#younger me would never have sat for an hour with clay in front of her and ended up just making vague shapes with no plans | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 5 years ago

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⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah... i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

It was only to kill time as you waited for the royal gates to open. That night, the King and Queen were hosting an annual, celebratory dinner to commemorate the newest anointment of pages, otherwise known as the fresh grouping of students who would serve the knights and learn about their duties, specifically how they protected and served the kingdom. It was a true honour: you had been requested to cook in the royal kitchen, and the younger apprentice your mother hired at the bakery, Chan, was going with you.

He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down, instead pacing in front of the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds. This would be his first time seeing the royal family’s abode from the inside, and if he was particularly lucky, he might get to meet the Prince. To him it was a big deal, but you couldn’t care less. At even just thinking about the Prince, you started pressing your knife harder against the beech wood, gritting your teeth as a larger piece curled off and fell into your lap. Lee Seokmin, he was the Prince.

You absolutely hated him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, child?”

The sunlight that glinted against your face was interrupted by your mother, who had her hands sternly placed on her hips, glaring down at you in sheer disapproval.

“Give me that.” She quipped whilst scowling at the blade. “This instant.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up properly on the bench and dusted the cream-coloured shavings off your lap. She never let you do anything, and when you were in close proximity to the castle, she became even more rigid and hawk-eyed. You gave her the knife which she hastily folded up, watching her pocket it inside a pouch on the front of her white dress.

You still held onto the beech wood.

“There is no reason to bring a weapon into the King and Queen’s home. I should not have to reprimand you like this once more. Behave in the way I have taught you.”

Suddenly, there was a loud command you heard echo from the turret, and the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds began pulling apart. You heard the clink belonging to the iron chains and the cracks in the elderly oak. Chan stumbled backward, leaving sufficient room for the gate to open. Unlike the apprentice whose eyes were glimmering in awe, you had to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and put on your fakest, most convincing expression of content. It was going to be the longest night of your life – even longer if you had to eat supper with the Prince.

Just before you were guided into the royal family’s abode by the caterers, you swiftly pulled up the side of your dress and tucked the piece of beech wood between the garter belt at your thigh. Then, you rushed to stand beside Chan.

“Excited, are you?” You asked him.

He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. “It is my biggest wish to sit down with the Prince! To cook for him is already a sure pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but huff at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t know Seokmin the way you did.

Time passed quickly, and it was almost two hours into preparing the onslaught of fruit, meat, vegetables, and grain required to make the celebratory supper. The royal kitchen was much larger than the small, quaint space you operated back at the bakery, where everything was tightly shoved together and you knew each crevice like the back of your hand. You were working up a sweat as you kneaded a large, thickening dough. Once you were satisfied, you floured a wooden roller and began flattening it out, using a tin can to cut perfect circles.

You told Chan to put the tray in the clay furnace and keep an eye on the rising bread.

“Where are you going?” He immediately inquired upon watching you untie your apron, hanging the splattered fabric on a hook jutting from the stone wall.

“It’s quite hot. I’m stepping outside for a few minutes. No more than that.”

The young boy nodded and proceeded to follow your orders, keeping a watchful eye on the dough that would soon become crispy, warm pieces of bread. You slipped into the long corridor that led outside. There was still a noticeable heat in the evening air, though it was much less overwhelming compared to the kitchen, packed with fires and bodies and steam. A soft, glowing pink tinted the sky, and you were surprised at how little clouds there were.

Just to be certain, you felt underneath your dress for the piece of beech wood, relieved to brush it against your skin.

A distant sound captured your attention, somewhat like the noise of steel slashing against steel. Walking along the side of pillaring cobblestone, the noise grew louder, accompanied by indiscernible, muffled shouting. You stepped around the small wildflowers sprouting from the grass, keeping as silent as possible upon approaching the corner that ended at an iron gate.

Sparing a cautious glance between the bars, you looked into a large courtyard covered with sand. There were two young men sparring against each other, competitive but lighthearted in their expressions and the nature of how they operated their swords.

It was none other than the Prince himself, Seokmin, against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan.

You plucked your head back and inhaled delicately. The unique airiness of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberated into the evening, summer air, joining hymn with the sharp steel. You peaked through the iron bars again. Seokmin was still buried in his hefty silver armor, a layer of chainmail hanging from his shoulders. Expertly, he caught the underside of Jeonghan’s sword with his own and twisted the weapon from his friend’s hands, which dropped against the sand with a soft thud. Jeonghan stumbled backward, panting heavily.

“For God’s sake, I surrender!” He laughed, dusting off his shiny armor.

Seokmin slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist, smiling triumphantly.

“You squander each attempt at defeating me. Have you just lost another bet with my blacksmith?”

Jeonghan bent down to pick up his sword and huffed, “it could be so.”

“You are inclined to become a beggar,” the Prince teased, “thankfully, tonight’s feast shall leave you with plentiful portions to take to the streets.”

There was a small, stone fountain bubbling beneath an overhang in the courtyard. Seokmin allowed a generous cup of water to form in his hands before splashing it along his face, the droplets streaming down his amber skin that had been caked with dust. Once he cleared away the grit, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the long, black curls.

He smirked at Jeonghan and uttered something to him you couldn’t decipher as they removed their chainmail. You studied him intently, feeling the warmth in your chest welt into disdain and anger.

“What are you doing all the way down there?!”

You jumped, sensing your flesh bristle. Turning around, you saw Chan standing at the doorway with his brow furrowed, probably wondering why you never returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you hurried toward him and away from the courtyard, praying that neither the Prince nor his friend heard Chan’s shouting.

“Was there somebody out there? Who was it?” Chan immediately pestered you with questions.

“There was no one.” You told him whilst entering the kitchen, heaving a great sigh of relief upon seeing your bread removed from the clay furnace, the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes.

Chan seemed skeptical, but he knew you were infamously defensive, so he didn’t investigate.

“Have you started the pastry for the cherry pie?” You asked him after setting the grain aside.

“No,” Chan replied, “I heard it is a favourite of the Prince. We must prepare it attentively.”

“Of course. Now, ask that lady over there if we can use her pie pan. We will start immediately.”

In complete honestly, you’d rather prepare any other dessert – even the chocolate soufflés, which were arguably difficult to perfect. However, you yet again bit your tongue and helped the eager apprentice remove the pits from the ruby red cherries, which landed in a wicker basket just at your feet. Every moment or so, you were tempted to leave behind a pit, entertaining the tiny thought that it could be inside the slice served to the Prince. You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle.

It wasn’t so much skin off your nose, but Chan would definitely be disheartened.

You made sure to thoroughly clean all the cherries.

The dining hall was absolutely packed. There were rows of young pages standing at the table, hardly able to contain themselves as they stared glossy-eyed into the fresh cooked meals and desserts. No one had sat down yet, not until the King and Queen took their seats.

The Queen, swathed in the long, shimmering silk of her violet robe, observed the hungry crowd gathered before her. She was an alluring beacon, just like a porcelain doll, and the sapphire gems embossed in her crown glinted against the central chandelier. As you were specifically requested by the royal family to cook, you were granted a seat at the table, in between your mother and an anxious Chan who kept stealing glances at the Prince, standing next to his father. You refused to look at Seokmin, even when you felt his gaze trace the side of your face.

Suddenly, the Queen grabbed onto a sumptuous chalice and lifted it high in the air. She began making a toast to the newly appointed pages, congratulating the start of their journey. You copied your mother and reached for a silver goblet next to your plate, which had been prefilled with cold, dark purple wine. Everyone applauded her speech. Then, the King took over.

It was hard to pay attention, until you heard a particular name leave his mouth.

“As we continue the great customs of our ancestors who built this impenetrable kingdom, a new fate has arrived for Prince Seokmin.”

You flicked your gaze toward Seokmin, your heart hammering in your chest. His father set a hand on his shoulder, covered by a velvet, royal blue robe.

“Our son is at the rightful age to marry. After ample negotiation with the neighbouring and prosperous village of Markarth, their Lord has granted permission to his daughter, Lady Adelaide, as a possible contender. She will visit us on the summer solstice. I am prideful, and honoured, to announce this marvellous news alongside the blessed anointment of our pages.”

Instantly, you felt lightheaded, and you had to place the goblet back down on the table in order to avoid spilling the expensive wine. You knew this day would come eventually, but to hear that an arranged marriage was already brewing left a horrible taste in your mouth. The King shook his son’s shoulder with an honest pride, though Seokmin simply pressed his lips together and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the announcement. You felt sick to your stomach. The thought of eating your beef wellington rendered you unable to even look at its outer pastry.

“Let us not dismiss the efforts of our valuable cooks, who prepared this rustic meal.” The King continued, staring in your direction.

He then praised the name of your mother, you, and Chan in specific. Everyone’s goblet remained in the air. Their gazes smeared across your flesh like wet ash.

“Is there anything you would like to say before we commence our feast?”

Your mother was ready to speak, though you managed to cut in before her.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty, I am unbelievably humbled to cook for you tonight, but at this time I wish to be excused from the dining hall. May I part?”

Chan turned to look at you as though your hair were entangled in flames, and your mother grew notably tense. The atmosphere in the room was awfully palpable, like a thick balm that made it difficult to breathe. You could feel the pulse in your fingertips. The King then lowered his head to the Queen, and they briefly exchanged a whisper, seemingly coming to a verdict they both agreed on. Asking to be excused from a royal supper seldom occurred, if ever.

“If that is your wish,” the King said, his voice stern, “then you may part.”

You stepped away from your chair, making sure to bow toward the royal family. Seokmin was staring directly at you, his face looking hardened, cold.

“Thank you,” came your tiny response, “I hope you are delighted by the food.”

In the centre of the royal garden was a magnificent water fountain that came alive at nighttime, small, paper lanterns floating in its pool and glowing a solacing orange. You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. Everyone was still eating inside the dining hall. When you listened very intently, you could hear the faint notes of the live music. You didn’t regret leaving the supper, but you did regret not stealing a tiny bread loaf or even some fresh blackberries from the fruit baskets.

Your stomach was aching, hungry.

Reaching down to tug up the side of your dress, you pulled out the beech wood you spotted in the grass that afternoon. You had wanted to carve something into its surface with your knife, though you weren’t sure what, and it definitely wouldn’t be possible until your mother returned the blade to you. As you held the smooth nature above your face and pressed your thumbs into its cream face, you were overcome by a new, frothing wave of anger. Seokmin was preparing to get married. The beech wood nearly split in two from your iron grip.

You hated thinking that at one point in your childhood, you genuinely liked the Prince, and harboured this flat-out embarrassing crush on him. So did everyone else, but Seokmin certainly didn’t help your malleable heart in pretending that he liked you back. You remembered it clear as day: Jeonghan, who was much smaller at the time, came bounding up to you, teeming with excitement and using his squeaky voice to tell you that Seokmin wanted to kiss you, and that you needed to meet the Prince by Peace River in the forest.

Of course, you obliged without even having to think, and your friends spent the whole morning twisting small bluebells and buttercups in your hair. When you arrived at Peace River, Seokmin was waiting for you, standing in a patch of sunlight that cut through the trees, wearing a long, silk red robe in addition to his silver crown. It was the most nervous you had ever felt in your entire life, and you remembered feeling dizzy as Seokmin gazed down at you with a sweet look in his honey eyes. The two of you leaned in closer, closer, closer…

And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background.

Seokmin’s friends came stumbling from their hiding spots, some holding their stomachs with how hard they were cackling, others wiping a tear from their eye, all whilst you experienced a shock bottom out in your gut. The realization that everything had been a ruse gave you a tough, metaphorical slap across the face. Jeonghan had to lean against a tree trunk as he gripped his stomach, and a familiar burn stung your cheeks upon remembering the words he coughed out, something along the lines of, “you truly thought the Prince liked you?!”

The worst part was that Seokmin didn’t say anything, he just looked at you sadly. Since then, your contempt for Seokmin blossomed, and he didn’t hesitate to bite back.

Not wanting to break the beech wood, you lowered it from your face and slid it back between the lace garter hidden beneath your dress. When you glanced at the moon, you noticed that a small, orange ball was floating above you. Sitting up, your eyes widened at the sight of numerous orange dots, glimmering all throughout the garden. You recognized them as fireflies, which had always been one of your favourite things about the night. Occasionally, you and Chan would catch the small bugs in mason jars and release them by Peace River.

One fluttered close to your face, so you stuck out your finger hoping it would land. But, out of nowhere, you heard someone walking in the grass and immediately plucked your finger away, instead peering through the moonlight where you spotted a silhouette. Once the figure came into the aurora of the water fountain, you felt your stomach drop. It was none other than the Prince himself. He was no longer wearing his royal robe, just a white poet shirt with the deep, v-shaped collar left unbuttoned, and some black capris. He wasn’t even sporting any jewelry apart from a silver bulb through his right earlobe.

“Why must you act with such blatant disrespect?” He was quick to scold you for leaving the dinner. “Could you have not sat down? Stayed out of honour and given your untouched portions to the beggars?”

You scoffed. “Do not ridicule me like one of your pages. I was asked to cook, and so I did. No more, no less.”

Seokmin huffed, blowing the black curls away from his eyes. “You were invited to eat as well.”

“I fulfilled my principal duty. There was no reason to stay.”

“You could have at least eaten something. A wedge of pie, a peach clove. For heaven’s sake, there was bread at the entryway.”

Unwilling to stay seated and argue, you stood up from the fountain and brushed off your dress, no longer paying attention to the fireflies that illuminated the garden. Of course you wished you took some food; your stomach was collapsing in on itself, though you would not admit it.

“Why are you so concerned with my meals?” You snapped. “Should you not return to your private quarters and get well rested for the summer solstice?”

After mocking his arranged marriage, you couldn’t bear to look Seokmin in the eye. For some reason, a lump got caught in your throat and you felt a hot surge push against your tear ducts.

“Judging by your poor temper, it is you who needs more rest than I.” The Prince shot back.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you attempted to brush by Seokmin and exit the garden. Instead you would find the gateway and wait until your mother and Chan arrived before leaving the castle grounds. There was food back at the house anyway, you assumed maybe some milk pudding, or sunflower seeds. It wouldn’t satiate you, but at least quell the hunger pangs until morning. However, when Seokmin grabbed your elbow you immediately flared, releasing a sharp yelp as he held you in place.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Seokmin growled, lessening his grip on your arm and leaning in close to your face. “Come with me. I must give you something.”

Peering into the Prince’s dark brown eyes, you snarled, “what?”

He was close enough that you could see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from when he and Jeonghan had chased each other with fireplace pokers. You thought about looking at his lips, pretty and pink, but refused to break eye contact. The Prince didn’t say anything, just tugged you through the garden, between the thorny rosebushes, the intricate strings of bleeding hearts, and huge pots of pastel, cotton hydrangeas. To your surprise, Seokmin guided you back into the kitchen you had occupied just a few hours ago.

Then, he opened a wood cupboard and pulled out a polished, bright silver tin, which he thrusted into your arms. You peeled the lid open and saw that the tin was filled with raspberry glazed Danishes, to which the fragrant smell of flaky pastry and berries caused your mouth to water.

“S-Seokmin, I—,” you were going to reject him.

“I am not doing charity work for you. It is the custom of our celebratory suppers to not let any guest leave unfed, or pained by hunger.”

He looked at you with a cold expression, and his tone deepened. “Now, you may wait at the front gate for your companion and mother. It is not your place to wander around my castle. I could have you arrested.”

You welcomed his threat. “I anticipate such a drastic measure if it ensures I’ll never have to see your face again.”

Seokmin didn’t look half as amused. He moved in close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin as he uttered inimically, “leave.”

During the walk home to your village quarters, Chan had already shoved an entire pastry into his mouth, licking the raspberry jam off his fingers. Your mother was eager to know who gifted you such an expensive tin alongside the Danishes. Not wanting to admit your confrontation with Seokmin, you churned up a white lie about how they were a present from another cook.

“Certainly?” She seemed quite surprised. “That is a rare gift. To my knowledge, tins with that level of embroidery are only seen inside the castle. Perhaps that cook quite liked you.”

At the early stretch of dawn, you felt someone grasp your shoulder and shake it roughly, until your eyes pulled open, groggy and blurred. You were sitting up in bed, looking bitter. Chan was next to you, and whilst he wore an apologetic expression, you could sense there was a degree of urgency to his actions.

“What’s the matter?” You hummed, digging the heel of your palm into your eye.

Just outside the windowpane, you could see the calm sunrise and feel the morning, serene warmth through the glass.

“Your mother told me to wake you, that we should head to the bakery immediately.”

As you stumbled around your bedroom, fitting on a pair of degrading, sandalwood slippers before patting your face down with cold water from the well, you were wondering why it was so important that you attend the bakery, that your mother would need to send Chan to fetch you. Still dressed in your nightgown, you left the house alongside the young apprentice and hurried down the quiet road, passing all the tiny markets and apparel shops. As soon as the bakery came into view, you gasped, for a pearl blue carriage was stationed outside, paired to a stallion with silk, white hair. It grazed at a patch of grass and honeysuckle.

There seemed to be a crowd gathered inside the bakery, which only further piqued your curiosity. Chan couldn’t help but stroke the horse’s brilliant fur, which glowed like an amber pool due to the sunlight. You had only taken a measly step or two inside the bakery until jamming to a halt. Right before your eyes, speaking to your mother across the counter was perhaps one of the most pristinely-dressed, elegant girls to ever grace your kingdom. Her dress was long and flowing, a dark green forest jade, accented with gold lacing and a slim pair of gloves that stretched high up her arms.

Chan appeared equally stunned, for he thudded into your backside and stood staring at the girl like she was a rare type of crystal. Almost immediately, you noted the petit, twinkling tiara sitting on her head. Before she could even introduce herself, you knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Adelaide.” You heard Chan whisper to himself.

It immediately dawned on you that the summer solstice had finally arrived. The second she noted your presence at the door, her congregation of guards stepped back, allowing her to approach you. Without a second thought you bowed your head politely. She smelled like fresh clusters of jasmine and her voice was harmonious.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to startle you or your apprentice,” (Chan’s face flushed a shy pink) “I heard from a guardsman of mine that your mother’s bakery is nothing short of wondrous, and I knew I had to stop here before I meet with your kingdom’s Prince.”

You stuttered straight through your teeth, “t-that’s wonderful. P-Pleased, we’re absolutely pleased to serve you, Lady Adelaide. We will prepare anything you desire.”

“Certainly.” Chan agreed.

“I’ll have to spend some time looking over the pastries,” she said jovially, “right now, I am truly awed by how delicious everything appears. My decision will come shortly.”

“Of course.” You responded, rubbing your clammy palms against your dress.

Whilst Lady Adelaide carefully inspected each pastry through the glass, your mother had pulled you and Chan into the kitchen, where she made sure it was clear you show your utmost respect toward the kingdom’s potential princess. Chan still wore a sticky blush on his cheeks, and you could tell he would be about as useful in the kitchen that day as a rock.

“No matter what she requests, we shall honour her needs and prepare it.” Your mother said. “Remember, this could be Prince Seokmin’s wife.”

You felt a streak of envy and wanted to slap yourself.

Once Lady Adelaide made up her mind, your mother re-entered the front shop with a wide smile. Chan started washing his hands in the pail of fresh water.

“Why was I not born the Prince?” He huffed petulantly. “She is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Does everyone in Markarth have such a face?”

“Oh, cool it, would you?” Came your sharp response. “Our duty is to operate a bakery, not fall in love.”

You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, and you tried desperately to bite your tongue as you fastened on your apron and pulled up the sleeves of your nightgown. The young apprentice wasn’t lying, she was a true and glorious spectacle, one that would surely appease the King and Queen once they saw her next to their son. However, you weren’t keen on entertaining such a sight, and you dismissed it from your head whilst Chan went to the house front and helped your mother collect Adelaide’s dessert.

A week after Lady Adelaide’s arrival at the kingdom, you happened to find your pocket-sized carving knife inside a bakery drawer. You were absolutely relieved to discover it, and took advantage of your mother’s recent departure to slide it back against the garter belt wrapped around your thigh. For the time being, she was occupied at a different village, visiting her sister.

Chan worked on kneading a mound of sourdough, his sleeves rolled high up to his elbows and a cloth tied around his head, pushing back his growing brown hair. You decided to take a break from the kitchen heat, patting him on his shoulder just before you disappeared.

“Huh?” He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the dough, “where will you be?”

“Peace River.” You told him. “I will be taking a short swim.”

The piece of beech wood was already slipped inside your sleeve. Ever since Seokmin gave you that silver, embroidered tin, you placed it on your bedside table and stored the wood inside.

“Shall I fetch some extra help in the mean time?” Chan asked, lobbing the dough onto a wooden serving board.

“Sure. Why not ask your companion from the academy? Seungkwan is it?”

“Yes.” Chan nodded.

You picked your way through town until you arrived at the pathway that lead into the forest. The dirt was padded down by a century of footsteps, animal paws and wagon wheels, though the soft grass that grew next to it tickled up past your ankles and bloomed with small, purple flowers. You loved walking through the forest, hearing the noises of the village become increasingly muted, replaced by tree branches that gently rocked against each other in the breeze as well as the sweet songbirds.

Upon reaching the river, you sat down on a rock just in front of the grassy bank and pulled out your carving knife. The river created a bubbling waterfall, and whilst you took hold of the beech wood, deciding what to carve, you listened to the trickling sounds. Still unsure of what to scratch in the wood, you continued shaving down its edges until the piece lost its rectangular shape and became more oval. Once you were satisfied with its rounder appearance, you brushed the wispy flakes from your lap, deciding it was time to test the river.

You removed the layers of your dress until you were in nothing but your undergarments, the sunshine that rained between the leaves warm against your skin. After wrapping the beech wood into your clothing, you set the fabric behind a strawberry bush, though left your carving knife folded and sitting on the rock. The river water was cold, but not freezing, and for a few moments you stood knee deep with your eyes closed, allowing the quiet breeze and sunrays to mellow your heartbeat. Then you proceeded to wade in further, until the water lapped up against your chin.

As much as you longed to enjoy the cool river, there was one problem that arose after a few minutes of swimming.

You heard distant galloping becoming closer and closer, accompanied by the rattling of metallic armour and conversation. Not wanting to make your presence known, you paddled beneath the overhanging rock that created the waterfall, the downpour completely soaking your hair whilst the heavy scent of moss stuck to the stone. You were curious as to who could be arriving at the river. Carefully, you peeked around corner of the overhang.

You felt your blood turn to ice.

It was Seokmin and Adelaide. Her arms were wrapped around the Prince’s waist as he held onto the reins of his beautiful, caramel horse named Apple. You remembered the mare’s name because you were the one who suggested it as kids. Seokmin shook the reins once more, and Apple walked closer to the river, already beginning to graze at the sweet grass lining the bank. Seokmin seemed to be educating Adelaide about the river, though you really had to strain to hear what he was saying. He hopped down cleanly from the horse before assisting the Lord’s lady.

She was no longer wearing her jade dress, but a white gown with many ruffles at the skirt. Her eyes were wide and sparkling whilst she examined the forest. Seokmin set a hand on her waist, gesturing to something in the trees you couldn’t see. The Prince was standing in a patch of sunlight just like he did on that summer day when you were children, waiting to kiss you—well, more like humiliate you, but his amber skin still shone the same, and the way the light reflected off his broad, silver armour depicted just how much he’d grown since then.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently for his words.

“Everyone who visits this river is known to experience a beautiful sense of peace, and calm, hence, why it is known as Peace River.”

Adelaide pressed a kiss to Seokmin’s jaw. “I have never seen such a tranquil sight. Oh, Prince Seokmin, it’s beautiful!”

Whilst Apple continued nipping at the grass, Adelaide squatted down next to the river and let the water gush between her fingers, covered in opal and amethyst rings. She was crooning about how pretty the gems looked beneath the current to Seokmin, though you noted the young Prince wasn’t exactly listening. Something caught his attention – your carving knife, which you left sitting on the goddamn rock. Gulping heavily, you watched as Seokmin picked up the blade and inspected it closely. Immediately, you swam away from the corner when he began squinting around the clearing, as though he were attempting to spot the knife’s owner.

The worst part: Seokmin knew who that carving knife belonged to. He knew it was yours, for he offered it to you, a gift from his blacksmith, a few days before the horrible kissing incident.

When you gathered the courage to peer around the corner again, you saw Seokmin help Lady Adelaide back onto Apple’s saddle. He still had your blade in his hand, to which you watched in complete shock as the Prince ordered his horse onward, deeper into the forest. You cursed him relentlessly under your breath. That bastard, he just took your carving knife! When you only discovered its whereabouts no less than half an hour ago! Boiling with fury, you left the river, threw on the clothes over your wet skin, and marched back into town with your beech wood.

The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

It was the night of the Super Moon Festival.

Raised high amongst the depths of the vast, black sky was the crater itself, bright, shining, and larger than ever. A chilly wind had turned the air quite nippy, and whilst Chan sat next to you, tentatively sipping a warm jar of gold, apple cider, you were simmering in complete bitterness. You had always embraced each festival, especially the Super Moon Festivals, which promised ample fortune unto the kingdom in addition to a prosperous summer; however, that night you couldn’t force even the slightest elation.

Prince Seokmin still had your carving knife.

A great deal of folk had concentrated to the village square, where the celebration was most vibrant. Certain people had linked arms, dancing to the live music, whilst others were releasing paper lanterns of different colours and shapes into the night sky. There were plenty of drinking games, festive food, and buzzing conversations entangled throughout the square. You were shaking your leg, watching intensely as the Prince and his friends were gathered by an old wagon in the far corner, drinking tall tins of frothy ale, laughing loudly into the crisp, cool air.

Suddenly, Chan nudged your shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “Why do you continue staring at the Prince?”

You peeled your gaze from Seokmin, though the contort of your features remained. Lady Adelaide was nowhere to be spotted. There were rumours that she would be arriving later, that the band would play a special slow song, just so she could share a dance with the Prince.

“I must speak with him.” You replied.

Chan wrapped his cold hands tighter around the apple cider, casting you a peculiar glance.

“Why is that? Has he done something?”

