causing you to think for a second, you hadn’t skipped any chores at all, so you couldn’t think of anything he would be mad at you for.

“The hell were you doin’ with that man?” he suddenly said in a cold tone, you looked at him confused for a few seconds, “Charles? I told you, he got injured and I-”

“Yeah, so you say, but what the hell were you doing alone with him?” now you were even more confused, “I was… helping him?” you almost couldn’t help the annoyance in your tone, having no idea what your father was getting at. “Helping him? That’s what you were doing alone?”

“What are you hinting at, pa?”

“You know what. I know you wanna live your own life but you need to focus on other things, (Y/N)” your father sighed, looking to the floor before back up at you “you’re almost thirty, honey, you need to find yourself a husband, have some children” your father shrugged as you rolled your eyes “no, I don’t, and I’m not ‘almost thirty’, pa, I’m twenty five” you countered, giving him a small glare before going back to your mother’s journal, “your mother and I got married when we were a lot younger, we were just nineteen” your father countered back to you, making you sigh, on the verge of ignoring him.

“Listen honey, I know how you felt about Albert, I-”

“Don’t, just don’t” you snapped, closing your mother’s journal and glaring at him “I don’t ever wanna hear about him again. Ever” you snapped at him again, your father sighing, frowning at you concerned “(Y/N), it’s been three years… honey you have got to move on. What about that boy in Armadillo, the one who’s so sweet on ya?” you father tried, he really did, and you knew he only wanted the best for you, but still you couldn’t help but feel as though you were chained and tied down, even though you weren’t. “Hector, pa, his name is Hector, and no” you shut his offer down quickly, ignoring his pleading look, “honey, I’m old, and I ain't gettin’ younger. One day I won’t be here and I want you taken care of by that time” your father’s voice wavered a bit, making you sigh, feeling back about snapping at him “I don’t want to get married, pa… not to anyone” you looked at him, a frown still present on your face, “you did with that Albert fella, he was so sweet on ya darlin’, he was such a good lad-”

“Yes such a very good man that he slept with other women while we were engaged” you snapped, “I don’t wanna hear about him, I don’t wanna hear about any of them! I was stupid enough once to think that there were any good men out there” you looked down, tears burning your eyes “not anymore.” You heard your father sigh “I saw the way you were blushin’ with that black or indian fella… I just don’t think he’s right for you honey, I mean…-”

“Stop. Just stop, pa… I don’t even know him, and I don’t care to” you said coldly, a single tear fell down your cheek, and you felt your father’s hand wipe it away. ''Honey, I hadn't told you before but… I ain’t well” you snapped your head towards your father, waiting for him to explain “I’m sick honey, real sick” your father leant towards you, looking into your eyes with worry, watching the tears silently fall down your cheeks. “I still have a long way to go still, so don’t worry about that, but I want you to be happy, safe, taken care of.” You gently shook your head “you’re sick? How long have you known?” 

“For a little while, but as I said I still got a long way to go, a lot of years that I can spend with you” you nodded slightly at his words, looking down and wiping your eyes. You heard your father get up, extending his hand to yours, helping you to stand up and embracing you. You couldn’t remember the last time your father had hugged you like this. After a while he let go “now, those fellas are gonna be back with some more money, would you mind helping them with the sheep?” he asked with a small smile on his lips, you nodded and sighed, giving him one last hug before wiping your eyes, going outside to wait for the men. Your father stood back in the living room of your house, looking towards a table which had a picture of your mother with you as a small baby in her arms, your father felt tears in his own eyes well up, blinking them away as he looked at the portrait “we raised a good woman, you and I, (Y/M/N). She’s a fine lady” he gently caressed the picture’s face, admiring your mother before going outside himself.

[tae-cup]

Down With The Ship | Two

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader

Summary: Captain Jeon Jungkook; a beautiful mess of blood and gold. His greatest treasure, may also be his greatest downfall.

Genre: Pirate!au

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, nothing explicit, violence?, Blood, Guns, pirates being pirates

Rating: T for Teens

A/N: I’m sorry to the entire crew of bangtan, but most importantly Jungkook and Taehyung. Thank you and goodnight. This chapter is all backstory and nothing else. 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Word Count: 9.2k Words

Other: Masterlist

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         The 18 year old looked out over the deck washed in blood. The putrid smell of rotting fish and burning flesh tinged the air. He didn’t gag. The smell was commonplace to him. He gripped the railing, watching as the last of his old crew was thrown overboard, bound and gagged. Then he turned to the old captain. 

“Do you enjoy watching your own crew being tied and thrown overboard?” He asked the older man. “Because you certainly had no qualms about it a few moments ago. I am in control, now.” He surveyed the tear streaked face of the man. Then he laughed a cold, merciless, laugh. “Goodbye, sir.” 

          He planted his foot on the old man’s back and kicked him off the ship. The new captain’s first mate turned to him. 

“What should we do now, Namjoon?” The man asked. Namjoon’s eyes looked over the blood as passively as his counterpart. Then he turned to his new captain. 

“I think we have some cleaning up to do, Jungkook.” 

         Captain Rogers was not a kind man and most certainly not to any cabin boy who was to be his glorified slave.

“Jeon!” The captain barked to the 12 year old. The young boy had learned to be silent, to let his rage simmer and harden, for the past 2 years. 

“Yes, sir?” Jungkook straightened his back, wide eyes giving him an innocent look. The kind of look that made Captain Rogers pissed off. 

“Go clean the galley.” 

         Jungkook nodded and turned to leave, instantly regretting the decision. The captain leered over the desk and grabbed his wrist tight enough to leave bruises. The child didn’t even flinch. 

“What do you say?”

“Yes, sir.” He said, his voice unwavering. 

“Good boy. Now go pull your weight, you should be lucky that I even took you in. Especially after your parents tried to run, isn’t that right?” The captain let out a loud laugh. “You should be thankful I spared your pitiful life. Now show some respect.”

“Yes, sir.” The heat of rage flamed up again, but Jungkook remained silent. 

           He scrubbed the deck and the galley, then he went ahead and made everyone lunch. No one thanked him, but it was alright, he never expected it. His hair was light brown after spending days in the sun. Jungkook kept his eyes down as a crew member was thrown overboard, the splash, his life, a mere ripple in the tide as the ship carried on. 

           He was quiet in his work, never complaining, never protesting. Jungkook never really believed he was lower than anyone else. He still held onto the hope that one day he could be acknowledged. 

          The boy spent another year, and then another, bending to every whim of Captain Rogers. His back was scarred, his wrists a permanent shade of purple, his nerves keeping him awake until early in the morning. Then he’d get up, work, and do it all over again. 

          Yes, it weighed on him, yes, the passing time felt like a death sentence, but he forged onward. At first he just planned on escaping, disappearing one night while the crew was docked, but it never felt like the right time. Being on the crew, he was now a wanted man. He would never be able to live a normal life, and maybe that was his curse. 

           He could stage a mutiny. He sat upright in bed, bumping his head on the ceiling as he was on the top bunk. Is it possible? Jungkook was just one boy and he had no friends on the ship. Everyone he’d originally met were now thrown overboard, dead, or long gone. He had been on the ship the longest and he knew the least amount of people. His only home was the ship, his only family was Captain Rogers. So how could he stage a mutiny? He had no one. 

            His 18th birthday was spent without much fanfare. He got a big clap on the back by the captain and a couple muttered ‘happy birthdays’. Unlike his other birthdays, he was ecstatic. Now he was an adult, he could make the choices he wanted. However, years of training had taught him that his actions would always have consequences. And if he went through with this plan...he would have a lot of consequences. 

         The ship was docked at Krestleven, a small town that was wealthier than people gave it credit for. Jungkook was given a day of freedom by Captain Rogers, which was the nicest thing he’d done for him in eight years. Nothing could ever really make up for the scars that marked him physically and mentally, but he appreciated it. 

         A couple kids ran by as he strolled the streets. The man pondered his fate, how the mutiny could work. He needed a right hand man, but the crew was loyal to a fault, even if they were terrified. Jungkook had long given up seeking Captain Rogers’ appreciation.

         Someone bumped into him, causing his heart to race and his skin to crawl. The brush of skin on skin causing him to flinch and feel nauseous. He hated that feeling, the touch of another human against him. There was nothing but pain in the touch of other humans. 

“Hey man, are you okay?” The man who bumped into him was now standing in front. Jungkook blinked a few times. 

“W-what?” 

“I asked if you were alright.” The man’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I said sorry for bumping into you but you seemed frazzled and I know I’m clumsy so if you’ve been injured or anything, I can pay for it.” The man rambled on. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, a lean frame and dimples when he smiled. 

“No, it’s fine.” Jungkook said. He was always fine. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. My name is Jungkook, today is my birthday.” He said shyly. 

“Oh?” The man straightened, letting his dimples show. “I’m Namjoon and happy birthday my good man.” He didn’t reach out to pat Jungkook on the back like he usually would for one’s birthday. He could tell this kid was skittish. “How old are you turning?”

“18.” The younger man mumbled, shuffling his feet. 

“Ah, still young.” Namjoon nodded. “I’m 21. Would you like to head out for a drink?” 

         Jungkook tilted his head at that. Was this man voluntarily asking to hang out with him? Captain Rogers always acted like he was the slime of the Earth, as if no one could want him except the captain. The 18 year old pointed to his chest. 

“Me?” He asked in disbelief. 

“Of course you!” Namjoon motioned to his left. “Just a little ways that way there’s this great bar. If ya tell ‘em it’s your birthday, you just might get a free pint.” The man winked playfully. Jungkook looked expectantly at the older man before realizing that he was motioning for him to take the first step. 

            Jungkook had never led anything, never made a name for himself. The first step ignited the passion to be someone other than the cabin boy for Captain Rogers. And the deep rage that had settled to a buzz in his bones now crackled with renewed energy. 

            He thought back to his life before Captain Rogers. He had always wanted to be a pirate, to sail the sea, and throughout the years, his hope in himself may have diminished, but his love for the sea had not. And how dare Captain Rogers spoil such a beauty for him. Yes, he decided in that moment that Captain Rogers was a blight to the sea, a blight to the shimmering paradise of the blue waves. 

          Captain Rogers was a man who treated the sea like a conquest instead of journey, a beast instead of an adventure. As he made his way to the bar, he found himself lost in thought. 

“So where are you from, Jungkook?” Namjoon stopped him outside of a door. 

         Warmth flooded through the windows of the tavern, golden light growing brighter as the sun sunk lower. What if he never went back? It was a question he asked himself a lot when he was allowed off the ship. And just like a dog, he always came back. 

“I’m not sure anymore.” The man shrugged in response. “My home was pillaged, but I was spared and taken in as the cabin boy.” He said vaguely, skipping over the more gruesome parts. “Been on that ship since I was 10.” He gestured to the tall ship in the distance. 

“Ah, I see.” Namjoon opened the door and the two men stepped inside. The older man took the lead and sat at the counter where the barkeep was polishing glasses. “One pint of your best stuff, please.” Namjoon ordered. “And it’s this lad’s 18th birthday.” He patted the man’s back. Jungkook almost choked. 

“Happy birthday, man!” The barkeep’s smile put him at ease and he realized how warm total strangers could be.

       He passed him a beer, free of charge, and Namjoon was passed a drink. The foam sloshed over the rim every now and then. 

       The room heated up as more people flooded the bar and the night grew darker. Namjoon and Jungkook found themselves having to shout over the crowd. The younger man kept pulling down his sleeves and Namjoon certainly noticed. But the brown haired male wasn’t one to pry. Jungkook seemed to be a very private man and Namjoon could respect that. 

“Ah, you’re so lucky, Jungkook.” Namjoon said, a tired tone to his voice. “I moved here a while ago for a job, but now I wish I could just sail around the world with no cares. Like you.” His eyes twinkled in the glow of the bar. 

        Jungkook felt his heart racing. It was getting dark and the captain was surely looking for him. 

“It’s not all great.” He said, prying himself out of his carefully protected shell. Namjoon put him at ease, made him feel safe in a way the captain could never provide. 

“Yeah, it must be tough sometimes, but at least you never have to be in one place for too long.” He shrugged in response. He eyed Jungkook’s wrists as the young man once again pulled down his sleeves. 

“You should join us, Captain Rogers is always looking for people and he’s strict, but a good person.” Jungkook blurted. 

