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yesimwriting · 3 years

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Falling Angels: chapter two

A/n took me longer to get around to writing part 2 than i thought!! i didn’t know there was an audience for this idea but im glad you guys liked it!!

Im adding a country to the grishaverse to make my story work,, def not a big deal i just needed a country in which i could control the history of without worrying about conflicting with cannon lol

Link to part one: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yesimwriting/652318577650696192 (lmk if this works ive never linked something to a tumblr post lol)

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life.

Pairng: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! Psychic! Reader

My father seemed to love me more after two glasses of something amber. It was after these two glasses that he would tell me realities his inebriated self believed I needed to internalize. He’d pat my head affectionately and smiled at me as he told me that the world was a bad place. Most of his lessons are lost in my mind, but the one I remember most clearly is that there’s no such thing as a kept secret. There’s always a leak or a flaw or a factor you could not account for. He told me that if I wanted to keep a secret, I would have to decide what I was willing to risk for it.

I know from Seria’s reaction to his presence that listening to Kaz is a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take for my secret. “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re mistaken.” It doesn’t really matter that he believes me. I have the paperwork I need to disprove him. “I have to get to my tent.”

“The princess gets her own tent?” His words are saturated by mock casualness but I can feel his pride on how he delivered that line.

My body is still tense from balancing over flames and his confidence only adds to my desire to unravel. I can’t get angry here. Not at him. Not with the way he grips that cane of his. “I don’t understand what--”

“You may be able to play pretend here where no one wants to look twice at you, but I know what you are.” His stiffness leaves my skin prickling. “I know who you are.”

I swallow back my panic. “Then who am I?”

“You’re that king’s bastard--the one with a high bounty on her head.” Don’t back down. Even the smallest crack will confirm his story. “As long as she’s returned alive.”

Thoughts of what my father would do to me if ever given the chance strike me with more anxiety than his presence does. “I’ve heard of the girl you’re talking about,” I admit, the lie leaving me as easily as the air leaves my lungs when I exhale. “But I’m not her.”

“You’re not from Ketterdam, if you were you would have known who I was after you friend referred to me as Dirtyhands.” I have no defense, but I never claimed to be from Ketterdam. “You make your business claiming to be a psychic.” I am a psychic, but now is not the time to make that argument. “Elkosa is a relatively small and self efficient port kingdom, the island is nothing more than a jagged coastline barely larger than Ketterdam, but I have connections in all places.” He knows someone from Elkosa? I have to fight the instinct to move all of my weight on the balls of my feet, prepared to run. “A captain of the royal fleet told me the story of the night the King’s bastard ran into the meeting room the night before ten ships were meant to sail to Ravka.”

He studies my reaction as I struggle to keep my expression blank. “None of that seems connected.”

“Patience is a virtue most Saints are familiar with.” I roll my eyes. “The bastard couldn’t have been more than nine at the time, but the guards did not want to let her in. The King told them to let her interrupt. The sailor noted this because he had never made an exception to his meeting before. The girl described a nightmare to her father, a nightmare of a storm and ten dead birds. The king did not comfort her, she finished her story by saying that he asked to know about all of her dreams. She went back upstairs and the King continued the meeting as normal but the next day the King cancelled the trip.”

I remember that night as the night I realized that if I’m not careful, I’ll feel what I see in my visions. It felt like I was drowning. I felt the death of each of those men and instead of comforting me, my father nodded once like I had offered him advice and sent me back to my room. “And?” My defense is weak, my mind too lost in the memories of drowning. “Many smaller countries are superstitious.”

“The next day the worst storm to have impacted that ocean occurred. For four nights and three days the storm continued.”

I press my nails into my palms. “You don’t believe that I am precognitive, so that sailor’s unverified story has nothing to do with me.”

“A princess that can see the future disappears at the same time a failing circus hires a girl who has no business in this city who claims to be able to see the future.” He adjusts his stance, taking pressure off the cane as if he’s preparing to need to use it for something else. “I am not fool enough to believe in coincidence.”

“And I am not fool enough to crack beneath the vague threats of a man. In my experience, men always threaten with a blade when really all they’re in possession of is a butter knife. Try to drag me from here kicking and screaming, find a way to incapacitate me and put me on a ship to Elkosa, but when the King sees that you brought him a stranger he will have your head.”

He blinks, expression hard as stone. I tense, preparing for a physical blow. “I didn’t expect you to be a half-decent liar, but I should have.” I bite my tongue to avoid resorting to something I can’t take back. Like begging. “Even if it’s in only half your blood.”

“I am not her.” My stubbornness burns more than the need to survive. I inhale, hoping to shake the grasp of the sensation but it only worsens. The pinch of dread in my chest is heavy and familiar. A vision.

No. Not now--not in front of him. I push against it even though I know that only makes it worse. Not now. Not now. I should be grounding myself but all I can think about is how stupid I am and how bad this situation is.

“I’m not an idiot, I know to be quiet. I see myself crouched somewhere dark.

“Being defensive doesn’t make you any more intelligent.” It takes me a minute to recognize Kaz in the darkness.

We’re somewhere small, our backs against the same wall but our shoulders do not touch. This vision is enshrouded by the feel of panic.

This other me grimaces, but her eyes lack anger, “Remind me why I agreed to help you again?”

“You never told me why,” he admits, “you can change your mind on participating and I can change my mind on whether or not you're more useful than your father’s money.”

Something loud crashes from behind the door we’re both staring at. “You’ll have no use for me or my father’s money if we die here.” I squeeze my hands together.

He hesitates, “My ghost will.”

The future-me almost smiles. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see ghost futures.” I hesitate, something strange behind my eyes. “I wonder if that can exist, if there’s a future beyond endings.”

Future-Kaz is silent for a long second. “There should be,” he says, “for someone like you, at least.”

I watch the way I take in his words. “You’d be there, too,” my voice is low, “your ghost at least.” I turn my head, staring at the door instead of him, “If you weren’t, I’d miss the brooding.”

The vision leaves me with sweaty palms and swirling thoughts. All of my visions do that. Not all of them make me feel so confused. Apparently, he needs help and I agree to do so. At one point we’ll be pushed into a life or death situation and I won’t loathe him.

I blink twice, forcing myself to hold onto the reality in front of me. I don’t have to agree--the future isn’t set in stone. For all I know tomorrow morning I’ll have a vision in which he kills me.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Shaking my head, I turn to face him. “You need help.” I don’t wait for his reaction. “You’re not here to return someone to the King of Elkosa, you’re here because you need someone that can see the future.”

“I--”

“It’s not that you won’t take me to Elkosa, it’s that you’d rather use my abilities for something.”

I’m confusing him again, but that’s okay. I’d rather deal with him confused than angry. “I need to know how a certain business deal of mine is going to be worth what it costs.”

He’s spent the entire time claiming he doesn’t believe in my power. Was that some kind of tactic? In the vision I saw, despite the panic surrounding the situation I didn’t feel panicked around him. The probability of that future occurring is probably low. I’ve been wrong before, the future changes too much for me to know everything.

“That’s not how readings work,” I admit, “I don’t have that much control on them. Most of them come to me randomly. The events I see always involve me or someone I care about to a certain capacity. I can give someone a general glimpse into their future but I can’t promise I’ll see what they want. Sometimes I can see the general vision by just focusing on their energy but usually I need some physical contact for it to work.” That seems like a fair explanation. “Oh--and not all of my predictions come true, most are blurry, few are solid--the future is always moving.”

Wait...the vision I saw where I was with Kaz wasn’t blurry. Those can be wrong, but it’s much rarer. Do I really agree to this?

“Then maybe I should make it involve you.” His aggression has me forcing myself to stand my ground. He can threaten me all he wants but that won’t change things. “Or take the money your father would give me and cut my losses.”