You knew you couldn’t wait forever. Seokmin’s tightknit ensemble didn’t look like it was going to thin anytime soon, and if you allowed the night to end, you would have missed your chance.

“Be right back.” You uttered sharply to the young apprentice as you rose from your chair, leaving Chan to sit alone with his drink.

He could only gaze after you in a thick confusion. It was definitely nerve-wracking to approach the Prince so boldly, especially when he was swathed by his closest friends, all whom lived inside the castle or carried high profiles in the upper scale village. You almost walked straight through a dancing couple on your march across the large square, though you tried not to let any crumb of doubt or intimidation thwart you from retrieving your carving blade. Without a word, you shoved your way between the muscular bodies, ignoring their surprised scoffs.

Seokmin’s eyes were almost as wide as the moon when you stood before him. He stopped leaning against the wagon’s tall wheel and left his half-finished ale on the ledge.

“Return it to me.” You stated simply, holding out your palm.

“Who the hell is that?” One of his friends chided, clearly not amused that you just pushed through their private celebration only to speak rudely at the Prince.

Seokmin’s brow furrowed. “Return what?” He responded.

His acting utterly irritated you.

“Do not behave so obliviously,” you barked, “come with me, now.”

Wrapping your fingers through the collar of his shirt, you attempted to pull Seokmin away from his companions. Understandably, they were not willing to lose their royal member so easily, which prompted Jeonghan to grab your arm. It came as a slight surprise to you when Seokmin snapped, “do not touch her,” causing him to withdraw his grip, his expression paling. The Prince ensured his companions that he would return soon, only to follow you down a quiet alley, away from the colourful celebration and boasting music.

Folding your arms over your chest, you glared at the boy.

“I want my knife returned.”

Straightening out his collar that you had noticeably crumbled, the Prince scoffed, a smirk trudging across mouth.

“You should not leave any personal property out where it could be discovered.”

“You knew it was mine and yet you still took it.”

“So you were watching me, is that it?” He had the audacity to smile.

In order to contain your fulgurant anger, you clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“Indeed I watched you take it! Now give it back!”

“Do not get so ahead of yourself.” Seokmin flashed a devious smile, one you wanted to wipe clean from his snide expression.

He reached into his pocket, and beneath the frosted moonlight, you saw him reveal your precious carving knife. You traced his fingers as he unfolded the silver blade and admired the mahogany handle, etched with the smallest, intricate embellishment. If you were swift enough, you could snatch the knife from his hand, but you weren’t sure if the risk was calculated. The Prince gently pressed the pad of his finger to the point, hardly issuing any pressure.

“This did not always belong to you.” He stated simply.

“I know that,” you quipped, “but you decided to gift it to me. So it no longer falls under your property.”

Seokmin blatantly ignored your rebuttal. Instead, he folded up the blade and dared pocket it right before your eyes. You gaped at him.

“Why were you at Peace River?”

“What?!” Feeling completely bewildered, you couldn’t help the loud air of your gasp.

He asked again, “why were you at Peace River? Were you hiding somewhere?”

“That is not your business!” You barked.

Seokmin seemed to adapt your hue of disproportionate awe.

“It is not my business?” He took a step forward, though you didn’t shy from his advance. “I am your Prince. You shall answer what I ask of you.”

“Why do you care why I was there? Should you not focus on the wonderful time you had showing around your dear lady?”

The young Prince’s face didn’t exactly soften upon your reference to Adelaide, rather there was a subtle shift in the nuance of his gaze, where something murky tinted the surface. It was difficult to pinpoint, but you almost swore that mentioning Adelaide had made Seokmin unhappy. To make the matter more confusing, he was clearly examining your features, from the curve of your lips to the arch above each cheek, you were like a memory he could never lose.

Your heart started beating faster, and you felt dearly flustered.

“I-I was only swimming,” you answered him, “that’s all you must know.”

You hated your body for betraying you, for submitting, for twirling itself in a moonstruck loop at the mere thought of Seokmin needing to commit your face to memory. Wanting to feel angry again, you tightened your voice.

“Now, I answered your question. I have pulled you away for one thing and one thing only: my knife. I do not care that your blacksmith crafted it for you, that it was once yours before it was mine. You gave it to me. I want it back.”

“Mind your manners,” the Prince scolded, his eyes turning icy, less forgiving, “I cannot oblige when you create such a fuss.”

Digging your nails in deep to the fabric of your dress, you exhaled shakily.

”I am going to lose my temper, Prince Seokmin. I want my blade, now.”

He took a step toward you, so close you could smell the rich ale on his clothing. His voice had lowered an octave, to which you swallowed coarsely and had trouble locking eyes with him.

“First, you rudely interrupt my friends and I. Second, you speak to me informally, with no respect, not even bothered to fake it. Third, you drag me to this alley and refuse the command of your Prince to summon an ounce of manner. Clean your mouth, or forget the knife.”

Your jaw clenched, and you started to grit your teeth. Seokmin was not exactly fond of the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact, therefore he placed a light hold on your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head toward him.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” He growled.

A concerning heat infiltrated your body; however, gulping back the rage that burned against your throat, you pulled down his hand, looked straight into his eyes and hissed, “you do not deserve my manners, but for the sake of the situation, may I please have my knife returned, Prince Seokmin?”

He reached into his pocket.

“I am shocked someone so ill-mannered is permitted to live in this kingdom.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watched the boy reveal your carving knife.

“I could effortlessly say the same for you.”

Seokmin handed you the blade, studying you intently whilst you picked up the side of your dress in order to return your prized possession between the thigh garter. Even in the darkness, his cheeks had noticeably pinkened.

“Enjoy the remainder of your night.” You gave him an exaggerated, distasteful bow before walking down the alley, away from the village square. “Do not keep Lady Adelaide waiting.”

The young Prince didn’t bother responding, only chewed into his bottom lip as you disappeared from his sight, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

Somehow, you and Chan had ended up back in the royal kitchen.

It was in light of a specific request pitted by the King and Queen, in which they desired you to cook a delicious dinner for Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide as they enjoyed their umpteenth date together. You attempted to avoid the situation last minute by faking a dry cough and sore throat, though your mother was far too intelligent to let any elementary performances fool her, resulting in yet another attendance award at the castle. Chan was excited as usual, evident in the small curl to his lips whilst he cleaned his hands in a bucket of well water.

“I never understand you,” Chan said, “why are you never content to visit the castle?”

Tying an apron at your lower back, you simply huffed in response to the young apprentice, not willing to reiterate the whole spiel about your childhood mishap as well as the years of hatred that nurtured it. You knew you seemed ungrateful, stuck-up, but it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“It is not something to concern yourself with,” you told Chan, taking his place at the bucket of cold water, “I am going to cook their meal, and that is all. No more, no less.”

“When do you think we will receive their menu?” Chan asked.

“Whenever it is given to us.”

The royal kitchen was indubitably stocked with produce that could cater to any dish, it was just a matter of awaiting the particular meals Lady Adelaide and Seokmin were keen on eating. Still, you had to agree with Chan, there was an anxious density to the room whilst you prepared your stations, hoping that at least some form of authority would enter the kitchen to update you.

Chan opened a cupboard and found a burlap sack of cherries. He grinned, “do you think Prince Seokmin will want to eat cherry pie again?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “maybe he’ll desire a pineapple upside down cake.”

“That sounds complicated.” Chan admitted with a frown.

You chuckled, “he’s complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

Suddenly, the Prince appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed in a long, garnet cape that draped around his shoulders, embroidered with a dazzling gold thread. His hair, usually left in its black ringlets, had been groomed neatly from his forehead. His crown looked heavy, precious and incomprehensibly expensive. Both you and Chan were stunned by his abrupt appearance, to which the apprentice dropped a pile of tins he’d been removing from a cupboard. They clattered across the stone floor, and his cheeks turned red.

Whilst the young boy quickly picked up each tin, you cleared your throat.

“N-No one. We were speaking about no one.”

Chan hurried to stand beside you, and he bowed immediately.

“Greetings, Prince Seokmin. Must I say it is a complete honour to cook for you and Lady Adelaide tonight. I shall put forth my best effort.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Seokmin said, commending the boy’s display of respect, “I have arrived to deliver the menu Lady Adelaide and I would like to eat.”

The Prince then handed Chan a scroll, which had been tied shut with a tasseled, red string. As Chan busied himself in opening the paper to glean its request, Seokmin glanced you over from top to bottom. You shot him a transient glare.

Folding your arms over your chest and titling your head to the side, you announced, “we will bring your food as soon as possible.”

“Is everything well with you?” Seokmin inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Chan looked up from the unwound scroll nervously, clearly noting the palpable tension.

“Yes, Prince Seokmin. I feel brilliant.” Your tone was drier than chalk.

Some twisted part of you hoped that the Prince would pull you into the corridor, scold you for behaving so blatantly disrespectful, lean in close to your face with a fire that turned to glistering copper in his eyes. You wanted him to grip your chin like he did in the alleyway and demand you meet his gaze. In a bizarre sense, you craved to argue with him. However, Seokmin didn’t engage in anything of the sort, and a vacant feeling encompassed you whole.

“I must return to Lady Adelaide. We will be seated on the outdoor terrace, second level.”

“Yes, of course,” Chan chirped, “I will bring your appetizer shortly.”

“May it also be known that the furnace next to you Chan has not been properly cleaned from a previous service. Do not try to light any fire, or the residue could burn you.”

Chan glanced at the stove warily whilst you released an impatient sigh.

“You should really get going, sire. It’s never polite to make your lady wait.”

The Prince chuckled, and a bold smirk illuminated his face.

“Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

After blowing a tuft of hair from your eyes, you folded your arms over your chest and caught the young Prince in a piercing stare.

“Why must you know? I don’t kiss and tell.”

Chan had not a clue as to what sort of exchange was unpacking before him, he only knew that his presence seemed unbelievably trivial, like a dust mite. You couldn’t deny how satisfactory it felt to wind Seokmin tighter than a wire spool, attempting to snap him somehow, hoping he’d bite back brazenly.

His professional composure was teetering, you could see it. And yet, the Prince was able to sweep away his desires to bicker with you.

“Aren’t you such a well-behaved little girl?” He dug slyly, the backhanded compliment imbuing a strange rush in your blood. “I have no further business here. As I said, we are seated on the second level terrace.”

The second Seokmin parted, his beautiful cloak fluttering behind him, Chan nudged your shoulder with a big pout on his lips.

“Are you trying to get us banned from the castle? If so, you might just succeed.”

Stealing the scroll from his hands, you urged him to relax.

“Trust me,” you sighed, “I would get banned before any other soul here. Even before the cook who caused a fire hazard.”

You had great trouble focusing in the kitchen, and it seemed like your brain contained no interest in cooperating with the rest of your body. Chan noted your lack of composure and intervened on multiple occasions, a concerned expression covering his face.

It was stupid, shameful, but for an unbeknownst reason you could not stop envisioning Seokmin and Adelaide enjoying their supper together on the pretty terrace. You imagined his soft, attentive eyes tracing her lips whilst she spoke, his hand reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear’s cusp, the evening sun dappling the sky golden and peach-rose. It lit a terrible feeling within your lower gut, a feeling that upset you beyond belief, made you want to run from the kitchen and bury yourself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

The thought of Seokmin marrying Adelaide, sliding that white diamond ring upon her finger, having to watch them parade around the kingdom completely and utterly in love; you hated it, and you kept losing your concentration as that bitterness consumed you.

“They seem to be enjoying everything.” Chan confirmed with a satisfied smile toward the end of service. He just returned after collecting their dishes. “At last, we can begin dessert!”

However, the boy quickly picked up on your temperate, distracted face.

“What’s the matter?” Chan grabbed your shoulder gently. “You look so upset.”

“I’m fine,” you dismissed him with an apathetic air, brushing his touch away, “will they be eating the cherry pie as you assumed? I have already prepared the crust.”

“Yes…” Chan leaned in rather close to examine your face whilst he hummed in response.

“For heaven’s sake, child—what are you doing?”

“S-Sorry,” he immediately backed away, “I-I thought—your eyes just looked so glassy.”

“I have already stated my wellbeing. Now, please get to making the filling so we may get this pie in the furnace.”

Chan grabbed the burlap sack of cherries from the cupboard and dumped them into an apple basket. He then submerged the basket in a water pail, making sure to clean the fruit until they were glistening and shiny. Together, you removed the cherry pits in order to create the sweet, sticky filling which smelled exactly like summer. Chan let you tend to setting the furnace flame whilst he leveled out the pies; however, you’d forgotten about the unusable furnace.

As you got down on your knee and reached into the underbelly of the oven with the starter flint, it was too late for Chan to make a reminder. Once the bright spark touched that mysterious residue, a gigantic flame bloomed forth and licked up the furnace walls. The second your hand felt such an incredible singe of heat, you released a loud cry and crawled away from the glowing oven, your chest heaving at the intense, searing pain that sizzled deep into your flesh. Chan was gobsmacked. He dropped the small butter knife in the pie filling and bent down whilst you tossed your head back, cursing at the pain.

“Oh God!” Chan looked paler than a snowflake. “Y-You have been burned! O-Oh no… this- this is awful! What should we do? H-Here—”

The boy helped you to your feet and brought you close to the water pail.

“Submerge your hand in this,” he offered anxiously, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I need to alert someone of this. Are you okay? Do you believe you might faint?”

“N-No…” you gritted between your teeth whilst heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, “just get somebody – anybody. I-It hurts terribly…”

The boy rubbed your back as a sweet gesture before he left the kitchen.

“I shall return as quickly as possible! I promise!”

Unfortunately, Chan had sparse luck encountering anyone from the castle. The sole person he could think of alerting was Prince Seokmin. Whilst he was not eager to interrupt his dinner with the kingdom’s potential princess, Chan was far too concerned with your agonizing pain as well as the poor condition of your hand. He knew you needed medical assistance immediately, therefore he burst through the doors in a panic and stumbled onto the terrace, where Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide gave him a puzzled, somewhat undesirable look.

The young apprentice steadied his breath. Once he began informing them of the situation, he couldn’t help but note the overwhelming concern that engulfed the Prince’s face.

“I must know where the nearest nurse is located. She needs assistance and I promised I would return quickly!”

Lady Adelaide wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth, and looked to Seokmin. Her eyes, brushed with a shimmering, metallic gold, widened beneath the evening light as the Prince stood from his chair and threw down his cutlery.

“You have left her alone? Where is she?” He questioned the apprentice.

Chan licked his dry lips. “P-Please, stay with Lady Adelaide. I-I just need to know wh—”

“Does she remain in the kitchen?” Seokmin interrupted him.

He stepped fairly close to Chan, the young boy tilting his head back in order to meet the serious gaze of the Prince. Admittedly, he felt rather intimidated.

“Yes, she is. But you mustn’t abandon Lady Adelaide. I can—”

“I will take care of her,” Seokmin replied sternly, “stay with the Lady if you wish.”

Without another word, the Prince pushed Chan aside and disappeared quickly through the terrace doors, leaving him alone on the beautiful terrace with Adelaide. She didn’t appear entirely thrilled to be abandoned in the midst of a romantic dinner, indicated by the uncomfortable expression that coloured her face. Instead, she tucked the hair behind her ears and pressed her smooth lips together tightly, staring out into the flossy, pink clouds, a calm breeze blowing through the air. Chan swallowed the rock in his throat, squeezing his hands nervously.

“I-I’m sure the Prince will return in due time.” He stuttered.

Lady Adelaide nodded, stiffened, unamused.

“I guess I will just have to wait.”

Standing at the pail whilst your marred flesh scorched beneath the water was a sensation unlike any other. Your bottom lip kept quivering, and your whole body trembled in an attempt to digest such an intense pain. Footsteps reverberated outside the kitchen, to which a hope flourished that a medical professional would be arriving alongside Chan – yet, the person who entered the room was completely disproportionate to what you’d been expecting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help, it was just going to be difficult to accept it.

Seokmin left his crown behind on a countertop and stood next to you.

“Let me see it.” He urged as your hand twitched in the water.

Rubbing your tears off on your shoulder, you rasped, “w-why are you here?”

“Because you’re hurt,” Seokmin replied firmly, “and whether you like it or not, I am going to look after this. You should have your hand beneath running water.”

“W-Where is Chan? I w-want him here t-too.”

“He remained with Adelaide.” The Prince sounded impatient.

“W-Why did you not stay with her? Why did you even come when you cannot stand me?”

Choosing to ignore your questions, Seokmin grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the back of the kitchen where he knew there was a well. Suckling back the thick tears and runniness in your nose, you let Seokmin guide your injured hand beneath the cold water he started pumping from the ground. It splashed onto the stone floor, trickling in all directions.

“S-Seokmin—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” the Prince snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to take care of you, alright?”

For an unprecedented time in your life, you legitimately heeded Seokmin’s words and kept your mouth shut, deciding it was not worth the energy to act so bitter. Whilst the running water succeeded in cleaning any sediment from the wound, the sensitive flesh stung and flared to a degree that was impossible to ignore, leaving you unable to suppress any small sobs and whimpers. If not for Seokmin holding your hand beneath the water, you would have withdrawn it immediately.

You pushed your face into his chest, your tears wetting his clothing. Seokmin shushed you softly, attempting to keep you calm.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, okay? A minute longer darling, I promise.”

You felt Seokmin’s chin sit on top of your head, and you only pushed your cheek in further against his strong chest, smelling the faint concoction of a luxurious perfume on his amber skin. Somehow, the pain became more bearable when his honeyed voice touched your ears.

“H-Has it been a minute now?” You sniffled.

The cold stream of water that once gushed from the spout diminished. Whilst the floor was rippling with a wide, wet circle, your hand felt less seared, less like a piece of charred meat.

“Mmhm, it’s been a minute,” Seokmin said, “how badly does it still hurt?”

Glancing at the wound imbued an intense cloud of nausea.

“I-It’s throbbing, a-and stings. Should we not wrap it?” You blubbered.

Seokmin brushed his fingers along your warm cheek, removing the new tears.

“Not immediately, angel. If the flesh is too fragile, the cloth might pull up more layers of tissue when it is removed. There should be an ointment station, over here—,” the Prince placed his hand against the small of your back, and you followed him toward a counter, “if the correct gel is in here, my hope is that it soothes your skin. Afterward, we will wrap it cautiously.”

Your injured hand was shaking too much, so you had to grasp your wrist tightly in order to centre it to one place. Seokmin opened a drawer filled with small, glass ampules. He picked between them carefully until coming across the correct ointment, a clear gel that had a strong, plant-like scent when he pulled out the tiny cork. Smearing the glistening gel onto his fingertips, the Prince then asked to see your hand. Knowing it would sting, you clenched your teeth.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Seokmin asked, concentrating on softly massaging in the vital ointment.

Exhaling stiltedly, you shook your head. “It’s getting better, I believe.”

“This is quite deep,” he remarked, scooping up more of the gel, “why on earth did you use the furnace upon my instruction not to?”

“I was not thinking about the furnace.” You admitted, biting down into your cheek.

Seokmin couldn’t help but chuckle.

He had just finished applying the cool gel, which gleamed on your skin and sunk into the damaged tissue. Additionally, stuffed somewhere in the drawer was a compact spool of bandage that the Prince started unraveling, until he tore a perfect strip to delicately wrap around your hand. Your heart began racing and heat stippled your face as the boy finally looked up from the injury. His eyes were so unbelievably gentle, his lips the colour of roses. It reflected a painstakingly familiar memory, in which you could almost hear the river running in the background and feel the pleasant sunlight warm your arms.

“Then what was on your mind?” Seokmin questioned.

His voice was low, and he stared unabashedly at your mouth.

You didn’t think – you didn’t want to.

Instead, you pushed to the very back of your skull every malevolent thought you once harboured toward the Prince and shut your eyes, envisioning yourself within a dream. You pressed a short, soft kiss against his mouth.

There was a moment’s pause where Seokmin realized the situation.

Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. It was far from a single, fleeting kiss. Each time your lips pressed together, you would linger for a moment longer and fall deeper into the other, losing all sense of the world around you. A molten warmth expanded in your chest as you felt Seokmin’s tongue make a soft prod at your bottom lip, encouraging you to sigh blissfully into the kiss. He smiled at your quiet noises.

What was happening to you? You struggled to control your own functions. Seokmin was eliciting a powerful feeling that yearned for you to continue kissing. His slender fingers drifted from your face to your hips, and he pulled you tighter against his body, each kiss revealing the other’s burning want and secret desires. As you suckled slowly on Seokmin’s tongue, listening to him purr, there was a rich, unique taste of cider. It prompted you to think about dinner, about Chan who’d gone looking for a nurse, about Lady Adelaide.

As soon as her face entered your mind, something switched off inside you and your blood transformed into cold liquid.

“S-Seokmin,” you murmured, disconnecting the sweet pressure of your mouth to his, “I-I... I don’t think we’re in our right minds.”

Your eyes began filling with water whilst you gazed at his pink cheeks and the pretty swell to his lips. The boy grabbed both your hands with a concerned expression, holding them against his chest where you felt his heart beat.

“What do you mean, angel?” Seokmin whispered. He then planted a kiss much too affectionate against your forehead, in which your eyes only grew more watery. “I haven’t anything to drink if that’s what you’re implying.”

“N-No.” You shook your head and looked into his eyes, swallowing back the dreadful taste of pain, of a relationship you could never have, of a boy you could never have. “We cannot do this... t-this is not just...”

“Wait—” Seokmin stuttered when you pulled away from him, “where are you going? We can talk about this.” His voice trembled slightly, heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me, please.”

But there was nothing he could say or do that would cement you to your spot.

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through your body, and you knew you had to leave the castle grounds unless you wanted the royal family to see you explode into a mess of hot tears and incoherency. Whilst you slipped through the kitchen door, you bumped into Chan who just returned from the second level terrace, his eyes growing wide when he noted the dreadful shadow that hollowed your countenance. The boy swallowed thickly, for the next person to enter the hallway was Lady Adelaide herself, who did not look pleased at the wait.

“A-Are you o—”

“I cannot stay here,” you told Chan in a quick jumble, “I am going to the house. Please, take care of the dessert if you can manage.”

Lady Adelaide stepped aside, allowing you to escape the corridor.

Everything felt like it was collapsing around you.

It was nighttime as you sat in your bed, a candle flickering on the windowsill whilst you examined the neat bandages that enveloped your hand. You couldn’t sleep. Chan was sent home early from the castle by Prince Seokmin, and he attempted to check on you with plentiful knocks to the front door; however, you didn’t possess the right spirit to answer him and instead covered your teary face with the bedsheets until he left. You were infuriated at yourself for kissing the Prince. Inside, your heart felt mercilessly torn up and shredded.

Continuing to look out the window, you were intrigued by a fluttering, orange orb that eventually paused on the leaves of a tall sunflower. It was a firefly.

Quickly, you reached for the silver Danish tin on your bedside table and pulled out the carving knife in addition to the small, smooth disc of beech wood. It was difficult to make incisions in the wood with an injured hand, though you simply bit your lip and didn’t allow the pain to phase you. Making tiny scratches with the fine, sharp tip of the blade, you spent the next hour, maybe more, carving a tiny firefly into the beech wood. When you looked back into your drawer, you spotted a silver-beaded chain, and an idea instantly shaped in your head.

You decided to make the wooden emblem into a necklace.

From the kitchen, you could hear Chan speaking with a new ensemble of customers who entered the bakery, the sound of their abundant coins rattling across the countertop and the apprentice’s cheerful tone as he wrapped their food in wax parchment. You hadn’t spent much time behind the counter that day, for your mood was no better than a cat who’d just been stuck in a thunderstorm. Chan advised you to stay in the kitchen instead. Since that morning, you’d either been making loaves of banana bread or staring into space.

There seemed to be an unsettled atmosphere about the kingdom. Most if not always, it indicated there was a problem at the castle, some sort of dispute amongst the royal family.

Whilst you waited for the loaves in the furnace to rise, you put your head down on the work bench and gazed at the stone floor. You had never felt so off-kilter. The fact you couldn’t do much more than mush bananas and whisk together a batter only added to your melancholy. After burning your hand, you were rather useless in the kitchen, though Chan had a much politer way of wording it whenever you attempted to help him with anything the least bit complex. You wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced you with Seungkwan in the near future.

Once the aromatic, sweet scent of the banana bread thoroughly encompassed the kitchen, you checked on the tin and decided it was time to remove it. Letting the bread sit next to an open window, you heard more muffled conversation through the door.

Suddenly, Chan had slipped into the kitchen. His expression was awfully nervous, to which an unpleasant feeling began brewing your lower gut.

“Your presence is needed at the counter.” Chan said flatly.

“Why is that?” You smiled. “I thought you preferred me locked up back here until closing.”

When the apprentice didn’t return your warmth, you knew there was something wrong.

“You are really needed at the counter.” He urged. “I will cut the bread, okay?”

“O-Okay…” You responded in a puzzled manner, allowing Chan to slip around you and grab a butter knife from the drawer.

Walking out from the kitchen was equivalent to getting a slap in the face, a splinter between your toes, a hard poke in the eye – basically anything undesirable constituted the situation you just introduced yourself to. Prince Seokmin stood on the opposite side of the counter. It appeared as though he recently returned from a valley trip with a congregation of other knights, for he was dressed in his heavyset armour and Apple was tied to a post outside shop.

Seokmin brushed his hair back and smiled at you.

“I know you are surprised to see me, but—,”

“No no no,” you shook your head and gripped the counter tightly, your legs feeling like thin jelly, “you cannot be here, y-you cannot—”

“I have to speak with you.” Seokmin said.

Your eyes flitted toward a metal bucket sitting in the corner.

“Not right now,” you spluttered quickly, “I have to refill the water, for our kitchen.”

The Prince frowned. You were surprised he wasn’t swathed in his usual entourage, that his closest companion, Jeonghan, was nowhere to be seen. Whilst you scooped the bucket from the floor and rushed toward the bakery doorway, Seokmin knew you were only using it as an excuse to avoid him. What else could you do? Your heart was far too fragile.

“This is just as much an inconvenience to myself as well as you,” the Prince announced very staidly, “you know this conversation must happen. Why bother avoiding it?”