          He was fibbing only a bit, but Namjoon fit perfectly into his plan. He could see him as a good first mate. Of course, he wasn’t sure if he could see himself as a captain, but he supposed that all came with due time.

 “You’re strong, I can tell.” He continued. “You’d make a great addition.” 

         The man thought it over, fingers tapping his glass hesitantly. His gaze flickered to the counter and then back to Jungkook. He scratched the back of his neck. 

“I’m not sure, Jungkook. It’s hard to just drop everything and leave.” 

“But everything would be provided.” except maybe comfort and security. “We leave tomorrow night, so please think about it.” 

“I will.” Namjoon stood, paying what he owed. 

          Then the two men stepped outside the bar. Jungkook took a deep breath in of the night air. It had cooled significantly and there was a slight chill to the air. The clouds had cleared and the sky was splattered with stars, the moon like a white dot in a swirl of inky black. 

          He needed to head back to the ship and give himself time to prepare for punishment. It was way past when he should be out. He was an adult now, but old habits die hard. 

“Jungkook, wait.” Namjoon stopped the man in his tracks. 

          The hazel eyed man gingerly reached for the young man’s wrist. He held it up and slowly peeled back the long sleeved top. Jungkook wanted to scream, to pull away, to stop him from revealing his scars. Instead, he stood still and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he heard Namjoon inhale sharply. He carefully rolled back up the younger man’s sleeve and let go. Jungkook dropped his wrist. 

“Who did that to you?” The man’s voice was soft, like a gentle tide. “Was it Captain Rogers?” Yes. 

“No.” He shook his head quickly, his voice suddenly little more than a squeak. “No, Captain Rogers is a good man, he would never hurt me.” 

             It was a lie, even he knew it. Why was it his gut reaction to defend this man? Maybe because he was his only home, his only family. Captain Rogers was all he’d ever known. Death and pillaging and blood was all he’d ever known. Yet Namjoon, who stood before him, offered him the knowledge of compassion and kindness; maybe even love. 

“If you say so.” The older man clearly didn’t believe him. 

            Namjoon knew he shouldn’t join whatever mess Jungkook was in, he shouldn’t, but it wasn’t like anything was tying him down to Krestleven. A pale man walked by carrying a few fish traps. His low whistle interrupted the static air between the two men. He looked over at the couple, shrugged, and then moved on. 

“Please, Captain Rogers will give you the adventure of a lifetime if you join our crew.” Jungkook tried his best to sound confident. 

“I’ll think about it. I’ll meet you at the docks tomorrow morning if I choose to join you. Please, just give me some time.” Namjoon sighed.

             He saw himself coming to a crossroad in the woods. One path led him to a stable future, perhaps a family, a simple life. The other held adventure and the future was foggier. He deeply inhaled. The scent of salt and fish, the scent of adventure, hit him. He smiled to himself, having already decided his choice. Still, he needed to get his things together and he had a few hours until morning. 

“Goodnight, Jungkook. Rest well and don’t get into too much trouble, alright?” Namjoon bid his new friend farewell. 

           As Jungkook arrived on the ship, he tiptoed past the captain’s office. He had long since learned the creaks in the floorboards and the right places to stop. He cracked open the door to his bunkroom, being very careful as to not make much noise. 

         He climbed up to his bunk, only to see another body there. The captain grasped his wrist from his bunk bed. Jungkook resisted the urge to scream. The skin Namjoon had just touched, was now being dirtied by the captain’s dirty hands. 

        And while he took the beatings, for every one he cursed the captain’s name to the gods and swore vengeance for all the sailors thrown overboard. 

           Namjoon was an early riser. Well, he didn’t like it, per say, but he was a light sleeper. So when the sun woke up, so did he. He didn’t have much practice being on his toes 24/7, but Jungkook did. The younger man helped him throughout the first month get acclimated to the environment. As a result the older man never saw any beatings to himself. Jungkook taught him the safe practices from the beginning, knowing full well that Namjoon had the capabilities of fleeing at the first sign of distress. 

          It was almost twice as exhausting to pretend everything was alright. To pretend this was the most idyllic crew you could ever encounter. Jungkook often took Namjoon’s punishments, should it ever befall his beloved friend. Jungkook was a bit too self sacrificing. He would die for any of his crew members, except maybe Captain Rogers. 

        He saw to it that Namjoon would never have a finger laid on him. If the older man knew this, it would surely damage his pride, so he simply never mentioned it.

         The black eye? Oh, just a scuffle he had with another crew member, it was an accident. The bruised arm? Oh, he was just clumsy and bumped into something. The busted lip? The limp? The fingerprints on his neck? Accidents. Simple accidents. And while Jungkook faded, Namjoon began to shine. 

         One night, he was sneaking back to his bunk when he accidentally bumped into a corner right in the new bruise. He couldn’t help hissing out in pain. The bed next to him moved and Namjoon sat up, being a light sleeper. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a couple times. Jungkook froze, caught. 

“Uh, this is just a dream, go back to sleep.” Jungkook said quietly. 

“I’m not that stupid, kookie. What are you doing awake?” Namjoon swiped at the drool running down his chin. 

“It’s nothing.” 

Namjoon crawled out of bed and stood, standing taller than his younger counterpart. “Tell me.” 

         Jungkook looked away, not meeting his gaze. Then, with a sigh, he rolled up his sleeves. Even in the moonlight, Namjoon could see the dark outlines of bruises. 

“Who did this to you?” The man demanded, his voice hushed as to not bother the cabin next door. 

        The ship creaked uneasily, its swaying rhythm not doing much to quell his thumping heart. 

“Captain Rogers.” He said quietly, after having an internal battle. Namjoon’s eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. 

“I knew it.” He said after a while. “But why?” 

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

         The pieces were clicking together in his mind, gears turning like a well oiled machine.

 “Who told you to take beatings for me?” He said furiously. “I know you don’t want me hurt, but do you think I feel any better watching you sacrifice yourself?” He shook the man’s shoulders, not caring about how he flinched. 

“It was the right thing to do.” Jungkook tried to reason. 

“No it wasn’t.” He crossed his arms. There was a long pause. Namjoon looked the young boy up and down, making note of every scratch, every bruise. He let out a breath, Jungkook’s head hung low in shame. “Now what are you going to do about it?” 

The young man’s head whipped up to look at his friend. “What?” He said breathlessly. 

“I said, Now what are you going to do about it?” 

           Jungkook’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, he worried that the whole ship could hear it. The waves were a dull thud outside, a beat that his chest yearned to sing, only held down by the sharp nails and hard fists of Captain Rogers. The anger simmering below was a volcano just waiting to explode. He wanted that man gone. 

“We’re going to stage a mutiny.” 

           The deck was a battlefield. Even the smell of the sea could not mask the pungent smell of blood on wood. Yet, the sight before him did not bother Jungkook. He had seen blood, smelt it, even tasted it. He’s seen war, he’d seen the merciful and the merciless. And he considered himself merciful as he kicked Captain Rogers deep into the sea. 

          Namjoon stood beside him, the last two souls on the ship. The ship was haunted with memories and Jungkook was sure every inch of it had been covered by his blood at some point in the last eight years. 

“Get some rest, we’ll clean up later.” Jungkook waved off a tired looking Namjoon. “Oh and Namjoon?” 

“Yes?” The man turned to look at his new captain. 

“You’re going to be my first mate.”

“I’m your only ‘mate’.” The older man chuckled before turning and heading back downstairs. 

         Jungkook then turned to the mess. He wasn’t the cleanest person, but for some reason he felt the urge to scrub the deck. So he did. He scrubbed away every inch of blood splattered on the light oak wood. It didn’t stop it from being stained a deep cherry red. 

          He longed for his bunk, but instead he went to the right. And there he stood, paused in front of the oak door that held his worst nightmares. The dark haired man pushed down his anxiety. He’s not going to be in there. You just pushed him off the ship. He’s gone. That’s what his mind said, but his body was shaking. He hesitantly opened the door. Ghosts flew past him. 

          Memories of nails clawing into a locked wooden door, screams no man should make leaving his throat. He trembled, unable to move. The office was the same as it had been a few hours ago and he intended for it to stay that way. He didn’t want to touch Captain Rogers’ things, the idea repulsed him. He took a deep breath. But a little look can’t hurt right? You’ve seen every inch of this room, why not see if you can find another? Jungkook shut his eyes, thinking it over, before taking a step into the room. 

          He walked around the desk, keeping the door open. The room smelled like the captain; cigarettes and blood. The tall man flipped through the stacks of papers with the confidence of a mouse in a lion’s den. He was the captain now. He looked up, catching himself in the mirror across the desk. His breath hitched. I am in control now. He thought, trying to calm his stomach. All he could see was a spitting image of Captain Rogers. 

       Captain Jeon Jungkook was 19, working under the guise of a harmless merchant, when he met a mister Park Jimin. 

“My boy here is a strong, hardworking, 21 year old man. He would make a fine addition to your crew.” The pudgy man before him smiled.

        Jungkook did a good job at pretending he wasn’t as calloused and cold inside as he really was. He often got these propositions, but he didn’t want to put people in unnecessary danger. Once the cover of being a merchant vessel was blown, everyone on the ship would be criminals. 

“I’m Park Jimin, but please just call me Jimin, sir.” The blonde haired boy smiled sweetly.

          He would never get used to older people referring to him as sir. The word brought up bad memories. Swallowing the distaste in his mouth, Jungkook pulled his lips into a tight smile. Yes, they could always use a helping hand, but this man looked too sweet to be on a pirate ship. He could always be the cabin boy. He shuddered at the thought. He would never put someone through that. 

“Why do you want to join my crew?” 

“Adventure, sir.” Jimin responded curtly. Then he paused, thinking it over. There was a mountain of thoughts behind the swirl of his eyes. “And freedom. Being a part of a crew brings you freedom.” 

          Jungkook knew right then that Jimin would fit in perfectly. They had the same ideals, and though he held himself with a rather timid aura, he still held himself up. Now, technically a cabin boy should be younger than him, but Jungkook could make an exception. He was a pirate for god’s sake, what’s a little bend in the rules? Jimin’s father looked like he wanted to stop his son from speaking when Jungkook started. 

“Correction, Park,” He said formally. “A crew does not grant you freedom,” He knew this first hand. His crew had been invisible shackles on his skin. “The sea grants you freedom.” 

             And Jimin smiled, his eyes crinkling in delight. Jimin reminded him of what he could have been, had he not been taken. Would his parents have supported his choice to sail the sea? Would his parents tell him to get some sea legs and journey half way across the world? There were so many questions regarding his parents, holes that would never be filled. The scariest part was that he could barely remember their faces. 

He cleared his throat. “Park Jimin, on behalf of my crew and myself, we would like to formally extend an invitation to join us on our journeys. You can study under me as a cabin boy.” He held out his hand. 

        Jimin took it in his easily and shook. The hands of Park Jimin were soft, uncalloused. He had obviously never worked a day in his life and he overflowed with a childlike innocence that Jungkook would never have again. 

           The captain covered his eyes, groaning. Open sea had never felt more claustrophobic. Despite having more than enough space for three of them to wander without bumping into each other, the knowledge that they were around was enough to keep him from relaxing.

          His mind had been running since Jimin came aboard. The cabin boy had been more than happy to follow around Namjoon like a puppy. Jungkook blamed it on the fact that the older man did not trust the word of his younger crew member as much as Namjoon. Even if he was the captain. 

“What’s wrong, captain?” Namjoon leaned over him, blocking the sun. Jungkook squinted up at his old friend. 

“Am I going about this wrong?” He sighed. 

“Aish, so hard on yourself all the time, Jungkook.” Namjoon moved over to lie next to him on the deck. The young man shut his eyes instinctively as the sun beat down. “What’s on your mind?”

“I mean, I don’t want to end up like him. What if Jimin ends up being scared of me?” He felt his heart sink at the feeling. 

        He didn’t even know the man that well, but the thought of becoming anything more like the monster he feared made him nauseous. Namjoon released a breath, as if he were tired of the conversation already. 

“Then you have to make sure he isn’t.” 

           Kim Seokjin had trained to be a carpenter for exactly three years. Three years since he’d been pulled off the streets and into the kind arms of a hardworking man. Three years of grueling work where callouses gathered on his hands and grime covered every inch of his body after a day of work. It wasn’t his passion in the beginning, but it was his passion now. It was all he had. He only prayed someone would come around and give him the opportunity to work for them, to sail around the world. 