Every time I’ve purposefully destroyed a solid vision, something bad has happened. I’m genuinely considering it. “What do you need a psychic for, anyways?”

“To get through the Fold.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone get through the Fold, literally or in my visions.”

He’s unphased by my doubt. “It’s happened.”

I really don’t want to help him. “Well then good luck, I’m happy to part ways here.”

I manage one step forward before he moves his cane in front of my path. I’m getting tired of this. “You’re assisting me one way or the other, whether that aid will be financial or through your services is up to you.”

Anger pinches in my stomach the way it often does when I’m told what to do. The one thing centering me is the vision still reflecting in my thoughts. There’s no denying it--I had felt comfortable with him. There is a future in which I feel comfortable with him and I’m not sure I’ll be able to avoid it.

“I won’t get in trouble for you,” I tell him, “The Ringmaster holds onto those indentured to him, especially the commodities that bring him profit.”

There’s something stiff about his silence. I wonder if he’s always like this, pushing the weight of his presence onto those around him without saying a word. “When I have a goal, it is achieved. I’ll speak to him.”

I cannot imagine a conversation I want to be involved in less. The Ringmaster and this man that Seria had labeled ‘Dirtyhands’. “I just had a vision--I saw your entire conversation and it ends with you missing an arm.” His stoic expression does not shift. “Okay, I’m aware that it wasn’t the funniest joke, but throw me a bone--you threatened to kidnap me and sell me to my father in order to extort me and I’ve been nothing but polite to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, something in his expression changing in a way I can’t read. “All you’ve done is lie since the moment you started to speak to me.”

The optimist in me would like to think that his annoyance counts for banter. I shrug, feeling a little lighter than I did a second ago. I’m certainly not comfortable but I’m starting to see how to put up with the tension without letting it strain me. “Well, polite for my standards.”

I let him brood. “You must have done well as a royal.”

My past cuts through the peace I managed to grab onto. It’s not his fault, he has no way of knowing what the castle was like for me. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. “I had my moments,” I finally settle on, hoping the echo of pain isn’t visible behind my eyes.

I guess it doesn’t matter if he sees me bleed. He’s heartless, and I hate sympathy.

“Y/n,” Seria’s voice is genuine anger, “You’ve turned into an idiot--first the tightrope walk and now entertaining whatever deal he’s trying to coax from you.” I love Seria, she’s the reason I didn’t die in the street when I first arrived in Ketterdam, but she sees me as a mindless child. “Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you--it’s a lie.”

“He hasn’t promised me anything.” I need to calm her down. Once she’s calm, everything will be normal again. “And he knows.” I don’t have to turn to feel the way Seria gapes at me. “He knows who I am, so I have to do what he wants.”

“You never have to do anything a man is forcing onto you, y/n. We’ll find a way--”

“Seria, it’s fine,” I reach to touch her arm, “I’ll be fine, you can’t protect me from everything and you don’t have to.”

Kaz throws a pointed glare at the man who was with him earlier. When did the stranger get here? “Boss, she’s faster than she looked, but I have what we need to get the girl--”

“You’re late,” Kaz sighs, bored, “she’s agreed.”

Wait--what was he going to do if I didn’t agree? “Out of curiosity, what are you talking about?” The man blinks twice, squeezing a rag between his ring-clad fingers. “You were going to use chloroform to kidnap me, weren’t you?”

For some reason I don’t understand, the stranger gives me a look that’s a cross between sheepish and charming. “Nothing personal.”

“Or original.”

Seria pinches my arm. “Y/n,” she scolds, “your sense of humor is going to kill me one of these days.”

I cringe, pulling my arm away. “When I met you, you were pickpocketing in the pleasure district, please remember that.”

She rolls her eyes. “An attitude like that is going to leave you without a place to sleep at night.”

I take her comment for the empty threat it is. Every other day she’s threatening to kick me out of her private trailer so that I’m forced to fight for cots or speak to the Ringmaster about my lodging arrangements. He’d give me what I want, but speaking to him feels so slimy I’d sleep in the woods before trying it.

“Kaz.” I turn my head in time to see the girl that gave me the advice about the tightrope walker. “We need to go, he’s coming soon--you’ll do better to speak to him in the morning after she’s gone, that way he has nothing to hold over your head.”

“Once I’m gone?” The girl had called me a Saint. I can appeal to her. “I’m not--I’m not going anywhere, I said I’d help.”

Her eyes widen, sympathy reflected clearly in her dark irises. “There was never a version of this in which you ended up staying here.” I hear a hint of apology in her voice. “You won’t believe me, but I promise this will be better for you.” All of her pity is gone with those, replaced by something hard.

Seria responds for me, “I think you should go.”

“What?”

She almost smiles, but her eyes are painfully sad. “I never wanted you to be here forever. I don’t trust these people, but I trust their ability to get you out of here, even if only for a little while. Bad things are coming, and I think you’ll miss the worst of it if you go now.”

What she alludes to is a blade in my heart. “You want me to leave you here to deal with it?”

“Y/n, I’ve been hurt here more times than I can count--”

“No, I won’t leave y--”

Seria squeezes my shoulder, “It’s not forever.” When she wants something, it’s almost impossible to get around it. “Besides, if I need you, you’ll see it.”

My world feels to have lost the vibrance of color. I’ve left so much, but I let myself believe I wouldn’t leave her. I pull her into the hug. “The moment I see a vision of you in any type of danger, I’m coming back.” I hug her even tighter when she tries to pull away so that I can whisper something in her ear, “I’ll use this opportunity to leave the Ringmaster and then I’ll get you out, and together we’ll leave Ketterdam. We’ll find your child, like you always wanted to and they’ll know that they're lucky because they’re the only kid in the world to have you as a mother.”

She squeezes me so tightly I find it hard to take full breaths. “Two,” Seria whispers, “I have two children.”

My eyes burn as her words find their way into my heart. “I love you, Seria.”

“I love you too, my star,” she pulls away enough so that I can look her in the eye, “you don’t like being called a Saint, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the title.”

Tears prick my eyes as she releases me. “I’ll find you.”

“He’ll be coming soon,” the girl warns, “He spoke to an advisor about wanting to find you after the show.”

No doubt to praise the fire stunt he forced onto me. Bastard. I nod once but I don’t move. I can’t bring myself to leave Seria until the girl places a hand on my elbow.

Falling Angels Taglist: @glowstick-lesbian @cashlum @whatiswrongwithpeople @pass-me-jeez-it @thecraziestcrayon

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theweasleysredhair · 3 years

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Wait For It [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 3488

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: ‘Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. And we keep living anyway. We rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes.’ [Based on ‘Wait For It’ from the musical Hamilton].

WARNING: major character death, other character deaths

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @sarcasticallywitty15 @tyyyweasley @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @wonderful-writer @marauders-loving-queen @vogueweasley @marvelettesassemble @thisismynerdyself @gcdric @loony-loopy-lupinn @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @pussytalenteditdocartwheels @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whiz-bangs78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @vivianweasley | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: got a bit carried away with the angst... prepare your hearts guys - i cried a lot and i’m the one who wrote it. anyways lil shoutout to haley @wand3ringr0s3 bc she let me talk out this fic idea and also she’s the queen of angst fics. anyways enjoy x

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

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Love;-

His ginger hair was illuminated by the light from the fire, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief and lips curled up into a cheeky smile - one you adored on him, one that made your heart race.

He sat beside Lee, retelling the story of one of his more outrageous pranks, waving his hands in enthusiasm as you smiled at him. You weren’t quite listening, too caught up in his voice and how passionate he was, your heart beating fast as you pulled a knee up to rest your chin on as you watched him.

The conversation moved on quickly from there, but you couldn’t bring yourself to remove your gaze from the eldest twin, moving to lean on George’s arm as you listened, but making no move to join in with them.

“I can’t wait to ask her.”