Seokmin followed you through the doorway, where Apple was grazing at a patch of honeysuckle in the grass. You refused to look back at him.

“Exactly! It is an inconvenience that can easily be avoided if you return to the castle.”

Marching behind the bakery, you threw the metal bucket on the ground and kicked it under the well, pumping it full of cold water. .

“I refuse to return. Not until we talk about what happened!”

“Maybe I do not want to entertain that idea!” You let go of the handle, instead whipping around, facing the persistent Prince. “It was a mistake! That’s it!”

Seokmin shook his head. “Why are you so hostile? Why can you never discuss anything without starting an argument?”

You didn’t bother suppressing your scoff. “Have you ever noticed the only person I treat with such hostility, is you? Has that ever crossed your mind, Prince Seokmin?”

“Of course I know!” He quipped whilst frustratedly dragging a hand through his curls. “It has always been that way! That is why I always have to scorn you, since you behave so bitterly!”

“There is no one but yourself to blame.” You hissed, sensing the water prickle at your eyes.

The Prince looked stunned, for his mouth dropped open. “You still hold onto that memory so vehemently?”

At even the slightest reference to that humiliating, summer day forever engrained in your past, the heat flooded your eyes and you were completely helpless to stop the first tear from rolling down your cheek. There was no doubt, since that incident your hatred for Seokmin had completely blossomed, and in response to your poorly controlled anger, the Prince was left no choice but to respond with just as much belligerence. The ground between you grew terribly thick brambles and spikes, until it was impossible to even be in the same space without getting hurt.

Yet, if your hatred was exactly what you claimed it was, then your kiss with Seokmin should have never happened. Hatred was merely a dark, sinister form of passion, and no matter what circumstance, passion always lived inside your heart.

Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your dress, you shook your head. “You humiliated me in front of half the royal’s children! How could I ever dismiss that?”

The Prince furrowed his brow. “That was ages ago. We were exactly that: children. Children can be stupid and say stupid and do stupid things!”

“I just don’t understand why you pretended for so long,” you whimpered to Seokmin, tightly clenching your fists, “if you never even liked me from the start…”

“I-I wasn’t pretending… I just couldn’t… I-I…” The Prince struggled to elaborate.

Suddenly, he could no longer look you in the eye, and a raspberry tint flooded his cheeks. You gulped, a dizzying sensation infiltrating your head as you willed your heart to stop beating so vivaciously.

Seokmin took a step closer toward you, an anxious colour to his face.

“If you just let me explain what I came here to tell you,” he murmured, “then perhaps we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats so adamantly.”

You folded your arms over your chest and pressed your lips shut. The silence was daunting, but at the same time you realized the bickering would lead to endless circles.

The Prince summoned a breath of courage and met your wet stare.

“I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms, you blinked at Seokmin in complete shock.

“S-Seriously?” You stammered, sweat tainting your palms.

“I had to,” Seokmin sighed, his eyes trailing the grass, “because of what happened with u—”

“I did not ask you to refuse her as a bride!” You hiccupped, salt glimmering at your tear ducts. To be the reason the kingdom’s next marriage crumpled apart, you couldn’t bear it.

“I know you didn’t!” The Prince retaliated, his voice booming. “Do you not think I am already aware of the great misfortune and trouble my decision brings to our kingdom? I did not refuse Lady Adelaide because we kissed – I refused the marriage because I do not love her, and it would be an utter disservice to both of us if we cannot reciprocate our own hearts.”

You bit down strictly on your bottom lip. It absolutely boggled your mind that Seokmin felt no love toward Lady Adelaide, when everyone who saw her fell head over heels. Whether it was her beauty, wealth, or the perfect sweetness of her character, everyone in the kingdom had something positive to say in regards to their potential princess. Maybe you had not gelled with her in the same manner as everyone else, but you knew this marriage had been anticipated since the day Seokmin was born, and the fact such a monumental celebration would have to be pushed back created a recipe for tension.

The Prince set his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“That is what I had to tell you,” he spoke in a much gentler tone, “it was not my intention to anger you, or make you this upset. But I have to remain honest with myself…”

“W-What are you saying?” Sounded your trembling, unsteady breath.

The sunlight splashed into Seokmin’s eyes, igniting them in a blazing copper. You felt swelteringly hot as the boy brushed against your cheek with his fingers before he leaned in close to your face, still damp with tears. You couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from the low velvet of his voice and how sincerely he admired you.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

Just before you entered the cool balm of the river, you spent a few moments stroking Apple’s caramel mane and picking berries from the nearest thicket to feed her. For such a strong, firmly-built horse, she was delicate in nature, just as you remembered her from your childhood. You ran your palm along the coarse side of Apple’s fur, scratching lightly so her ears would twitch, before hearing Prince Seokmin lilt your name. When you looked to the river, you saw him grinning at you, his black hair soaking wet and pushed back from his forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there for an eternity?”

“No,” you replied, “I was just looking after your horse.”

“Trust me, Apple gets pampered more than I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed the pale lilac hem of your dress, peeling the material over your head and letting it fall into a ball on the grass. In nothing but your undergarments, Seokmin gazed at you fondly, watching how you carefully waded deeper and deeper into the river until your toes could hardly scrape the smooth pebbles. Afternoon sunlight spun between the canopy of leaves overhead, which dappled the calm peaks in the water, making them sparkle. Seokmin swam closer to you. He was truly breathtaking as the rays caressed his amber skin and danced in his eyes like a honey fire.

The boy’s fingers brushed your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and drape your arms over his wide shoulders. He held you tightly, his lips forming a lovestruck smile.

“Will your anxious mother not worry as to why her son has been out for so long?” You couldn’t help but tease him.

“I told her I would not be back for supper. At worst, she’ll send Jeonghan as my scout.”

“Do you think he could keep his mouth shut if he saw us together?”

Seokmin titled his head back with laughter, and you could see his perfect rows of teeth. “I have little certainty,” he admitted, “but Jeonghan would keep a secret if I forced him to.”

“That is reassuring to hear.” You replied with a smirk.

It was best to give the kingdom ample time to recover after the displeasing news of Seokmin’s cancelled marriage with Adelaide rapidly spread. She was supposed to be his first choice, his destiny as the King and Queen preached with every ounce of their souls. Furthermore, the royal family would definitely not be mirthful to discover that Seokmin had rejected Adelaide because his heart beat for a childhood crush from the lower village. That was unheard of, unfathomable, and rather unorthodox, which caused you and Seokmin to keep your relationship a secret.

At times there was pressure, there was great difficulty and frustration, but neither you or him could keep away from each other. You didn’t have to be married, or live in his sumptuous castle where everything was either expensive silk or encrusted with some sort of precious gem. It was quite simple: you just wanted to be with him – the environment wasn’t important. When you began seeing each other, you realized that on the summer day of your childhood where the Prince had humiliated you was a shtick orchestrated by his friends.

In actuality, Seokmin always had a crush on you, though at the time, the tender strings of his heart were easily pulled by them, and what could have been the start of a relationship ended up in years of bickering, unnecessary hatred, and repressed emotion. Cupping a hand against Seokmin’s damp cheek, you leaned in to kiss him softly. You smiled against his mouth upon feeling his hands squeeze your thighs.

“Can I give you something?” You then asked in a quiet voice.

The Prince nodded, allowing your feet to touch the pebbles again.

“Of course, angel.” He complied.

Together, you left the river. Whilst Seokmin started petting Apple’s shimmering coat, you picked up the dress on the forest floor and reached into one of its pockets, brushing the beaded chain with your fingers. When Seokmin turned around and saw you holding a necklace, his eyes lit up in a marvelous fashion and an endearing smile beamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was the beech wood necklace, in which you had carved a small firefly in order to complete the pendant.

“I carved this from a piece of wood I discovered outside your castle, on the day Chan and I had to cook for the pages. At first, I had no idea what to make of it, but then I decided on a firefly.”

Seokmin admired the pendant up close. It felt wonderful to see him examining it with such an appreciative light in his gaze. The Prince connected the chain around his neck, to which the wooden oval sat between his prominent collarbone.

“I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.”

Suddenly, the boy’s hands were atop your hips. He pulled you in close against his body, still gleaming with water droplets, and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. You could sense just how much ardour and warmth was laced into the contact, and a dense heat scattered beneath your cheeks. He tasted like the sugar powder and strawberries you ate before visiting the river.

“It’s beautiful.” Seokmin whispered.

He pecked your mouth again sweetly whilst you felt a gentle breeze blow throughout the forest, causing the tiny hairs on your damp skin to stand sharp. You cozied yourself closer into Seokmin’s chest, smiling like a foolish romantic at his words.

“Thank you, my love. I will hold onto it forever.”

✧✎ a/n: okay when i started writing this i THOUGHT it was going to be so short, like at most 4-6k, but then i was at the 6k mark, only halfway done, and i realized it was going to be another ‘wish’ situation lol. i’ve never written a royalty!au before so i felt like i was reaching into the dark a little bit jsefhwef but i hope it was still pleasant! as always i treasure all ur guys feedback so pls don’t hesitate to leave ur th0ts!! i haven’t written for seok in ages and it felt super nice to give him a lengthy fic! contrary to nobody’s belief - this was not inspired by owl city lol.

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen seokmin #seokmin scenarios #lee seokmin #seokmin angst #seokmin fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt x reader #enemies to lovers

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finiteuniverse13 · 4 years ago

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home is people, not a place 2/?

Part 1

Summary: Clay gets attacked on base. DEVGRU finds an issue in that.

TW: Blood mention, physical assault, canon typical violence

Tag: @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @bravo-four-seal-team @velvetcardiganbucky @supervalcsi @abby-splace @itsonautopilot @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @mrsmarvelous1995 @jayhalsteadfan-2417

Lisa is pissed. She has every right to be. Clay had been attacked in the Bravo cages.

She’d watched the kid go from a strap who couldn’t stay in his own lane to an operator who could lead Bravo – and Tier One, for that matter – into the future. And then he’d been attacked in his team’s cages, in his own cage. Blackburn was still at the hospital – he’d found the kid in a pool of his own blood; Lisa wouldn’t blame him if it took an apocalypse to separate him from the kid – making sure that the kid got appropriate care.

She pushed open the door to Bravo’s briefing room, not that it actually had any members of Bravo in it. Alpha, Charlie and Delta were all there, waiting on her brief on the situation. Echo would have been there, if not for them being halfway through their first deployment as a team. There had been hesitation about deploying Echo – the loss of the last Echo line-up still sat heavily in the Tier’s mind.

The three team’s Master Chiefs and 2ICs had sat in Bravo’s usual chairs. Full Metal and Derek sat in Jason and Ray’s chairs, respectively. Beau and his second in command had taken Sonny and Trent’s, while TJ was sat in Brock’s. Delta Two had distinctively chosen not to sit in Clay’s seat, instead sitting in a chair usually used for either Cerberus or a support staff member, depending on the op.

(It was very funny to watch Brock and Clay push a wheely chair with Cerberus on it between the two of them, and they’d pretty much mastered the art of doing it in the last few months. Cerb had found that if he allowed it to happen, he’d get belly rubs and treats, so he was unbothered about it)

The other seats had a random assignment, seemingly first-come-first-serve. The ones unlucky enough to have not found seats stood tensely, arms crossed and grumbling under their breath to each other.

Nobody sat in Clay’s seat.

All 18 operators looked up when she walked in, attention snapping to the person with the most information. As she walked in, her gaze caught on the table space in front of Clay’s chair. Clay had left his book on the table. It’s about as thick as a brick, and Sonny would probably take a glance at it and tell Clay it was as dry as one. The embossed cover didn’t read English, and Lisa had a feeling that there would be very few, if any, people in the room able to read any part of the book.

She stood at the front and pushed her emotions down. These operators were here for information, not emotion.

“At 0145 this morning, 4 Green Team members entered Bravo’s Cage room. At 0157, they left, and returned to the Green Team barracks. 0204, Lieutenant Commander Blackburn entered the Bravo cages. He dialled 911 and was assisted by Alpha Four-”

She cuts herself off for a few seconds, as various operators slapped Jordan on the back, mumbled thanks spreading through the room as they reassured themselves that one of their own had helped their kid.

“Assisted by Alpha Four at 0207. Ambulance arrived at 0215. The Green Team members were apprehended by Alpha and Delta at 0248.”

She pauses again as a ripple of thanks goes through to room, Alpha and Delta thanking their Master Chiefs and each other and Charlie thanking both teams.

“Petty Officer Spenser was admitted to hospital at 0224, and was assessed as having a concussion, a broken nose and 5 bruised ribs.”

Alpha, Charlie and Delta’s medics all take note of this. They’re probably going to be on Clay’s ass for the next few months about this, right behind Trent.

“Bravo arrived at the Hospital at 0243. They are all with him. Hayes has asked that he is included in any appropriate punishments.”

Full Metal snorts. “Bet he didn’t word it like that”

A series of chuckles and grins echoes around the room. He did not word it like that. There was much more swearing, and much, much less formal language. He’d implied murder no less than 5 times.

Lisa allowed a smile to pass through the stony calm façade she had up.

“Command has delegated these appropriate punishments to be carried out within DEVGRU and have stressed the importance of leaving an impression on future graduates. This cannot be a recuring event.”

TJ pipes up first, almost before she’d finished talking. “I say we let Metal work his magic, make sure nobody finds them.”

This gets mixed responses, but Lisa isn’t surprised when none are wholly negative. They all had a younger brother in the form of Clay, and they had all trained for years in the art of killing their enemies as swiftly and efficiently as possible, and these candidates fell wholly and completely under the title of ‘Enemy’.

Metal gives a faux hopeful look to Lisa, and Lisa can tell that he’s not entirely dismissed the possibility, even as he does a terrible job at pretending to still consider it an option that Lisa could authorize. Lisa plays into the joke – god knows that Tier One needs some light in this disastrous day – and gives him the look mostly used for when Bravo (usually Sonny) suggests a stupid idea that shouldn’t had even crossed their minds. Blackburn jokingly referred to it as her “bad dog” look, and it worked for its purpose, making the operators put their tails between their legs. A few faces form smiles, and a few look to be wavering on the edge of smiling.

“No murder, and no death.”

This gets her grumbles, and not all of them are joking. Clay had gotten all of them out of sticky situations. Every operator in Tier One had a handful story where Clay had needed to be briefed on their op, and all of them had at least one where he’d taking calls at 2am to translate over a connection that he could barely hear English through. He’d never berated them for waking him up, and had often taken time to teach various operators key phrases, if he knew they were deploying somewhere where he knew the language.

Beau goes next, possibly the most level-headed of the Master Chiefs – both in the room and not. “Advanced SERE?”

Now this, Lisa can work with. Something about her posture must change, a twitch in her face, because the room suddenly erupts in sound. Charlie Two, Delta Five and Alpha Three all are in close enough range to clap Beau on the back, and they do so in quick succession.

“Gentlemen.” She raises her voice to be heard by the room. There’s nothing gentle about the looks on their faces.

“I’ll leave you to figure something out. Report to me with a plan of action.” And with that, she gives them a single nod and begins to leave. Her turned back does not block out the whispers of violence, but it does hide the vicious smile that’s stretched itself out along her face.

Nobody would even think about hurting their kid. Ever again.

As Clay blearily opened his eyes, he realised that he’d succumbed to pain-med-induced sleep. A few hours had probably passed since then, based on the fact that sunlight was now filling the room. Sonny was sat on his right side, gaze focused on the room’s TV screen, which was showing a play-by-play of a football game. The volume was cranked down, and even as Clay becomes more aware; he can only hear every other word.

“Son?” The word passes his lips without him meaning it to. Sonny’s head snaps over to Clay, so fast that Clay fears he may have given himself whiplash.

“Hey Bam Bam, how ya doin?” The toothpick moves hypnotically. Stop looking at the toothpick. Stop it. Stop it. Sonny’s casual expression is betrayed by the slight waver in his voice, a sliver of raw emotion that Sonny couldn’t fully supress. Clay gives him a strained smile in lieu of answering and reaches his hand out. Sonny catches the hand before it moves very far, holding it in a tight grip.

Sonny’s thumb absently runs across Clay’s unblemished because he hadn’t even been able to fight back knuckles, and his spare hand turns off the TV, leaving them in silence.

“Kid.” Clay’s eyes widen slightly, and he almost pulls his hand out of Sonny’s grip at the softly spoken word. He tries to get in the apology, the explanation, before Sonny can tell him that Jason is punishing him for being unaware.

“I should have being paying attention. I know I should have been paying attention, I was just so tired.” I’m sorry I’m so sorry don’t kick me out please

Sonny freezes. What?

“Clay. Stop. Stop-” he has to cut himself off before he says something that includes those really touchy-feely-emotions he’s feeling. Thankfully, Clay doesn’t take the pause as an opportunity to continue. “Stop trying to defend yourself. None of us blame you, Blondie. You were on base. You should have been protected. We won’t fail you again.” Sonny gives him facts, because he knows that if he tries to do anything else he’ll make it worse.

“Son?” Clay recalls a voice calling through the dark, through the black water he was floating in, a voice he’d recognised; “Did Blackburn find me? He- he had blood on his hands”

For a moment, Sonny curses Clay’s blessings as a sniper. He’d always been able to notice the little things, the things none of them would notice. “Yeah, he was checking that none of us were sleeping in the cages.”

Clay nods, and then his brows furrow. He breaks eye contact with Sonny and frowns in the genal direction of his feet. His face makes what Sonny calls his ‘Brainiac’ Face, and Sonny can only assume that he’s thinking about what happened with Blackburn, not rationalizing with himself that the beating was somehow his fault.

“Son, can I talk to him?” Sonny doesn’t want to think about whatever that conversation is going to be, so he nods and begins to gather his stuff. His cap is hanging precariously from one on the bed’s corners, his phone on the bedside table. He stands and ruffles Clay’s head, laughing despite the stink-eye he gets for it. Clay doesn’t mind it, and he has the feeling the next few weeks, if not months, are going to be filled with various forms of physical contact to reassure his teammates that he was still with them.

And now he’d asked Sonny to get Blackburn. God what do you even say to the guy who had found you beaten? ‘Hey Boss, I’m sure that what you saw was horrifying, but I’m alright now?’ God help him. Sonny hadn’t given him a weird look, so he’d probably been expecting Clay to ask at some point.

Clay’s train of thought is interrupted when a soft knock sounds on the door. There’s a second of pause before the door opens. Clay can’t think of a time when Blackburn’s looked worse. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a vaguely haunted look in his eyes. His eyes have a red tinge, and Clay can’t tell if that’s from sleep deprivation, or something else. His hands are rubbed red and raw, and Clay can tell that Blackburn had taken extra care to get every fleck of blood off his hands. He’s in a jacket that looks too big for him, and Clay suspects that Trent had a hand in that. Since the injured person – Clay – wasn’t someone he could immediately care for, Trent had gone for the next best thing, a shaken Blackburn. Under the jacket, he’s still in his fatigues, and by the time he’s finished the assessment of Blackburn’s top half, he’d moved close and sat down, hiding everything below his waist from Clay’s view.

Blackburn reaches out, putting a palm on Clay’s forearm, Clay’s hand mirrors it on Blackburn’s arm, and tension bleeds from Blackburn’s figure. His shoulders slump slightly, and he leans forward.

“How are you feeling?”

Clay considers lying, considers saying that he’s not in any pain, considers easing Blackburn’s mind. He decides against it. Blackburn had found him in a pool of blood, it’s the least he can do to tell him the truth. “My ribs hurt. But I’m, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you were there.”

Clay is the sometimes literally bleeding heart of Bravo, levelling out Sonny’s emotional constipation, and the admission is the balm of some of the burns on Eric’s soul. Eric leaned forwards, shuffling closer to the bed, trying to hide the blood on his knees. He hadn’t been home to change, a call to his wife at 8am had told her that he wasn’t going to be home for a while. She, like the amazing wife she was, had been understanding, and then grumbled at him to let her sleep. They’d both laughed and exchanged ‘I love you’s before his wife ended the call. Clay didn’t need the stress of knowing that Eric had knelt in his blood. Nobody needs that.

“Gave me quite a scare, gave all of us quite a scare.” Eric doesn’t tell him that he’d spent the last half hour scrubbing his hands raw, that Jason had needed to strong-arm him into the waiting room, that Trent had given him one look and offered up his jacket, that he’d had his head in his hands until Sonny had come into the room and told him that Clay wanted to talk to him. Doesn’t tell him that he’d stood outside for nearly a minute before he’d knocked, that he’d needed to barrel in before he lost the nerve to speak to his operator. He usually prides himself on staying calm, on being collected, but Clay had been attacked in one of the few places on earth that he could honestly and without reservation call home. That scared Eric. If he couldn’t keep his operators safe on base, where would they be safe?

“Davis is talking to command about adding locks to the cage room doors, make sure this doesn’t happen again.” If she wasn’t already talking to command about it, she would be soon.

Clay nods. He shifts and grimaces in pain.

“Do you want me to get a nurse?” It’s a safe question, one that doesn’t involve the emotions in the room.

Clay ignores the lifeline. “I’m alright as I am. Did you get the guys?”

Eric nods. Breaking the news to Bravo had been the highlight of his morning. “Command is letting DEVGRU work out how to punish them.”

Clay grins. “I bet Metal is having fun with that.”

It’s Eric’s turn to smile, and a soft chuckle makes its way out. “Davis is under strict orders to not accept a plan that involves murder. I’m sure Alpha’s disagreeing with that.”

Alpha was most likely to deploy with Bravo, and all were in line with their Master Chief’s ‘Bury-first-questions-second’ policy when it came to Clay. Eric had a feeling it wouldn’t take much convincing to get Delta and Echo behind the plan, and that Charlie would only argue on principle.

Tier One was a brotherhood that didn’t take kindly to injury, as the world would learn.

Echo One – Zack Greer – a newly promoted Delta Two, wasn’t a very outgoing man. One and Twos were meant to both complement and contrast each other, a precarious balancing act honed over years of living out of each other’s pockets. TJ had needed a level head, so his Two was calm in the face of crisis.

Echo Two, on the other hand. A Floridian man, Elliot Howe, promoted from Charlie Three, who was under strict orders to never drink unsupervised with Sonny Quinn, lest they empty a bar and then burn said bar to the ground. He’d chaffed under Beau’s tight ship, so when the opportunity to move to form Echo had arisen, he was hard pushed to say no.

Together with Echo Three (Alpha Three), Echo Four (Delta Six) and two Green Team graduates as their Five and Six, they’d created a tight brotherhood.

Echo Five, Dan Wilder, a multilingual K9 handler, had initially been lost at DEVGRU, not quite fitting in. He’d reached out to the youngest operator – Bravo Six – in order to get some advice. What he didn’t know at the time is that their languages had overlap. Together with Clay and Ares – his K9 – he’d been able to find someone to practice with.

Echo had long since lost count of how many times Clay had come into their cage room, with a well-loved book, offering it to Dan with a brief explanation of how it would interest him. The book was never in English, and neither was the explanation. For all they knew, Clay could have spent the last few months giving Dan anything from Harry Potter to The Anarchist’s Cookbook (he’d actually only given Dan one of those, and Dan was under strict instructions not to tell them which, and Dan had been recommending others back).

Sonny, on the days when they were hanging out after work, sometimes tagged along to these exchanges. He’d joked about a book club, and Echo Two had picked up on the joke immediately, and since then the pair had resigned themselves to the nickname.

Between Clay’s frequent interactions with Dan and the fact that all of DEVGRU was deadly protective of Clay, it was no surprise that when Echo had heard the news, they hadn’t been happy. Command had fought a battle with Echo to keep them deployed, and Echo had nearly won. Dan had been on many rants, talking to empty space in Pashto – Four only caught a few words, and those were all along the lines of murder and death. Ares was giving out a low, constant growl. Both of the DEVGRU K9s were as protective as their owners, it seemed.

The door to their dorms slammed open and Zack marched in. Echo looks up in sync, and if it weren’t so serious, Zack would be amused by how much his men look like Meerkats. “Got word from Virginia.” This sets his men on edge, Howe half-steps forward, and his shoulders visibly tense up. “They found the green team rookies. We’ve been asked to approve the plan of their punishment before it gets sent to be approved by command.” Malicious smiles break out among the barracks.

They may be 7000 miles away, but they wouldn’t let anybody off the hook because of it.

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radioactivepeasant · 3 years ago

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Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Been playing a lot of Monster Hunter Stories lately, so I'm dipping back into my bnha Monster Hunter au where All Might inadvertently ends up fostering Izuku after he gets separated from his mother during a storm. (Inko has all the big adventures in that au: meeting Rei Todoroki, accidentally starting a Palico rebellion, smuggling Rei and her four children out of the city of Endeavor, etc. Meanwhile All Might just tries his best to find her based solely off a kindergartner's description lol)

Toshinori stepped into the public stables and scanned the stalls. Most of them were occupied by Aptonoths and Velocidromes, cooped up for the night on the carnivore and herbivore sides of the barn. A grouchy Yian Kut-Ku glared at him as he passed, then tucked its head back beneath its wing as if deciding that the tall human wasn't worth bothering about.

In the stalls used by Riders without their own stables, diurnal monsties slept. Night patrols were usually taken with the Nargacuga native to the hilly region between Septimus Reach and Hakum Village, or the occasional Rathalos. Most Riders in the village preferred smaller and more manageable mounts, especially given the sheer amount of food a full grown Rathalos needed in one day alone, so there were really only two other Raths in the public stables. One ancient Rathalos named Red who spent his days sleeping, and a newly hatched Rathian that had bonded with one of the Rider trainees. Both of them were out, suggesting that they were training or flying with their Riders at the moment.

Toshinori stopped in front of a wide stall, filled with mossy stones and odd crystal growths. He smirked and checked the tag on the stall door. As he'd thought, this was Midnight's stall. If Midnight was here, that meant her Rider, Nemuri, wasn't on any missions at the moment.

One of the mossy boulders rose, and a pair of confused yellow eyes blinked at Toshinori slowly. Then, with a rumbling crash, the ground heaved and the disparate boulders revealed themselves to all be part of the same animal. The Ruby Basarios shook hay from it's back and yawned.