           He often spent his time watching the horizon, watching the waves beat back and forth against the rocks. Then one day he spotted a tall ship coming into view. It was thin, meant for speed. It’s sails were completely unrolled, taking advantage of the wind. 

          Soon enough, a small rowboat was making its way through the water loaded with goods and two people. One had brown hair, the other had pitch black hair. The one with black hair was clearly the captain. He wore all black right down to his boots. 

“Achem, is there a Kim Seokjin, here?” The captain spoke. 

“I am Kim Seokjin.” Jin squared his shoulders. The captain lit up at this revelation. 

“Ah! We’ve been looking for a good boatswain.” 

The older man deadpanned. “Sir, I am a carpenter, not a boatswain.” 

“You can be both, I won’t tell.” Jungkook pushed his best smile forward, despite how little emotion he felt inside. In fact, the only emotion Jungkook felt lately was blind rage and he really needed a better outlet than ranting to Namjoon for hours. 

          Jin watched the man with eyes narrowing in suspicion. He clasped his hands together, still unconvinced. 

“I suppose you’ll have to look somewhere else.” He tutted, turning to head back up the gravel path to the workshop. 

“We can pay you!” The handsome captain called. “We can pay you a lot, but you just have to hang in there.” 

              Jin scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t look for money. I just want something new.” 

 “That’s it?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

          The Captain was growing restless. His crew was content with sailing around pretending to be merchants. We are merchants, Namjoon would say. But Jungkook had only ever known blood and violence. He felt trapped trying to hide that part of him; the anger he feared would never be sated. 

“Seokjin, you ask the simplest of things from a guy like me.” Jungkook said slyly, his demeanor doing a 180.

          Though Jungkook cared about his crew far more than Captain Rogers and he would never lay a hand on them, he still wondered if he learned cruelty from the Captain or if it was in his blood. It was unfair how the ghost of Captain Rogers still haunted him. 

“You can sail the world with us, just trust me, it won’t be so bad.” He smiled. Jin frowned. 

“What could you possibly offer me, merchant?” He eyed the man. The captain was definitely more than a simple merchant. Even Jin could understand that. The older man was having trouble decoding the captain’s true intentions. 

“I’m Jungkook. This is my first mate Namjoon.” The captain, Jungkook, introduced. “We have a cabin boy named Jimin back on the ship. We could really use someone like you on our journey.” 

Jin sighed and shook his head. “No thank you.” 

-

“Are you sure?” The old carpenter was like a father to Jin. He placed his weathered hand over his apprentice’s. 

“I don’t think that life is cut out for me.” The apprentice shrugged in response. “They want a boatswain, not a carpenter.” 

“They can be one in the same. Trust me, I know that, boy.” He chuckled, then coughed harshly. Jin furrowed his eyebrows in worry. 

“Are you alright, Chung-ho?” He squeezed the old man’s hand. 

“Jin, my boy,” Chung-ho coughed again and swallowed. “I am 80 years old. I have lived 50 of those years here, in the same place. The one thing I regret is not following my dream of adventure. I would not wish the same fate to befall you. Take your chance while you can.” The old man often had a youthful attitude, making him forget about his age. 

         It was moments like these, sitting in his humble abode listening to the creak of the wood, and looking into his aged eyes did he realize how old Chung-ho was growing. But out of all the things he’d seen, this was the first time he saw regret and pain flash across the old man’s face. 

“Go.” The man shooed him out the door, handing him a small bag of goods. “Now I won’t have someone to talk my ear off in the morning.” He joked, but Jin knew it held sadness. 

          Jin softened, letting his lips tug into a smile. Then he drew the sturdy old man into a hug. 

“Take care of yourself, I’ll visit you soon.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, lad. Now hurry on.” He chuckled as Jin made his way down the path. 

          Jungkook and Namjoon waited at the bottom, Jungkook pacing impatiently. They were murmuring back and forth. 

“I guess we should get going, Captain.” Jin’s lips parted into a bright smile to mask the tug of his heart at leaving Chung-ho. Three years of living with the old man did something to you. 

          Jungkook’s face split into a smile that reminded Jin of a bunny. His face looked oddly innocent, but there was something dead behind his eyes.

“I’m going to give it to you straight.” Jungkook clasped his hands together on the table. 

          Jin had made lunch and being the oldest, he fell into a motherly parental figure role quite easily. He filled a small gap that Jungkook was missing. It put him at ease. 

“I want to go back to pirating.” He said, letting his words sink in. 

Namjoon was the first to speak, hesitation in his voice. “Are you sure?” 

           Namjoon and Jungkook had been through a lot together. There were just some things that they didn’t talk about with the others. The things they went through they always explained away vaguely, never going into detail about how they procured the ship or where the other crew went. Jin let his spoon clatter to the floor loudly. The others turned to look at him. 

“You want to be pirates? Aish, you kids don’t know what you’re getting yourselves into.” He had this hardened gaze as if he remembered something. 

“I know all too well. That’s the thing, pirating is all I’ve ever known and I will never be happy until I can go back to it.” Jungkook tried to reason. 

“Have you tried cooking? Or maybe sewing? I’ve heard knitting is gaining popularity.” Jin rambled before frowning. “Pirating ruins lives, it ruined my life.” 

            There was a long pause. Everyone stared at each other. The captain swallowed thickly and looked away from the intensity of Jin’s gaze. 

“Then you can make your life again.” Namjoon said, breaking the silence. “If you become a pirate, wouldn’t that be like a bit of vengeance?”

“I don’t sail for vengeance.” Jin sighed. “Chung-ho would never have liked me to go around terrorizing people.”

“Then don’t.” Jungkook stood and leveled with Jin. “You can just stay on the ship. I don’t mind.” 

           The older man thought it over, still uncomfortable with becoming someone who he disliked. He tapped his foot nervously. Then, he released a deep breath. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” The words lacked the punch. Instead, he just sounded really tired. 

 “Well, Jimin, it appears you’re officially a wanted man.” Jungkook slapped a yellowed piece of paper in front of the cabin boy. The man picked it up, crinkling his nose as he spotted his face plastered on the paper. 

“I didn’t think anyone would care.” Jimin said quietly. 

“They think we’ve kidnapped you.” The captain scoffed. 

“They aren’t in the wrong for thinking that.” Namjoon crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. 

“Fine. Jimin, you need to stay low. You are not to leave the boat for the next few months so get comfortable.” He ordered. The blonde haired boy nodded at the command. 

           The captain was quite honestly worried for his crewmate, but he often reminded himself that Jimin was a grown man, older than himself. Jungkook then motioned to Namjoon and Jin. 

“Namjoon, head out with Jin to get the supplies. I’ll stay with Jimin.” 

            The other men nodded and went to get the rowboat ready. Jimin stayed silent, staring at the wall just behind Jungkook. The captain shifted awkwardly in his seat. 

“Are you alright? It’s not everyday that you become a wanted man.” Jungkook tried his best to reach out to the timid man. Jimin jumped, seemingly having forgotten that he was still there. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jimin blinked a couple times. 

“I asked if you were alright?” Jungkook wasn’t one to be emotional, besides perhaps anger. 

         He had a hard time connecting to others, which was why he left that job to Namjoon, the first mate. Sadly, that resulted in Jungkook feeling like a stranger on his own ship and Namjoon had a deeper bond to the others than he would ever have. 

“I’m fine. I’ve been through worse and at least I have you guys now.” Jimin smiled shyly. Jungkook nodded and they fell into silence once more. 

           The captain clenched his fingers and unclenched them over and over in an attempt to loosen his nerves. This man was his crewmate, why was he so nervous?

“Are you afraid of me, Jimin?” 

            The older man looked startled at the question, yet he still shook his head. “No, I don’t think I can be. You’re younger than me and you’ve probably been through a lot. I respect you for how far you’ve come in so little time.” 

            Jungkook felt something inside him break open, just slightly. The crew was beginning to peel away at the chest he kept locked inside. Its contents were not ones that he wanted people to see. Inside was a small boy who used anger to keep himself trapped, to keep himself safe. And he longed to be angry at someone, anyone, but the crew was making it increasingly hard. 

“Why are you so nice to me? I don’t treat you well.” 

“Yes you do. You think I don’t know how other captains treat their cabin boys?” Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You just let me do whatever I want and I worry that I’m not doing enough.” 

“I was a cabin boy.” He said vaguely. 

           He didn’t want to unlock that whole other side of himself all over again; not after he spent the last year keeping it locked shut so he would never have to think about it again. But at night...at night he got nightmares. And insomnia swept him up in its arms until he couldn’t breathe. 

“Really? What was that like?” 

Jungkook ignored the man’s question. “That’s not important. I just wanted to make sure you know...you have no reason to be so timid around me.”

       Jimin’s face was blank for a moment, but then he started smiling. A small laugh left him. 

“I’m just like that with everyone, captain, no need to feel insecure.” He teased and Jungkook glared at the cabin boy. 

-

        Namjoon wasn’t one to be impulsive, but just this once he was. He was looking around the market when he heard a loud shout and clang from somewhere nearby. The man was curious, as one should be, and he walked towards the area where people were fleeing. 

“I’ll shoot your brains out right now if you say one more word.” The low rumble of a man echoed off the cobblestones. 

        Namjoon froze, taking in the scene before him. He really shouldn’t get himself in more trouble than necessary considering he was a wanted criminal now. 

“Listen man, I wasn’t trying to steal from you.” A dark haired man lay on the ground, a gun to his head. 

“Then why did you have your hand in my pocket?!” The man growled. The dark haired man laughed and pushed the gun off his forehead. 

“A simple misunderstanding?” The other man smirked. 

         He then proceeded to kick out the legs of the man holding the gun. The gun flew across the pavement and the dark haired man easily picked it up. He pointed it at the other man and, without even flinching, shot him in the forehead. It was a clean shot, the man was dead in an instant. The dark haired man pocketed the gun and looked up. The only person left at the scene was Namjoon.

“You want to pick a fight too?” The man furrowed his eyebrows, hand going to his pocket. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you want to grab a drink.” Namjoon smiled. “I hear that if you say it’s your birthday, you’ll get a free pint.” 

           Kim Taehyung was an easy addition to the crew. His aim was impeccable, but his personality was something else. He had this way of changing his mood like changing clothes. The man never revealed too much information about himself, like how he learned to wield a gun so well or why he was on the run, but the captain knew it had something to do with the royal navy. In many aspects, he was like the captain. He hid many parts of himself. 

“Taehyung,” Jungkook leaned against the wall, watching the older man shiver after having just walked the plank. “Do you like the sea?” 

“I wouldn’t be sailing around with you if I didn’t.” Said man smiled a little. He used a towel to dry off his hair. The sea brought him pain, but he knew he needed to begin healing. 

“I’ve got this grand idea to visit the queen and steal some of her fine jewelry.” Jungkook said nonchalantly. “What do you think?” He tried to nudge the man to open up to him. Which was rather hypocritical as Jungkook was not one to open up to his crew. 

“Oh?” At the mention of her highness, Taehyung stiffened.

         In his mind he remembered holding up his right hand and pledging his allegiance to her majesty. He remembered the smile she wore as she wished them a safe journey. A journey he would not return from. Words he could never take back. Taehyung was a man of his word and that oath still hung in his mind like an old sweater. 

“Taehyung.” Jungkook stood straighter, causing the gunner to do the same. “You’re an excellent shot. Why did you leave the navy?” 

           The man frowned, his entire demeanor changing. Tension buzzed in the air. The pain from somewhere in his chest gave a tug once more. Taehyung swallowed thickly and finally backed down. He turned to fold the towel and put it away. 

“It was more about conquest and less about adventure. The sailors simply didn’t care for the waters they skidded across.” He spoke softly, as if remembering a distant memory. 

             He was thinking of the orange sunset, the calloused hands, the hushed words spoken at night that he could tell no one. He thought of the sailor who died in his arms. The sailor who was set adrift to become one with the sea. The sailor who taught him all he knew and loved him. It was like a separate part of him that he had hidden away. 

“And I lost someone who meant a lot to me. I couldn’t go near the sea again without thinking of him-them.” He cleared his throat. “It took some time, but I think I’ve healed enough to love the sea once more.” 

          Jungkook let the pieces click into place. And like a lightbulb, his eyes lit up in recognition. He hesitantly reached out and took Taehyung’s hand in his. The brush of skin on skin caused him to wince slightly in discomfort. 