The words piqued your interest, and you almost jolted from your seat as you heard him say those words, feeling like your heart was in your throat.

Who was he talking about?

“She’s... she’s amazing. She’s smart, she’s funny. She’s fit. If she says yes to me, I’ve hit the jackpot I reckon,” Fred grinned, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes flickered over to you for just a moment and you smiled back at him absent-mindedly.

You couldn’t help it. You loved him.

Lee nudged Fred, wiggling his eyebrows at him, “When are you gonna ask her to the ball?”

Fred cleared his throat and sat up straighter, and you caught his gaze, a small - very hopeful - part of you praying he was going to ask you, and ask you at that moment.

When his gaze moved swiftly onto George, you finally looked away, staring at the fire. And though you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t talking about you, you hoped.

“Tomorrow.”

You’d wait and hope with all your heart he’d pick you.

***

You’d felt nervous all day, a ball of negative energy curling in your stomach as you wandered through your lessons aimlessly, heart clenching every time you saw Fred speaking to a girl, hoping he wasn’t asking her, yet knowing he might be.

You thought studying in the hall was going to be an easy hour, sitting by your close friends, including Angelina and Alicia, the twins and Lee sitting a little further up the benches, near Harry and Ron.

There was some mumbling, and then you heard Ron hiss, “Who’re you going with then?”

You slowly looked up, so as to not draw attention to yourself or show yourself as interested, however as you glanced over at the boys, you noticed Fred staring.

And for a moment, a small gap in time, your heart leapt as you thought he was looking at you. His brown eyes caught yours and he winked, and you felt your throat closing up, thought maybe there was a possibility of him asking you.

He threw the scrunched up ball of paper in your direction, and you held your breath, a smile curling onto your lips as the paper flew towards you. You practiced how you’d say yes to him in your head, imagined what you’d wear, how you’d do your makeup. What colour his tie would be - the same colour as your dress, you’d hope.

And then the paper sailed past your eyeline, hitting Angelina on her shoulder. Your heart sank, blood rushing through your ears as you watched Fred ask her to the ball, felt the pain in your chest growing as watched her nod.

It was one thing knowing he didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him, another to know he felt that way for someone else. More specifically, one of your closest friends.

You ripped your gaze away from them and stared down at the paper in front of you, quill nearly breaking from the force you were applying to it, throat closing up as you blinked away your tears, not wanting anyone to see.

The study time felt like it lasted hours, your hands shaking as you packed your things up and headed straight for your common room, burying yourself under the blankets on your bed and screaming into your pillow.

You were sure you were in love with Fred Weasley, as certain as you were that the sky was blue and grass was green. Your happiness grew when you heard him laugh, heart pounding whenever he was near.

He loved Angelina though.

Tears soaked your pillow as you tried to put your heart back together somehow. Tried to be okay with it.

But how were you supposed to get over a boy you were never with? How were you supposed to fall out of love with someone that didn’t love you?

Your chest ached, eyes sore from wiping away tears, yet they still fell.

And so you sat, crying over a love you never had. And most likely never would.

Death;-

“How’re you feeling?” Fred asked as he joined you in a secluded area of the castle. The battle preparations were ongoing, with everyone quickly projecting all the protective spells they knew on any part of the school they could.

You looked out and could see a swarm of black figures heading towards you in the distance, making everything seem that much more real, that much more scary.

“Scared,” you admitted glancing up at the redhead, who nodded.

“Me too,” he confirmed. He opened his arms and pulled you into his chest, into a warm hug. You closed your eyes, breathing in his scent as your arms wrapped tightly around him.

You both stood there for just a while, his hands rubbing your back reassuringly, and you decided, in that moment, you needed to tell him.

You needed to tell him you loved him.

Needed him to know, before you both set off fighting. Needed to know if there was chance for you both - if this was another reason to fight.

“I need to tell you something, before it all starts,” your voice was quiet, but you knew Fred heard as he pulled away to look at you, his hands still holding your waist as he focused on you.

“What is it?”

“I-“ you hesitated for a moment, swallowing nervously as your gaze dropped to the floor. Fred lifted your head up gently with his thumb, a touch that set your skin alight, one that sent shivers down your spin.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, in contrast to his usual booming voice, a concerned look set on his features as he looked down at you, his brown eyes showcasing his worry.

“Please don’t hate me,” you replied, just as soft. You squeezed your eyes tightly, feeling him grab one of your hands in his as the hand on your chin moved to cup your cheek.

“Darling, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, reopening your eyes and catching his gaze, your heart pounding as you tried to think of the words you wanted to say, “I don’t want to go into this battle without you knowing, so I- I guess what I’m trying to say is... well, I’m in love with you.”

Silence is odd, having the ability to be both comfortable and tension-filled depending on the company and context. Usually, silence around Fred was comforting, knowing he was there without either of you having to say a word. But this silence, the silence that hung over you, made your heart leap to your throat, and you swallowed harshly, wincing at the wide-eyed look he was giving you at this revelation.

His hand dropped from your cheek and he stepped away just a little, just enough that you swore he probably could’ve heard your heart crack, before he finally spoke, his voice a shaky whisper, as if he didn’t know what to say, how to reply.

“Y/n, darling, I love you...”

You felt your eyes widening a little, heart beating fast now due to his response. You didn’t think you’d ever hear him say those three little words, ones that held so much meaning. The beginnings of the battle around you faded, and you could only think about how you loved Fred, and Fred loved you. Everything was going to be okay - you had each other.

Just as you were going to step forward, a watery laugh nearly escaping your lips, you realised he was still finishing his sentence, that he hadn’t finished answering you.

“... but only as a friend.”

His voice was gentle, but his words cut like glass, sharp pieces hitting your chest and ripping your skin, the words reverberating in your head. And suddenly warm tears were falling down your cheeks - you’d let yourself get your hopes up, let yourself imagine a life where you loved Fred and he loved you. When in reality, he didn’t love you.

He wasn’t in love with you.

You took a shaky breath, nodding at him as you pressed your lips together, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stepped back away from him.

“I know,” you whispered, looking away from his gaze, feeling embarrassed, above anything else, trying to force a smile onto your face, “I-I know... I just- I needed to tell you.”

You swallowed, shaking your head. You felt stupid. He’d never shown he was interested, you didn’t know why you’d ever thought there was a chance.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, before reaching out towards you, a look of sympathetic despair crossing his features as he tried to bring you closer to him.

As his fingers brushed yours and you pulled away as though he burnt you, he felt his heart clench, taking a shaky breath as he watched one of his closest friends pull away from him, tears lining his vision as you moved further away from him, his hand hovering mid-air as though he still wanted - needed - you to be near him.

“Love, please. I-I can’t lose you. Please, let’s just- Let’s talk about this. After all this- please. Don’t walk away, I-I need you Y/n. I’m sorry I don’t lov- but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I care about you so so much,” his lips were trembling, tears falling freely as he reached out again, a sob escaping his lips as you hesitated, allowing him to take his hand in yours for just a moment.

“It’s okay, Freddie,” you whispered, though he and you both knew it wasn’t okay, and possibly wouldn’t ever go back to the way things were before you told him you loved him, “I just- I need to be alone.”

“We’re going into battle, I need you to know that I-“

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I can’t do this.”

Fred tried desperately to get you to stay. He didn’t want to watch you leave, to watch you walk away from him. Not like this, not when you were both about to risk your lives fighting in a dangerous battle, where one wrong move could cost you your life.

“But I-“

“I need to go,” You pulled your hand from his and turned on your heel, wiping your tears away quickly as you ran off.

Fred’s mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, as if he wanted to call after you, before closing it again and shaking his head sadly, wiping a last lone tear that fell down his cheek before shoving his hands into his pockets.