"Hey there, Midnight." Toshinori patted the wyvern's jaw. "You feel up for some exercise? Because I'm going to ask your Rider if she wants to help me on a mission."

Midnight blinked owlishly at him. Well, she never did pay much attention to anyone who wasn't Nemuri.

Nemuri Kayama was a younger Rider than Toshinori, but she already had a reputation for her "one monstie only" style. She loved her Ruby Basarios, and had used her old, shed carapaces to make an armor that could emit a kind of sleep gas when struck or burned. Nemuri used that feature liberally.

Toshinori found her in the canteen, looking bored out of her mind. He waited until she noticed him, then sat down next to her.

"Hey, Yagi." Midnight sipped from a clay bottle and raised her brows. "I thought you were on baby patrol or something."

Toshinori made a sheepish face and shrugged. "Ah. Yeah, no, the kid is having a sleepover with the Kirishima family tonight so I can work."

"You think you'll ever find his mom?"

That was a difficult question. Toshinori folded his hands and looked down. "I think so, yes, but...I'm just not sure how long it will take in the end."

Nemuri nodded, then set down the bottle. She leaned an elbow on the table and eyed Toshinori shrewdly. "So what sort of job has you leaving after sundown?"

Toshinori nodded in the direction of the valley. "Next hollow over, word is there's a Seregios attacking travelers on the borders of the Whistill Forest. The chief of Hakum asked that the Seregios be captured alive if possible."

He glanced back and met the younger Rider's eyes. "I thought you and Midnight might be interested in helping subdue the monster for study and relocation."

Nemuri's eyes glittered. "I want three Impaler scales as payment."

A bit of a hard bargain, but Toshinori would take it. He reached out to shake Nemuri's hand. "Deal. Let me check on little Midoriya, and saddle Regent, and I'll meet you on the slopes in an hour."

He hoped the Seregios would be alone. Two of them sounded like a lot to handle, even for a Rathalos and a Basarios.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #bnha #my hero academia #bnha au #free day thursday #monster hunter series #monster hunter stories #monster hunter au #ruby Basarios #rathalos #kayama nemuri #toshinori yagi #Nemuri's monster uses her hero name #Toshinori doesn't have a dragon named All Might until after his big injury tho #dadmight

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bravo-four-seal-team · 4 years ago

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One Unit, One Life.

Co-Written Series with @disasterfandoms

Tags: @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @mrsmarvelous1995 @disasterfandoms @jasonbabymama @velvetcardiganbucky @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @thelovelyleo23 @itsonautopilot @supervalcsi@abby-splace @theysayitscrazy

Part Two

Trigger Warning: Injuries, swearing, blood, attacks.

It's never easy, war is never easy. But yet here they were, after an HVT known for selling weapons. The op was aided by Marines, which allowed more cover, only thing Trent and Metal both had an issue with? Ashley had failed to mention it was the unit she worked with, helping them. While she was level-headed in the field, cracking jokes, making smartass comments at people, Trent never wanted to have to treat her for an injury. Things went south quickly though, from no combatants to multiple coming from all sides, Marine Unit firing back, providing the SEALs time to get what they needed. Ammo began running low, Trent patched up Clay the best he could.

"Grenade!" Clay shouted diving to the ground, knocking Trent down with him, Ashley didn't think, she just reacted, throwing herself at the device, taking the majority of the blast.

“HAVOC it’s gone! Goat Rope out here!” Ray called over the comms, firing soon ceased, they weren’t sure if it was because the enemies were reloading.

Trent hadn't registered who it was, after a few blasts, from other grenades thrown, things calmed and fell silent, teams shouting for a sound off, Metal moving towards Trent and Clay “Shoulder is out of place” Clay informed Metal, who frowned “Pop it back in” Trent hissed, looking around, Metal and Clay shared a look, but did so, other people were checking on each other when he noticed the Marine Medic just standing “Clarkes! Move your ass and help!” he yelled but he didn’t get a response.

“Sitrep!” Jason called out, as people reported how much ammo they had left. “Man down!” Clay shouted, moving to where the marine lay. Clay had moved towards the form, carefully checking for a pulse "Got a pulse but it's weak!" he called out, then rolled them on their back, sucking in a breath "Oh fuck" he muttered seeing the injuries, Trent frowned "Come on, open your eyes" he muttered snapping the smelling salt to activate it, holding it under her nose “Clay gonna need you to be my hands!” Trent stated, still not receiving a response from the injured, as the younger man moved forward, taking Trent's medical bag.

“Clarkes! Hey! You need to get to work!” someone shouted at the Marine medic who remained to stare unmoving from his spot, he never moved, it was like he had decided to bail out of his own body. Bravos medic glared at him, then his gaze, focusing on instructing Clay on what to do.

"How bad" Gunnery Sergeant Cole asked.

"Gonna need a CASEVAC." Trent states.

"Oh fuck" came from Metal, Alphas master chief staring at the bloodied form "pass me the bag of O neg, it's a universal donor," Clay muttered.

"Bravo 4, I'd prefer our medic to work on my guy" Cole said.

"Not happening, he hasn’t reacted, Clay, give her the blood, shit, apply pressure to the wound at her neck and pack it” he stated.

“Gunnery Sergeant Cole, I’ve alerted base to our situation, but... the last er last time something happened she didn’t have next of kin listed” One of the rookies whispered "I'm aware of that private” the tut that came from Trent as he worked went unnoticed.

"Trent," Jason said "CASEVAC is 5 mikes out," he said about to continue speaking when Trent spoke up "Not fast enough, she's bleeding internally and externally, sounds like she has a collapsed lung on the left side, pupils are active but respond sluggishly"

"Head trauma?" Jason asked

"Possibly, can’t remove her helmet, too risky"

It was hell, multiple wounds needing packed, it came down to him to keep her alive “The hell was she thinking doing that” Ray asked from his watchpoint, Clay snorted “She probably wasn’t Marines are paid to act not think” Sonny muttered, Clay focusing on getting a saline line running.

“Shut up” Trent snapped “If all you are going to do is complain go somewhere else, this isn’t the time for jokes” he muttered, using the scissors to cutting the material away from her side “Fuck, Clay, focus here” he muttered. The left side was coated in blood, it wouldn’t stop flowing, the lower abdomen was torn up from the blast she took. “Pack the wound and prepare for CASEVAC.” Trent said to Clay, who moved round to do so.

“Trent, she’s stopped breathing”

“You need to intubate”

“Craig, what do you think?” Cole asked, pulling the medic to the side, “You think she’s gonna make it?”

“Quite frankly. No. She might survive to base, but the injuries? What is he trying to treat? They aren’t gonna be ones to bounce back from” he said, looking back over, watching as Trent tried to stop the bleeding. “Why are you asking him?! He doesn’t know jackshit, he’s just stood there, don’t even think about taking over, she’s my patient” Trent warned.

“Can’t get it in” Clay said, “Trent, gonna need you to intubate” he stated, handing over the equipment to their medic, who moved quickly, being careful, watching what he did, soon “I’m in” was heard “I’ll start bagging” Trent stated, moving to do his job “No pulse” he told Clay who moved quickly “beginning compressions” he informed them.

“Havoc this is Bravo 2,” Ray said “Good Copy Bravo 2” Blackburn responded as Ray filled in TOC on the situation to relay to the casevac, as he helped Trent “Trent, I got it, for now, take a second,” their 2nd in command said.

“Can’t, I have experience with these types of wounds, she’s gonna need me” Trent said, blood coating the glove as he held pressure on the neck wound. “CASEVAC inbound” Sonny called from his spot.

From that moment forward everything moved quickly, both Jason and Metal ordering Trent to go with Ashley and be checked out, then it became a matter of counting minutes, watching the medics work on his sister, he had to focus, keep calm, he needed to shut down any panic or thoughts, right now, in front of him was just another sailor. Who needed to survive.

The second they landed on base, everything just went fast, he never saw where they took her. He was checked over, then sent to quarters, by the time sunrise came, the team was back with mission success.

“Trent” Metal said, as he approached, looking at him, Trent knew what he wanted to know “They flew her out, they can’t treat the wounds here, they’ve sent her back stateside...I called Amelia to let her know what happened” Metal nodded listening to Trent, other members of Bravo approaching, followed by the Unit Ashley worked with, Trent got up, moving forwards grabbing their team medic “The hell were you thinking!?” he snapped “Freezing like that, it kills people!”

"Now hang on!" Clarke snapped, shoving Trent's hands off his tactical vest "You shouldn't have been Messing with the injured! They are my responsibility!" he growled, both SEALs and Marines coming to a stop and turning to watch the two.

"You would have killed them! The fuck is the matter with you!?"

"You're a SEAL, your priority is dealing with injuries on your team! Mine is to deal with those who will survive! You were working on someone who won't survive!" It wasn’t a secret that Cole and Clarkes disliked having any woman on their team, so finding an excuse to get them moved was always a go-to, or they would class them as their property, depending on how the females of the team were.

"Are you stupid?! Your teammate would have died if I had waited on you to work! You're a piss poor excuse of a medic! You work on anyone no matter what team they are on!" Trent stated, Sonny and Clay grabbing Trent and pulling him back.

"Bravo Four, get yourself under control" Cole snapped, the look Jason shot at him would be enough to stop anyone saying a word, but Cole didn't care as he continued "I don't see what your issue is about how my men acted. Or why you're pissed at Clarke. He's already said she won't survive"

"Not like she has a family" Another person laughed, as they headed off to put their gear away. Missing the look Metal and Trent gave them.

"Trent, go cool off" Jason ordered, watching their medic walk away. The rest of Bravo stood watching, not sure how to react. They still had two days before they could fly out home.

Metal frowned “I would let him continue to chew him out” he stated, following the others to the equipment room “Can you believe they would just let her die there?” Clay said, frowning “the hell kind of people are they to do that”

Metal was sorting out his equipment “Gonna need to report it, can’t have someone like him out there with us if he's gonna freeze” he stated, Ray nodding “I agree, we’ll say to Blackburn”

It wasn’t long before everyone was going to either get food, get drinks or go get some sleep, Trent was sending messages to Amelia to let her know everyone was back unharmed. But to keep them updated on Ashley when she got brought in.

---

Stateside, Location: St Samuels Hospital

Nurses were rushing to help doctors prepare for the incoming injured Marine.

The O.R being alerted, specialists being filled in about the condition of the patient.

The plane was 4 hours out, medics in the air alerting them to any changes when Amelia came in.

"Nurse Carter, I don't recommend you being here" one of the doctors stated, the people who worked with Amelia knew Trent, Metal, and Ashley, the minute they had got the name they didn't want their friend/colleague to be there.

"Not going anywhere," Amelia said.

No one sat still, which made the time pass a little quicker. Doors opening and a gurney being pushed through, someone was shouting out the patient's status. Ashley still hadn’t regained consciousness. “Patients name is Ashley Sawyer, age 29, injuries to the left side, possible head injury, has yet to regain consciousness, allergic to morphine and co-codamol, blood type is O+” the medics informed the Doctors and nurses who would be taking over care. “Heart stopped for a minute, in field, intubation was in field” Amelia watched as her friend, was wheeled through the double doors, she was to close to this one to work and help, but she would be there until Ashley woke up.

----

“Gentlemen, get some shut-eye, we’re in the process of getting tomorrow's mission greenlit” Blackburn informed Bravo “Best to rest up now. Trent, a word,” he says, as others move off to go sleep, Jason and Ray looking back at their teammate, seeing Metal hanging back to wait on Trent.

“We got word that the Marine you treated has arrived stateside” Blackburn informs.

“Thanks for letting me know” Trent sighed, Blackburn raised an eyebrow “doesn’t take a genius to figure out that marine is related to you,” he stated before leaving.

#Jason Hayes #Trent Sawyer #Ray Perry #Sonny Quinn #scott full metal carter #clay spenser #brock reynolds #Seal Team #eric blackburn #OC: Ashley Sawyer #OC: Amelia Carter #TW: injury #tw: swearing #tw: blood #tw: explosions #No Beta we die like men. Lol.#ao3 series

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grlwtskulltattoo · 4 years ago

Text

Fall For You - Chapter 3

Characters - Jax Teller x OFC (Katrina)

Summary - Katrina leaves an abuse relationship and heads home after finding out about her father’s passing. Old feelings come back to the surface for a person from her past. Story will follow the events of the show as much as possible. How might have Jax’s story changed with a different woman in his life...

Word Count - 3892

Warnings - NSFW, Hardcore Smut, Violence, Angst, Adult Language, Dark Themes, Fluff, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Accident, Mentions of Physical and Emotional Abuse, Self-Harm.

Will add to the warnings as the story progresses. Warnings cover the whole series. Some parts will be more mild than others.

A/N - Feedback is welcomed and encouraged, and may help motivate me to continue. All mistakes are my own. If you would like to be tagged in future parts, please send me an ask to be added to the list. Sorry it took so long to update this story. Had a lot of changes going on in my personal life that I had to focus my energy on. This story is still on my mind, and I plan to continue working on it....just might take me a bit.

Katrina wakes up early. Not that she got much sleep, tossing and turning throughout most of the night. The dread of attending her father’s funeral and the get together with the club afterwards weighing heavily on her. She showers then dresses in her nicest pair of black jeans. She throws on a black tank top and covers it with a black button down shirt. Her black riding boots finishes the ensemble. Katrina doesn't own any dresses, not that she would wear one anyway. She combs out her dark hair, then tries to style it into a half ponytail, hoping that her work doesn't get ruined by her helmet when she leaves. She then applies her makeup, paying special attention to the bruise that is slowly starting to fade from around her eye.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand in her room, Katrina hurries to finish getting ready. The service is only a couple hours from now, and she wanted to stop by the funeral home before going to the cemetery. She’s hoping to have a few moments alone with her father before his body is moved to the cemetery. There were no plans for a viewing do to the severity of the accident, just a graveside service. Katrina puts on her leather jacket and grabs her small backpack before heading out the door.

She makes a quick stop at the gas station before heading to the funeral home. She parks her bike, then she takes a deep breath before walking inside. It smells strongly of flowers, no doubt to mask the scent of death. There is an eerie silence to the place, that is a bit unsettling to her. She vaguely remembers being here when her mom passed, however she wasn't alone that time. After a few moments of standing in the lobby, a man finally approaches her. He’s dressed in a black suit and tie and is nicely groomed.

“Hi there. How may I assist you?” He asks in a calm, soothing voice.

“I’m Katrina Morgan. I came to see my father, Daniel.” Katrina tries to keep the hesitation out of her voice. It takes everything in her not to bolt for the door. Deep down she knows if she doesn't take this opportunity she may regret it.

“Ahh, yes. Of course. Let me show you to him.” The man replies as he motions for her to follow him. He leads her to a small room with a closed coffin. There are a couple rows of chairs in the room. “Take as much time as you need.” He says softly before leaving the room and partially closing the door.

Katrina stands in the middle of the room, fighting the urge to turn around and leave. She takes a deep breath then approaches the coffin. Before placing her backpack on one of the chairs, she pulls out the eagle feather she found in the toolbox. Katrina stands in front of the white coffin twirling the feather in her hand. Even though she doesn’t know much about her culture, since her father refused to talk about it, she can’t help but feel there is some kind of importance to the feather. She wants him to have it with him despite her feelings towards him. Katrina carefully opens the lid to the coffin, taken aback by the sight of her father’s lifeless body laying there. The injuries from the accident were evident on his face, but at least he had been cleaned up. His hair was long, and not in its usual ponytail. He was dressed in a nice button down shirt and from what she could tell, some dark colored jeans. She carefully lifted his right hand that was laying on his stomach and placed the feather underneath. She whispers goodbye to him before slowly closing the lid.

Katrina feels moisture gathering in her eyes as she sits in one of the chairs. There is that sense of relief that he’s gone, and he can no longer hurt her with his hands or his words. But there is also a sadness she feels, for what could have been. For the relationship they could have had, had he not turned to alcohol and drugs to console himself after her mom had passed. She remembers the evenings when he came home from work, how they would go out to the garage to tinker with the Challenger while mom prepared dinner. He taught her how to change the alternator and the water pump in the classic car. How to change a tire and do an an oil change. He was so excited to get the old car running again and possibly put it in some classic car shows.

All of that changed after her mom was gone. As soon as he got home he would lay into her about how she was worthless. No better than a piece of garbage. How he couldn't wait until she was no longer his problem. Katrina lightly rubbed her thumb over a small row of scars near her wrist. Hidden by the skeleton torso tattoo that now covered them. The pain of her father’s words when she was younger, caused her to seek out some kind of relief. Unfortunately that relief came in the form of causing herself physical pain. She avoided home as much as possible when she was a teenager, hanging out with Jax and Opie as late as possible, then trying to sneak into the house without her father noticing. That usually wasn't a problem, since he was typically passed out on the couch. On the rare occasion that he wasn’t passed out, she tried her best to stay out of his way. She lost count on how many times he called her a slut or a whore, when she would come home late from hanging out with the guys. God forbid she got in between him and his access to liquor, or she didn't grab him another beer fast enough. She ended up having to wear long sleeve shirts and long pants year round, to hide the bruises that peppered her arms and legs from him kicking her or hitting her. It’s amazing how much a person can change when they loose something that means the world to them.

Katrina sat there in silence, her heart heavy with all the emotions running through it. She didn’t hear Jax enter the room, and was a little startled when he lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, is everything ok,” He looked at her with concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say my goodbyes before he was moved.” Katrina quickly brushes the tears from her face.

“Do you need more time?” Jax softly asks.

“No, I’m good.” Katrina is ready to get this over with. She’s shed enough tears.

“Ok. They’re going to get him in the hearse to take to the cemetery. Do you want to ride with mom over there?’ Jax asks.

“I can ride my bike. I’ll be fine.” Katrina doesn't like the idea of not having an escape, if she needs it.

“Are you sure? It’s no problem, Gemma would be happy to take you over. I can bring you back here to pick up your bike afterwards.” Jax still has that look of concern in his face.

Katrina knows she’s being stubborn, and she appreciates the offer, but she isn’t going to budge. “ No, really, I’m fine. I want to ride.”

Jax sighs in defeat. “Ok. Do you want to ride up front? Clay was going to lead the procession.”

“That’s fine, he can lead. I can ride behind the club.” She really didn’t want to be in the lead. She didn’t want to be the center of attention.

“Let’s get our bikes ready.” Jax leads Katrina out of the room. She follows him outside, breathing in the fresh air, the bright sun nearly blinding her.

Katrina puts a funeral sign on the front of her bike, like everyone else had. She then fires up her bike and gets in line behind the club. Jax and Clay, along with a couple of the guys from the club head back inside. A few moments later she sees them come out a side entrance carrying her father’s coffin to the hearse. A flag draped over the top. She almost forgot that he had served for a brief time in the army during the Vietnam War, before being injured in combat and shipped back home. Another one of those things he never talked about. After the coffin is placed inside of the hearse, the guys get on their bikes, and all that is heard is the rumble of Harleys. Clay motions everyone to move out, with him and Jax leading the line.

The ride to the cemetery was fairly short. Katrina parked her bike next to the others, then removed her helmet. She watched as the same group of guys that put the coffin in the hearse removed it, carrying it over to the burial spot. She took a deep breath then walked over to the group that was gathering. Gemma approaches her and then draws her into an embrace.

“I know it’s hard baby, but we’re all here for you.” Gemma reassures her.

Katrina slowly backs out of the hug, and wipes the moisture from her eyes. “Thank you, Gemma.”

Gemma leads her to a row of chairs near the coffin and motions Katrina to sit, taking the seat next to her. Jax and Clay take the seats next to Gemma, and everyone else gathers near. A preacher starts speaking once everything settles down. Katrina wasn’t entirely sure her father would have approved, given they never went to church or even practiced any sort of religion. She couldn’t help but wish she knew more about her father’s people and their customs. Even though her father left his family, she was sure some of their traditions and beliefs were engrained in him. Hopefully he’ll find peace on the other side.

After what felt like an eternity, listening to words she wasn’t sure even she believed, the preacher finishes his speech. A couple of men she didn’t recognize started folding up the flag that laid on the coffin. Once they finished, one of the men placed the flag on her lap. She thanks them, before rising from her chair, and approaching the coffin. She picks up a rose from a pile on a nearby table, and gently places it on top of the coffin.

Katrina turns around and faces the group of people watching her, wanting to say something. “I want to thank you all of coming. It means a lot to me, and I’m sure him as well. My father led a troubled life after my mom’s passing. I can only hope that he’s able to find some peace, and they are both together now.”

Katrina could feel moisture gathering in her eyes again at the thought of her mom. She starts walking towards her bike, ready to close this chapter in her life. Once she gets to her bike she sits on the seat and watches everyone else put a flower on her father’s coffin before heading to their bikes or cars. After Jax finishes talking to a couple of his friends he starts walking towards her.

“Hey, are you ok?” The concern is evident on Jax’s face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s still weird to think that he’s gone.” Katrina tries to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“We’re all going to head over to mom’s. You’re still coming, right?” Jax asks.

Katrina really doesn’t want to. She’d rather go home and bury herself in some blankets, and maybe a bottle of Jack. But she also doesn't want to upset Gemma. It wouldn't be a good idea to get on her bad side, especially after all she did to help plan her father’s funeral. “Yes, of course. It’ll be nice to see everyone again.”

Jax gives her a reassuring pat on her arm, then heads to his bike. Katrina places the flag that she was holding in her small backpack. She then cinches on her helmet before starting her bike. She waits until some of the other guests leave before taking off herself. The ride to Gemma and Clay’s house brought back memories of times she went over there to hang out with Jax. Instead of being on the back of Jax’s bike, she was on her own.

When Katrina pulls up to the driveway of the house, there is already quite a few bikes parked. She parks her bike and then takes off her helmet. Hanging the helmet from her handlebars, she sits there for a moment. Contemplating whether she should go inside and hang out with everyone or tell Gemma she’s not feeling well so she can go home. Just as she dismounts from her bike, Jax pulls his bike next hers. She waits for him to get off his bike before she starts walking to the front door.

“Mom will be happy that you’re here….it’s been a long time.” Jax reassures her.

Katrina gives Jax a small smile to reassure him that she’s glad to be there, even though she’s really not. It takes everything in her to not turn around and go back to her bike. She tries to remind herself that it will be nice to see everyone.

As soon as they enter the house, it seems everyone rushes to her to offer condolences about her loss.

“Hey doll, sorry about your dad.” Tig gives her a hug and quick peck on the cheek, before standing back for the others to follow suit.

“Lass, if you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Chibs gives her an embrace as well.

“Thank you guys.” Katrina responds sincerely.

Bobby approaches her next. “Been a long time kid. The shop’s not going to be the same without your dad there running things.”

Katrina nods to Bobby in agreement, even though she was never around her dad when he worked at the shop. She tried to stay out of his way to avoid his wrath.

Off to the side Katrina spots Opie, standing with a woman, that looks vaguely familiar, and two kids. She didn’t realize how much she missed him until she felt the happiness in her heart at the site of him. Like Jax, Opie has changed since the last time she’s seen him. He was always a little bigger than Jax, but now he was like a bear. Quite a bit taller, and a little more broad in the chest. His hair is a little longer and he sports a full beard now. Katrina walks towards him, and Opie smiles at her when she gets close. Before she realizes it, he has her in a big bear hug, practically lifting her from the floor.

“Damn, I’ve missed you.” Opie whispers in her ear, as he squeezes her tight.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Katrina replies, savoring the feeling of her best friend hugging her.

Opie finally releases his hold on her, and takes a small step back. “I want to introduce you to my wife and kids.” Opie gestures to the woman. “This is my wife, Donna. You might remember her from school. And these are my kids Ellie and Kenny.” Opie gestures to the kids standing in front of their mother.

“It’s nice to meet you. Your dad and I were best friends when we were kids.” Katrina smiles at the kids and then Donna. “Thank you for coming to the funeral, it means a lot.” She glances at Opie, and he gives her a reassuring nod.

Everyone starts gathering in the dining room and taking seats at the long table. The food is already laid out. Katrina spots Gemma and Clay sitting at the head of the table. She approaches them while the everyone else is dishing up their food. “Clay. Gemma. I just want to thank you for everything you did for my father. The funeral was perfect.”

Clay stands up from his seat and draws Katrina into an embrace “Hey kid, no problem. You and Daniel are family, and we take care of family.” Clay smiles at Katrina while Gemma nods in agreement. “It’s good that you’re here.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be here.” Katrina smiles in return.

Katrina finds a seat towards the end of the long dining room table, between Chibs and a prospect she’s not familiar with. Jax is sitting across from his mom near the head of the table, far from her. She wasn’t very hungry so she doesn’t put very much food on her plate, even though it all looks good. Everyone is talking. She could hear bits and pieces of various conversations going on around her, most of which consist of stories about her father.

Everyone that spoke about her dad, referred to him as Chief. She almost forgot about that nickname. If she remembers correctly, it was Clay that started calling him that due to his Native American heritage. If it would have been anyone else, they probably would have ended up with a black eye. The nickname stuck and soon everyone around the shop and club started calling him that.

“Remember that tom cat that used to hang around the shop?” Bobby asks the group, which results in nods and smiles from most of the guys. “I remember this old lady came in driving a grandma car. An old Buick I think. She said the car was acting funny and making a weird sounds. Chief popped the hood and found a tom cat stuck in the engine bay. A tuff of fur missing from its tail and a skinned up ear. Chief pried it out of the engine and offered it to the old lady. She said it wasn’t her cat and she didn’t want it. So Chief let it loose out back of the shop and it ran off. Next thing you know, the cat was hanging around the shop. Chief was constantly yelling at it to piss off, but the cat still hung around. Then one day I saw Chief sitting out behind the shop eating his lunch, and giving pieces to the cat. Couldn’t help but get a chuckle out of it. At least one good thing was, we never had a mouse problem.” Bobby chuckles after telling his story.

Hearing that story brings up feelings of resentment and hurt in Katrina. The fact that her dad would show more caring towards an animal than his own daughter crushes her. Katrina can feel a knot starting in her throat and tears gathering in her eyes. She feels like she can’t breathe.