“Taehyung, I don’t care about who you are or who you love.” He said quietly. “BTS is happy to have you. All of you.” 

           Tha captain sucked in a breath, ready for the inevitable nausea as he hugged him, the tears began to wet his face. 

         The sky was gray. He wasn’t even allowed to see the sun the day his eyes went dark. It was like a cruel trick that he must undergo. The softest of hands touched Taehyung’s rough ones. 

“Why did you let this happen? You saw the person aiming at me and yet you did nothing. Are you a coward?” The words slipped out of the mouth of his dead lover like gasoline. And suddenly his world was ablaze. 

           Taehyung jolted awake, heaving himself up from his bed and tumbling out into the hallway. It was gray, the color bringing a foul taste to his mouth. He made his way out to the deck, still in a hazy stupor. There was a salty tinge to the wind. The sea was restless today, it’s waves tinged a gray.

            Gray like his lover’s eyes. Gray like his uniform, gray like his hair. The pounding of the sea rocked the ship back and forth. To his surprise, he found his captain laying on the deck, arms and legs splayed out and just staring at the sky. 

“Captain? Are you alright?” 

“Taehyung? Ah, you’re awake so early.” Jungkook sat up and crossed his legs. He tilted his head back and let the wind ruffle through his hair. 

“What are you doing up so early?” He countered, plopping next to him. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep in years, Tae.” The nickname slipped out easily. Taehyung pressed his lips into a line. The last time he heard that was when he lost him. 

“Me neither. Being a deserter doesn’t stir pity.” Taehyung responded coldly, eyes glued to the rough sea. Jungkook didn’t make a fuss about this new information. He simply nodded and looked up to the sky. 

“So how did you become captain?” The gunner asked, seeing if he could pry open any piece of the mysterious captain’s life. The man stiffened noticeably, gaze flickering between Taehyung and the deck. 

“Hey, what’s that?” A new voice joined the mix. 

         They both turned to see Jimin pointing out into the sea. Jungkook immediately stood, eyes narrowing as he spotted the object in the distance. Another ship was headed full speed towards them. It would be a matter of minutes before they were next to each other. 

Jungkook cursed and pulled on a coat. He gestured to Taehyung. “You, go grab your guns and you,” He pointed at Jimin. “Go wake up the others and tell them to bring weapons.” He turned towards the railing, his fingers clutching the sides. “We have guests.” 

             Hoseok loved his ship. He would never imagine leaving it and his crew were never the kindest people. Still, he did feel bad about running off with the ship and leaving them stranded. Being lost in his own thoughts was a common occurrence. He often hummed or sometimes spoke. 

“Okay, Hoseok. There’s another ship over there, all you need to do is sidle right on up and ask to join the crew!” A few weeks of living alone really had done something to his drive for human companionship. 

            Maybe he should have paid more attention to the local papers when he was in Krestleven because then he would have heard about the rogue pirate crew known as BTS and how one of their men shot and killed someone point blank, another got drunk off his ass and started a fight, and another had an insatiable thirst for blood. Maybe that would have deterred him. Maybe. He was still very much deprived. 

           What he hadn’t expected when he arrived, was ropes thrown over the deck and a gun pointed to his head. The man felt sweat gathering on his forehead. 

“Who are you and why have you approached our vessel?” The man said, his voice low. 

“Taehyung, it’s all clear below deck. It seems that this guy’s the only one on board.” A timid voice echoed from below deck. Then the head the voice belonged to popped out into the doorway. He had blonde hair and a cheeky smile. 

“See, I told you.” Hoseok said wearily. “I just wanted to say that I need a crew and I would be honored if you let me on yours.” 

“Do you even know who we are?” The captain spoke, motioning for Taehyung to lower his gun. The man obliged, if a bit hesitant. 

“No? Should I?” Hoseok smiled sheepishly. 

“Do you know BTS?” The broad shouldered man said. 

          Oh. Oh no. Hoseok had definitely chosen the wrong ship to approach. The wind combed through his hair and they were at a stand still. 

“Well, I still need a crew. Do you guys have a pilot?” 

“No, Jin has been doing that so far.” The captain quirked his head towards the broad shouldered man. 

“And I’m doing a fine job!” Jin shouted, facing growing red. 

“You almost crashed us into the rocks. Twice.” Taehyung growled. The man was silent after that. 

“See! I’m a trained pilot, I can do it!” Hoseok said hurriedly, an excited expression taking over his face. 

“We’ll see about that.” The captain said darkly. “I’ll give you one week to prove yourself and if you cause any issues, I won’t hesitate to drop you. You mean nothing to this crew until you earn it, got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And don’t call me sir.” The captain visibly bristled. “Just call me Captain.” 

           Hoseok was far too energetic for this early in the morning. Jungkook felt his eye twitch as he bounced around, talking excitedly from person to person. Only Jin seemed to humor him while Namjoon just frowned. Jimin tried his best, but even the slightest bit of annoyance came from the man. Taehyung remained silent as Hoseok pestered him. Therefore, that left Jungkook having to entertain the man. 

“Why are you so hyper so early in the morning.” Jungkook glared at the older man, but that did little to dampen his shine. 

“Well, I haven’t seen or spoken to anyone in about a month!” Hoseok said, far too cheerily. His smile seemed a little strained. 

“Right…” Jungkook just laid his head back down on the table. “Go steer the ship, Pilot. We’re stopping at Lamit today. It’s a small fishing town off the coast of the british isles.” 

“Alright!” He then hopped off to steer the ship and Jungkook was suddenly afraid that this man was now in charge of their lives.

            For some reason, Jimin had been very taken with this energetic personality, though he didn’t seem pleased in the morning. The cabin boy trailed after the pilot like a puppy. 

“Namjoon.” The captain barked hoarsely, his voice still waking up. “Go make sure they’re doing their jobs.” 

            The first mate just nodded and left to follow after them, shouting something about staying on task. Jungkook groaned and rubbed his temples, but even if his crew gave him a headache in the morning, they were still his responsibility and he wouldn’t give them up for the world. 

              Yoongi wanted adventure. He craved it. He was restless, always drawn to the water that seemed to understand him better than any person. The ever changing tide and choppy waters spoke to him. The man was short of stature, yet he held himself with pride. 

              He fished, he delivered, he traveled every now and then, but he never had any adventure. Most who met the man would not describe him as a risky thrill seeker, but he was so much more than that. His insides felt like a whirlpool, churning water, and shimmering gold. 

              When the ship came into view at the small town of Lamit, he needed to take his chance. He was well versed in other cultures from his travels as a fisherman and he was knowledgeable on the sea’s creatures. He could pass off as a striker well enough. 

              But Yoongi wasn’t stupid, he knew that the ship belonged to BTS. He kept up with the papers enough to know they had maybe six members and none of them seemed like a striker. It may have been the riskiest decision he had ever made, but he still ran towards the ship as the captain stepped off. 

             The man seemed to instantly know what he was going to say and just sighed heavily. 

“No.” The captain stated. Yoongi was taken aback. This man was quite a bit younger than him and yet...yet he had knocked him out of place with just one word. 

“I just wanted to-”

“No. We don’t have the need for another crew member.” 

“Yoongi?!” The shrill voice of another man hit him. The pale man winced, recognizing the voice instantly. 

“Hoseok, I didn’t know you were the sixth member.” Yoongi stated coolly as he tried to regain his footing in the conversation. 

           He knew Hoseok from the few times he’d gone to Krestleven. They had interacted a couple times and while Yoongi found Hoseok exhausting, Hoseok enjoyed his company far too much. 

“Fine, what can you do… Yoongi?” The captain looked him over, cold gaze flashing over his features. 

“I can be a fine striker, sir.” Yoongi said, placing his hands behind his back. 

“Yes! Yoongi is very knowledgeable. He knows all about fish and crust-crust-” 

“Crustaceans.”

“Yes! Those!” Hoseok tugged on the captain’s coat like a child. 

The captain sighed, prying Hoseok’s fingers off his coat with a look of disgust. “Watch it, you’re still on trial.” 

            Hoseok backed away quickly, but they both knew the captain wouldn’t get rid of him. Then the captain turned back to Yoongi. 

“I’ll put you on a trial period that is only over when I say so.” The captain’s nostrils flared. “You want adventure, you want the sea? Then you’ve come to the right place. If you want to settle down and litter the ocean with your shit, you’re in the wrong place.” 

“I love the ocean.” He said earnestly. “I can’t live so far from it all the time. I need to be near it.” yoongi said desperately. “So please, let me join your crew.”

          Dignity be damned, he was going to be a pirate. 

                   It was the night before their biggest heist yet. Namjoon settled into the bunk across from his captain. The two hadn’t spoken specifically on the subject, but it was agreed that they were more comfortable in each other’s presence at the end of the day. 

          The exhausted captain flung himself into his bed, landing with a loud thump and an oomph. The first mate rolled over as the captain blew out the candle. It was quiet, but he knew the younger man was looking at him. 

           “What’s wrong, Namjoon?” Jungkook sighed after a moment. 

           The truth? Namjoon was insecure. Putting his faith into six other men was a huge stretch after only being able to trust Jungkook for a year. The man was also supposed to be a role model for the crew, after all, Jungkook felt like a crazed captain sometimes. And when those times came, people looked to him to lead. Trust was so tricky.

          “Can we trust these men?” Namjoon frowned, thinking about the meal from earlier that night. Jin had made a recipe and named it his ‘secret recipe’, but it just made everyone waste the water supply by drinking gallons trying to cool the heat. 

           “Of course.” Jungkook pulled the covers up to his chin, fingers peeking out. 

           “How do you know?”

            “It’s this gut feeling.” He responded simply. 

           “We can’t keep working off your gut feelings, Kookie.” Namjoon let out a breath and turned away. 

           “I know.” The captain said quietly to the other man’s back. “But I would gladly die for these men. I can feel it in my bones.” 

            The haunting tone of his voice reminded the first mate of the night before the mutiny. The night before everything changed. It made him shiver, but he trusted his captain. He had to learn to trust the others too.

          Jungkook gripped the side, his crew watching his back. He laughed a little, letting the breeze carry his voice as far as it could. He overlooked the british mainland’s harbor. A mess of smoke and cobblestone laid out before him. 

“Men, we’re about to be…” He gritted his teeth and whipped around to face his crew. “Notorious.” 

           Namjoon straightened, chest puffing out with pride as he watched his old friend lead so confidently. Jimin shivered as the wind bit at his hands and cheeks. Taehyung was lazily spinning his guns in his hands. Jin had his arms crossed, foot tapping anxiously against the planks. 

             Hoseok had the biggest grin on his face and Jungkook couldn’t even be annoyed anymore. Yoongi remained silent, stoically staring ahead. He had yet to say a single word to many members and the longest conversation he’d had with him was the day he met him a year ago. Still, this was a fine crew. His crew. And Jungkook would die for his crew, which surprised him as he had never thought that way before. 

              Perhaps his heart was swelling with an unknown emotion towards the men that barged into his life unannounced. Yet, he didn’t really mind. 

“Let’s be strong and stick together. Have each other’s backs. By the end of the night, we should be as rich as kings and just as known.” Jungkook grinned, the adrenaline already pounding in his ears. 

“Do you hear me, men?” He stomped his boot harshly against the planks to gain their attention. 

          They all straightened out and chorused the words he had long awaited to hear. 

“Yes, captain!” 

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Taglist: @lovelyseomin​ @yoongi-sugaglider​

[whattodowithkpop]

Saving Grace (Chapter 6) [S. Coups]

Title: Saving Grace

Pairing: Seungcheol (S. Coups) x Reader 

Genre: Angst, Spice, Fluff

Word Count: 12.3K Words [All Chapters]

Writer: Kpopmadness

Summary: Reader is an Empress with tragic backstory and Seungcheol plans an alliance with her.

*****

Chapter 6;

2 weeks later;

Seungcheol walked into the Empresses palace only to be greeted by silence. Usually she heard the door open and her dogs came out with her to see who it was. However, things hadn't exactly been normal since  he had kissed her a few weeks ago. She was distant from him again, and it was slightly awkward. But today he had less than happy news to tell her.

Mrs. Pattmore came around the corner and broke him from his thoughts, "She's outback, lad." She informed warmly. 