He’d find you after the battle and speak to you, he decided.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

***

You were tired. The battle wore on around you as you stumbled through the fallen pieces of the building around you, overwhelmed at the fighting and overcome with the realisation that you were basically a bunch of kids trying to fight in a war you tried to prevent.

You hadn’t seen anyone for a while, being towards the back of the school, only fighting the occasional death eater who wandered close to you. You were hiding out after a particularly nasty hex left a gash down your arm, trying your best to bandage it up as best you could.

You hoped everyone was okay, had already passed by Colin Creevey lying on the floor as you found somewhere to hide. You’d almost stopped for a moment, hoping he was just unconscious, however the angle he was lay at told you otherwise, and you forced yourself to move on before anyone came back.

Still reeling with emotion from your talk before the battle, you’d shot spells carelessly at death eaters, hoping it was enough to keep them away. To keep you alive.

You turned the corner, wand raised, your eyes scanning the scene as you tried to find somebody - anybody.

And that’s when you saw it.

A flash of light, and you felt yourself running towards it, stumbling over the rubble, dodging spells in desperation. It hit the wall, the ginger boy stood underneath unaware.

You screamed out his name, the sound somehow cutting through the spells and fighting, your lungs burning as you willed yourself to run faster.

It played out in your mind in slow motion, the light, the stone crumbling, falling.

Fred turned at the sound of your voice, a smile etched on his face from something Percy had said, but just before you could push him out of the way, the wall fell.

You halted, barely metres away, nearly losing your footing as you choked out a sob, tears streaming as you stared at Percy, who had the same stricken look on his face.

Neither of you spared a glance around you before rushing towards where the eldest twin once stood, desperate to find him, to make sure he was okay.

Removing the pieces of rubble with a desperation you didn’t know you could feel, until you found a tuft of ginger hair sticking out between two broken bricks. Your heart clenched, stuck in your throat as you revealed his face, his last smile etched onto his features.

You didn’t hear the scream that left your mouth, didn’t feel Percy gently moving you so he could remove the stones from on top of the rest of Fred’s body.

Your eyes wandered across his face, his freckled skin, the slope of his nose and down to his chapped lips. Tears fell onto his face as your hands rested on his shoulders, gripping onto the fabric of his sweater, sobs racking through your body as you ignored the battle going on around you.

“Wake up, Freddie, please wake up!”

Your pleas went unanswered, the ginger boy laying before you still, his face unwavering.

“No, please!” You sobbed. You didn’t notice Percy’s hand on your shoulder, or his heartbroken mentions to move his little brother away from the fighting - to move you away from the fighting.

You clung to Fred, not wanting to let him go, not being able to, “You gotta wake up, Fred. This isn’t funny, this isn’t a good prank. Please wake up. Please just-“

You ran a hand through his hair and wiped your tears off his cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for walking away. Please. We need you. George needs you. I need you. Please.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke to him, white noise filling your ears as all you could focus on was the sight of the boy laying before you, cuts across the side of his head, his brown eyes once shining, now dull. You grabbed his hand, holding it in yours, refusing to let go.

You weren’t sure when Fred’s body was taken from you, when he was moved into the Great Hall, too shaken up to think of anything but the thought of the wall falling over and over again, playing out in your mind like a cruel nightmare, each time you were too late, barely metres too late, seconds too late to stop it.

You sobbed into George’s shoulder, his head resting on yours as you both cried.

Before anything, Fred was one of your closest friends. One of your best friends. And now you’d never get to see him smile again, never hear his laugh or get to play silly pranks with him.

You’d never hug him again, never hear his flirty comebacks and witty jokes.

And as you felt George’s clutch tighten on you, both as broken as the other at losing the person you loved the most, a grief-stricken sob escaped your lips, causing George to pull away a little to see if you were okay, his eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down his face, still so caring after losing his other half, your bottom lip trembled as you thought back over everything.

You had walked away from him. Your last words bouncing around your head - I need to go. In your haste, you never said goodbye to the boy you loved. And now you never could, would never get the chance.

George squeezed his eyes tight as he brought you closer to his chest, you grabbing a handful of his t shirt in your fist as tears streamed down both your faces. You mumbled something inaudible into his chest and he moved to hear you better. The same words fell out of your mouth over and over, between broken sobs and falling tears,

“I’m sorry, I was too late.”

Life;-

The first few months after the battle were difficult. You saw him in everything - in every bit of laughter, every bright colour, every joke.

You saw him in George, who’d tried his hardest to forget. He’d smashed all his mirrors, tried to dye his hair, before you found him, collapsed in a ball of sobs in the middle of his flat, whispering, “Please, bring him back.”

After living his entire life with Fred in it, he didn’t know how to live without him.

You relied on each other to get you through, taking it day by day, trying to mend your hearts, broken in different, yet very similar ways.

The nightmares were the worst.

Waking up in cold sweats, seeing the wall collapse in front of you, knowing you were too late and didn’t get to say goodbye to the boy you loved. Knowing if you were just a few seconds earlier, George would still have his twin brother by his side, laughing and making jokes like usual.

“The worst part isn’t remembering. It’s easy to remember. The worst part, the hardest part, is those times I forget to remember. I forget that he’s not here, that he’s gone. And then I remember and I feel so guilty,” you’d told George, half a year after the battle. It was nearing Christmas, a time you both used to love, yet now you were apprehensive, didn’t know how to do Christmas without Fred.

George had replied sweetly, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you. And whilst it didn’t feel the same as the way Fred had hugged you before the battle, the feeling was comforting, warm and familiar, “He knew you loved him. You cared for him, watched over him to make sure he didn’t do anything too stupid. And now he gets to return the favour and watch over you.”

“He’s really gone isn’t he. He’s just... gone.”

The night you’d gone through his things with George was difficult. It was sad, sometimes overwhelming, but you also got to sit and just remember, reminding yourselves who Fred was.

With every Weasley product you found, with every photograph you came across, every sweater, broken quill and long-forgotten sketch, your sad tears began to turn into happy ones, laughing with George about your times in Hogwarts, about better days gone by.

It was funny, that even though he was gone, he could still bring smiles to your faces.

Maybe that’s why he was so special, why it hurt so much to lose him. He made the people around him happy, through everything.

You visited him often, needing to apologise, to properly say goodbye. Or just to feel like you were close to him again. To thank him for all he’d done, for allowing you to love him how you did. For being such an important person in so many people’s lives.

Wiping a tear that fell down your cheek, your hand reached out to hold onto the gravestone before you for balance, smiling through your tears as your fingers ran across his name, engraved on the stone.

‘Fred Weasley

1st April 1978 - 2nd May 1998’

You kneeled down, placing a single flower across the grass in front of the stone. It’d been years since you’d lost Fred and somehow the pain got worse every day.

But you knew, with time, things would get better. You’d find your happiness, and learn to move on.

All you had to do was wait for it.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines

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larkace · 3 years

Text

Robber Claws

hi guys! i've read a bunch of your fics and got inspired so i wrote a thing! enjoy ;) also, it's pretty long so...buckle up! love yall <3

The criminals lurk in the mist, invisible, but Sofiya Pavlichenkov knows they’re there.

She’s perched in the Lookout’s nest of her Warship in Fourth Harbour, pretending to read the documents her first mate, Kastor, has just handed to her. But her blue coat is flapping in the wind and her papers keep jostling and she’s being watched, all of which is rather uncomfortable.

Idly, Sofiya wonders what the criminals might want. A smuggling, perhaps? Out and away from stinking, crawling, loathsome Ketterdam?

Sofiya hates this city. His city. She misses Ravka, her homeland- the Little Palace.

I miss my bloody Kefta, Sofiya thinks darkly as another bought of wind spirals harshly through the Harbour. The blue coat she wears is a subtle nod to her Tidemaker status, but it’s a sad, thin piece of cloth compared to the grandeur of the Fabrikator-made Keftas. But Sofiya can’t wear her Kefta, not if she wants to blend in in Kerch- a lesson she learned long ago…

Old enemies, Sofiya. Old enemies, but not withered grudges.