Katrina pushes out her chair away from the table “Excuse me, I need to get some air.” She says before rushing out the front door to the porch.

As soon as she is outside, she breathes in deep gulps of air trying to calm the emotions raging through her. She wants to smash her fist through a wall, instead she slams it against one of the wood beams holding up the awning of the porch. The momentary flash of pain in her hand distracts her from the pain she feels in her heart. She flexes her fingers and shakes her hand, before reaching into her pocket to grab her pack of cigarettes. She hasn’t smoked in a long time, but she knew its calming effects would help her manage this stressful time. She pulls a cigarette from the pack, puts it to her lips and lights it using the lighter she bought at the gas station when she got the pack. She inhales the smoke deeply then slowly releases it from her lungs. The racing of her heart gradually slows as the nicotine works its magic. She takes another drag off the cigarette, focusing on the gathering ash at the tip of it before she flicks it off. Katrina sits down on the steps of the front porch. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sounds around her. Birds chirping, bees buzzing, the rustle of the breeze through the trees. She is so focused on everything else around her that it takes her a moment to realize that she’s not alone. She opens her eyes and looks up to see Jax standing beside her.

“Are you doing ok?” Jax asks, the concern evident in his voice.

“Sorry, it was hard hearing the stories about my father, I needed to get some fresh air. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.” Katrina responds, thinking that at least it wasn’t a complete lie. She then takes another drag off her cigarette.

Jax lights a smoke of his own then joins her on the step. “We’re here for you Kat. Anything you need, just ask. I remember when I lost my father. It was rough for awhile.”

Katrina remembers Jax’s father, John. He was a good man, who loved his family. Jax was devastated when he passed away. She remembers being there for Jax while he grieved the loss. Helping him through the anger and tears. She knows that’s what Jax is trying to do for her now, but she doesn’t need it. Or want it. She worries that it’ll bring them closer together, and she just wants a clean break from everything in Charming.

Katrina takes one final drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the cement. She stands up, trying to convince herself to go back inside, but she’s tired. She really doesn’t want to listen to anymore stories about how great her dad was to everyone else in his life. “Hey, I think I’m just going to head home now. I’m not feeling well.”

Jax rises from the step he was sitting on. “Are you sure?”

Katrina can hear the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep well last night, and all of this is a bit overwhelming.” She can feel how emotionally and physically draining this day has been. She wants to process this in her own way, without everyone watching her. “Please tell Gemma thanks for everything, and I’m sorry for leaving so quickly. The food was delicious, and it was great seeing everyone again.”

Jax nods his understanding, even though he wants to beg her to stay. He takes her in his embrace. “I’m here for you.” He says softly in her ear.

Katrina gives him a light squeeze, before breaking the hug. “Thank you Jax. I appreciate it.” She says while looking into his eyes. She gives him a light kiss on the cheek, before walking down the path to where the bikes are parked. She gets on her bike, places her backpack over her shoulders and puts on her helmet. She backs out of the driveway then takes off towards home, thankful she can finally breathe.

Jax heads back inside to the dinner. Gemma give him a confused look, after seeing that Katrina isn’t with him. Jax just shrugs his shoulders, and Gemma nods her understanding. Jax takes his seat and finishes his meal, while listening to everyone else talk. He can’t get Katrina off his mind, it takes everything in him not to take off after her. However, he understands the need to process grief in your own way.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Tagging: @momc95 @jerseynurse82

#redwood original #reaper crew #samcro #soa #soa fanfiction #soa imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller imagine #jax teller smut #gemma teller #happy lowman #chibs telford #opie winston #jax teller x oc

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years ago

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Broken Crown || Finan x OC || Chapter 6

Summary : Since the day he has been enslaved, Finan never thought that he would have to face his origins. But when an old friend made his arrival to Wessex, the Irishman his forced to deal with his past.

Other chapters

English isn’t my first language, if you see any mistakes, tell me :)

Warning : None

06 || COCCHAM

The rode to Coccham was calm and Ailis thanked God for that. Just like Uhtred told her, it took them a day and half to arrive. They had stopped just before dawn to prepare a camp for the night. The four men were of good company around the fire. They spend most of the evening telling old stories about each of their beliefs. Ailis quickly understood that the purpose of this was to scare the one nicknamed “Baby Monk”. He had maintained that he wasn’t afraid, but the Irishwoman noticed him blench few times when noises were to be heard further in the wood.

Midday had passed when Ailis perceived the wooden walls of Coccham. Indeed, it wasn’t as big as Winchester, but it seemed pleasant. When they arrived, a small amount of people gathered near the gates, greeting the warriors’ return. The group dismounted their horses and walked to the stables. As she was unsealing her mare, Ailis’ attention was caught by Finan.

He was talking to a woman with a long ginger hair, a little lighter than Ailis’ one. She had a big smile as she spoke to the Irishman. Near them, there was a little boy, no more than ten, with a thick brown hair. Finan ruffled it, laughing at something the woman said.

“She’s not his wife.” She jumped when she heard the voice of Uhtred behind her. She turned to him, noting the amused smirk of the Lord. “And he’s not his son.”

“I was not…” She tried to protest, but she cut herself. It would be a lie to say that she didn’t think them to be his family. She shook her head and posed the saddle on a fence. “Does he have a wife?” She asked to Uhtred.

“No. There were some women, but he never married one.” Ailis frowned. During all this time, she expected him to have at least married someone. But as she dedicated her life to her duty to the King, Finan seemed to have dedicated his to be a warrior. “Come, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.” He waved to her and she took her bag.

As she walked alongside Uhtred, she took the time to observe the village. The houses were all of reasonable sizes, just enough to shelter a family. But there was a building that was way bigger than the others. And it seemed, it was where they were going. Uhtred pushed one of the doors and Ailis discovered a giant room. A large table was in the middle of it, messy chairs around. On each side, weapons of all sorts were hung on the walls and a wooden stair was leading to a floor where she could perceive a bed. It was far from being Winchester’s palace or the castle of Navan Fort. It was simpler, but it felt warmer than the cold stones. The Lord of Coccham led her to a door that revealed a room. Ailis let her bag drop on the bed and sat on it.

“I hope it’ll be fine for the night.” Said Uhtred, leaning on the door frame. She let a hand brushed the fur, appreciating the softness of it and looked up to him.

“It’s more than I could have asked for.” He nodded with a smile and straightened. He crossed his arms and took a more serious expression.

“So, talk to me about those Danes.” Ailis moistened her lips, mentally bringing together all she knew.

“Thorvard was the man at the head of the settlement and it appears that it’s also him who leads the attacks in Ulaid.” She had never met him, only crossed his gaze during battle. He was tall with the shoulders of a bull. She never had fought him, but she had seen him, slaying her best warriors with his axe. His weapon was bigger than a usual one, however he wielded it as it was a feather.

“Sigtryggr isn’t there?” Queried Uhtred, narrowing his eyes.

“No, he isn’t. He never came to Ulaid. Even if he’s pledged to Sigtryggr, Thorvard’s revenge only serves him.” Uhtred lightly nodded.

“How could you describe him?”

“He’s an impressive man, he loves fighting. But spies speak of him as an intelligent man as much as he is a good fighter.” If he was the devil incarnation during battles, she learnt that the man had some kind of sense. He didn’t like the unnecessary losses. His revenge had been thought and prepared.

“Then it’s a good thing that he thinks.” Declared Uhtred, starting to leave the bedroom. Ailis stood up and follow him in the hall. “He’ll probably be more open to negotiations. And your King, do you think he’ll be pleased with Edward’s offer?”

“He won’t.” Ailis huffed. “But it’s our only solution.”

Uhtred pointed one of the chairs, inviting Ailis to take a seat. Then, he poured two cups of ale and sat in front of her. She took a moment to scrutinize the well-known Dane Slayer. He was an attractive man with deep blue eyes. A huge scar was running down his side face, making a crescent moon. By only catching his gaze, she could feel the strong warrior he was. She could easily understand why Finan followed him. He inspired confidence.

They continued their discussion, Ailis describing Conall to the Lord. She portrayed her King as an ambitious man, but also stubborn. She explained to him how they attacked the settlement in the South of Ulaid. How they attacked the Danes just before sunrise, while most of them were still asleep. It hadn’t been a battle made in the rules of the art, but when it came to fight the Danes, there was no rules.

When dawn started to fall, all of Uhtred’s warrior joined them to the great hall. There was also others that Ailis hadn’t met yet, but she quickly understood that they were occupying important positions in the city. For an hour they just talked about what happened during the Lord’s absence. Then, the discussion came to what will happen next.

“We’ll leave Coccham in two days.” Ailis turned to Uhtred who chewed a piece of bread before speaking again. “We will cross Mercia, to the North to join the Irish Sea.”

“Do you have a boat to cross the sea?” She asked. To cross the sea, Ailis paid a merchant to make the trip on his boat. It wasn’t a big ship, but it was robust enough to overcome the waves.

“I’ll ask the Lady of Mercia to provide us one.” He explained, his voice lighter as he mentioned the Lady Aethelflead, if Ailis remembered well her name.

“Will she accept?”

“She will.” Answered Finan to Ailis, sharing a smirk with Sihtric and Osferth. Uhtred glared at the three warriors, seeming less amused than them. The redhead wonder what was the meaning of these looks. But she finally ignored them, speaking again to gain the men attention.

“If you are sure of it, then it’s perfect. It should be the end of spring when we’ll reach the coast, with luck the wind will be at our advantage.”

“And if it isn’t?” Osferth suddenly asked, his eyebrows rose and his spoon half way between his plate and mouth.

“Then the crossing will be less pleasant.” She chuckled.

“You’ve never seen a wind rougher than the Irish one, Baby Monk.” Added Finan, pointing the younger warrior with his finger.

“During winter, when it spins in the loopholes, you’d swear hearing ghosts.” She said, her smile not leaving her face as she remembered the windy nights, she had spent with the brothers exploring the castle looking for old spirits haunting the corridors.

“Or maybe it really was ghosts. Who knows ?” Dared Finan, meeting her eyes. If she didn’t have to lie for him, she would tell everyone that he was the first to freak out when the doors would slam or when a mouse would pass near his feet in the castle’s crypt.

The rest of the meal was filled with laugher and ale. Progressively, people left the table and each one joined his house to pass the night.

…

The following morning, Ailis let her curiosity lead her into Coccham streets. It was almost noon when she walked out of the great hall. She didn’t expect to sleep so much but didn’t regret it. Her journey to Wessex had been grueling and the return would be just as much. At least, she won’t be alone.

Her steps led her to a clay court, where the kid she saw the eve and another, older, were training to fight under the watchful eyes of Finan and Sihtric. On a bench, the woman whom Finan was speaking to was watching as well. She encouraged the young boy when he succeeded touch the other on the leg. Amused, Ailis walked to her.

“Your son will be a good warrior, one day.” She told her before sitting on the wooden bench. The woman seemed surprised to see her, or maybe it was what she said because a light laugh escaped her lips.

“Aethelstan isn’t my son.” Ailis rose an eyebrow. “He’s the first-born son of King Edward.” She explained to her, looking back to the boys.

“A bastard?”

“Kind of.” She answered, leaning her head to the side.

“Your Lord really has a thing with bastards.” She laughed at her remarked. “We haven’t been introduced, what’s your name?”

“Eadith.” She smiled. She found her really pretty with her graceful features and green eyes.

“Ailis.”

“Oh, I know. The men spoke to me of you.” Ailis frowned, wondering what could have said the warriors about her. “You are an old friend of Finan, right?” She nodded.

“We knew each other when he was still in Ireland.” She explained, turning her gaze to the boys.

“Of what I know, it must be a long time you haven’t seen him them, then.”

“It was.” Ailis lightly chuckled.

“Ailis ! You want to fight with us?” Shouted Finan defiantly, catching the two women attention. Aethelstan and the other boy stopped their training to look at her.

“Why not?” She smirked, standing up. She stretched her arms as she walked into the clay court. “You’ll fight with me Finan?”

“With pleasure. Give her your sword, Sigurd.” Ailis turn to the older boy who handed her his wooden weapon. She stared at him, finding some similar features with Sihtric.

Finan took Aethelstan’s sword and spun it into his hand. The woman did the same, judging the weight of the weapon. It was lighter than her usual training sword, who was made of steel but blunt.

Then, she looked up to Finan. He was smiling ear to ear, already in position to attack. She fought a lot with him when they were young and he usually was the one to win. He always had been a good fighter, always coming back in one piece from the few battles he had to take part of in Ireland. But it was during competitions that Finan won his nickname: The Agile. Her friend never had been a good dancer, but when he was in a fight, she could swear he was dancing. It was all a game for him, a game that he always won.

“Ready?” She challenged him, slightly bending her knees to have more balanced.

He nodded and without waiting more, he ran toward her, his sword splitting the air. Ailis parried in a swift move before rotate and try to hit him in the flank. But Finan was quick too and jumped back. After this first attack, they took a moment to judge each other. Ailis noted that Finan’s blows were strong, if she didn’t keep a good grip on her pommel, she’ll lose her sword.

As Finan went on the offensive again, she waited the last minute to avoid the blade by leaning back. She needed to find an opening in his attack to unbalanced him. Finan’s strokes were precise despite their strength. His way to fight was fiercer than before, but it was what was required during battles. And Finan had fought many battles.

After a few minutes of dodges, dust had arisen by dragging her feet on the clay. But finally, she found the weakness she was searching. When Finan was raising his sword to try a strike on her shoulder, his right flank was overdrawn. So, she waited his next similar move. She parried and avoided until it came.

Her eyes lightened when Finan rose his sword to the right. As the weapon came down to her shoulder, she bent her knees and changed her sword of hand behind her back. The sound of the wood whistling in the air just above her head indicate her the right moment to strike. In a quickmove, she hit Finan in the ribs. Not expecting it, he stumbled a little, but Ailis didn’t let him time to regain balanced. She caught his wrist and lifted her leg to hit him in the abs with the shin.

Finan staggered even more desperately trying to find balance as she harassed him with her sword. He blocked her just before the wood could touch his thigh. She was taking the advantage. When he parried a hit meant to touch his shoulder, he found himself almost against her chest. He looked down to her. He narrowed his eyes while smirking, trying to understand what will be her next move. But her piercing blue eyes didn’t betray her and in a second, he fell onto the floor. Too focus on her expression, he didn’t notice her tripping him up and pushing him back with her forearm.

Lay on the ground, Finan rubbed his eyes to remove the dust in it. He opened them when he felt the wooden point against his throat and the laugher of Sihtric.

“Dead.” Smirked Ailis putting her foot on the Irishman’s arm who was still holding his sword without pressing. He let go of it, in surrender. He sighed and grabbed the hand she was holding him. She pulled him and he stood up.

“I got distracted.” He simpered.

“Of course.” She chuckled, hitting slightly his butt with her sword as she walked to Sihtric and Sigurd. She gave back the weapon to the boy who seemed still impressed by the fight he assisted.

“You are a really good fighter.” Commented Sihtric, patting the shoulder of the boy she supposed to be his son.

“Thank you Sihtric. Maybe next time you’ll be the one to bite the dust.” She teased him. Sigurd smiled, amused at the idea of his father beat by the warrior. Sihtric glanced at Finan, who shrugged his shoulder, laughing.

As she left the men to their training, she felt her heart warm. The complicity that was bounding Uhtred’s men made her feel like they were a family. Fighting wasn’t the only thing that kept them together and witnessed that was agreeable.

…

Finan was lying on wooden pier, appreciating the chill air of the night and the calm sound of the river. His legs swayed over the water as he felt the effect of alcohol dissipate. They laughed a lot during the dinner in the great hall, and drink a lot too. It probably wasn’t reasonable to stay up that late as they would leave tomorrow morning.

But Finan couldn’t find sleep. Tomorrow would be the first day of their journey to Ulaid and he was apprehensive. With his Lord’s protection, he knew he would be safe until they reach Navan Fort. It has been so long since he left, nobody would remember of the exiled Prince Finan of Ulaid. But when they’ll have to meet the King, his brother. He wouldn’t have forgotten about him, he could never.

His brother. The King. God knew how hard it was for him to believe that Conall was King. Maybe it could have been him. However, the idea didn’t please him.

He turned his head when he heard footstep on the planks. Soon, he recognized Ailis, sitting next to him. She was silent as she tightened the cloak on her shoulders. He smiled a little. He didn’t know if it was the fact that he missed her or the effects of ale, but he appreciated her presence even more than in their youth.

He couldn’t know if she was feeling the same thing because the smile that was on her face during the meal wasn’t here anymore. She let out a long sighed before looking down to him.

“Finan ?” He rose an eyebrow and made a small noise with throat, meaning she had his attention. “When will you tell them?” She softly asked him.

He clenched his jaw and looked up to the stars. He knew he had to tell them, but he couldn’t find the courage to do it. Ironically, for a man who ran into battles against the Danes.

“Listen, Finan. I know you have been through a lot and that you never wanted to deal with the past again. But you don’t have other choices.” She put a hand on his inciting him to meet her gaze once more. And he did. This time, he saw the sincerity she had towards him. “I won’t tell them, I promise you. But you should tell them, before they learn it by another.”

She was right. Even if he asked Uhtred to not come into the castle, how could explain the reasons? To Uhtred, Finan was a war catch. Enslaved by the Danes after his Lord had lost a battle. Why would a bastard without importance could be scared to meet a King?

“I will.” He answered, almost whispering.

His response seemed to please Ailis, because she softly smiled to him and lightly squeezed his hand before standing up and leaving him.

A/N : Wouhou, first chapter without flashback ! I don’t think they’ll be other flashbacks in the next chapters, but never say never ahah.

Also, as you can read, this is a slow burn lmao. I am trying my best to evolve their feelings without being too abrupt, and it’s clearly not an easy thing.

Tagged : @geekandbooknerd @astral-finan @ucancallmechlo @queen-manning @naihqh @kelly-fasel @pokeasleepingsmaug and @queerbroceliande

#broken crown #finan the agile #finanxoc #finan #fanfiction #the last kingdom #tlk #the last kingdom fanfic

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singledarkshade · 4 years ago

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Making Old Friends

Summary: After his adventure in the sewers, Rory is spending the day with Amy. A day which brings a surprise meeting and another small adventure.

Sequel to The Doctor And The Nurse, A Fishy Tail, Getting To Know You, Kernel Of Stubborness, Home Sweet Home, Party Time and Sewers, Bookshops And Slime.

Rory sighed happily as he woke up, before wondering why his arm was pinned, what the weight against him was and where the extra heat was coming from. Forcing his eyes open, Rory saw Amy curled against him fast asleep, her long red hair falling over her face.

He remembered the night before, after dinner Amy had dragged him to see her amazing hotel room and, not wanting to say goodnight so soon, Amy suggested they watch a movie, so they sat side by side on the bed watching a bad action movie they laughed at and mocked. Rory winced remembering how, exhausted after the day, he’d had closed his eyes for a few moments and that was the last thing he remembered until now.

Amy murmured slightly as Rory slid away from her and got off the bed. Heading to the bathroom Rory washed his face trying to wake up a bit. It wasn’t unusual for them to fall asleep together, Rory remembered after his final nursing exams that he was convinced he had failed Amy appeared in his room with a bag full of bottles and plied him with alcohol until he forgot about it. He’d woken up with her in his arms that morning too, at least this time he hadn’t fallen off the bed and thrown up everywhere.

Amy meant everything to him. From the moment they met, the two of them had been almost inseparable even if Rory had never understood why she spent time with him at all. Rory loved her more than he loved anyone and, even if he was still hurt that she had left to have adventures without him, knew he wouldn’t give up their friendship for anything.

Which was why he made sure never to entertain the thought of changing their relationship to a romantic one. Although times like this made him wonder what it would be like.

“Rory,” Amy’s voice made him jump out of his thoughts, “Your phone is ringing.”

Opening the door, he gave her a quick smile and took the phone swapping rooms with Amy.

“Doctor,” he answered, “Is something wrong?”

“I was going to ask you that,” the Doctor chuckled amused, “Since you never came back to the TARDIS last night.”

“We fell asleep watching a movie,” Rory grimaced.

“I just wanted to let you know that I will be returning our friend from yesterday to his own planet,” the Doctor told him, “I’ll be back by tonight.”

“Okay,” Rory replied before asking, “Tonight?”

“I promise,” the Doctor said softly, “I will be back, so enjoy your time with Amy.”

Hanging up, Rory let out a breath hating that he was so paranoid about the Doctor disappearing, but the other man had become such a good friend and Rory loved travelling with him.

“Hey,” Amy bounced out the bathroom, her hair tied up, “I’m going to have a shower then we can get breakfast, if you can stick around.”

“I can,” Rory smiled, “I’m free all day.”

Amy beamed before she grabbed a change of clothes and disappeared back into the bathroom. Dropping to sit on the edge of the bed, Rory turned on the TV and channel hopped until Amy was ready.

“Morning,” Julia greeted them when they entered the dining room for breakfast, “Rory, we added you for breakfast so if you’re hungry just get what you want.”

Stunned, Rory smiled, “Thank you.”

Julia grinned at him, “We can’t have you starving.”

As Amy motioned him to go to get something to eat, she leaned into Julia, “We fell asleep watching a movie.”

“Of course,” Julia smiled at her, “Go get something to eat.”

Amy quickly piled food onto her plate, noting that Rory only had an omelette and some toast typically not taking too much. Joining them at the table, Amy found Clayton had now joined Julia.

“Good morning, you two,” he said, “I’m hoping you haven’t got anything planned for today as an old friend of ours is joining us for lunch before we head to the airport and she is someone you should meet, Amy.”

Intrigued Amy leaned forward, “Who?”

“Now that would be telling,” Clayton chuckled, “But I will tell you I have talked about this person multiple times.”

Amy rolled her eyes, “That could be anyone,” she glanced at Rory, “He knows everyone and talks about them constantly.”

Rory smiled slightly before asking, “What time are you meeting? I want to head home and change.”

“About midday,” Julia told him.

They ate and chatted a little more before Rory ran back up to the room to get his jacket, Amy’s coat and bag. When he returned, they left so he could head back to his flat and get cleaned up. Amy sat in the living room while Rory had a quick shower and changed. Once he was ready, they went out for a walk. Amy enjoyed the time she got to spend with her best friend. She missed Rory when she was away, no matter how much fun she was having, and especially missed not being able to talk to him every day.

From the moment they’d met as children, Amy had found she could tell Rory anything and he not only listened but never judged. He encouraged her, when others mocked, and listened to her dreams no matter how insane or flighty they might be. When Rory had left Leadworth to study to be a nurse it was hard enough, but they managed to talk most nights and he came home at weekends.

She hated that they only had such a short time together before she had to return to work, they were due at the airport that afternoon and part of her was a little resentful of her bosses for arranging something to intrude on the few hours Amy had with Rory.

His phone rang at one point during the morning, and Amy frowned worriedly at the look of anger in Rory’s eyes when he checked who was calling before hanging up.

“Something wrong?” Amy asked softly.

Rory shrugged, “Unknown number.”

Knowing from the edge in his voice he wasn’t going to talk anymore about it, and knowing exactly who he was avoiding, Amy hugged his arm then changed the subject. Checking the time she saw that it was almost lunch so they headed back to the hotel to meet up with Julia, Clayton and their mysterious guest. Reaching the hotel, they entered the hotel finding Julia talking to a woman about the same age as Julia with shoulder length brown hair and Amy grabbed Rory’s arm.

“Nails,” he winced, “Nails.”

Letting go she turned, “Do you know who that is?”

Confused Rory shook his head just as Julia spotted them and motioned them over. Amy bounced, dragging her best friend with her.

“Amy, Rory, I’d like you both to meet my dear friend,” Julia smiled, “Sarah Jane Smith.”

Sarah Jane was happy to see her old friend Julia, they had known one another having started their first job at the paper together and did their best to meet up whenever they could.

“Amy, Rory, I’d like you both to meet my dear friend,” Julia said as the young redhead she had been raving about for months arrived, “Sarah Jane Smith.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Amy beamed, “Julia talks about you all the time and I’ve read so much of your writing…”

“You’re gushing,” the sandy blond man, Rory, murmured to the redhead.

Amy blushed.

“It’s fine,” Sarah Jane chuckled, “Personally I love being told how wonderful I am.”

At her wry smile, the others laughed.

“Clay is waiting for us,” Julia told them, “Let’s get lunch.”

Sarah Jane studied the younger members of the group as they headed into the restaurant, having heard so much about Amy she wondered about the relationship and decided to see what she could before asking Julia.

Lunch was delicious and Sarah Jane enjoyed catching up with her friends on their current work, neatly avoiding talking about what she was doing.

As they finished their lunch, Rory’s phone rang and he excused himself. A moment later Sara Jane’s own phone began to buzz in her bag.

“Apologies, Sarah Jane,” the voice of Mr Smith, her supercomputer came, “I have detected a slight anomaly in your location. I believe it to be Warmpol, although not high on the list of concerns, if it bites someone then it shall make them quite ill.”

Sarah Jane sighed, she couldn’t even have a quiet lunch, “Alright, I will take a quick look around and see what I can find. If not, then we’ll report it to UNIT.”

Hanging up Sarah Jane slid her phone back in her bag before retrieving her sonic lipstick and setting it to check for the creature. As she received a signal Sarah Jane followed it, not realising that she’d picked up a tail of her own. Entering the stairwell leading up to the rooms, Sarah Jane walked carefully towards the corner she was being told the creature was hiding. Holding the sonic lipstick in front of her, Sarah Jane jumped when the furry creature with big green eyes suddenly scampered out and she lost her footing falling backwards. Stunned when she was caught by Rory.

“Why do you have a sonic screwdriver?” the young man asked confused.

“It’s a lipstick,” she corrected automatically as she pulled away a little embarrassed before asking, “You know about sonic screwdrivers?”

Rory nodded.

“You know the Doctor,” Sarah Jane smiled.

Rory nodded again, “You could say that. How do you know the Doctor?”

Sarah Jane smiled again, “I used to travel with him. Some time ago now.”