Seungcheol met the kind servants eyes and walked up to her before planting a soft kiss on her leathery cheek. "I don't know how i would manage it around her without you." He told the old woman.

Mrs. Pattmore blushed but managed to chuckle, "You shouldn't be thanking me, lad. I should be thanking you." 

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, making the old women laugh. "Listen, lad. When you get to be as old as me it brings you joy to see the young people be happy. Empress has been unhappy and troubled for far too long. And she's still so young yet. You being here for the past several months has been good for her. Even if she won't tell you that." 

Mrs. Pattmore gently rested a hand on his cheek before walking off back into the kitchen. Seungcheol watched her go, slightly puzzled by what she said. He didn't feel like he had done much good.

Shaking off the thought he made his way to the large backyard. He found the Empress throwing a stick to Zeus and Sasha, who eagerly chased after it and brought it back time and time again for another throw. 

Seungcheol stood and watched for a moment. The sunshine showed off the olive color of her skin and the shine in her dark hair. She wore a light green dress which complimented her features. It was low cut in the back, revealing toned muscles that stretched down her shoulders to her biceps. But what really hit Seungcheol hard was that she was smiling. She would throw the stick and then laugh when one of the dogs did something amusing, making her laugh. He had never seen her smile until now. And suddenly, he hoped it would not be the last.

"You would make a good statue, prince." The Empress stated. Startling Seungcheol from his thoughts. 

She met his eyes and smirked, "You stand there staring at me perfectly still like you've been turned to stone."

Seungcheol blushed and looked down at his feet. Feeling foolish for letting his emotions show so easily. 

"Would you like to throw the stick for them?" The Empress asked, holding the stick out to him. Seungcheol didn't say anything,  he only took the stick from her hand and threw it. The dogs taking off after it.

The Empressed watched them for a moment before sitting down on the grass. Seungcheol noticed she began to pull out blades of grass as if she were deep in thought. He decided not to ask and kept throwing the stick for awhile. All the while trying to think of how to break the news to her. 

He had almost worked up the courage when the Empress said, "How much did your father make you witness?"

Seungcheol stared down at her. The question took him by surprise to say the least. 

"Witness what?'

"You were there the night my family was killed. Did he make you witness things like that a lot?" 

Seungcheol sighed and sat down on the grass beside her. "My father said that witnessing death was the greatest way to make a strong warrior. So from the time i was a child he exposed me to violence. When i would cry or fail in something he had this long bull whip and would hit my back with it. After sometime, he could hit me and i wouldn't feel any pain. My mother was the only loving thing in our broken household."

Seungcheol looked down. His mothers beautiful smiling face and dark eyes flashed across his memory. Causing his heart to ache. 

"What happened to her?" The Empress inquired, He could tell by the softness of her tone she wasn't trying to push him but was merely curious. And he had never told anyone about his past. Never trusted anyone with that kind of information. 

"She died. My father said i had grown too attached to her and that her love for me was only causing problems. So he drug me and her down to our basement and lectured me on the importance of being a good soldier while he whipped her to death. If i so much as cried he would have beaten me too." Seungcheol paused a moment before admitting bitterly, "I wish in a lot of ways i had died that day with her. But in some ways, i think i did."

The Empress was silent after that. They sat there in silence for so long that they didn't even notice that the sun had disappeared behind dark clouds and that the wind had begun to blow. It wasn't until Seungcheol felt steady rain on his head did he realize the weather had changed. 

The Empress stood up and started her way back to the house, Seungcheol on her heels. By the time they walked into the small kitchen both their clothes were soaked and rain water fell in a steady stream off their clothes and hair. 

The kitchen was empty but a steady fire burned in the hearth. Seungcheol went and stood closer to the fire but he noticed the Empress remained where she was by the door, watching the rain come down and lightening fill the dark sky. 

"I'm sorry, Seungcheol. "She said quietly. Surprising him again. "Me and you both seem to be so broken." 

Seungcheol walked up behind her and started to reach his hand out to touch her, but thought better of it. "Maybe us being broken is our greatest strength." He answered simply.

The Empress turned to face him. And Seungcheol couldn't help but notice a single drop of water run down her neck and down her chest. She leaned her back against the doorway and seemed to take in his words. 

"Maybe so." The Empress says thoughtfully, "But what does that make us? Friends?"

Seungcheol smirked and found himself stepping a little closer to her, “I would like to think we’re friends, Empress.”

The Empress smirked at him, “Or maybe we’re friends but secretly enemies.”

Seungcheol stepped closer to her. His face just inches from hers, “I’m not your enemy, Empress. I’ve told you this.”

The Empress leaned into him just a bit, making Seungcheol’s breath hitch. “Nor are you mine, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol smirked before letting his lips lock with hers. She sucked in a breath but didn’t try to pull away. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his closer to her.

Seungcheol almost groaned with satisfaction, just realizing just much he had wanted this. How much he had wanted to get lost in her scent, the taste of her mouth that still tasted like rain, the feeling of her body pressed against his.  God, he wanted it all.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand finding the bare part of her back before letting his fingers trace up and down her spine. She ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling him closer to her which made him squish her between him and the doorpost.

She let out a shuddering breath and let her hands rest on his chest when he started leaving kisses down her cheek and neck. Following the jagged scar that snaked it’s way down.

Seongcheol didn’t want to end things, but a nagging thought kept bothering him the longer the kiss went on. It was only when she was kissing his jawline that he managed to say ruefully,

“We may be enemies by the time you hear when I came here to tell you.”

The Empress pulled away from him just enough to meet his eyes. A quizzical look on her face. Her lips swollen from moments ago.

Seongcheol took a deep breath before blurting out, “The king is holding another banquet.”

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter

MASTERLIST

[thecrimsoncavalier]

Aftermath

(( Part I can be found here )) (( also in story: @the-exiled-veteran))  

(( mentions: @hollowedscythedancer​ @thewanderingypsy​ ))

The infirmary of the Poisoned Rose. As much as he hated places like this, Xephanos was glad that his little trick back in the Sagoli Desert had worked. Despite the pain he was in, as well as the residual aftershocks he was suffering from due to Davriel’s little ambush, he knew Sirius needed help. He’d bend down and pick Sirius up, only to carry him to one of the nearby beds, taking another moment to examine the Miqo’te’s injuries. 

A long sword gash went from Sirius’ left shoulder across his torso to his right hip, and he had a rather sinister rune burned into his flesh on the lower left side of his torso, the rune black in appearance, every so often emitting an eerie purple glow. Sirius would groan in pain, though he looked as though he were on the verge of falling unconscious once again. Xeph swore beneath his breath. He knew Sirius was in need of medical attention, but without knowing who was currently present at the Tavern, he couldn’t guarantee any quick arrivals, and the last thing he wanted to do was waste any more time. 

He’d reach onto his belt, and pull what appeared to be a small silver ball from one of the pockets on it. “I’m really hoping this thing still works….” He murmured, only to throw the small ball to the ground and stomp on it with his foot, silver strands of energy flying from his feet, only to spiral upward into what looked like a doorway of some sort.

Once the doorway was solidified, a white haired Keeper of the Moon would step through. Dark violet hued eyes almost had a piercing look to them, and the attire the Keeper wore was much different than what most would be seen parading around in. Rather peculiar silver robes rested upon the Keeper’s form, gold accents present throughout the attire with what looked like dragon wings jutted out from the lower back portion of the robe. The dark skinned Miqo would lift his head upward to meet Xephanos’ gaze.

“Well, here I was thinking you went and got yourself killed.” The Keeper spoke, a jovial look on his features. “You should know better than most Doc, I don’t go down without a fight.” The Xaela replied with a chuckle, only to step out of the Keeper’s path. “That I do. You only got banged up more than any other soldier I treated. Though I have to ask, why call me? That shoulder injury of yours looks like nothing compared to some of your other injuries I had to treat many moons ago.” He’d speak, only for his gaze to fall to Sirius, the Seeker’s form occasionally moving rather spastically in bed. “Well, I’m glad to see you hung on to that...tell me what happened while I work?” He’d ask, quickly pulling a book from his belt, the pages quickly flipping open. Within moments, the Keeper was speaking various incantations, magical energies moving from him to Sirius. Even as Xephanos explained to his old ally what exactly had caused Sirius’ injuries, the book-wielder’s focus never wavered from the task at hand. After a short while, Sirius’ wound would be closed up, the only hint of any former injury being a small diagonal scar at the center of Sirius’ chest. The purple eyes of the Keeper went wide as his gaze fell upon the rune that now decorated the red mage’s skin. “Well now...unfortunately that is out of my realm of expertise, though I can wake up your friend.” He’d speak, his gaze falling to Xeph. The gunbreaker had positioned himself at the stool that sat at the foot of Sirius’ bed, wanting to ensure everything that could be done for the Seeker was. He’d simply nod his head, and with another incantation, Sirius’ eyes flew open and he shot up from the bed. Sirius’ gaze darted around quickly, almost as though he was looking for an enemy, though he took a breath of relief as his gaze fell upon Xephanos, only to perk a brow upon seeing the silver robed Keeper. “Xeph….I take it he’s a friend of yours?” The Manager asked, slowly lowering his right arm beside his bed, only to stop upon hearing the Keeper chuckle. “I suppose you could say that. Made sure he kept breathing more than most thought I should.” He replied, extending a hand out to Sirius. “Silas Relenah at your service. Researcher, summoner, and medic for those that get themselves injured.” He spoke, a small smile coming to his features. Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he took the offered hand. “Sirius Tia, and I suppose I should be thanking you for patching me up.” Sirius replied, giving the offered hand a surprisingly firm shake, only for Silas to smile. “No thanks necessary. When Xephanos left the front lines, I told him in the event he ever needed me to call. Was worried he never would in all fairness.” Silas explained, and as he pulled his hand back, Sirius would find two small silver balls within the palm of his hand. “In the event you should find yourself in need of my services again, simply crush one of those beneath your feet, a portal will open in my home, and I will come.” He replied, only to toss two through the air, the gunbreaker quick to catch them and place them within his belt. “Thanks again Silas.” Xeph spoke, rising back to his feet, offering the Keeper a small smile. Silas simply nodded his head. “Of course.” He’d reply, offering a smile back to Xeph, pulling his book from his hip once more, and let the pages fly open. After murmuring another incantation, another silver hued gateway would open, and Silas would step through, vanishing from the infirmary as the gateway shimmered into non-existence.