Huffing out a sigh that would make Zoya Nazyalensky proud, Sofiya rises gracefully to her feet.

They’re coming. She can feel it; they’re making their way towards the ship. They don’t have to be rowdy to intimidate, that’s for sure - or to make a crowd of Merchants and Thieves part like the sea almost immediately.

Sofiya reaches up behind her head and loops her hand around a piece of knotted rope; takes a deep, steadying breath.

And she steps off the platform into the open air.

For a moment, she catches on the air as if a Squaller has caught her on a buffering breeze, but sure enough, gravity kicks in.

Sofiya welcomes the feeling of her stomach in her throat as the fall takes hold, zipping her past the sails. It's good preparation, anyway, for the three dark figures moving up the docks towards her.

As they near and Sofiya lands lightly on the deck, she confirms what she already knew: these were criminals. Her criminals.

The trio stops in front of her. They're all wearing black and gold - not a uniform exactly, but it’s a solid way to show your allegiance. None of their hands were visible, but if they were, Sofiya would find the Robber Claws emblem branded cleanly onto the backs of their knuckles. Their hoods are drawn up over their faces, but Sofiya can tell from their posture who she’s dealing with.

"Ah, Iseut," Sofiya says serenely, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The girl in the middle pulls down her hood, revealing shining blond hair, dark eyes, full lips. She doesn’t smile.

"Where have you been, Sofiya?" Iseut asks coolly.

"The Wandering Isle," Sofiya answers immediately, "I stopped at Os Kervo on my return to pick up some supplies. I'm only three days late, Is. Cut me some slack."

Iseut sighs, and suddenly looks less the badass, fake-waitress man-killer, and more the tired mother of a delinquent child. Sofiya feels a flicker of guilt.

She had stopped at Os Kervo for more than one reason. The "supplies" were crates upon crates of commandeered Fjerdan weapons and traps, intercepted by the First Army on their way to the Front Line. Sofiya had paid nothing to take them off the hands of the Ravkan soldiers, who honestly had no clue where to send them. What good were jerky Fjerdan guns to a sophisticated, well-oiled Second Army legion?

Sofiya could picture Zoya's face at the sight of the sad little weapons. Disgust and disdain, unshakable beauty - and perhaps just a little bit of pride that her friend had been the one to collect the Fjerdan cargo. Sofiya would work on selling it all later. She'd dump the Grisha traps in the ocean, though. Drown them like they deserved to be drowned.

"I am sorry, Iseut," Sofiya says, and her words aren’t mistruths.

"Don't apologise to me," Iseut says dismissively, "It’s your friends that were barely able to sleep the past few nights. You should talk to -"

"Destry," Sofiya's words mist the air like a fine rain, "I know."

One of the tall figures stood behind Iseut lowers her own hood. Lyra. Ly.

It made sense that the Robber Claws would send their best Bruisers to Fourth Harbour. Sofiya knew by the other Robber's posture that beneath the hood, she would find the face of Winter. But Winter wouldn't lower her hood in front of so many people, so Sofiya was content with what she could get.

"You really had Destry worried, Sof," Ly says, chastising.

"Destry can handle me being gone for weeks on end," Sofiya crosses her arms. She will not be guilt-tripped, "This job was half a week, and I was only a few days off schedule. I did tell Cherry that I'd be late." The words come out as a question.

None of them say anything.

Another flash of worry courses through Sofiya. Cherry Vlasova is a Heartrender, and one of Sofiya's closest friends. The message that Sofiya had forwarded was simple and concise: I'll be a few days late. Stopping at Os Kervo. Don't worry, no Fjerdans. Tell Destry -S.P

Had something happened to Cherry? She was an avid gossiper; her post box was always full of tip-offs (a useful source of information for the Robber Claws) but Sofiya was reliably informed that her letters were always placed on the top of the pile. Marked "URGENT."

"What happened? Is Cherry alright?" Sofiya demands.

Iseut holds up her palms, and they are callused and grease-marked. Sometimes Iseut is so well put together that Sofiya forgets she's a barmaid.

"Cherry is fine. But all our Grisha are shaken. Whilst you were away, there was an attack on the East Stave."

Sofiya's heart stops and restarts and stops again.

An attack. On the Grisha. And she wasn’t there to - to help, to defend-

"Destry," Sofiya breathes, "And Cherry - and Adali, Roza, Linnea, Yan, Anya- oh, Saints, was it the Fjerdans?"

There are many Grisha members of the Robber Claws. It was one of the reasons that Sofiya wanted to join them in the first place. If the Fjerdans had attacked -

"Everybody is fine," Ly says lowly, "We had Freya and May fixing people up as soon as we heard- and Lita, of course, but behind the scenes."

Freya and May- and even Lita, whose powers most of the gang didn't even know of. Grisha Healers. So people had been hurt.

"What. Happened." Sofiya growls, and Ly glares at her challengingly, fists clenching. The water beneath the decking froths and bubbles as Sofiya brings her own fists together, power surging pleasantly up her arms. If Ly wants a fight, she can have one.

"Calm down, both of you," Winter's smooth voice projects from under her hood. Despite the heavy fabric, her voice is clear and commanding. Sofiya takes a breath to compose herself.

"To answer your previous question: no. It wasn't the Fjerdans." Iseut says, "We don’t know what they were."

Sofiya's brow creases at the chime of fear in Iseut's voice. She's never seen the golden-haired barmaid afraid before.

It begins to rain softly, the pattering of droplets quiet against the wooden decking of the docks.

"We should go back to the Queen’s Head, Iseut," Ly suggests, referencing Iseut’s place of work. Iseut nods once, swiftly, and glances over Sofiya's shoulder at her warship.

"Do you need to...?"

"Yes."

"Go on, then."

"KASTOR! IM GOING FOR A ROUND OF DAY-DRINKING!" Sofiya yells over the shoulder of her rain-splattered coat. She hears Ly chuckle as Kastor's scruffy head pokes out from a window.

He nods at Sofiya when he spots her, and she waves, assenting. Kastor would keep everything safe whilst she was gone. It was their unspoken agreement, unchanging and unwavering since the day they'd become crewmates.

Sofiya turns back to Iseut, Ly and Winter.