Rory tilted his head in thought, “He’s mentioned that he travelled with others before I met him, but he’s never given me names. I’m guessing you are one of the people the Brigadier gave me a number for.”

Laughing Sarah Jane nodded, “He is a dear friend to both of us.”

“What was that thing?” Rory asked, “Because it was odd even if a little cute.”

Sarah Jane motioned him to walk with her, “It’s called a Warmpol. I was trying to catch it so I could send it back where it belongs without getting UNIT, and their need to shoot everything, involved.”

“I could call the Doctor,” Rory suggested, “He’s dropping a thing that was living in the sewers back where it belongs just now but…”

“I’m sure we can handle this ourselves,�� Sarah Jane noted, “That is, if you’re up to it.”

Rory winced, “I’m meant to be spending the day with Amy. She’s only here for a short time and I…” he trailed off before nodding, “Okay. If we work together then it shouldn’t take long.”

Rory was stunned that the special guest for lunch was a former friend of the Doctor but, in all honesty, it was nice to meet someone who had experience of his current situation. However trying to track down an alien creature in a hotel without letting Amy, Julia or Clayton know what they were doing was going to be complicated.

“How did you end up travelling with the Doctor?” Sarah Jane asked as they followed the signal towards the gym.

Rory smiled, “Basically he stole my bag.”

Sarah Jane laughed, “Well that sounds about right. I’m assuming there is more to the story.”

“Well, maybe a little more,” Rory replied quickly giving her the story of how he came to know the madman with a box.

Chuckling as they followed the signal, Sarah Jane motioned Rory to the back corner of the mostly empty room.

“It’s hiding in the dark,” she whispered, “I think we need something to trap it which will hold it for transportation.”

Rory nodded and found a basket he assumed was for towels, there was a lid which they would need to secure but he decided it should work for trapping the creature. As they tiptoed closer to the corner, Rory frowned at the strange noises coming from the creature. Readying the basket, Rory nodded, and Sarah Jane turned on the torch she pulled from her bag. They both laughed in relief and bemusement when they found the creature fast asleep in the centre of what looked like several half-chewed towels.

“Should I…” Rory motioned the basket he had in his hands.

Sarah Jane nodded, “I will make a quick call and get it collected.”

Rory slid the creature into the basket, being gentle so he didn’t wake it before he added a few more towels in case it got hungry again. Once it was inside, he put the lid on and used the skipping ropes he found to hold the lid tightly in place.

Rory was relieved when Sarah Jane’s son and his friend appeared to take the Warmpol back to her house so she could find a way to send it back where it belongs. It took about twenty minutes and Rory grimaced as he wondered how to explain this to the others still having lunch.

“Where have you two been?” Amy asked when Rory and Sarah Jane reappeared back in the restaurant.

Sarah Jane laughed guilelessly, “It turns out Rory knows an old friend of mine.”

“Dr Smith,” Rory spoke up quickly.

“I started regaling him with a few stories,” Sarah Jane slid into her seat, “And we didn’t realise how much time had passed.” Taking her seat again, Sarah Jane looked at Amy, “Julia was telling me how much your input has been helping with her book. A youthful look at everything.”

Amy smiled, “It’s been a lot of fun, and I’m getting to do things I never would have gotten to do if it wasn’t for Julia and Clayton.”

Rory glanced at Sarah Jane who winked at him before continuing to talk to Amy until their meals arrived. Rory listened to the conversation as he ate his lunch, feeling slightly guilty that he was angry at Amy for abandoning him for her adventure when it was an opportunity of a lifetime that she would never have had if not for this job.

“Where are you headed this time?” Rory finally spoke up, asking the question he’d been avoiding for hours.

“We’re doing a tour of the USA,” Clayton grinned, “My first book did well there so we’re going to do a book tour while Julia and Amy add an American section to Julia’s book.”

“I’m lobbying that we go to every amusement park,” Amy laughed, turning to Rory, “You know how much I love rollercoasters.”

Rory rolled his eyes, memories of being talked into going on rides when he hated heights flooding his mind along with the screams of joy from Amy.

“I think if we do,” Julia chuckled, “You and Clayton can go on all the rides without me. I’m terrified of heights.”

Sarah Jane nodded, “They’re not my favourite things either.”

Rory had a feeling there was a Doctor related story attached to Sarah Jane’s dislike of heights.

They finished lunch and Clayton paid insisting it was their treat before Sarah Jane made her goodbyes and left them to finish their coffees. All too soon it was time for them to head to the airport.

Amy squeezed Rory’s hand, “I’ll be right back, wait for me?”

“Of course,” Rory replied, smiling when she hugged him quickly.

Watching her leave the restaurant with Julia and Clayton, Rory sighed sadly that their time together had finished too soon. He found a seat in the reception area to wait.

His phone began to buzz and with an annoyed sigh he answered, “What?”

“Rory,” his dad’s voice came, “I’m so glad you answered me...”

“What do you want?” Rory demanded cutting him off.

There was a small pause before his dad replied, “To talk to you.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you years ago and you were nowhere to be found,” Rory snapped, “And now I don’t. I never want to talk to you so stop calling me.”

Hanging up Rory knew from experience that this would stop the calls. At least for now.

Amy checked the hotel room to make sure she didn’t leave anything behind before closing her case, grabbing her carryon bag and jacket. It had been great to be able to spend time with her best friend and hated leaving him. She knew he was doing well in his own work, yesterday had shown her that he was trusted by the Doctor she’d met before although, thinking about it, Rory hadn’t explained what he was doing or what the man’s specialty was.

Shaking her head Amy dragged her case out the room and headed to the lift, there were times she was a little tired of constantly moving but it was part of the job and she loved that.

Reaching the reception, Amy handed in her key before moving over to where Rory was sitting staring at his phone.

“Did he call again?” she asked softly, making Rory jump obviously not realising she was there.

Rory nodded, “I told him to leave me alone.”

“Hey,” Amy took his hands in hers, “You owe him nothing. Okay,” when he didn’t say anything, she asked a little more forcefully, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Rory replied softly, “Thanks.”

Hugging him Amy murmured, “I’m always here for you no matter where I am. You know that.”

Pulling back Rory nodded, “I do. Just make sure you keep sending me videos so I can see all the amazing places you’re visiting.”

As Clayton and Julia appeared with their luggage Rory walked them to where their car was sitting waiting to take them to the airport.

“It has been an absolute pleasure meeting you, Rory,” Clayton shook his hand, “And nice to finally get to meet who Amy talks about all the time.”

Rory smiled back, “It was nice to meet you both as well.”

Julia gave him a quick hug before she slid into the car, followed quickly by her husband. Amy wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly for several minutes before she pulled away.

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised.

Rory nodded, smiling when she kissed his cheek and stepped back letting her climb in. As the car started away Amy waved watching until he was a dot on the horizon. Turning to sit properly Amy felt Julia gently pat her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Amy nodded, “Just a little worried about him.”

“He’ll be fine,” Julia soothed, “And perhaps we can work out a way to ensure you see him again soon.”

Smiling Amy let her friend and boss hug her, deciding to ensure she called Rory the moment that would be best for him once they got to their destination.

“Do you need a lift?”

The unexpected voice from his side made Rory jumped and he turned to find Sarah Jane standing there.

“Ah…thanks,” Rory smiled.

“Well, friends of the Doctor need to stick together,” she chuckled motioning to follow her to where her car sat.

Rory slid into the passenger seat, wincing slightly at the fact he was a little squashed but said nothing to the woman who climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Where am I dropping you off?” she asked while starting the engines.

Rory rhymed off his address and sat in silence as Sarah Jane drove him back to his flat. As they turned into his street, he spotted a familiar looking box sitting just outside his building.

“And there he is,” Sarah Jane chuckled.

“Early,” Rory mused.

She shrugged, “There is a first time for everything.”

Parking the car, Rory slid out and stretched his stiff legs nodding hello to the Doctor who had a look of joy on his face.

“My Sarah Jane,” the Doctor breathed, moving and hugging the woman the moment she was out of the car, “What are you doing here?”

“Just giving Rory a lift home,” Sarah Jane laughed as she hugged him, “We have acquaintances in common.”

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Rory noted, “It was nice to meet you, Sarah Jane.”

“You too,” she quickly pulled out her business card and handed it to him, “If you need someone to talk to.”

Hesitantly, Rory took it before he headed into the TARDIS.

The Doctor watched his current companion leave him alone with one of his former friends.

“We had a slight Warmpol situation,” Sarah Jane explained, “Rory and I stumbled across one another trying to stop it.”

The Doctor nodded before asking, “Did it fall asleep after eating a pile of towels?”

Laughing Sarah Jane nodded, “It did. It was even snoring,”

Smiling the Doctor hugged her once more, “So all is well?”

“For the moment,” Sarah Jane replied, “I’m guessing you’re heading out for an adventure.”

“Always.”

“Well, look after him,” she ordered.

The Doctor nodded, “I promise, Sarah Jane. Look after yourself.”

“I’ve been doing it for years.”

With a final hug the Doctor stepped into the TARDIS where Rory was standing waiting for him and hit the lever sending them into the timestream.

“How was your time with Amy?” the Doctor asked.

Rory smiled, “Good. It was nice to meet the people she’s on her adventures with. Although you didn’t tell me about the Dr Smith thing.”

“Just a name I go by on occasion,” the Doctor shrugged before he changed the subject, “Now, where do you want to go?”

Rory pursed his lips in thought, staring at the control console before he turned to the Doctor, “Somewhere fun.”

With a grin the Doctor bounced around the console entering co-ordinates before hitting the button.

“I have just the place.”

#fic #doctor who #alternate universe #rory williams #amy pond #tenth doctor #sarah jane smith

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adacarisi · 5 years ago

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Anon: Currently sitting in a room with my cat who is passing away. Would you mind writing about Barba who's GF has lost her longtime pet and finally breaks down to Barba about it. I have trouble showing emotion specifically grief so it often gets misread as not caring enough. But I'm handling this with difficulty. If you dont want to dont worry. Appreciate it thanks for writing so many requests I enjoy reading them.

I’m so sorry you’re going through this, it’s horrible to go through loss and not know how to process it physically or emotionally. Whatever feelings you have and however you need to express them is valid as long as you’re not self destructing or hurting others. I hope this helps a little, sorry it took so long.

The story of how you met your cat was nearly as random as how you’d met Rafael Barba. You’d been much younger and much more lonely when you’d seen that thin little kitten darting in and out of blades of tall grass as you drove down the highway. Without a thought you’d swerved off the side of the road and jumped out of your car into the pouring rain.

You ran towards where you’d seen the little animal last and managed to catch a glimpse of its shape as it began moving towards the road. You reached the cat just in time, swooping its little frail and soaking wet body into your arms. You wrapped the kitten in the hoodie you had sitting on the passengers seat and turned up the heat that earlier had been at a low hum.

The vets office wasn’t far and luckily nothing was wrong with the little kitten. The vet seemed to think that someone had thrown the young kitten from a car but somehow it was unharmed. As those watery eyes stared up at you it became clear the two of you were bound together now. It seemed only natural what followed, you took her home, went out and bought a liter box, bags of dry food and cans of wet food, even a few toys you thought she’d enjoy. The months went by and became years. Your little kitten grew and the two of you got to know each other so well. When you were sick she’d curl up next to wherever it hurt the most, sometimes next to your head and other times resting her little head on your belly.

You found that you preferred the company of your cat to people when before you’d preferred no company at all. As the years went on there were many changes but she was with you through it all, those large eyes gazing up at you in solidarity whenever you’d lost hope or faith. A few of your darkest moments were only turned by the thought of leaving her behind. Who would care for her if not you? Who would give her what she deserved and needed if not you? Would she ever forgive you for leaving her? Anyone else would say that she could easily get on without you and that someone else would care for her. But you knew better than to give into that. There were times you’d sense ailments in her before she even sensed them in herself. You knew each other so well and were perfectly content and at ease when alone with one another as the years went by.

You’d met Rafael by chance in the same weather conditions that you’d met your cat. You’d met on a rainy day in the city with the sound of squeaking breaks and the scent of exhaust permeating through the windows of the courthouse. You’d been managing to do your work just fine when he rushed up to the attorney window. You were a legal assistant for circuit criminal but rarely did you have the misfortune of having to attend to the attorney window. You’d seen him before and had written him off as another pompous attorney but on that day you’d witnessed someone far more human than you’d previously observed. He was kind and patient, even humorous. And for the first time in years you found yourself smiling and maybe even hopeful.

The two of you dated off and on for a year or so and then things became more serious. Rafael Barba seemed like he could be it, he could be the person you shared your life with. The truest test was when he met your cat. You knew she could detect any trace of evil or bullshit, she’d been right when you’d introduced her to your now ex-best friend.

“I’m not really a cat person, or dog person.” Rafael had begun to make excuses on the way up to your apartment.

“Neither was I.” You smiled, still nervous but hoping for the best.

When you opened the door to your apartment there she sat, poised and concentrated. You pulled Rafael to the couch in your living room and took a seat beside him. He seemed nervous, and he was right to be. Paw by paw she slunk around the edges of the room before leaping onto Rafael’s lap. She stretched her long body towards his face and took rapid sniffs, her whiskers trembling with her effort. Your cat took a few steps forward on his lap and stretched upwards even further before ceremoniously licking Rafael’s nose not once but twice before meowing loudly and hopping off of him to nuzzle your leg.

“She licked me.” Rafael had smiled and reached down to pet your cat who accepted the affection very willingly.

“It seems she likes you just as much as I do.” You had leaned towards him for a kiss when he’d turned towards you with a strange look on his face.

“What?” You’d asked only to be met with a look that told you you should already know what he was about to say.

“I would hope that you’d feel a little more than that for me by now.” Rafael pushed up his sleeves and you tensed.

Had you ruined this already? Emotion wasn’t easy for you, it wasn’t how you chose to express yourself. So much of your reality happened internally, a place that was safe for you to process things without bombardment or harassment. You had done your best to covey your admiration and enjoyment of Rafael through words and actions but as usual it was misread. Allowing him to meet your cat had been a massive step for you. Allowing him into your home was monumental. And yet it appeared that he couldn’t understand that.

The two of you fought that night for longer than you cared to admit. It was a fight unlike what you imagined typical couples would have. It was slow and measured, calculated statements received and returned for hours. Your cat had seemed amused at first, her eyes darting intelligently back and forth between the you and your boyfriend, but eventually she grew bored and fell asleep at Rafael’s feet. The two of you talked and talked until the conversation became more warm and smiles returned to both of your faces.

That night was the first time you finally felt understood. It was also the night that Rafael Barba understood not only that you loved him but how you loved him. There was a learning curve for a few months but things proceeded smoothly and happily for the years that followed. The two of you eventually moved in to a mutual apartment and forged a new life together. It was a quiet and peaceful life, one that Rafael Barba had never expected for himself but quite enjoyed. After all, he would have lived any life for you.

The night you told Rafael something was wrong with your cat he was heartbroken. Once again you’d sensed something was wrong with her before she even knew it herself. Your little kitten had gotten old and her body was failing her. The two of you took her to the vet the next day and after the labs were processed your intuition was confirmed. Your most loyal friend was dying, feline cancer, and there was little that could be done. Despite the minute options for treatment you tried them all. Diet, medication, everything. And nothing worked. Though you didn’t appear distressed to anyone else Rafael could see how frantic you were, how desperate you were not to lose your dear friend. He could see it in your eyes and sense it in your diction.

Two weeks later the time came. You held her close as she passed, laying on the ground with her soft body pulled into your chest. You watched as her wide eyes fell semi shut and her body tensed then slacked. You felt many things in that moment, abandonment, anger, pain and grief. You felt them all weighing you down like slabs of concrete. Rafael had gone to work that day but you had stayed home. You had known she wouldn’t be there when you got home. So you held her until she grew stiff and cold, smoothing her coat over and over before finally getting up to call the vet.

When the vet’s assistant arrived at your apartment she created a paw imprint as a keepsake for you out of some quick hardening clay. The tech explained that many people found the keepsake comforting especially when they couldn’t bury their pet. You watched as the vet tech carefully placed your companion in a plastic bag, hardly hearing the words that left her mouth as she apologized and offered her condolences. You smiled and nodded and before you knew it you were alone. For the first time in so many years you were totally alone. You waited for the familiar brush of your kitten against your leg but it never came.

Hours later you heard Rafael’s key in the door and the pregnant pause as he waited for your cat to make her way to the front door to greet him. Though she’d been getting slower day by day she still had been able to make her way to the foyer every day when Rafael got home. But not today. You heard the front door shut with a loud slam and your boyfriend came rushing down the hall dropping his brief case and a bag of to go Chinese food in one harsh motion.

“Where is she?” Rafael asked, every word coated in anger.

“She died this morning, the vet’s nurse took her around eleven.” You got up and picked up the bag of food he had carelessly dropped.

“You didn’t call me?” He asked bitterly following you into the kitchen where you began to unpack the meal he’d brought home.

“Why would I, she wasn’t yours.” You spoke plainly, only turning around when you felt his eyes bore into your back.

“I loved her as much as you did. I know this is hard for you but it’s hard for me too.” Tears had filled Rafael’s eyes and as he finished speaking they fell.

“Why?” You couldn’t understand why he would feel the way he said he did. She’d been yours long before you’d met him.

“Because I love you, I can see how hurt you are and how helpless you’ve felt the last few weeks. It’s not your fault and I know you’re grieving in your own way but I would have liked to be there for you and for her.” Rafael reached for your hand but you pulled it away.

“It’s not my responsibility to be upset in a way that you understand. She’s...she was my friend. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You started angrily but finished so softly your voice was barely audible.

You took a container of egg drop soup and a crab rangoon back to the living room and sat down to eat. After a beat Rafael joined you and the two of you ate in silence. You didn’t speak when you took the trash to the kitchen to throw out, and you didn’t speak when you climbed into bed. You laid there feeling angry and sad, but mostly sad as you mulled over your exchange with Rafael.

Rafael stayed up for a while, holding the little imprint of your cats paw in his hands. He just wanted you to feel better, to open up and let some of the pain out but he knew he had to be patient. After all, he was frighteningly similar to you when it came to things like this. Rafael had stifled his emotions so many times throughout his life and career that they rarely showed, but god they burned away inside his chest and turned his stomach. It was then that Rafael Barba began to cry, not only for you and the pain you were enduring but for his sweet little girl, your cat, who he had come to love so much. Rafael had never really bought into the whole idea of having a pet but your cat had taken to him so quickly and he’d fallen in love. She became his little girl despite her already being quite old when they’d met. Rafael sobbed as silently as he could where he sat on the couch, tracing over the imprint her paw had made in the white clay.

You assumed Rafael was in his office so when you got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen it surprised you to find him on the couch, his shoulders heaving up and down with the weight of his sobs. When you moved closer you saw what was in his hands, the paw imprint. Seeing the man you loved mourning the loss of your treasured companion you too began to cry as you fell to your knees in front of him. The two of you stayed there for a while, both grieving together yet separately. Eventually Rafael pulled you up into his lap and his arms, letting you cry into his neck as the release of anger, grief and helplessness flooded from you. When you found you could speak again you did, telling your boyfriend just how you felt, how hard it was for you and why. The most amazing thing was that he understood, not just you emotions but your expression of them. Rafael spoke next, revealing the depth of his grief as well. Though you’d been together for years it shocked you just how similarly you dealt with things like grief and pain.

That night you realized there was nothing wrong with the way you expressed your emotions and there was nothing wrong with you. All it took was finding the right person who could accept you and be there for you while you processed them. You discovered that it was more than okay to feel things your own way, after all, your feelings belonged to you, but you also found that when a bond between souls exists, animals and humans alike, you no longer had to experience them alone. And after all those years of loneliness and pain, you finally found peace in that.

#rafael barba #law and order svu #Raul Esparza #cat #svu #mini fic #sorry ive been gone so long #adacarisi #this wasnt my best #but i hope it was alright #sorry it took forever

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quiet-onset · 4 years ago

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Infinity (1)

Pairing: Orpheus!Peter Parker x Eurydice!reader (I imagine him in his early 20s)

Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: This is yet another series I started because self control = 0, especially in quarantine lmao. I finally listened Hadestown, which I highly recommend if you’re into musical theater. This series is based on this musical by Anaïs Mitchell, which is based on Greek tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. There will be some of the same lines, but mainly iconic ones that I don’t think should be replaced. I’ll be sure to put a credit at the start of any chapter that I use the exact same lines. Consider this this chapter’s credit to Anaïs Mitchell!

The wind blew hard. This way and that as you tugged you coat tighter, stepping off the Greyhound that you’d been on for hours. You rolled your shoulders and stepped forward as you sought out the closest place to get a hot meal. You had no idea where you were anymore. You only knew that you needed to go.

Go where? You weren’t sure yet.

You’d been on your own for a long while now, and you liked it that way. No one to boss you around. No one depending on you, and not depending on anyone. It was a hard life, but that’s exactly what it was — life. Maybe it wasn’t how things should have been, but that’s how they were.

The sooner everyone learned that, the better they’re lives would be.

As you stepped away from the bus stop, you looked around at the town, finally catching a sign with its name: Hadestown. Well, that’s a bit dramatic, you thought. Sure, the place was kind of old and broken down, but that didn’t make it hell. Maybe there was something you were missing. If there was, you didn’t care to stick around and find out. Before you could walk too far, you bought a new bus ticket, tomorrow at noon sharp.

You could last till then. For now, you just needed food and a bed.

You tapped a young man on the shoulder, and he looked up from his phone. “Hey, do you know if there’s a restaurant around here?” You asked.

He gave you a onceover, taking note of your torn jeans and worn gray t-shirt that was fraying at the seams. He nodded his head to the left, toward the tracks. “You might wanna head to the diner, across town by the railroad tracks. ‘S cheaper.”

You scoffed and adjusted your backpack as you pushed past him. “Gee thanks.”

It took about twenty minutes for you to get to the diner the boy told you about. You let out a breath of relief as you stepped inside. It seemed lively enough, small pockets of laughter here and there. You breathed into your hands to warm them, ferociously rubbing them together. Then, a man walked up to you, not much taller than you with a flannel covering his ACDC t-shirt. “I’m Tony. Can I get you a table?” A deep voice, but warm. Kind.

And, by your book, not to be trusted.

“A booth, if you have one.” You nodded.

“Follow me.”

He walked past the few tables with people. At one table sat two men, drinking and laughing as they teased each other about this or that. Another with a group, two men and two women, toasting to some recently completed job that was, by the looks of them, probably illegal. Then, just as you rounded to the other side of the bar, three women sat together. One with light brown skin, the slightest bit of a curl in her hair that was braided down her back. Another with a short, dark bob that just reached her shoulders, the color matching the intensity of her eyes. The last, a younger woman, a coat of reddish-maroon leather just barely touching the floor. The trio gazed at you as you walked by, and it filled you with a strange feeling, but they said nothing.

Weird.

“It’s pretty cold out there to be April.” He said, attempting to make small talk as you sat down.

“And soon, it’ll be blazing hot.” You replied. “Same old, same old.”

“‘S not natural.”

You picked up the menu, “It is now.”

He paused, then gave you a chuckle and turned to go back to the bar. “I’ll give you a minute.”

As soon as Tony got back to the bar, Peter was on his tail. Peter had long since given up pretending to work, his pen and pad sitting on the countertop. He wasn’t working before you came in, and sure as hell wasn’t working after. As soon as he saw you, something in his heart twitched. It skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. He always believed in love at first sight, but he never thought it’d happen to him. Yet, there you were, your nose in a menu, slightly crinkled as you began to think of how you were going to find somewhere to sleep. He didn’t know how he knew, but you were the one. “Who is that girl?” Peter asked eagerly.

“A customer.”

“What’s her name?”

“She wasn’t talkative.”

“Is she alone?”

“Seems that way.” Tony said, finally turning to face him. “You should be working.”

Peter looked at him indignantly, “I was working.”

“I mean working the bar, not working on a song.”

“It’s not a song, it’s the song. It’s important—”

“I know that, Peter. But you’ve still got a job to do.”

Peter knew Tony was right, but this job always felt like a means to an end. He worked there, with Tony, because he needed money. A roof over his head. Songwriting was his passion anyhow. Sometimes, when Tony was feeling generous, he’d let Peter play in the diner, and the people always seemed to love his music. Still, praise wasn’t enough to make a living.

Tony sighed at the dejected look that Peter did a poor job of hiding. He took a glass and filled it with cold water. “You wanna talk to her?”

Peter perked up. “Yes.”

“Go take her order.” Tony gave the water, tightening his grip when Peter was about to walk away. “Don’t freak her out, alright?”

“No problem.”

Peter tried to be as natural as possible as he walked around the bar to you, apron tied snugly around his waist. When he arrived at your table, he noticed you gazing at the pot filled with dirt on the windowsill next to her. You thought it was cute that they thought they could grow something in this weather. The weather hadn’t been kind to anyone, plants most of all. At least, not while it was freezing cold outside. Maybe when the sun comes back out, you thought, but it’ll dry out by then. The plant, the town, you. You’d all dry out when the sun came back.

It wasn’t natural, but it was now.

Peter placed the glass of water down in front of you, and gave you a small smile. “Come home with me.”

You looked up, eyes wide with surprise. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“The man who’s gonna marry you.” He answered. You weren’t sure if your eyes could get wider, but they tried. You looked over at Tony behind the bar, who glanced back and gave a helpless shrug. Sliding into the booth across from you, the man put his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Peter.”

You gave him a onceover. You couldn’t deny he was attractive. A brunette with honey brown eyes that matched the leaves of tall trees that used to change colors — reds, browns, and yellows — while it was still a bit hot and just before it got cold. Just before, just before.

Except it wasn’t before. This was it now. Cold or hot, in or out. No in between.

You took his hand, “I’m Y/N.”

Why did you do that? Why did you tell him your name? The whole point of you travelling the way you did was so you didn’t form attachments. One town then the next. No friends, not even acquaintances. Since you couldn’t escape the wind, you went wherever it took you. Your name was one of the only things you still owned at this point. So what possessed you to tell this man — Peter — something so precious as your name?