Once Silas had left, Sirius was quick to pull himself out of bed, albeit a bit weakly, only to be stopped by Xeph as he made his way to the door of the infirmary, one of the Xaela’s hands grabbing the Miqo’s wrist. “Let me go Xeph.” Sirius spoke, a bit of irritation present in his voice. “I don’t think so. You just got patched up. You need to be resting, not running off to do whatever idea has popped into your head.” The Xaela replied, though he did release Sirius’ wrist, only to walk and place himself between the Miqo and the door. “You’ve got some nerve. You used to get yourself beat to hell, then fight with the medics to get treated. Hell, you got banged up, and when Silas was here treating me, you didn’t even have him look you over!” The Miqo growled, his gaze narrowing at the Xaela. “So you are the last person that should be giving me advice as to what I should be doing right now.” Sirius spoke, shaking his head. Xeph simply stood there for a moment, his head tilting ever so slightly at the red mage’s childish outburst. He couldn’t really argue with Sirius, the Miqo was making obvious sense, though Xephanos had his reasons. He wanted Siri to be better than him. The gunbreaker stayed silent for a few moments, his fire-like gaze falling upon the red mage once more. “What are you planning to do?” He’d ask, not moving from where he stood. “Believe me, you don’t need to worry about me going back out to the Desert...Rhiver and Gunther would have my head...as it is I’m likely to get hell from them for this…” he murmured, gesturing to his current condition. He’d bring his hand to the rune that sat upon his skin. “This is what has my immediate concern. I’m sure I have seen the rune before, or at least some variation of it. I need to know what that bastard did to me, so thats where I’m heading. After that? I should probably head home. While I’m not looking forward to the conversation with Rhiver and Gunther, something tells me Z’Zanyi won’t be all to happy with me either.” Sirius sighed, his ears falling shamefully against his head. Upon hearing that Sirius wasn’t going to go do anything stupid, Xeph sighed himself, though it was one of relief. Maybe the Miqo was learning after all. “Aye. I can’t say I envy you in that regard lad. Just...be honest with her, and the others, and I’m sure everything will work out. Besides, something tells me they’ll be grateful we didn’t come back in coffins.” Xeph chuckled, stepping to the side to allow Sirius access to the door that led out of the infirmary. “As for what that bastard said...was there any truth to his words?” Xeph asked, his gaze falling upon the Miqo once more. As the question reached his ears, Sirius’ mind started racing once more. The fact that he was partly to blame for the issues currently facing his organization was already a heavy weight to bare, but to find out that the one causing all the hardships was his brother? Sirius wanted to deny it, but he knew full well that Xyveth spoke nothing but truth that day. “As much as I wish I could say he was all talk...the look on his face...he had my mother’s eyes Xeph.” The Miqo spoke softly. “I wish I could deny his claims...but deep down, I know he spoke the truth.” Sirius admitted, an almost sad expression washing over his features. “I’m sorry Sirius. I…” Xeph trailed, though he knew there was nothing he could say to make this any easier on his friend. “It’s fine...just...something I’ll have to deal with. Never thought I’d be the reason my entire family was dead, but what are you going to do?” He asked, his words trying to make light of the situation, but inside there was a part of Sirius that was hurting. He had finally started to make peace with the fact his family was gone, but now? Now he had a brother, and the way it was looking, things were likely going to lead to Sirius having to end him as well. “If you’ll excuse me Xephanos, I’m going to head to my office. Maybe you should go get yourself treated for your injuries?” He’d ask, opening the door to leave the infirmary. “Aye, maybe I should, though a drink sounds better to me.” The Xaela replied, offering a nod to Sirius as the Miqo left the infirmary and made his way to his office. Sirius’ feet moved as though his body was on auto-pilot essentially, his mind still trying to make sense of everything that had happened today. As he entered his office, he’d shake his head, pulling himself from his thoughts. ‘Now is not the time….too much to be done’ He thought to himself, making his way to a nearby bookshelf within his office, his gaze quickly moving along the various titles, finally setting on the book he was after. ‘Ancient Runes and Sigils’. He’d pull the book from the shelf, carrying it over to his desk and quickly skimming through the pages, stopping his quick page flipping as he found the page he was after. His eyes widened as he read the page explaining the rune that was now resting upon his flesh. Xyveth’s words echoed through Sirius’ mind as he re-read the purpose of the rune.  “You’ve always had a habit of leaving a trail of destruction and flames everywhere you go, why should it be any different now?”

A growl of anger was quick to escape Sirius as he jerked the book off of his desk and sent it flying across his office. The rune Xyveth had “gifted” his brother was certainly going to ensure his words came true. Based on what Sirius had read, any use of his own magical abilities would not only cause him immense pain, but his body would be enveloped in umbral aspected fire, each time the magicks of the rune would be unleashed, slowly corrupting the Miqo’te’s own aether before claiming his life. Sirius slumped into his chair, a crestfallen look upon his face. Without his magicks, what good was he? Sure, he had used them rather lazily at times, but his magicks were as much a part of him as anything else. And what was to say that he wouldn’t still fall victim to his brother’s “gift” due to other means? What of the defensive wards he had set up around the Tavern as well as his home, would they start to falter? Sirius knew he didn’t have the answers to the questions currently bombarding his mind, and that made him feel even more helpless, and that, that was a feeling he hated. Another sigh would escape him. Sitting here wouldn’t do anything to help him, and in all honesty, there was only one place he wanted to be right now. He’d pull himself from his chair, making his way to the spare wardrobe that sat within his office, and after a few moments, the Miqo would find himself in a similar jacket to the one he had been wearing when he and Xephanos had made their way to the Desert earlier in the day, and within moments he’d make his way from his office, his feet unable to carry him any faster to his destination….home.

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen: The Letter

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals Oh no more Decofiremen.  Is it still found family if you’re finding it again?  Do you get double points for that?

Or, Josiah is way in over his head.

...

Josiah sits at his desk a long time, and the pile of scrapped letters grows around him, and the bells pass the day away.  With the windows open to the big yard, he can feel like chill in the autumn air, the swift kiss of a one-time lover in the morning. 

Monroe is shouting at his team - quicker this, steadier that.  An engine coughs, groans, and finally turns over, to cheers and clapping - that'd be Lieutenant Jackson, who brought his new rank and a second kerodiesel up from the city back in early summer.  He keeps carefully and deliberately breaking the engines piece by piece, teaching the lads to put them back together again.  He will likely do something after dinner like pull the fan-belts or throw bacon grease into the pump levers - Josiah thinks the oakbellies would have a faint if they knew what Jackson was doing, but Jackson knows the kerodiesels like some men knew their horses, and Josiah trusts him.  

But what choice does he have?  He was shipped here to be masters of men who had more than a decade of service on him, and belts so heavy with commendation, so fat with brass you'd need a team three abreast to carry them.  He stands beside them some mornings and feels as if he ought to be in line with the lads instead.

Lieutenant T. Castor, Engine 27, Bronx Battalion District ...

No.  He crumples the paper and shoves it off the desk to where the waste-paper basket probably is, buried somewhere.  He taps his pen on the blotter, leaving little wet, smokey blobs of ink on the worn leather.  No, too formal, that.  When did he get so formal?  His fingers are callused and cracked, still thickest where they gripped the horse and axe.  There is a deep scar on his right arm where Chubs, their old bay gelding, bit him for not giving up a mint.  His left arm is a muddled, molten map, scoured of hair and curiously pale, so he pulls the sleeve down.  For the chill.  

Lt. Thomas -

Now what was Silky's middle name?  Did he ever know it?  

Lt Castor -

No, God, no.  They were on nicknames before they even hit the cobbles together.  Never so tough-tongued as a surname between them.  Thomas, he'd said, at breakfast.  I'm Thomas.  I about ran you over yesterday, I'm sorry.  Grab an extra biscuit, Eddy's recipe is the best.

Silky was almost eighteen, and he was wide about the shoulders but leggy, like a colt at Saratoga.  He had auburn hair and a broad, friendly face, and he didn't know his family, and he had been at the foundling hospital in the city and then Mary of the Assumption Home, which was in Nyack, and then he had gone to school with the Jesuits at Saint Joseph's in Rochester, and Captain Parson had come to see him about a month ago and asked if he didn't want to come and be a fireman, and Captain Parson seemed so awfully familiar well, he couldn't help but say yes.

Josiah found all of this out in line at the mess before they even sat down.

I'm sorry.  The brothers told me I talk too much.  Actually the sisters said that, too.  But I was the best at reading the Latin at Mass, they told me.  What's your name?

Silky - someone started calling him Silky sometime that winter, and Josiah can't recall why, but maybe it was during a card game, or maybe it was because he kept his hair slicked down with some sort of glue he got from the drug store in town, or maybe it was just because he could have talked the ladders into becoming trees again, his voice so smooth and his eyes so kind.  Silky had no enemies, had probably never had an enemy, except after card games in the wintertime.  That was Silky.  

Birchy!  We're doing ladder runs today - come let's be on my team.

I bet I can get Peps to hit the quarter-mile gate in a flat minute, Birchy, will you time?

Silky made a man want to be better, not to beat him, but because he cheered it so.  Which was why Silky was so often the second man on the line - he would push you, and you knew you couldn't, wouldn't ever need to, turn back.  No matter where the fire glows, the song said, we'll bring the bastard down.  And they would - when things shone, when his leg was solid under him, he could catch the humming edge of a thought before it hit Silky's tongue, and Silky rested in his amicable quiet, and the two of them brought terror and some begrudging respect to their captain.  

The sun was good, then.  The summer was high and the winter never cut through their coats.  They had grown up together, until the smoke came and the beam fell and neither of them was enough to see it coming.  

Through the ether and the pain, Silky's voice pulled him back, over and over, even when he wanted to leave, even when he wanted the echoes and the needles and the endless white - the white coats, the white sheets, the white, stark, sterile ward - to end.  Silky pulled him back.  Silky's hands in their white wrappings held his, and his Sear murmured as earnestly as his voice did.  Him that would persuade the devil to abandon his house, him that would settle a horse with his eyes.  

There were long days, endless days, when he wanted to fall forever.  Yet Silky pulled him back.

Silky had written him letters just about every week, after his promotion, when he was assigned to Wynantskill.  Eddy or Lufty Parker would dutifully leave them on his desk, where they stacked, precarious and unopened.  After a while the letters came every month, and Eddy stopped clearing his throat when he brought one, and Lufty stopped staring meaningfully at the pile, and Josiah had dumped them wholesale into a drawer to stop the burning in his chest when he saw Silky's precise Jesuit cursive on the envelopes.  

He'd put the key under the blotter.  So there is one less drawer to use.  So it is.

After the first night, young Cleary hasn't said much to anybody.  Antoine and Ellis have been pressing Lufty Parker to let him participate in some of the day's drills, and Jules keeps trying to coax the boy into one of the evening's baseball games.  Josiah sees him watching Betram Cochrane play the fiddle in the evenings, and remembers piano lessons, and a little girl with a pink bow and a dutch bob, and remembers chloroform and morphine and nursing sisters in dark capes and white hats.  The little fellow calls him Capper, which he ought to mind, but he can't bring himself to discourage.  He calls the boy Davey, or young Cleary, depending on who's listening.  

Outside, Antoine is lining up his team to race for the ladders.  He calls for David Cleary on the line, and Josiah hears Monroe sighing mightily and telling Antoine, again, that Cleary is not in training, Cleary is not even sixteen, and would you please stop asking.

Antoine is going to make his captain gray, wherever he is assigned.  He thinks Antoine could be a driver - he is brave enough, to take the narrow streets at speed - but that he will have his own house someday, too.  Josiah should look to send him to the Bronx, where the tenements are so tight they seem to be held together with moss and mothers' shouting, where there will be many families who will need his courage and his kindness.  

Engine 27, Lieutenant -

No, no.  

Ellis is arguing that a growing boy needs exercise and fresh air, not just to sit on the sidelines.

Josiah pulls the key from under the blotter, then puts it back again.  Then pulls it out.  

In the drawer are more than a dozen letters, neatly sealed, which get thinner as the months draw out between them.  

He puts the key back again.

Silky sat by his bedside at Bellevue, his auburn hair loosed from its dapper glue to spring in waves around his temples.  Josiah had wanted so badly to leave, to shed his body, to tumble down some ethereal stairwell in a dreamless morphine sleep where the sun was bright and nothing hurt, where his leg would be straight forever.  But Silky held him pinned to the dark, smoking earth, and a part of him had hated him for it, and the hate was like an abscessed hoof, rank and hot.  He could never ride the boards again, he could never go back, yet Silky pulled him back anyway.  The selfish bastard, who had sweat and fevered with him when the sear broke.  

An evening breeze rustles the crumpled sheets, the abandoned lines, the empty words around him.  Ellis and Antoine are arguing for Davey's sake, and Monroe sounds close to giving in.  Good for them.  

He grabs the edge of the desk and heaves himself, haltingly, the few lumbering steps to the window, leaning out over Monroe's bald spot.  

"Captain Monroe!"

Monroe looks as surprised as the lads to see him, leaning, gritting against his leg, out the window.

No one can see how white his knuckles are in the long afternoon light.

"Monroe, for God's sake.  Just let the boy try for it.  Antoine, so help me, if young Cleary injures himself, I'll saddle a horse with your hide."

Antoine is grinning, his black eyes bright as apples.  

"Birch - "

"A boy needs to run, Monroe."

Monroe throws up his hands.  "Fine then!  Fine!  Let the little fellow break his face!  Let the state's hand come and flick us off the map like a horsefly!  Fine!  Antoine!  Line 'em up!"

Josiah smiles, and hauls himself back to his desk.

My old friend, he writes, I am so sorry I haven't written.  Please feel free not to forgive me.  But I must tell you about the situation I find myself in - you were always the cleverer of the two of us, Silky.  You could have talked the dead to dancing from their graves.  My right hand, whatever God you once believed in has seen fit to trade a boy just twelve his family for his sear, and now at fourteen, he has finally come to us.  Yes, he is too young to train, but he is too young for many things, and once, you told me that the Jesuits told you that God does not give us more than we cannot carry.  Well, my first and last friend, this is more line than I can drag by myself.  If you cannot bear to forgive my silence, Silky, than please bear to give me some advice.  They gave me my captain's coat because they did not know what else to do, and I am lost.  You were my brother from the day we met face-to-horse, and you shared the sear with me.  What am I to do with this boy?  I know that he is ours, he is our youngest brother, but I know we cannot replace his family.  But when I was lost, Thomas, and wanted to stay that way, you pulled me back, bastard that you were and are.  If anybody can tell me what to do now, that he is with us at last, it's you.