"Let's be on our way," she says, and lets her fellow criminals lead the way along the Harbour, her warship disappearing into the mist behind her.

~~~~

The mid-day slump of customers meant that the Robber Claws had the Queen’s Head pub all to themselves.

Iseut- who did not own the pub, but had put more work into it than the real owners ever did- had immediately trekked behind the bar and poured herself a whisky.

"Want anything?" She asks, directing the question directly at Sofiya despite the equal presence of Ly- and Winter (who had lowered her hood slightly now that she was back on familiar ground, with familiar faces.) Bruisers didn’t drink on the job. It slowed reflexes.

"The story," says Sofiya firmly, "It a joke about the day-drinking. What happened?"

Iseut pours herself another whiskey and the quartet take a seat at a shady little circular table in a quiet corner. The murmurs of other Robber Claws members is enough to shelter their conversation from the group- despite Sofiya being sure she was the only one unaware of what had transpired the days she’d been gone.

As Iseut begins her story, with Winter and Ly regularly interjecting with additions, Sofiya feels horror and fear clamp down on her heart like a Fjerdan Grisha trap.

Iseut’s alluring voice weaves a tale of Komedie Brute actors in bloody masks, rose-painted rubble from an impossible explosion, and worst of all: Grisha. Dead Grisha, killed by creatures with screeching metal wings.

“Only a few of our Grisha were hurt,” Iseut sips her drink solemnly, “We took your advice of keeping them anonymous and undercover. We have Erin and our other spies out searching for answers at the embassies. I’m sure you’re just as eager to find out about the winged creatures as we are.”

Sofiya nods, “I am. Thank you for filling me in, Is, really. And to you, Ly, Winter. I know you don’t like going to far from the West Stave.”

The last comment was directed purely at Winter. It’s not a lie. Winter runs a dojo for training Kerch’s women to protect themselves from Barrel bosses and scum alike; she didn’t want her clients finding out about her… Robber side. Being a criminal wasn’t the most unintimidating, friendly persona to have when speaking with vulnerable women.

Sofiya respected Winter and her clean profession. It was hard to be so kind in the Barrel. And men were rarely kind to women at all.

Sofiya knew that first hand.

Shoving away the memories- blue eyes, dark hair, gorgeous smile, charming words and sharper wounds- Sofiya stands in one fluid movement.

“I’m going to find Destry,” she says. Iseut stands, Ly and Winter falling back to flank her again, and smiles. She’s beautiful, that is undoubtful, but the attacks- the sleazy men at the Queen’s Head, the strain of the city- it’s all gotten to her. Sofiya can see it.

This city is poison, thinks Sofiya as Iseut takes her hand and shakes it. Poison and rot.

“Destry will be in her rooms,” Ly supplies, and Sofiya nods at her once.

Sofiya grins brightly, hoping it covers her own weariness, and recites, “Fair winds.”

“Bright stars,” chorus her friends. Sofiya waves over her shoulder as she slips out of the bar and down an alley. Above her, a storm brews in the clouds.

Perhaps the stars would be out that night. It didn’t matter. Nobody in Kerch saw the stars anymore.

~~~~

On her way to Destry’s apartments, Sofiya ran into more members of the Robber Claws.

Malcolm and Firefly, who lived together in shared housing in the Anvil, were shopping for new blacksmiths’ equipment. They each provided invaluable services to the Robber Claws, crafting flawless weapons second only to that of Fabrikators. They greeted her with a wink each. Sofiya moved on swiftly after trading them a Wandering Isle-crafted staff for twenty Kruge.

She picked up some baked goods on the way. She would need them. Destry- who had been her closest friend since she arrived in Kerch- was an Inferni. Fire-bringer; with an even fierier temperament. Rumour had it- and Sofiya knew the rumours were true- that Destry had been attending the University of Ketterdam when she’d heard a boy make a lude comment during an exam and lit the paper on fire with her mind. And that paper had been thrown. At the boy’s face. Ouch.

Sofiya had been nursing a whiskey in a tavern when she’d first heard the story recounted. She’d leapt up from her seat, slithered into an alley and held the recounter at knifepoint until he’d told her Destry’s name.

They’d become fast friends upon meeting. Sofiya had been in awe of someone so rebellious, so brave as to set fire to an exam paper, and Destry- well. Destry had laughed for hours when Sofiya had told her how she’d first come across her name.

But now, staring up at the ornate windows of Destry’s apartment, Sofiya feels unsure. She didn’t mean to worry her friend. Iseut had explained that her letter must have gotten lost during the riots. Sofiya cursed the post offices. So there was a deadly storm- your motto is still “We always deliver.”

Despite her trepidation, Sofiya’s feet were swift on the stairs. She had a key to the apartment, and didn’t hesitate to unlock the door and slip inside without a sound, content to watch Destry whilst she worked; even if only for a moment.

Leaning against the wall, Sofiya’s brow creases as she surveys her friend. Destry’s hair is plaited carefully into two loops at the nape of her neck, hazel strands freeing themselves gently against her light brown skin. She’s stood facing away from Sofiya, arms circled in rings of fire. The shirt she wears is Fabrikator-made; the flames don’t take to the papery material.

Sofiya takes a step forward, and pointedly drops her bag of confectionary on the floor. It lands with an audible thump.

Destry whirls, the fire at her wrists whirling into an inferno ready to strike- until Destry sees who is at her door.

“Shouldn’t have hesitated, Des,” Sofiya said weakly, “I could have put a knife in your back.”

The shock on Destry’s face dissolves. Her face splinters down the middle. Licks of fire at her fingertips wilt into ash in a pile at her boot-clad feet.

“You would have put out the flames with your water, I’m sure,” Destry says, and then flies across the room towards Sofiya, wrapping her in a tight, smoke-smelling embrace.

Sofiya would normally pull back. “Don’t be too open with your heart, Des,” she’d say, “People use your loves against you here.” But Sofiya couldn’t bring herself to say those things. The weight of the week comes crashing down on her head like a tsunami.

Fjerdan traps on my boat, attacks on my gang, tensions in Ravka boiling over… where’s safe anymore, except here?

Destry pulls back slightly to scan Sofiya’s face. She has a smear of oil on her cheek. Destry’s eyes are filled with fire, burning like an ember beneath onyx waters.

“Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Destry-”

“Don’t you make excuses with me, Pavlichenkov,” Destry snarls, “You didn’t warn us you were late! I couldn’t sleep- neither could Cherry!”

“I-”

“We thought you’d been caught, Sofi,” Destry cries, “We thought the Fjerdans had got you! I thought you died.”

The word is ugly and big in the room, choking Sofiya’s response. Death. Dying. Dead. And by Fjerdan hands. It wasn’t so rare for travelling Grisha to be caught and sent to the pyres.

“I’m sorry,” Sofiya says, because it’s the only thing there is, “I wrote- I really did, don’t look at me like that- according to Lyra, there was a storm in the True Sea. The letter sunk with the ship.”

“You’re a Tidemaker,” Destry huffs.

“Yes, which means I manipulate water,” Sofiya says, “Not stop it from overturning ships with important letters on them. Destry, I’m sorry. I brought waffles.” She offers the last sentence like a defendant on trial with the Stadwatch; one final piece of evidence to prove her innocence.

Destry brightens immediately, “Well, in that case.”

The pair of them set to work, shoulders just brushing in the cramped kitchenette. Sofiya’s array of pasties are laid out over two plates, which they lay on their laps. Destry’s job for the Robber Claws is, in few words, that of the logician. Papers are scattered all over her apartment, covered in detailed blueprints and scale drawings of buildings all over Ketterdam, Fjerda and even- rarely- Shu Han. There were no drawings of Ravka.

If Iseut had ever commissioned a robbery in Ravka, Sofiya didn’t know about it. It would be…unwise to hit out at the Ravkans, with so many Grisha in the gang.

But Destry’s job was essential, so Sofiya couldn’t complain about the lack of trays to put their plates on. Such things were useless for such an incredible mind as Destry’s.

“So,” says Destry conversationally as she lights the fireplace with a casual flick of her wrist, “How were the Wandering Isles?”

Sofiya says nothing, massaging her temples lightly. Destry manages a laugh.

“Your silence is telling, Sofi,” she warns.

Sighing quietly, suddenly feeling very tired, Sofiya says, “It was crawling with our Fjerdan friends from the North. ‘Peaceful’ Fjerdans.”

Destry spins, and she is outlined with the fire. We’re opposites, Sofiya thinks. Fire and Water.

“You didn’t-” Destry begins, horrified.

Silently, solemnly, Sofiya raised her palms to face the ceiling. Destry reaches out.

Her gentle fingers trace the scars there. Deep and painful and barely healed, the scars run red against Sofiya’s pale flesh.

“Sofiya…” Destry breathes.

“It was the only way to push my power down,” Sofiya whispers. She’s rarely so emotive, but Destry is someone she trusts with everything. It was a weakness, some would say, but they were each powerful Grisha. They were Gods in a world of men. And they would not kneel “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been caught. It was a price to pay.”