You all but snatched back your hand as you caught your guard just as it was slipping. Still, Peter smiled. “Sounds like a melody.”

“So, you’re a singer?” You asked him.

“And I play the guitar.”

You hummed, looking back down at your menu. “Sorry, not interested. I’ve met too many men like you. Charm women into bed and forget their names the next day.”

“I’m, uh,” Peter paused, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “I’m not like that.”

You chuckled. “I’m sure you’re not.”

He watched your face as you read through the menu for what seemed like the third time. Your plump bottom lip was tucked between your teeth, and your knee was bouncing up and down under the table. You were clearly uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem to be about him. No, you looked like you could hold your own against any unwanted advances.

This was about money, Peter realized. You didn’t know how you were going to pay for the food, let alone find somewhere to sleep. He knew from experience that lack of money was a touchy subject, so he carefully placed two fingers atop the menu and pushed it down and away from your face. “It’s on the house.” He said quietly.

“What makes you think—-”

“I don’t think anything.” He told you. “I’ve been there before. Am there, actually. Tony can spare a meal.”

Your knee stopped bouncing, and an uncomfortably warm feeling rose at the pit of your stomach. “And if he can’t?”

“He can take it from my tips. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

You placed the menu down gently and looked up at him. His eyes were kind, somehow filled with admiration for you, a woman he’d barely just met. You never believed in love at first sight. It was impossible for two people to look at each other and just know that this was it. That the other now owned your heart and would hold it dear. That it would be you and them against the world for the rest of your lives.

At least, you thought it was impossible. You still weren’t sold on the idea, but… considering.

“So,” Peter smiled. “What do you want?”

When you quietly listed the cheapest thing on the menu, Peter nodded and told you he’d be back. As you waited for him to return, you looked back at the pot, still filled with dirt but no plant. You placed a hand on the clay, cold to the touch. There was no telling how long it’d been sitting there, but you felt bad for it. It was doomed from the start.

Just as you removed your hand, the woman with the maroon leather jacket slightly bumped into you as she walked by. “Sorry.” Her sweet smile was a sharp contrast to the intense stare she fixed on you. Almost like she knew something you didn’t. “Just headed to the bathroom.”

Suddenly, your head was a bit cloudy. You closed your eyes, just for a moment. But in that moment, you saw a flash of something. Something that seemed more of a dream than a reality. The flash of faded yellow lights, swinging back and forth in a wide and dark hallway that was bathed in mist and fog. Just as soon it appeared, it was gone, and when you opened your eyes, Peter stood in front of you with a plate of food and a glass of juice. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, picking up your glass of water. “Just a little dehydrated, I guess.”

“Probably starving, too.” He added. He, again, slid in across from you and gave you the food he’d prepared with just a bit more than the average plate. Not that you’d ever know. He waited until you began to eat, which calmed his nerves, to tell you what was on his mind. “I’m writing a song.”

You rolled your eyes with the faintest smile pulling at your lips, “Isn’t that what singers do?”

“Well yeah, but it’s about what the song will do.” Peter told you. “It’s gonna make spring come back.”

“A song?” You deadpanned. “A song is going to make spring come back. Have you fallen and hit your head recently? I think you need to see a doctor.”

“You don’t understand. Things, life — it all works a little different in Hadestown.”

“Okay.” You started, reasoning with him. “If the song is supposed to bring spring back, why don’t you sing it?”

“It’s not finished.” Peter shook his head, suddenly not wanting to talk about the song. “You know, I am gonna marry you.”

“Really?” You held back a laugh. Not necessarily at the prospect of marrying him, but at his confidence in your answer to his proposal. “And why should I be your wife?”

“Well, I’m the only one to make you smile since you walked in this place. I’ve got a feeling that you’re the kind who survives.”

“Nothing wrong with survival. It got me this far, and it hasn’t failed me yet.”

“I think it has.”

“How so?”

“It hasn’t taught you how to live. I can do that for you.”

You paused, considering his statement. Some of the people you’d met along your way thought that you were the coolest person they’d ever met. A life on the road. In a car, on a bus, riding a motorcycle down the freeway. No one to answer to or worry about. But the longer you stayed on the road, the more you realized they were wrong. It was an incredibly lonely life in an even lonelier world, working for scraps and paying for what you needed with the little money you managed to gather.

Maybe it wasn’t how things should have been, but that’s how they were. That’s what you always told yourself. But maybe, Peter could show you another way, a happier way.

“Sing the song.” You told him. You watched the way he tensed up, and softly grabbed his hand that rested on the table. His hand was soft, but his fingertips were rough, seasoned by the thick strings of his guitar that his mother had given him before she died. It was a scary comparison for you and him. The one cared and the one who didn’t. The one who survived and the one who lived. “You wanna take me home?”

“Yes.” He answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You urged him softly, “Sing it.”

Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It wasn’t much of a song yet. Just a handful of notes and a string of la la las. Still, he sang softly, his hand still holding onto yours. Just then, the woman with the leather jacket passed by again on her way back from the bathroom, and she brushed Peter’s shoulder. It wasn’t noticeable by any means, but it made his brow crease, made his hand squeeze yours just a bit tighter. You didn’t realize it — you thought he was hyper-focused on the song. But behind his eyes, Peter saw a flash. A dream, maybe. Train tracks, his shoes covered with thick mud, and a stone wall under a pitch black sky, an overwhelming urge to cross over settling in the pit of his stomach.

Then he opened his eyes and the image was replaced by you, your head turned to look at the pot once more. Except now, a daisy had emerged from the dirt, strong white petals in the middle of a dark, cold diner. You looked back at him, eyes wide in wonder.

“How’d you do that?”

“I told you things work differently in Hadestown.” He repeated, smiling at the almost childlike wonder on your face. He added quickly after the fact, “It’s not finished though.”

“Still, if just a phrase can do that? You have to finish it.”

You weren’t sure what brought you to Hadestown or to this diner. What brought you to this booth and to Peter. What made the outside freezing cold or blazing hot. You just knew that, at that moment, the world only knew extremes. Cold or hot, in or out, alive or dead.

And you were done being dead.

You thought that’d be the end of your tale. The girl finds the boy who can make her happy. They get married and live happily ever after. That’s the dream, right? Well, your happily ever after turned to dust as Tony marched past the trio of women near the bar and over to your booth, leaning over to speak to Peter in a quiet voice.

“Where did you hear that melody?”

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #orpheus!peter parker x eurydice!reader #modern greek myth au

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warofshadowstheorder · 4 years ago

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Chapter 03

Agent Alexis Bledsoe was sitting outside her boss’s office in Washington, D.C., a crimson rash extending from just below her nose to the bottom of her chin circling her head. She had met with him on various occasions to discuss her progress as well as when he interviewed her for specific posts, new assignments, or periodic evaluations. But this time was different, and she was nervous for the first time in her career.

Taylor was inside the office having a discussion with Assistant Director Andrews and giving him a briefing of what had happened. Bledsoe couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but she could tell Taylor was furious. Inwardly, she did her best to reassure herself that everything would be fine. But she knew that she’d failed at her assignment, and that someone would have to be sacrificed for what happened.

The wait was becoming unbearable as time seemed to go by slower every moment. She thought of the long hard road she’d been forced to take in order to get where she was in her career. Then she thought about all she had worked so hard to earn vanishing in an instant because of an event that had taken place just as quickly.

She was taking in everything around her again, similar to how she would when she was on an assignment. But this was a different kind of symphony. The one that she composed in her mind when she was on an assignment was reminiscent of a rhythmic and light-hearted one. Now, the anticipation she was feeling coupled with the voices she could hear inside Andrews’ office was creating a darker and more foreboding one in her mind; a Requiem for her career.

She remembered how the symphony at the rally the day before had been broken up by the slightest almost unnoticeable noise from behind her. What had happened next, the eyes of her attacker, and the two figures she’d seen from where she’d ended up on the floor, had dominated her thoughts every moment since. She could never forget the eyes that seemed to constantly stare at her and remind her of the one who she was sure had put a permanent damper on her hard-earned career even if she wanted to. She could see them in front of her even when she was awake.

The internal requiem was interrupted by six words. “Agent Bledsoe, come in here please,” it was Andrews’ voice. Bledsoe took a deep breath, then stood up and entered the office.

Assistant Director Peter Jonathan Andrews had been with the Service for more than twenty years and had guarded more than half a dozen U.S. Presidents and other high level dignitaries. His office was decorated with pictures of his wife and children, as well as several of him with fellow agents at various stages of his career down to the present time and with some of the people he’d protected.

He also had a locked filing cabinet and several plaques to different sides of his desk. The wall behind his desk was covered with a large American flag that he had been given as a gift from a grateful President. Just below it he had a framed folded flag that had been flown over a FOB where his Marine son had served during a deployment in Iraq.

Bledsoe walked up in front of Andrews’ desk and stood up straight and resolute, trying not to let her impending dismay surface. She glanced to her left and saw Agent Taylor, with a bandaged nose, sitting down with an irate look on his face.

Andrews was in his fifties with graying hair and a heavyset build that had been quite athletic in his younger years. His face rarely ever showed any emotion and seemed to be set in a permanent stone-faced expression. He was very well known to conduct himself in a quiet, dignified, and firm manner.

“Please sit down,” Andrews said, gesturing to the chair next to Taylor, after Bledsoe had sat down Andrews spoke to her.

“I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes listening to Agent Taylor attempting to explain to me how it is that a man who we have been exhausting every effort to protect is suddenly picked off like a clay pigeon. He tells me that it was your fault Agent Bledsoe,” Bledsoe cast a sideways glare at Taylor who was looking confident in what he had said, “but as you know, I never make a decision without hearing both sides of the issue. So, Agent Bledsoe, please tell me what the devil happened there!”

Bledsoe then proceeded to tell Andrews about what had happened from her perspective. She was very careful to point out that she’d checked the area multiple times and found nothing. She also pointed out that she radioed in when she had heard the noise, and had gone over the area very closely before calling off her warning. Despite not entirely believing it herself, she even talked about the assassins’ literal disappearing act.

“That’s all well and good,” Taylor interjected, “but that still doesn’t explain how you called in a security breach and then a few seconds later an incredibly well-placed shot blows Saunders’ head clean off and all over the stage! I won’t even get started about how the only physical evidence we have, apart from some dust that used to be a bullet, is a rag that, aside from being saturated with your DNA, we absolutely cannot f#$%ing trace!!”

“I told you,” Bledsoe said, maintaining a professional tone, “when I came to I was restrained, and that the guy who jumped me had recordings of my voice that he played into the earpiece.”

“Then how the hell did he know the names of different agents?! Not to mention how he was able to point out suspicious people! And you should be more realistic reporting on their escape than that ridiculous disappearing shit!” Taylor spat out. There was a pause, and the tension between Taylor and Bledsoe was very potent. “It sounds like an inside job to me sir!”

“Just what are you implying?!” Bledsoe exclaimed in an angry and spiteful tone as she stood up and turned to face Taylor. Taylor instantly returned the gesture in kind. Taylor stood at six-foot two and used his height to tower over Bledsoe. But she showed that she was not intimidated by him and met his stare with a piercing one of her own.

“I think you know full well what I’m implying,” Taylor retorted, “there’s no way that two men could have infiltrated the pavilion and pulled off that hit without inside information. You have no proof of your story since the only possible evidence is a rag that’s soaked with your own DNA. And since when has anyone been able to sneak up on or immobilize you?!”

Bledsoe was caught. It was true that in all her years with the Service, and in fact since her pre-teenage years, no one had ever been able to sneak up on her no matter how quietly they could move. Her reputation for hand-to-hand combat was also well-known. Taylor’s comment was a crushing blow to Bledsoe’s pride, and she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to admit that she’d been bested, but at the same time she knew that if she didn’t say anything she’d be all but admitting to Taylor’s accusation.

“I can’t explain what happened,” Bledsoe said with a lower but still strong voice before turning her head down in shame and disappointment, “I can only say,” she brought her head back upright, “that I did nothing wrong and was completely on top of my situation before I got jumped.”

“Right,” Taylor said cynically before turning to face Andrews, “Sir, I’m going to request that Agent Bledsoe either resign or be terminated from this agency immediately.”

Bledsoe, knowing that she could do nothing more, did her best to stand up straight and look dignified. She never wanted to give Taylor, or anyone else trying to bring her down, the satisfaction of seeing her break. Andrews stood up.

“I appreciate both of you telling me your sides of what happened,” he began, “and I want you to know that I’ve made my decision.”

Taylor and Bledsoe both faced Andrews with anticipation, Taylor’s expression was more hopeful while Bledsoe’s was somewhat grim.

“What happened was a terrible tragedy,” Andrews began, “but unfortunately these things sometimes do happen. Agent Taylor,” he faced him, “you make several valid points, and I can understand why you feel the way you do having been the team leader on this one.” Andrews then turned to face Bledsoe.

“Agent Bledsoe, you’re a great agent and as far as I’m concerned an invaluable member of this agency. Although I have to admit,” Andrews’ tone changed slightly, “what happened that night does sound very suspicious. However,” he turned to face Taylor, “I have to take into account that the man we took in for the murder did put a dozen officers and agents in the hospital and broke your nose while flat on his stomach and under the weight of at least eight men.”

Taylor got a resentful look on his face at the memory of why his nose was bandaged while Bledsoe concealed a smirk.

“Taking that into account,” Andrews continued, “we all have to concede that we are dealing with at least one man who is unlike anyone we’ve ever seen.” Andrews let out a sigh.

“The Department of Homeland Security deemed the assassin a terrorist,” he said, “and they’ve shipped him off to Gitmo for interrogation. They want to find out exactly who he is and who he’s working for. After the show he pulled at the pavilion, we need to find out who these people are before they start going bigger than attacking presidential candidates. After what he did, I wouldn’t put it past them to level the entire city of Los Angeles with only two men and a box of paperclips.”

“I need you,” Andrews said pointing to Bledsoe, “to go down to Guantanamo with Taylor…”

“Why the hell is she going with me?!” Taylor spoke up, “I’m perfectly capable of handling the interrogation on my own!”

“I’m not denying that,” Andrews answered calmly, “but Agent Bledsoe is in the best position to ID the suspect as the shooter. Will you be able to leave in three hours Agent Bledsoe?”

“Yes sir” Bledsoe replied firmly.

“Good,” Andrews said, “you’ll go there with Agent Taylor and ID the suspect. You may also participate in the interrogation if you like. You’ll be on your own recognizance after that, and on suspension for three months with pay.”

“Sir,” Taylor piped up, “I understand her coming to ID the bastard, but I have to say that I believe three months with pay is not a sufficient disciplinary measure…”

“That is duly noted Agent Taylor,” Andrews said cutting him off, “but until the door to this office has your name on it, by which time I will be retired and living out my days somewhere in Maine with Harriet and a German Shepherd to be bought and named later, you will respect and go along with my decisions. Are we very clear on that?”

“Yes sir,” Taylor responded in a more subdued tone accompanied by a grudging nod, which Andrews returned before turning his gaze to Bledsoe.

“You will begin your suspension after you get back to the U.S. Check in with me when you return from Cuba. Is that understood?”

“With all due respect sir,” Bledsoe answered in a respectful but firm tone, “I appreciate you allowing me to stay in the Service. But I must request that I be allowed to at least complete this case before going on suspension. I’m sure you’ll have our best agents on this, but I need to see this through to the end. I want to see this son of a bitch and his partner fry for what they did.”

“I understand your feelings,” Andrews responded, “but taking all the information that I now have into consideration, it would be better if you weren’t directly involved in this. Normally, I’d be asking for your resignation. But due to your years of service and that everything about this screams abnormal, I’m willing to consider other options. You should be grateful that I’m letting you go to Gitmo. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Bledsoe answered, inwardly still grudging her upcoming suspension. Andrews returned to his chair before scooting forward to rest his arms on his desk.

“You’re dismissed Agent Bledsoe,” he said, “a car will be at your apartment in two hours to take you to the airport. Taylor, stay here for a while so we can go over the interrogation process. I want to be sure that you’re clear on legally accepted interrogation methods.”

Bledsoe turned and left the office. As she walked down the hallway leading to the exit, she thought of all that had happened in the past 48 hours. She’d gone from being on the campaign trail and everything being fine to being a suspected accomplice in what was becoming the most shocking event since the JFK assassination. She started to get focused and remembered that she needed to pack for Cuba and figure out what she was going to do with three months of personal time.

#novel #action-adventure #fantasy #historical fiction

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jessamajig · 5 years ago

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Something’s Best Unsaid

We sat. All six of us. Glaring at the TV, the news never seemed to stop. Another confirmed case. Another death. Another ‘reassurance’. Bright flickering lights permeated the room, trapping our gaze, sucking our souls.

I should look away…

I didn’t.

We continued to sit. The whole family. TV blaring, the news ever vigilant. But they kept repeating themselves. The air was stale and stagnant. Suffocating.

I should open a window…

I didn’t.

We sat still for hours. Even together, we were isolated. Time blurred. As if we’d been staring for an eternity and we’d only just sat down all at the same time.

Suddenly, my brother stood and ‘play’ had been pressed on the room. Without a word, he ran to the cupboard and began rummaging through it. How he still had so much energy I could barely fathom. When he turned around, he held Monopoly in his hands.

“It’s Friday!” He beamed. He smiled only half-heartedly but still strong enough to bring the world back into tune.

“Games night,” my mum croaked and I was sure I hadn’t heard her voice in weeks.

“Well, go on. Set it up then,” my step-dad heaved. Then he turned off the TV…

Darkness.

And silence.

They engulfed the room. Things I once feared made me smile. I didn’t know such things could be so freeing. Finally, I let go of my breath that I’d been holding since the lockdown began.

A rough hand placed itself on my shoulder and I stiffened. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be touched. Following the trail to his face, I saw my fiancé.

When did he sit there? I couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, I softened. It’s strange how love does these things.

Slowly, we gathered around the table and each chose a piece. My brother, Zac, chose the dog. My sister, Mary, chose the thimble. My fiancé, Daniel, the top hat. My mother, the shoe. Finally, my step-dad chose the car and I was claimed ‘banker’.

Mum made it around the board first, her shoe running the track, and bought Whitechapel Road. Mary passed Go only moments later and landed straight on Mum’s property.

“You sunk my battleship,” Mary joked before handing Mum the money. The whole room erupted into a roar of laughter and the tension of weeks seemed to dissipate.

On we played, buying houses, losing money, making jokes, until disaster struck. Daniel landed on Dad’s property. After buying so many properties in the beginning, his luck had twisted when he kept landing on everyone else’s. Now, he was bankrupt.

“I guess I’m out,” Daniel laughed, cutting through the thickening air. I smiled and kissed his cheek as he handed me his playing piece.

“Better luck next time, baby.”

“I’m hardly surprised,” my father’s tone was uncharacteristically dark, “reckless with your money as always. What can you expect from a child.”

“Dad, can you not?” Zac intervened and played his turn, “Ah fuck, back in jail again.” He forced a chuckle but no one else joined. Daniel frowned. The room went cold. I tried to hold his hand but he smacked it away. I could hear his blood boiling.

“And what would you know about it?” Challenging, he towered over my father. Daniel was never one to back down from a fight.

God, I wish he would.

Glaring back, my father stood. Eye to eye. I felt thousands of bugs crawl beneath my skin.

“I know you’ve made my daughter penniless and it’s forced you both to move back here.”

“Hey-“

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I did what I had to do!”

“Guys!”

“A leech! That’s all you are! You sucked her dry and now you’ll try to suck me dry too! I won’t abide your tomfoolery and gambling.”

“Gambling! Is that really what you think of me?” I shot out of my seat so fast my head was spinning.

“Dad, please!” I put myself between them and Dad’s fiery eyes glowered at me now. Overcome with weakness, I looked away. “Can we just play the game?”

“No, Natasha! He used you! Stupid, fucking idiot.” Moving me out of the way, he made a pass at Daniel. In a blur of movements, I found myself on the ground watching as they fought. Zac jumped up too, trying to force them apart. Mum conveniently wasn’t in the room.

“Stop it, please! It’s my fault!” Mary interrupted. All heads turned to her. I half expected to see her backdown the way she would when we were younger but she stood her ground. Her face was taught with guilt and determination.

“Mary, don’t.” Dan tried to protect her. Mum returned with snacks and a smile, both instantly falling to the floor at the sight in front of her. She froze.

“I can’t let you take the fall for this anymore. It’s not right.” She was insistent. I felt my heart fall in my chest as she stood and turned to Dad. “It’s my fault, Daddy. Dan was just trying to help me. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

Releasing Dan from his hold, Dad moved quickly to his youngest child. His most precious.

“What do you mean? Are you okay? Are you in debt? If you need help, you can come to us.” He checked her over then bewildered held out his arms to her, inviting. Mary took a step back. Her eyes refusing to meet his.

“No. I didn’t want to tell you.” Her guard came up. I could hardly blame her, but the wall she’d built around her heart was made of clay and slowly melting down.

“Mary-“ I couldn’t stop her.

“I needed a lawyer. So they got me a lawyer. It’s fine.”

“What did you do, Mary?” Dad barked, not skipping a beat, and the interrogation began. “Did you get caught taking drugs at one of those godforsaken clubs? Did you get into a damned fight? Or were your drunken escapades just all it took for you to get arrested? Huh? Answer me, damnit!”

“Reg, that’s not fair…” Mum’ barely managed to whisper. She went to comfort Mary but before she could Mary spoke.

“I was assaulted, Daddy!” Tears slid quietly down her face. Her slight frame trembling. I wanted to hold her, but I knew it would do no good. I wasn’t who she needed validation from. We waited from him to say something. Anything. The silence got too loud. “I- I mean… It was my fault. You’re right. I was drunk, at a club. I- I shouldn’t have worn what I did. I should have stopped him. I- I should, I didn’t, It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t say that,” I begged.

“It’s not your fault, Mary,” Dan soothed.

But our praise fell on deaf ears. In that moment, we’d all forgotten.

“No.” She ran out the door.

“MARY!” Mum had found her voice. Dan followed her to the door but froze in its frame. The air stilled again and we remembered. Suddenly, the dark wasn’t comforting anymore. Muffled conversation forced its way through the walls.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A soldier.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t get any closer!”

“Please, I need-“

The piercing shot echoed through the house. Dad turned the TV on.

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It’s been a while since I’ve written something but here’s a new story. I’ve found a site that does weekly short story competitions with five prompts a week. It’s my goal to enter into at least one prompt a week and I will then upload those stories on here too.

The prompt: Write a story about a family game night.

Happy reading ~

#shortstory #writing #writing prompt #stayinside #virus #family #dystopian

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

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Come Home With Me (part six)

Okay, so all I can say is I’m sorry.

Thanks as always to my beautiful beta readers and friends @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

I always appreciate reblogs, comments and donations to my ko-fi!

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“Love, all I’m saying is hear me out…”

“Mollymauk, the answer is no.”

The tiefling groaned dramatically, flopping back, head hitting the wall with a dull thunk. Most of it was exaggerated theatrics, enough that Caleb was fighting back a smile.

“I told you, I don’t perform. I’d be terrible at it.”

Molly jerked back up, eyes wide and emphatic, “You keep saying that but how do you know if you’ve never tried it?”

Caleb put on an exaggeratedly pensive face, ticking off on his fingers, “I can barely speak coherently when it’s my own thoughts let alone anyone else’s, I hate people looking at me, I don’t like wearing clothes that aren’t mine, I get horrible stage fright, I hate being the centre of attention…”

“All of those things you just listed are the things I love about performing,” Molly huffed, leaning against Caleb’s shoulder as if the weight of him could physically push him into agreement.

“Well, we are two very different people, Liebling,” Caleb reached a hand up to start stroking his hair, digging his fingers into it.

They’d been having this argument, or at least a version of it, every day for the past week. Ever since Mollymauk had decided to save them the trouble of packing and unpacking the tent for towns simply too small to contain it comfortably and put on plays instead, using the town hall when offered or the wagon that converted into a stage when not.

Plays had always been part of the circus’ repertoire but now the summer was over and quickly turning to a butter autumn, Molly had decided to rely on them more and more, as they were more portable, a more secure bet in some places and his troupe were more than up to the task.

And some that very much were not.

“The part isn’t that big! It’s half a page at most,” Molly continued, tone wheedling, “And its perfect for you. The guy’s a humble innkeeper who seems so ordinary but then later he’s revealed to actually be one of the most powerful wizards that’s ever existed…”

“And this is perfect for me, how?” Caleb raised an eyebrow.

Molly nudged him with a shoulder, “Don’t put yourself down. You are incredibly powerful.”

“Then let me make the special effects and do the magic stuff I’m good at,” Caleb returned easily, kissing the side of his head.

Molly pulled a face, “You have an annoyingly narrow view of what you’re good at.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if he was being told off or not but he could sense the care and love behind Molly’s words so he let it slide, kissing him again.

One good thing about the days getting colder were the travelling days like today, where Molly drew the curtains tight, pulled a blanket around the both of them and they could let the world roll past with less than a glace, whiling away the hours together, curled up and warm and safe.

Summer had been fun, even Caleb had to admit, the raucous, colourful days in Port Damali had been everything Molly had promised. Confetti and lanterns, music and laughter, the taste of sweet, rich wine and Mollymauk never leaving his lips. But that just wasn’t what he was built for, the handful of weeks had been more than enough. Now, with the blustering wind and bitter rain surrounding their perfect little pocket of warmth, he was content as a cat.

“Believe me,” he said, with a tone of finality, “Your play is better without me in it.”

“Nothing is better without you,” Molly said softly, after the barest pause, his hands finding those fingers of Caleb’s that weren’t busy combing through his own curls.

Caleb hesitated, just a little. Not because the words were unkind but because they sounded more like the start of a sentence, a hanging thread made to be followed. But Molly didn’t follow it. He just cleared his throat and turned back to the script book he’d set hopefully in Caleb’s lap that morning.

For a few seconds, his fingers flitted idly with the page ends, lifting them and letting them fall before sighing, “It’s not a day for working, anyway. Want to try that thing we saw those two exotic dancers do back at the Port?”