Your foolish and misguided friend, who apologizes for what it's worth,

Truly,

Birchy.

[knittingdreams]

Fireheart - Chapter 20

Short and sweet, enjoy this chapter my lovely peeps! <3 Masterlist and Ao3 link on previous chapter down below because I’m a lazzy bum (kidding, I have a lot of deadlines, sorry!).

@tillyrubes10 :)

CHAPTER 20

Burning hot

Celaena sped through the streets as fast as she could, the duffle bag hanging across her shoulder making the pain come back all over again. Her side was still aching, and she felt drained and tired due to the blood loss. The cold air hitting her face was a blessing, it was helping her keep her mind focused and alert. 

Once she got to the hotel, she parked in the underground parking lot, jumped on the elevator, and headed straight to her floor. Luckily, it was still early and she didn’t run into anybody on her way in, as she was sure she still looked sickish. 

When she was finally in the safety of her room, she turned on the shower and stood in front of the big mirror while undressed, waiting for the water to heat up. The scar over her hip bone was sealing nicely, and the red rim around it was mostly gone, just a faint pink remaining which meant the infection was under control. She grabbed some ointment from the cabinet and left it out so she could dab it around the wound once she was out of the shower. Her face was another deal altogether; she had big dark circles under her eyes, and the side of her face had turned all shades of green, yellow, and a little bit of purple. She could probably conceal most of it, but the cut on her brow would be visible no matter what she did to cover it.

Shaking her head, she jumped under the hot water and scrubbed her body, trying to get rid of any remnant of Cain’s disgusting scent that could be lingering on her skin. Once out, she dried and styled her hair as fast as she could, applied a ton of makeup, and then arranged her hair in curls so they would be covering the scar as best as possible. Hopefully, not many people would be paying enough attention to notice. She put on bright red lipstick to draw attention away from her eyes and added a nice big necklace over her uniform.

She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, and happy with the result, she headed out. If she rode fast, she’d make it just in time. She called the elevator button, and it showed up almost immediately. She looked at the going down arrow and smirked before the door was even fully opened.

“Good morning,” she said as she stepped in.

“Good morning to you, Celaena.” Dorian Jr. smiled broadly at her, while an older version of the lad smiled politely.

“Morning,” Dorian Sr. nodded once, and crossed his hands in front of his body.

“Dad, this is Celaena, the new exchange student I told you about.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She stood to one side, Dorian Jr. in the middle as they rode the elevator down in silence until they reached the third floor.

“Celaena,” Dorian Jr. said then, turning to her and resting a casual hand on her shoulder. “Would you like a ride today? I’m coming back to the hotel after school, so I could give you a ride both ways.” His tone was too polite, and she had to school her face not to lift her brows at him.

Dorian Sr. glanced at them so quickly, that she almost missed it, but his lips were pursed into a straight line as he looked back towards the doors.

“Sure thing, I’d love a ride.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but riding her bike had been painful, and she was curious about the way his father had reacted to the question. Dorian Sr. tensed again, making Celaena’s curiosity peak. As the elevator reached the lobby, she wrapped an arm around Dorian’s shoulders. “Let’s go,” she said, stepping out. “Nice meeting you!” She yelled over the shoulder, smiling at Dorian Sr.

Dorian Jr. held her by the waist as they stepped out of the front doors, and she took a deep breath not to flinch away from the touch. Dorian’s car was already at the door, an usher holding the door open for him. They both jumped in, and as the car left the parking lot, Dorian raised a brow at her.

“What was that about?”

“What do you mean?” She faked innocence, making Dorian roll his eyes.

“I’m a little surprised you accepted the ride to start with, but showing yourself so friendly… I know my charms, and that’s precisely how I know you’re not affected by them.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, prince charming, but if you don’t want my help, just say so and I’ll be back to ignoring you.” She smirked, and Dorian took a corner faster than needed, glancing at her and smiling back. With the way he was driving, she was sure they’d make it to school in time.

“So sassy, I love it. How did you know I wanted to piss off my dad?”

“I’m good at reading people.” She shrugged, trying not to give the matter too much importance. 

She knew what it was like to want to piss someone off just for the fun of it, and also to get attention. Dorian was desperate for it, desperate for any kind of attention he could get. It was so obvious, and so cliche: the boy trying to show his daddy he was good enough. Good enough to take over the business, good enough to not have to follow every step laid in front of him but to choose for himself instead. But that never worked, so they always rebelled and tried to get attention in other ways. She knew that was what she was for Dorian, even if he couldn’t see it himself. And she was going to use it to her own advantage.

“So, how about we make a deal?” Dorian asked after a moment.

“I’m listening.”

“There’s this event I need to go to next weekend, and I have a plus one. My father gave me a list of girls I should invite as good options, but I don’t like those options.”

“And you want me to be that plus one instead?” 

They reached the school’s parking lot, and Dorian killed the engine and twisted to face her. “Celaena, would you honor me with your company for the Havilliard’s annual masquerade?” he asked in a mocking tone, but she knew the proposal was real.

“What do I get in return?” she asked, crossing her arms as she faced him.

“Isn’t my amazing company enough?” Dorian took a hand to his chest dramatically, almost making her laugh.

“I wish I could say it is, but it is not.”

“I’m hurt,” Dorian said mockingly, and then jumped out of the car, and rushed to the other side. He opened the door for her and offered her a hand. Begrudgingly, she took it and stood up.

“This is still not cutting it,” she said as she closed the door behind her. “But don’t worry, I’ll think of a way for you to pay me back. Let’s just say you owe me one. Deal?”

One side of Dorian’s lips turned up in what most would have thought to be a flattering and sexy half-smile. “Deal.”

Celaena patted him twice on the shoulder as she walked past him, aware of the stares other students were giving them. “Pleasure to do business with you.”

As she walked towards the building, the eyes of the few students still outside traveled between her and Dorian, but she kept her chin high, her eyes on the door. So much for not getting people’s attention for a day. But it was worth it, getting closer to Dorian Sr.’s business could gain her the information she hadn’t found in his office, she wasn’t ready to give up on the search. She knew her parents and the Havilliards had had a lot of business together, and they hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Hell, Aedion and Dorian Jr. didn’t even speak to each other, so she guessed that showed things were still tense between the families.

Nehemia intercepted her as soon as she stepped through the doors, hugging her by the waist and leaning against her. Celaena flinched at the pain exploding on her side but composed herself fast enough for anybody to notice.

“What was that? You and Dorian? Tell me you spent the weekend together! I knew you were dating someone!” Nehemia was so excited, she was almost jumping as they walked.

“Chill down, everybody’s looking at us,” Celaena said in a hushed tone, and couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I ran into him at the hotel and he gave me a ride, that’s all. I haven’t seen him all weekend.”

“Then why did you ignore most of my texts? I missed you!”

The first bell rang, and Nehemia pouted as she let go of Celaena’s waist. “I told you I had family stuff on this weekend, I didn’t pay much attention to my phone, sorry.”

“Okay, let’s say I believe you. See you at lunchtime?”

“Of course.”

Nehemia marched down the hall as Celaena entered the room to her right, getting ready for a long day of school. Her ribs were still sore, and her head was starting to pound with a headache. She sat down slowly on her usual seat, the stitches on her hip pulling a bit, and looked for her phone as an alarm started blaring inside her bag.

Confused, she looked at the message popping on the screen. It wasn’t her everyday phone, but the one she used as a burner, which wasn’t password protected.

The name of the alarm read: ‘How’s our fire girl doing? Are the flames still burning up? XO Your sexy blond knight in shining armor. Text me to let me know.’ It was followed by a phone number that she didn’t recognize. Celaena covered her mouth with a hand, not knowing if she should laugh or be infuriated at the intrusion. She wasn’t sure when Fenrys could have gotten to her phone, but she guessed it was while she was in the kitchen with Connall. She knew he couldn’t have seen anything relevant, so there wasn’t a whole lot for her to worry about. 

She considered texting back for half a second, before throwing her phone back into her bag. It was better if she kept her distance, she could get whatever information she needed at the fights. She shouldn’t risk getting mixed up with the guards outside of work anymore. Especially not after knowing Lorcan Salvaterre was involved with them, that had hit too close for comfort. She didn’t have many classes with Lorcan but had seen the dark-haired guy at a few of them. He was always by himself, quietly sitting in the back of the room and not interacting with anybody. Another pair of eyes to be wary of.

The class went by painfully slow, and Celaena was relieved to stretch her muscles as the bell rang and she stood up with the rest of the class. Not even two steps towards the door, she felt her phone vibrating against her back as another alarm rang from within her bag.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

She pulled it out, and read the message on the screen. ‘I knew you wouldn’t text me. Come on, I just want to make sure you're alive. PS. I know you miss me.’

She shook her head as she deleted the alarm, and checked if he had set any more while she kept walking.

Sam found her at her locker, as usual, a big smile on his face. “Hey there, how is it going?”

“Not bad.”

She dug through her books, leaving some behind and pulling some more out.

“Look at me,” Sam’s tone was suddenly serious, and she turned around slowly, dreading the look she knew she was about to see on his eyes. “What are you hiding?” Sam leaned closer and looked around the hall to make sure there weren't many people around. 

“Nothing, Sam, this is not the place and you know it.”

He reached a hand towards her face, and lifted a strand of her hair, looking at her brow. She grabbed his hand and snapped it down, frowning without thinking, which made her head hurt again.

“That is not nothing.” Sam’s jaw was clenched as he spoke, and he had moved to a guarded stance on instinct.

“I was fighting, what did you expect?” She replied between clenched teeth.

“Celaena, I’m not stupid. You’re wearing a huge amount of makeup and I don’t want to know how many more bruises you’re hiding. This is not the result of just a fight, not your usual fight at least.”

She slammed her locker closed and started walking away, but Sam reached over and grabbed her from the shoulder, turning her around to face him. The pain that shot down her arm was so intense that she couldn’t help but flinch and step back. Sam’s eyes were full of worry as he looked her up and down, trying to assess the damage. But there was no way he could see the amount of damage; not the real one. Not the one that laid within.

“Sam, this is none of your business, just stay out of it.” She could deal with a lot of things, but she couldn’t deal with the pity in Sam’s eyes.

“Celaena, you need to let me in. You can’t do this alone.” The bell rang, and they were the only students left in the hall, only a few people lingering in the distance.

“And who says I can’t? I’ve been doing perfectly fine without you until now.”

“It can’t always be just you. One day, you’re going to have to let someone in.” Shaking his head, Sam turned around and walked towards his next class, leaving Celaena alone in the middle of the hall.  

She wanted to scream after him, or punch something. How did he dare talk to her like that? She could do it all alone, she didn’t need anybody. As she walked towards the classroom, she pulled her burner phone out and stared at the words written there. How’s our fire girl doing? Before she could think about it too much, she texted the number that had been given to her.

‘I’m still blazing.’ 

‘And I am not your fucking girl.’

[readerficsbyhyaku]

On the verge of broken dreams (Hop x Reader) Part 4

In the end, you had to fight a number of forcefully dynamaxed Pokémon in each gym. You were always lagging a bit behind Sordward and Shielbert, until you cornered them in Hammerlocke stadium. They revealed that they wanted to make Zacian and Zamazenta go berserk, so that Galar would not recognize them as the heroes of the past. With the help of the wishing stars they had taken from Sonia’s lab, one of the two brothers was on top of the Hammerlocke power plant while the other one and what looked like a small mob of supporters blocked your way. You weren’t getting any of it. You sent out your Pokémons and without even breaking a sweat the lad was beaten to a pulp. Trying to keep some sort of composure, he sidestepped to make way for you while babbling some supposedly ominous nonsense, but you just ran past him to get to the elevator.

When Hop and you arrived at the top once more, you couldn’t refrain from shivering. It was there that you had battled Eternatus and residual fear crept into the back of your brain. Why was the top of the stadium the epicenter of everything that goes bad in Galar ?

Hopefully, the hero Pokémon were stronger than the two pompous assholes had thought, and while you kept one of the wolves at bay with your team, Hop was dealing with the other one that had gone away.