Grisha shone like lighthouses around people. In Kerch, in Ketterdam, it was safer for them- especially ones loyal to a gang, as Destry and Sofiya were. But in the Wandering Isles; where Fjerdans passed through on their way to Novyi Zem, where gang affiliations mattered less than the colour of your eyes… Sofiya tells herself she had no choice.

“Sofiya, you’ve opened up old wounds here,” Destry says, tracing the marred skin of her palms again, “You need a healer. Freya, Lita, May-”

“Wouldn’t understand,” Sofiya finished, pulling her hands out of Destry’s and placing them carefully in her lap, obscuring them with her coat, “They’re healers, Des, not warriors- they’d go to Iseut.”

Iseut. Their unofficial leader, the founder, the lighthouse in raging seas. All of the Robber Claws seemed to be caught in her gravity. She was their sun. And Sofiya… well, Sofiya was the moon. Iseut would send her to a healer, one who would stop her travels. One who would commandeer her Warship, and Kastor… health of the mind was important to Iseut.

But Sofiya was not damaged, as they would tell her. She was not broken. Her mind was sound.

I did what I had to do, to survive.

But Destry can see through it all. Through the mask, through her eyes, right to her bones. Through to her lying, treacherous heart. We’re all broken in the end.

But.

Oh, Destry, Destry, please…

“I won’t tell her,” Destry promises, “But I’d like you to know that I think you should. Tell her, that is- Iseut. She might help.”

“She might ship me back to Ravka,” Sofiya grumbles, biting into a toasty croissant.

“Oh, she wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“She’ll want you to heal, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Sofiya rolls her eyes, “But these wounds are of the flesh. The scars on my heart will never heal, not in this life Perhaps there will be mercy in the next, even for my rotten soul.”

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the Komedie Brute,” Destry laughs.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Sofiya crows.

“I can’t my dear, the money’s spent,” Destry choruses instinctively.

Sofiya wipes away an invisible tear, “Gorgeous! We’ll make an actress out of you, yet, Destry Clements.”

“Oh, you most certainly will not,” Destry huffs.

Their laughter fills the air, and Sofiya thinks that maybe there is hope for her rotten soul, after all.

~~~~

The man returns late from the pub wearing only one shoe.

A bottle drained halfway of mauve liquid dangles limply from his pale fingers. The veins in his foot are blue in the half-moon’s light.

He slurs a broken melody. She catches a few words as he passes below her on the street.

“Hmm… perish… light… air… fire… hell… hmmm…”

The man’s name is Danyl Harrop. And he is going to die tonight.

“Hmm… shadow… devil… rot… earth… sun… burn… lose….”

Harrop continues down the road, heedless of the mud on his bare foot. He'd be blackout drunk in the morning if he survived.

He wouldn’t.

Silent as a breeze, steps as soft as downy feathers, she leaps from the streetlight where she was perched.

She strikes.

She is ash and shadow. She is a storm of fire. She is vengeance.

She is death.

Harrop yelps as she pins him against the tree. His face is as white as the moon, with eyes like black craters.

“What’re you doi-” he slurs dazedly, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. He blubbers like a fish on land as he tries to shout for help.

“For King and Country,” says the girl. Stepping away from Harrop, she lets her power hold him against the tree, keeping his muscles upright. She surveys him like an artist would their unfinished masterpiece.

The girl whispers, “Sleep tight, Danyl.”

Flicking her wrist, she snaps his neck. He’s still alive, barely, so she latches on to what little of his mind there is left and strips it like an onion. For a man who is out so late, so drunk, on what the girl remembers as a work-day, he knows too much.

Secrets. They feed this girl, nourish her. There is a skip in her step as she turns away from Harrop; without her supporting his muscles, he collapses against the tree. She leaves his mind just as it goes dark.

There is no need to hide in the treetops upon her return to the city. It gleams just half a mile away, most of which is roiling seawater. As the girl wanders along the road back to Ketterdam, she finds Danyl Harrop’s shoe in a puddle of mud. The girl laughs at the sky. She flips a coin into the shoe, whispers a heartless prayer to her Saints, and moves on.

Back to Ketterdam. Back home.

~~~~

Ok, so that's that! I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger... I may have created a whole plot... so there might be some more coming soon!

all these excellent characters (save Sofiya, Danyl, Kastor and the girl at the end who kills Danyl- who has no name... yet *wink*) belong to the following:

Iseut is @littlegirldorothea's

Destry is @finnick-annie's (I may have made them besties👀👀)

Cherry is @brekkercookie's (they are ALSO besties👀👀 we have a trio omg)

Winter is @cressjacquine's

Lyra is @no-mourners-at-my-funeral's

Malcom is @blackpheonix’s

Firefly is @ask-shadowbon’s

Erin is @lightningboytytonjesper’s

Adali is @apple-bottom-jeansx’s

Roza is @vampire-rights’s

Linnea is @alonlyfangirl's

Yan is @lucentcorrigan’s

Anya is @queenlilith43’s

Freya is @smol-evil-gremlin’s

Lita is @the-whispers-of-moonlight’s

May is @saltyfortunes

and the "Fair winds, bright stars" motto as created by @spicy-tomato-sauce's

oh and the whole Grishaverse is the wonderful @lbardugo's <3

if I missed anyone or you want to tag anyone go ahead!

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so--many-fandoms · 4 years

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I saw a post that got me thinking about Percy being a more constant figure in camp once he’s semi retired from all the prophecy nonsense/world saving drama and like. He’s definitely a big fan of younger kids, he loves helping newcomers get over all the confusion of finding out the gods exist and the often traumatic experience of being brought to camp and missing their family/friends, making them feel at home, basically being what Luke was to him in TLT but without the betrayal. He’s experienced enough not to need any of the basic skills classes newer campers spend all day in and old enough to be trusted to fill his own time and not need constant supervision, so he spends a lot of time hanging out with the newbies to answer their questions & tell really toned down stories about his past experiences (ex: talking about That Time He Was A Literal Guinea Pig but making it sound less scary and more hilarious). (They’re always super shocked when they end up hearing about all the world saving he did and realizing that those little stories were actually dangerous parts of such Deadly & Important quests.)

Also, all the older teens probably trade off watching over the younger kids &leading activities/lessons, but he really enjoys it and so probably spends a lot more time on it than the others. I know it is (or used to be) common fanon that he taught sword fighting, and while I’m sure he sometimes makes guest-lecturer style appearances, I feel like he’d like leading less necessary-for-survival activities; he’s definitely got some lasting trauma from Tartarus and all the other shit he went through as a Literal Child, he probably doesn’t really like the thought that he’s helping prepare other kids that age to go through the same stuff. So, what does he teach instead? Horse/Pegasus riding! Especially for the really young kids, he’s able to talk to the horses so he can explain “hey this kid’s never seen a horse before so they might be a bit rough, no need to panic just let me know if they’re holding the reins too tight or anything and I can get them to fix it”, which I feel like would make the whole thing a lot easier and less stressful for everyone involved. If there’s a kid in class who’s really upset about something, he’ll put them on Blackjack or another horse/Pegasi he has a particularly good relationship with and ask them to take the kid flying/running around camp to help distract him. He’s definitely 100% willing to supervise and play translator for any kid that particularly enjoys riding and wants to build a relationship with their horse, so he spends several hours a week hanging out with little 10 year olds translating anything from questions about ribbon color preference to angsty tween monologues to “oooh the new brush feels nice, wait, my shoulder itches, a little to the left...” and becomes a confident for half of the camp because they can pretend they’re just talking to the horse but sometimes he’ll cut in with his own advice or commentary on the horse’s, and everyone knows he’ll never gossip about it; it also helps that he’s easy going and funny and never afraid to offer an embarrassing story about himself to distract a kid from something or offer solidarity (yeah, I might be good at the lava wall now, but I too was terrible at it at first, here’s this hilarious story of the time I accidentally got my shirt burned off while trying to show off for my crush, etc.) and just. Everyone loves him. He doesn’t have a cabin full of siblings like most campers so he adopted ALL the campers and now he’s everyone’s big brother.