Caleb felt his face go red, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

There was finally a break in the rain and Molly had called a halt of the caravans so they could all stretch their legs and get a little air. Caleb tugged his trousers back on from where they’d ended up (strewn on the overhead lamp, somehow) and ventured out into a deliciously fresh day.

Everything was green and jewelled with fallen raindrops, sparkling in the sun which too had come out to stretch and sigh and breathe the air. Puddles like miniature lakes filled potholes in the road and Frumpkin’s ears twitched interestedly as a dappled brown frog went hopping past the caravan steps to wallow in one.

“Don’t you hurt it,” Caleb warned sternly, as his cat slid from around his shoulders where he usually perched like an extravagant stole and plopped down to the ground.

If a cat, or rather a powerful fae being in the body of a cat, could look exasperated, Frumpkin did so, twitching his tail. But Caleb knew he’d listen.

He left Frumpkin to poke excitedly at a very disinterested frog, continuing on through the stalled procession. His friends waved and called out to him as he went by, most to comment on the weather or the state of the road, Jester to comment almost proudly on the hickey the size of a plum blossoming on his chest. Caleb jumped a little, laced up the front of his shirt tighter and thanked her quickly.

At the very edge of the caravan, where the road met the edge of the forest, he found Caduceus, instantly recognisable from quite a way off. Even sat as he was on the very lip of the road, seeming not to mind the black, wet earth clinging to his trousers, the firbolg almost as tall as Caleb and his tail swept lazily behind him. A gentle, swaying metronome rather than the twisting snake of Molly’s that seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Hullo, Mr Clay,” Caleb said conversationally as he paused by his side. Caduceus had never been anything but sweet, reassuring and kind with him and he intended to return the favour.

“Mr Caleb,” the firbolg returned easily, voice low and deep as the wind itself. His eyes were turned out to the forest beyond them, a longing in them that was almost painful to look at. After a moment of quiet, or really the only quiet that could be found in little pockets of near wilderness like this which is to say a quiet full of chirping birds, slow dripping of water, and swaying leaves, he murmured, “It smells of home.”

“I suppose it does,” Caleb replied after a moment, though he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

They’d turned the edge of the circus’ travelling route, kissing the Menagerie Coast goodbye before pivoting and making a slow, winding course in the other direction. They were still so far from anything Caleb had ever known in his younger days but still, in his quieter moments, he’d found himself constantly aware, in an itchy kind of way, that every turn of the wheel now brought them closer to the Empire rather than further away. Closer to Rexxantrum. Closer to Ikithon.

Part of him wanted that. It would be a lie to say otherwise. The anger he’d found in Blumenthal still burned in the very pit of his stomach, like coals that refused to go out. Most days he could ignore it, days where Molly was nearly always beside him or he had a show to prepare for or maps to search through. But it was always there, the desire to see terror in Ikithon’s eyes, the way he’d always seen his own terror reflected. The need to break and tear and scream, part of him that still felt the chafe of the heavy magical chains he’d only recently been able to throw off his own memories. The need for Ikithon to feel even a small fraction of the pain Caleb had been in for years.

But then there was the other part of him that was so utterly and completely terrified of the shrinking miles between himself and Rexxantrum that he couldn’t move. Bren knocking on the door of his mind again, with all of the constant, gnawing fear that Caleb couldn’t understand how he’d ever borne. A voice that still whispered fearfully that if he went back now, as fast as he could, begged Father’s forgiveness, blamed it all on the circus folk, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

In the moment, thinking on it, tears stung Caleb’s eyes and he had to blink them away quickly. He just wanted to know when he’d feel okay again. When he’d be gifted the ease with life, the simple contentment that came so naturally to everyone else around him. When he’d feel normal.

When, another part of him thought, he’d feel like someone worthy to ask Molly what else he’d meant to say that morning. And all the other times he’d felt his lover pause, hesitate, like there were more words on his tongue that he was letting go of, like birds hesitant to leave the nest. Maybe even say some things himself.

He’d thought Caduceus was deep in his own thoughts but those almost elephantine ears twitched and he turned, just in time to see the tears before Caleb managed to get a firmer hold on himself.

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation, the firbolg reached out and grasped Caleb’s much smaller hand in his own, squeezing comfortingly. The size difference made him feel half a child but Caleb didn’t mind that right now.

“You were someone else back then,” he rumbled, voice almost like Frumpkin’s deepest, most contented purr, “You are so much stronger now, you can see it in your eyes. Different place, different person, y’know?”

“I don’t,” Caleb admitted, smiling weakly, “But I trust you so I guess we’ll see.”

Caduceus laughed at that, turning back to the forest, “That we will, Mr Caleb.”

“Where have you been?” Molly saw him coming from where he was perched on the wheels of their caravan, by the looks of things to get a good peer at the clouds overhead as if that would help him judge the weather better.

“Just for a walk,” Caleb called, strolling up.

An incredibly muddy Frumpkin, clearly having had a successful hour of chasing frogs, miaowed in greeting and jumped up to his shoulder, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints up Caleb’s arm.

“Well, settle in,” Molly took off his top hat and shook raindrops off it, “Just looked ahead, the road is flooded and a tree’s fallen right across it. No way we’re getting through until it dries up and we can get it clear.”

Caleb frowned, “Strange. This is the king’s road. It should be better maintained.”

Molly shrugged, nimbly jumping down and avoiding a puddle, “If we troupers had our way the roads would always be straight as arrows, the days would be sunny and everyone would tip in silver. Such is life.”

He had to smile at that. Everything was half a poem with Mollymauk.

“Either way, we may as well pass the time somehow.”

Caleb winced a little, “I don’t think I can stand another round, Liebling. I could barely walk as it was.”

Mollymauk smirked at that, looking more than a little proud, “Look how dirty minded you’ve become in such a short space of time. I love it. But no, what I meant was if you’re not going to be in my play you can at least help me run lines.”

Caleb blushed, though not as ferociously as he might have blushed a year ago, his cheeks barely reached the colour of his hair. He liked helping Mollymauk run lines, playing all the different characters to give him his cues, moving through the stage directions with him in an exaggerated manner, using whatever was around them as makeshift props. He would even do voices, delighting when Mollymauk would collapse in laughter.

Performing for strangers was one thing but just making his tiefling laugh was another. Molly made a good audience.

Caleb sat cross legged on the bed, cupping a mug of coffee with both hands, letting the warmth spread through him before he took a sip. They’d splashed out on a bag of the stuff in Port Dumali and though there were only a handful of beans left, every cup still reminded him of sand under his back, the prickling of skin that had been warming in the sun all day, Molly crouched over him, his lips slightly sticky with mango juice as he kissed down Caleb’s neck.

He could sense a lifelong addiction on the horizon.

“Right…” Molly flicked quickly through pages. He always held scripts with a kind of reverence, a respect. People quickly learned not to dog ear their scripts or throw them around carelessly when their ringmaster was around.

But today, there seemed to be a manic energy about him. He swept through pages carelessly, nearly tearing some of them in his haste, as if his hands were occupied but his brain wasn’t. His thoughts seemed to be somewhere else entirely, worrying at something restlessly like an anxious dog.

“Molly?” Caleb pressed gently, worry creeping into his voice, “Is everything alright?”

The tiefling looked up like he hadn’t noticed anything wrong at all, a mask of calm indifference quickly sliding into place, “Yes? Why?”

“Nothing,” Caleb shrugged after a bit of a pause. He chalked it up to his lover’s inherent dislike of having to sit and twiddle his thumbs, not being able to press on with their journey.

Molly found his place finally, “Okay, so this is the climax of the whole thing. Classic tender admission of feelings that gives the hero the push he needs to finish off the big bad guy.”

“Right,” Caleb nodded, smiling.

In the first few weeks since he took up his position, when he mostly haunted Molly’s caravan for fear of Ikithon being behind every roadside shrub, he’d devoured the many plays and scripts and books of tales the troupe kept on hand to whip out at a moment’s notice like colourful scarves. The idea of having all the time in the world to read was too good to be believed at first. He’d read each and every one cover to cover until the tropes were clear as stage directions; the stiff morality plays, the plays where gods and goddesses meddled in the affairs of mortals and everyone came off the worse, the plays where everyone ended up dead at the end with one character left alive to deliver the closing monologue and even the incredibly raunchy plays where every other line was laden like a pack donkey with innuendo and several roles amounted to nothing but making loud sex noises from off stage which most of the troupers found hilarious and loved to be assigned.

A few of that last breed had been brought out to play in Port Dumali as well. Caleb had missed a fair amount of his technical cues whenever Molly took one of the major roles.

But this was definitely not one of those plays. From just that brief description of one scene, Caleb knew it instantly to be a rousing, chest thumping tale of heroics with three magic items- always three- a humble old beggar man who turned out to be a powerful mage, enough vicious monsters to fill the stage and a witty, beautiful love interest.

There was a nice familiarity about always knowing how a play wound end, reading the traditions and tropes as easily as a road map. Even if the ending was sad, the worst kind of tragedy that would keep him very busy conjuring up gouts of fake blood, it was still nice to know what you were going to get. Caleb could see why so many poor folk would scrounge up the dregs of their rainy day money just to see their plays. It wasn’t as much about entertainment as it was about comfort.

Another thing Caleb realised was that he didn’t know this play. The hand was unfamiliar to him and as he scanned his eyes down the character names at the side, none of them sparked any recognition. He hadn’t realised before, having refused to pick it up whenever Molly presented it to him, firm in his resolve to have no part in it that didn’t involve being well hidden from the audience’s view.

“Is this new?” he asked, eyes flickering up to Molly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I picked it up in the Port over midsummer. They’ve got the best writers there.”

Caleb paused, hesitation holding him still. You’d think being a performer would make Mollymauk a peerless liar, seeing as it was his livelihood to pick up other faces and other truths but weave them into something utterly believable. But in fact, the opposite was true, at least with Caleb.

Caleb knew what his voice sounded like when what he was saying wasn’t quite the truth, when he was acting a part. It was subtle, nearly untraceable, the difference between being in an empty room and being in a room where someone was sleeping but you hadn't noticed them yet. And it would have been invisible, to someone who didn’t hear Molly’s other voice, his own voice, every single day and treasured it more than anything else in the world.

Caleb could always tell when Mollymauk was lying. And he was lying now.

A wary prickle started up between his shoulder blades.

Molly didn’t notice the slight change in him, smiling and picking up his script book, “Okay. Your line, love?”

Caleb nodded slowly and found his place on the page. No voice yet, not until he got a grip on the character, “I just don’t know what to do. It feels like there’s no way forward.”

Molly smiled and nodded encouragingly. He spoke in his own voice too, not even his acting voice. His own, honest voice, “I know you’ve had a hard life, my love. People have hurt you and lied to you and that’s awful but believe me, you’re stronger than you can ever know.”

A beat of sweat started running down Caleb’s back.

He cleared his throat, looking down to his life, “But what if they were right? What if I am useless and worthless and broken?”

Molly reached out and took Caleb’s hand. It was in the stage directions.

“Look at everything you’ve achieved in spite of what they said. You’re brave and strong and kind and every day, even when it felt like too much, you kept fighting. How many people would do that?”

Caleb swallowed, starting to see where this was going. He wondered where on earth Molly had found someone to bind this, who he’d hired to write it out so his own handwriting wouldn’t be recognisable. So much gold, so much effort...all for him…

The next lines were his. He took a deep breath and found it shook.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, not able to meet Molly’s eyes.

Even without looking at him, he could feel the smile in his voice. Soft and shy and hopeful. The words were there, printed in black ink, stark on the creamy white page but he didn’t need to see them to know what was coming next.

“Because I love you, Caleb Widogast,” Molly murmured, smiling hopefully. The complete and total truth, wholly sincere.

This time it wasn’t a forest silence. It was a total silence, a waiting silence.

The caravan creaked slowly in the wind, rocking a little, though as Caleb sat there it felt like the tossing of a ship in the grips of the worst kind of storm. He felt himself torn into two halves, a rushing, pulsing in his head that was growing sickeningly loud.

And Molly looked at him, eyes red and wide. Grief began to creep into the edges of them.

Caleb threw himself to his feet, barked out, “I need...I...um…” and fled through the caravan door.

Exit stage left.

Not that anyone came particularly deep into this part of the forest, as wild as it was, as thick and green and natural was the darkness. But if they had, they might have seen the scorch marks on the thick, ancient trunks and wonder what kind of beast had been through, rampaging and reeling and managing to gouge out parts of such enormous trees. They probably would have gone back to their villages and talked of dragons, great green dragons with moss on their backs and hungry teeth.

They probably would have been very disappointed to know the actual cause of the marks was an average height, hormonal human wizard, sniffling tearfully as he launched fireball after fireball at anything not sentient in his path and hating himself.

Caleb had never been allowed to be a teenager. He’d never been allowed to feel things so intensely that they burned in his chest, to hate and love without any kind of restraint, to throw things haphazardly around a bedroom in pure frustration. Everything he felt had needed to be kept small and contained, caged inside himself like an angry little animal that would claw and scratch his insides.

So now, twenty six years old, he had no idea what to do with everything he was feeling. He’d had no kind of training, no practise. So, in typical fashion for someone who was at least a teenager in training and a fair way behind everyone else, he was throwing fire around and trying to destroy everything around him that couldn’t actually feel pain.

After a few moments, he’d come exhausted, panting and covered in a fine sweat that made his hair stick to his forehead. But then he’d remember Molly’s face, the way disappointment and anguish cracked the edges of his hopeful expression. Pain that Caleb had caused after he’d been given nothing but kindness and gentleness.

And the fire would flare to life in his hands again and he’d throw it out in front of him, sobbing, “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

He should be overjoyed. He should be ecstatic. He should be back at the caravan, kissing Mollymauk over and over until his lips became soft and lovingly swollen, letting his hands wander.

He should be saying those words until he ran out of voice.

But instead he’d ran. Like the worst kind of coward, he’d ran, from himself more than Molly’s gentle offer of love. He’d panicked and bolted like a frightened deer, terrified of the emotions he found inside himself.

The rain started up again, thicker and fuller than before until it was like someone up above was simply pouring buckets of water down onto the forest floor, and Caleb’s fire burned out along with his anger. He slumped down onto a nearby stump and let the fat raindrops run down his face until he was completely soaked to the skin. He made no attempt to get under any cover.

He wanted to love Mollymauk. But to love took a kind of bravery that maybe he didn’t have yet. He’d loved before, he’d loved his mama and his papa, and look how that had ended.

To see a fire burning in front of you and plunge your already scarred and blackened hand back into it, what kind of foolishness was that?

The sound of the rain was deafening so Caleb didn’t realise Frumpkin was there until he felt wet fur rubbing against his ankles. He jumped a little, looking down and seeing his cat, looking utterly sodden and very pleased with himself.

“Chased off every frog within a five mile radius, huh?” Caleb grunted, reaching down and dandling those wet ears.

Frumpkin gave a purr that Caleb couldn’t hear over the rain but could feel under his fingertips. He had to smile a little when he felt it, that low rumbling that had kept him going so many times when things had seemed impossible and he’d been lost in his own mind.

And, like all those other times, something inside him became unstuck and he started to talk.

“It’s just…the whole idea of it scares me,” he sighed, voice low under the patter of the rain on the leaves up above, “I’d just accepted that I was never going to know anything even close to love, I’d written the whole idea off. And now…now everything’s changing. And I’ve never liked change, Frumpkin, you know that.”

Frumpkin blinked his amber eyes, like two dollops of honey, and flicked raindrops off his whiskers.

“But…” Caleb bit his lip, “I guess running away from an abusive home and joining a circus is a huge change too. And that worked out pretty well, as far as these things go. And it took a while to get there but it was all okay in the end.”

The smell of wet dirt filled his nose but it was that warm, rich sort of earthy smell that’s actually very nice. There had never been those kind of smells in Rexxantrum.

“Caduceus is right,” he said softly, ruffling Frumpkin’s fur, “I am someone different. I’m not Bren any more, I’m Caleb. And maybe it’s okay that what I want changes. That I want to be loved now and I want to love in return. And it might not be okay at the start…but it will.”

He sat in the rain a moment longer and looked down at his cat, “I should be having this conversation with Mollymauk, shouldn’t I?”

Frumpkin blinked slowly, making it clear that he thought that was obvious.

“Right,” Caleb smiled crookedly.

He stood, let Frumpkin settle around his shoulders and strode off back towards the camp.

The thought had occurred to Caleb but he’d let it pass so quickly, he’d barely even registered it. The king’s road was supposed to run straight and true from one end of the empire to the other, it had done even back when there had been a king. Nothing was meant to hamper it or block it, if it was, crownsguard would remove it quick as blinking.

Unless, of course, something was placed there deliberately. A fallen tree, not swept aside by the wind but cut at the base. Deliberately felled to block the path of a troupe who came this way every year at the exact same time.

Caleb knew something was wrong before he saw it. Even with the rain, it was too quiet.

He stopped, face paling, Frumpkin bristling around his shoulders. No voices, no music, no laughter, making the unpleasant task go faster. Silence like a held breath.

He broke into a run.

It had to be magic fire. The rain would have guttered out any normal flame and still the caravans burned even as nature desperately tried to stem the damage. Caleb ran past it, unable to stop, knowing something worse was ahead.

Molly was in the centre of the worst wreckage, splintered gilded wood and torn fabric, soaked and trampled into the mud so it lost its brightness, all scattered around him. He was soaked and struggling to breathe, looking like a butterfly with its wings torn away. Left there, thrown aside, discarded so he would be the very first thing Caleb saw.

The tiefling raised his head, looking like even that simple motion caused him intense pain, and saw Caleb there. Grief flooded his eyes and he mouthed a word lost to the rain.

“Run…”

Caleb did, though towards him. Of course he was allowed to get maddeningly close, a few steps away from their outstretched hands meeting, enough to hope. Enough that it hurt all the more when the spectral hand closed around him and yanked him back, slamming him down to the ground.

Mud and water rushed into his nose and mouth, bending him double with wracking coughs, incapacitating him with burning lungs. He could hear Molly crying his name, over the ringing and rush of the rain. But then that too was lost as something seized his wrists and yanked them behind his back until his joints screamed, jerking him into an upright position.

“Bren, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.”

Caleb’s heart plummeted down to the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to open his eyes, some small childish part of him hoping beyond all sense that if he didn’t, none of it would be real and it would all turn out to be one of his awful nightmares.

But then the pulling on his arms increased by agonizing increments, tugging with a cold, ruthless indifference until it was nearly a certainty that his shoulders would tear from their sockets.

With a dry sob of pain, he opened his eyes, blinking through the streaming water.

Ikithon stood there, holding Mollymauk by a limp arm, his face carved from stone. He didn’t seem to have changed at all since Caleb had seen him last. The same cold eyes, the same hard line of a mouth, the same lantern jaw. And despite everything, Caleb felt the same fear grip him.

He hated how familiar it felt.

“Lucky that I found you before you could do anything too stupid,” Ikithon continued, voice calm and casual like he didn’t have a tiefling whimpering in pain and dangling from his hand, “Not to worry, those disgusting people who spirited you away have been taken in by the crownsguard. They will be duly punished.”

“No!” Caleb rasped, trying to fight against the force keeping him bound, “Please, don’t…”

“Because surely,” Ikithon snapped, his voice hard as ice breaking underfoot, “Surely you, my faithful ward, the boy I rescued from the streets, wouldn’t run away and shame me like this? Tell me the truth now, I’ll take you home and it will be as if none of this ever happened.”

Caleb winced. He knew exactly what Ikithon wanted. He wanted him to denounce Molly and all of his new family, he wanted to hear Caleb lie and blame everything on them, believe that it would truly keep him safe. All so he would have the guild of his admission, that extra crack in his heart, to weigh down on him even harder when they went home and he received his full punishment.

And once, not that long ago, he would have done it. But Ikithon didn’t know Caleb Widogast.

Something gave behind him and his hands were free. Lightning filled his cupped hands, lightning that seemed to come from the fury in his eyes.

But there it stayed.

Because without hesitation, Ikithon dragged Molly bodily in front of him, shamelessly using the younger man as a shield.

“Now Bren,” he counselled, voice low and dangerous, “Do not do anything foolish.”

Wrath and desperation filled Caleb’s voice, “The only foolish thing I ever did was believe your lies. I’m stronger than you, Ikithon, you know I am.”

Something flickered behind those cool blue eyes. Fear. He was right.

All the training, every time he had been beaten into the ground under the guise of teaching, it hadn’t been to make him stronger. It had been to keep him weak, keep him scared, keep him a tool. Because when it came down to it, he could turn Ikithon to ash.

And Mollymauk with him.

“Very well then,” the fear turned to the worst kind of ice cold desperation and he took Mollymauk’s hand, holding one of his fingers in a cruel grip.

The hands Molly held his swords with. The hands he played his lute with. The hands that had held Caleb so many gentle ways.

The hands he depended on for everything.

Ikithon’s hands jerked. There was an awful snap over the rumble of the rain. Mollymauk screamed.

“No!” Caleb wailed, the lightning dissipating to nothing, leaving only the smell of ozone.

Cool as anything, Ikithon moved to the next finger. He would snap each one, snap them beyond healing, and not even flinch, just to see Caleb break. And there was no way Caleb could stop him, not without hurting Mollymauk too.

Caleb felt as though he was immersed in ice cold water, vision foggy, lungs burning, heart gripped with shock. Unable to see which way was up. All he could do was cry out.

“Okay,” he sobbed, falling to his knees, the force taking hold of him again, “Okay, I’ll go with you. Just…just please, leave him alone.”

“Oh, we have gone far past you being able to make demands, insolent wretch,” Ikithon snapped, muscles tensing to yank again.

But Caleb managed to choke his words out faster, “I go with you. You take me, you leave them alone and don’t hurt them anymore. Or I’ll tell everyone what you did to my parents.”

That froze Ikithon where he stood. There was an awful lot an archmage could make disappear, a terrifying amount. But the cold blooded murder of two innocent citizens of the empire…that would be too much.

“Whatever you think you know…” the older wizard frowned, though without much conviction. Caleb had learned over the past year to spot bad actors and this performance wasn’t worth a bent penny.

“I know exactly what you did,” Caleb threw all the venom he’d been harbouring since he’d knelt in the charred skeleton of his first home into his voice, “I saw the ruins myself. I spoke to people who saw what you did. I got my memories back, you fucker.”

Ikithon narrowed his eyes. It was obvious how much he despised this, how much he hated Caleb gaining any kind of ground. A small part of Caleb’s mind whispered the truth that was starting to dawn on the both of them simultaneously.

He’ll kill you, the voice whispered, you’ve made yourself too dangerous. He’s just going to take you back to Rexxantrum and kill you.

Fine then. Caleb set his jaw resolutely. As long as Molly was safe.

“Very well,” Ikithon let Molly fall. The mud soaked into his colourful coat which was torn all the way up the side.

Caleb stood, his legs shaky, shrugging off the binding spell. Ikithon sniffed, though that uncertainty in his eyes spoiled the effect of his previous domineering stare. That gave Caleb a small amount of satisfaction, at least.

“I’m saying goodbye,” Caleb limped his way over to where Molly lay, “You call off the crownsguard. Tell them the troupers are forgiven.”

Ikithon looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.

He swallowed, feeling his stomach turn over, “Please. Father.”

The one, petty win was apparently enough. With a dismissive grunt, he walked away, down to where Caleb could now hear the sounds of angry, muted conversation just beyond the trees.

Part of him hoped Molly would have passed out. Part of him didn’t want to have to do this. But something in his brave, beautiful, stubborn tiefling had held out. His breathing was shallow, his eyes fluttered open, as Caleb came over and knelt beside him.

“Caleb…” he rasped, voice pained and weak.

“Don’t try and move, Liebling, it’s okay…” Caleb somehow managed to keep his voice calm even as his insides roiled at the wounds he could see on Mollymauk. He desperately wished he knew some healing magic, “Caduceus is coming, he’ll fix you up.”

“Caleb, please…” Molly’s hand clung to his sodden, filthy shirt, “Please don’t go with him. I…I can’t lose you…”

“And I can’t lose you,” the tears pushed dangerously at him now, he only barely managed to keep them at bay, “It’s like you said, Molly, the best way to make me proud is just…live. Keep going, keep telling stories, keep singing songs. Make people smile.”

“Not without you,” Molly’s face was wet with something that had nothing to do with the rain or the blood.

“Please?” Caleb kissed his hand as he removed it from his arm, “For me? You saved my life, this is just me returning the favour.”

Molly still shook his head, still sobbed but he was too weak to do any more than that. Caleb moved away from him without too much trouble.

“And…I love you,” he whispered, eyes really stinging now with the effort of not dissolving into sobs, “I suppose I should say that too. I’m sorry my timing is so shitty.”

Molly’s wretched cry was what broke him and he turned away quickly before it became too painful. If he looked back, he would be done for.

“Tell the rest of them I’m sorry,” he continued, voice still calm, as if they were simply saying goodbye before the two of them went off to their starting places for another show, “I don’t think I have time to say goodbye to them all so…just tell them how grateful I am. To all of you.”

He could hear Molly shifting behind him, “Caleb…please, don’t, please don’t leave me…”

Caleb swallowed hard. He could feel the dull, pulsing energy of the transportation spell Ikithon must have used to get here, just beyond the tree line. He could feel him waiting for him, ready to make good on the promise his dead eyes had made if Caleb tried to back out on their arrangement. He would kill them all and he would save Mollymauk for the last and longest.

One foot in front of the other. Don’t look back.

“It has to be this way, Molly. Please…have a good life for me.”

Caleb had read all the plays, he knew how they had to end. If he were taller, broader in the shoulders, if he had a magic sword or something like that, he would fight Ikithon and he would win. If he was cleverer, if he told better jokes, he would be able to trick him and save the day.

But some stories just couldn’t end that way. Some stories were tragedies.

Caleb didn’t look back as he stepped into the trees.

#rothfuss au #angst #kingkiller chronicle #critical role #widomauk #caleb widogast #cr: caleb #mollymauk tealeaf #cr: mollymauk #cr: mighty nein #critical role fic #cr fic #cr: campaign 2 #please reblog or let me know what you think!

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