When everything was settled on your end, Hop gave you a call telling you he was back in the Slumbering Weald with the other Pokémon.

You were exhausted when you came back to where everything started, but you were happy to see Hop alive and well. He seemed to have calmed the legendary hero by being his usual optimistic and beaming self, and there was no way it hadn’t helped. Your heart tightened, seeing him devote himself to others always, and not thinking about his own wellbeing as often. But that was what made his charm, you mused to yourself.

While you were lost in contemplating Hop’s graceful features, you realized both him and Sonia were looking at you. And the Pokémon too.

“Sorry, what ? I’m a bit exhausted after all this…”

“He says I’m worthy… That he can be my Pokémon” answered Hop with a soft voice.

So you smiled the biggest you could and gestured he should go for it. Having a legendary hero think he was worthy… It should heal some of the scars your journey to Wyndon had carved into his gentle heart. Hop took a deep breath, smiled almost just for himself and threw a ball at the Pokémon standing next to him. It didn’t even shake, as the Pokémon had joined Hop of his own will. Now, Hop and you were linked by the two hero Pokémon, he had one and you had the other, like two beings that could never be separated and that cared about each other.

Hop grinned at you and said

“I know I might sound a bit like that arrogant prick Bede, but I’d like to try my hand at battling you one more time”

Sonia rolled her eyes and said she was going back to her lab as you were readying your Pokéballs.

The battle started off like any other with Hop, Pokémons dashing at each other in renewed energy, even though the day had been pretty rough on them. But one Pokémon couldn’t make that much of a difference, against a well-trained team like yours. As Hop sent out his ace, the freshly caught hero, he seemed to ponder a bit before the fight could continue its course.

His eyes wander up to you, fluttering as he drinks you all in, your determined stare, brow slightly furrowed, knees bent and body turned so that your cape doesn’t hinder your movements.

“Hey, for some reason I… I don’t want this fight to end” he says at last.

Your heart skips a beat. You had always felt the same. Battling against Hop was wonderful, but you hated that there had to be a winner and a loser.

“Same here, Hop. It’s really fun battling you” you respond with a slight smile.

You can feel his eyes on you still, like he’s in a trance and can’t get them off of you. They’re almost burning but it feels good. Maybe that’s why you like battling with Hop, to have all of his attention on you, and you only. You push away the thought, finding it way too self-centered and pompous. You didn’t deserve half the credit he was giving you.

“Heh, glad you think the same. I was feeling a bit embarrassed here”

And you would be too if you hadn’t had reinforced concrete walls around your heart, that forbade you overthought anything. Or to sense anything.

As you expected, your party gobbled up even Hop’s last Pokémon. He scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly.

“I guess I’m no match for you, even after that”

You were about to console him, but he continued on talking.

“You know, I’ve had time to think about what I want to do. It’s been hard, but I’ve realized I can never be the Champion. I still love Pokémon though, and while we were helping out at the gyms today, I… I liked that. I want to find out more about Pokémon, and how to help them live with us. So, uhm”

He was scratching the back of his head again.

“I want to become a Pokémon professor.”

His eyes met with yours and he added hastily.

“But don’t worry, even if we don’t take the same routes, I’ll always want to one up you”, he grinned “because I feel like we’re the same.”

Your heart lept in your chest at his words, and suddenly you couldn’t look at him anymore. The yearning, that should’ve been quelled once you became the champion, set you ablaze again and you didn’t know what you wanted to do because you craved so much.

So you just walk up to him, up one of the few steps beneath the arch and hug him. He tenses up a bit, then wraps his arms around you and presses himself more into you. It had been so long since you’ve been this close to him. He smells sweet, with a hint of spice here and there, he feels so warm and sturdy, stronger than what you would have thought. Your heart beats erratically in your chest and you realize he must feel it too. So you nestle your head in the crook of his neck, breathe in a bit, trying not to get overwhelmed by his scent, and pat his back gently.

“I’m happy for you, Hop.”

You tried to pull out of the hug, but he wouldn’t let you. His hands on your back, under the cape, were starting to burn and tingle your skin, and your breath got caught in your throat. You could feel the heat taking over your body and your arms clinging to him a bit harder, despite trying not to. Being this close to him had rekindled something you had buried deep inside of you and tried not to look at because it hurt so much. But there you were, in his embrace, your bodies almost glued to each other and not wanting to let go. His presence was dizzying, and you could almost feel yourself getting lightheaded and wobbly. His name threatened to spill from your lips like a litany, something you could not explain nor take back, so you bit down and held on to your sanity, just a bit longer.

When the two of you finally parted, there was a different glint in Hop’s eyes. In the dim, evening light that barely got though the thick trees of the Slumbering Weald, the shadows made him look so much more mature and determined than you’d ever seen him before. Your heart was still stuttering a bit and you hoped your dismay wasn’t apparent.

“Well, I’m going to ask Sonia if she would let me work in her lab !” Hop said before running up the path to the bridge.

“Don’t get home too late, okay ?” you heard him yell from a bit farther.

You chuckled while regaining a bit of composure and adjusting your clothes. So kind, so selfless… How had you forgotten how he felt ?

The next day, you received a text from Hop telling you he was now Sonia’s assistant. He had also taken a selfie of him grinning in his new lab coat with Sonia facepalming in the background. Feeling a bit self-indulgent, you saved that picture.

[inkytealeaf]

Once upon an end - Asrian fic

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a kingdom spreading from a luxurious forest, shelter to exotic animals and creatures some would only find in books, to a desert where innocent souls had lost themselves seeking treasures that didn’t exist, there was a pirate longing for more adventures. Adventures about fighting sea monsters, other pirates, defending the weak and defenceless, discovering a new island and giving it his name. All those adventures he had dreamt of as a kid, he was living them with each new day.

But there was one adventure, the boy had never dreamt of.

Legs dangling above the waves, Julian watched the horizon, admired the colours the setting sun displayed in the sky. A sigh left his lips, concern on his face. For once, watching the sun set didn’t lift up his mood. Because for once, his captain didn’t seem to know where he was leading the crew. Even though he had told them their next destination would bring them more treasures than they ever had.

They had spent weeks, months, sailing seas, seeing nothing else than the blue sky and calm waves. A few dolphins here and there. A ship to sack. But no precise destination. Julian had sailed with his captain for years, but never had he acted like this, keeping secrets from him, not sharing their exact destination. Their goal. And after all, why would he? Julian was just a mere doctor on that ship. Only useful to patch drunk pirates who had been fighting to death. Their only distraction on that ship, fights, to Julian’s greatest dismay. More than once had he tried to bring them all together, when the moon was high in the sky and the sea silent, to share stories, play music like he had done so many nights with his previous crew. They all had refused, even the captain too busy in his quarters, focused on maps.

Except for the youngest member of the crew, and a curious creature who had caught his attention one night.

Julian sensed movement under him. Slow, barely visible, except for that patch of white hair, and pink tail. He moved on the edge of the window, feet pressed against the wood, and watched the tiny waves hitting the ship with each of their movement, a smile splitting his face in half. Then, as he thought that maybe they weren’t in the mood today for their chat, he saw their face break the surface of the ocean, pale smiling eyes looking back at him.

“Are you going to follow us till the end of the world?” He asked, a grin on his lips.

Truth be told, Julian wouldn’t mind if they did. He liked their company, their talks late into the night when the whole crew was supposed to be sleeping, talks that had started merely a week after they left land. It had been strange at first, to talk with a creature of the sea he had only heard stories about. Not always good ones.

“I’m a traveller,” they said, water to their shoulders. “It just happens that we’re going the same direction.”

“Isn’t it rather because you have a liking for me? Hm?”

“Not a chance.”

“Aw come on Asra, we both know it’s the truth!”

Before Julian could add something else, or even laugh, they jumped out of the water, high enough to put their hands on the edge, nose touching Julian’s. "Is it though?" They asked, mischief in their voice.

Colours found their way to Julian’s face and neck, who could only mumble incomprehensible words. He had always found Asra to be fascinating, in their own way, and the fact that had been following the ship – whether they wanted to admit it or not – was cute. Julian had been daydreaming that day, like every other day when a voice had called him from bellow. And so, they had spent the night talking, getting to know each other as they were so, so different, coming from two worlds far apart. All the while being careful that no one would see them. Because in the middle of that first night, Asra had admitted just how much they hated humans, but couldn’t prevent themselves from stopping to believe some of them weren’t the monsters they had encountered.

And just the same as that first night, Julian talked with them for hours. Unaware that their worlds would be shattered.

* * *

Sat on the bowsprit, just above the figurehead – a winged skeleton holding a spear – Julian started to regret staying so long in the sun. But he was waiting for them. He wanted to see them. Three days had passed, three days with no signs of Asra and their pink tail, scales kissing their temples and shoulders. No signs of their laugh, their hushed words, their palmed fingers brushing his bang out of his eyes. No signs at all, and Julian missed them a lot.

Maybe they had found something more interesting down there. Maybe they had finally reached their destination and hadn’t wanted to tell him goodbye. Or maybe a sea serpent had eaten them, the bottom of the ocean scattered with their bones. And in a few days, Julian would accept the fact that he’ll never see them again, mourn their loss with bottles of rum. If there was still any.

The thought of losing them gave him nausea. Deep down, he hoped they were only exploring the ocean, still following the ship.

“Is everything alright, doctor?”

Julian turned on the bowsprit, facing the newcomer. A young boy, not even in his twenties yet, hair as red as his, tattered shirt and pants too big for his skinny shape, a scar across his left eye. A young boy on a ship full of dangerous men. A young boy that shouldn’t be here. A young boy he had grown close to, one he loved as the little brother he never had.

“It's Ilya for you, Nat. How many times should I remind you this?”

“Sorry doc– Ilya.” He said, cheeks red. “I’m not used to it…”

“Is there something that I can do for you? Cut your finger again?”

“Oh, so you really forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Our chess game.”

“Oh.” Guilt spread to his face, and for a moment he realised just how much he had neglected his relationship with Nathanael. A boy who looked up to him, even though Julian was far from being the perfect example to follow. “Erm, well, you’ve got all my attention now. Shall we?”

“No, I’m not in the mood today.” Nat said, then joined him on the bowsprit. “What’s going on in your mind? You’re acting so strangely these past days.”

“Well, you see,” but Julian couldn’t finish his sentence. Because at the same moment, the captain left his quarters, and ordered to stop the ship.

“That looks no fun at all.” Nat said, more to himself than expecting Julian to listen to him.

In no time, everyone was on the deck, surrounding their captain and listening to him. He told the crew to get the nets and harpoons ready, that they had a visitor, one they had been expecting for days, hoping they would come close enough to the ship for them to capture. He told them that, thanks to their dear doctor, the whole crew would be able to drink, eat and fuck as they please once they’d reach land. Because Julian had gained the creature’s trust. Because Julian, although unconsciously, had made them richer than they could ever dream of.

His stomach twisted. Never had he imagined that his secret talks with Asra hadn’t been secret at all, that they knew of their existence and that they were now in danger because of him. Julian had fucked up. Big times. But he could still maybe jump overboard, warn them, and reach dry land swimming. Julian was no fool. They were too far away from land, even if he’d warn Asra he wouldn’t reach it before weeks. That was long enough for him to die in the middle of the ocean. Or by their swords, treating him like a traitor, making him walk the plank.

“There!” A man shouted.

Julian didn’t move, couldn’t move, only watched them throw their nets and harpoons. Watched them scream to get it. Watched them pull the nets back on the deck. Watched them with horror fall on the ground, blood oozing from their shoulder where a harpoon still was trapped. Watched them hiss and curl onto their body when fighting back led them nowhere. Only to more pain.

“Stories were right,” one of them said, close to him. “Full of pretty mermaids here. Should catch another one.”

“Or leave before the rest of them curse the ship!”

Other remarks followed. How they never tried someone half fish, how pretty they were, how they loved when they fought back. Remarks that only made Julian want to sew their lips shut and throw them overboard, with a bolder tied to their ankles. But Julian couldn’t take his eyes off them. Couldn’t ignore how they glowed with burning hatred.

“Tie it to the mast and let it dry.” A foot on their injured shoulder, the captain pushed them on their back, a sick grin showing missing teeth. “Tonight, we feast.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow lads, we set course for Vesuvia.”

Once upon a time, there was a pirate who would soon realise that not every story had the perfect happy ending he wished to experience.