Naturally, he also supervises recreational swim time (he’s the best lifeguard and he can make sure the ocean stays calm and dangerous/painful creatures stay away) and leads pretty much all of the water-based activities like sailing and canoeing and anything like that. He teaches swim lessons for anyone who comes to camp not knowing how, and pretends not to notice the small group of campers in the class who pretend not to be capable swimmers to spend more time around him in a swimsuit (listen, they know he’s taken, but he’s also extremely hot and they know how to appreciate art when they see it, okay?). Sometimes he’ll take some of the youngest campers to the lake when they have free time and spend a few hours ‘practicing his powers’ by taking them all down in bubbles, letting them walk on water or lifting them into the air, and basically going along with any game or trick they can think of. (One time they got him to make a literal waterslide that was so y’all they could see all of camp and beyond it in several directions. It took a lot of his energy to hold it but he managed for long enough that practically every camper got a turn.)

I also imagine that he’d be totally down to help any camper get over any kind of ocean/water related phobia. No need to fear drowning when you’re swimming with a guy who can literally control the water and let you breathe under it! Scared of sharks? He’ll let you hang out with him in the water with a promise that he’ll keep all the sharks away, let you know if anything bigger than a sardine is nearby, tell them they’re not allowed to bite you, and/or he can even introduce you to one if you want! He notices a kid sitting on the sand while the rest of their cabin/friends are splashing around in the waves and learns that they’re afraid of riptides? Don’t worry, he’ll make sure the only riptide at this beach is his pen-sword!

Basically Percy was made to be the perfect cross between Chill Counselor and Protective Older Brother and also never do anything stressful ever again because he’s Done Enough and he deserves better, godsdammit.

#percy jackson #pjo #Percy: meets a new demigod #Percy: youre my child now

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collecting-stories · 4 years

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Thalassophobia - JJ Maybank

Request: Hello I love your writing so much! Could you possibly do one where she doesn’t get along with JJ and he find out that she can’t swim and he taunts her and she begs him not to tell the others, and somehow she ends up in the sea and she’s struggling/ gets hurt and he has to help her and care for her and they have a moment or something pleasee x

A/N: Thalassophobia is a fear of the ocean or deep bodies of water.

Outer Banks Masterlist

☆☆☆☆

You stood at the end of the jetty staring at the Heyward’s boat as John B and JJ loaded the drone on. Kiara was looking over the map one more time and Pope was swearing to his dad that it was all just some regular fun, nothing to worry about. And you were just standing still the whole time, staring at the boat and the minute gap between the boat and the jetty were you could see water.

“I think maybe I’ll sit this one out.” You finally said, speaking up for the first time since John B picked you up in the twinkie that morning.

“What?” Kiara looked over at you in surprise. “No way we’re all going.”

“I just don’t wanna be out there on the water. I can’t swim.” You confessed, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Everyone can swim.” JJ piped up. You rolled your eyes, knowing immediately that this was going to start an issue with him. He was always looking for a way to piss you off.

“No.”

“Well obviously,” he replied, casting a glance your way, “but everyone else can.”

“Some people didn’t learn okay?” You defended yourself. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t swim, it wasn’t like you didn’t want to.

“You live on an island, at the beach, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life ‘you can’t swim’.” JJ said, doing his best impersonation of you at the end, which really just sounded high-pitched and whiny.

“Well I can’t swim. So I’m not getting on that boat with you guys.”

“That’s fine, we’ll let you know what happens.” Kiara said, drawing your attention toward her as she touched your arm, trying to be as reassuring as possible.

“No way! No! We said we needed everyone and you’re part of that as you so annoyingly insist on pointing out so get on the boat.” JJ’s voice raised a little, getting more pissed by the moment as you refused to get on board.

“No!”

“JJ, she’s not getting on.” Pope said, coming up beside you on the jetty.

“Whatever! Then we get your half.” He concluded.

“No way! That’s not fair.” You snapped. He was stubborn and you knew he would take every opportunity to cut you out of the group. But you couldn’t let him win, “fine, I’m getting on the fucking boat you asshole.”

“Good.” JJ said,

“Great.”

“Can we just go already!” John B sighed, annoyed with both of you. JJ and you were both childhood friends of John B’s, you’d both known him equally as long, and he refused to choose between the two of you. Meaning that JJ spent way more time with you than he would have preferred. Including this, you getting on the boat with them.

☆

The calm weather that John B had claimed was supposed to stick around all day quickly deteriorated into a coming storm. Reluctant to do so but not comfortable with John B and Pope in the back of the boat, you had moved inside with JJ, sitting on a crate in the corner and trying not to look as the wind shifted and the waves picked up. Surprisingly JJ said nothing about your behavior though he did feel the need to volunteer you when John B called for help.

“Hey, come here for a second, we need help with the rope.”

You looked at JJ, waiting for him to do something but he just continued to stand there behind the wheel. Finally, he looked down at you, smug. “Unless you can suddenly sail a boat they aren’t talking to me.”

“I’m going!”

You made your way over to John B and Pope carefully holding the side once you were close enough. Rain was starting to come down and the waves crashed against the side of the boat.

“If you just, grab right there, yeah. Grab that. Pull.” John B instructed, handing you the rope and checking the camera to see where they were. “Shit, JJ, port, port!” He moved away from the edge to talk to JJ, leaving you and Pope to pull the rigging.

“I am!”

JJ turned the wheel just enough to get the drone out from under the boat and you lost your footing, trying to grab on to something but too close to the edge of the boat. You were there holding the rope one second and the next you had been knocked over, trying to grip the rope but burning your hand as you crashed into the water below.

“John B!” Pope screamed. Kiara ran over to your side, looking over the edge.

“Holy shit!” She cried, “where’s the life raft?”

“What happened?” John B asked, JJ coming to the door to see the commotion.

“Guys we don’t have time I’m going in.” Pope announced.

“I’ll go, I’m a better swimmer.” JJ said, already pulling off his hat and sweatshirt so he could go in after you. John B took hold of the wheel, fighting to keep the boat steady as JJ jumped in after you.

☆

“She’s waking up.” JJ called, “Kie give me some water.”

Kiara came over, kneeling beside you as you started to come to, your head on JJ’s lap. He brushing hair away from your forehead as you tried to catch your breath. He took the water bottle that Kiara offered him, wetting the sleeve of the sweatshirt he still hadn’t put back on, pressing it against your forehead and cheeks.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kiara asked, holding onto your hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Yeah. I told you I can’t swim.” You replied, tilting your head back to look at JJ.

“Didn’t think you’d try to prove it.”

“Come on, we need to get off the boat.” Pope called, standing on the jetty. John B had steered the boat the rest of the way back into the harbor and docked it. The storm that was coming not far off now, “can you walk?”

Kiara helped you sit up while JJ moved from behind you, standing up and capping the water bottle. He stuck it in his pocket and squatted down beside you, wrapping an arm around your back. “Here, I got you.”

“I don’t need you helping cause you feel bad that I went overboard.” You mentioned, even as you leaned most of your weight on him and let him stand you up.

“Can you stop being a pain in the ass and just accept my help?” He replied, securing an arm around your waist even now that you were righted, prepared to help you get off the boat.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“What exactly is our next move supposed to be guys?” Pope asked, helping John B carry the drone down the dock toward the twinkie.

“I wouldn’t mind our next move being dinner.” JJ piped up.

“I second that.” John B replied.

“I meant with the gold!” Pope stressed, rolling his eyes at his friends’ antics.

“Well why don’t we get food and then discuss next moves?” JJ asked.

“I hate to put a damper on the evening but do you think you could drop me off at mine? I don’t feel so great and I’d rather just go home.” You said, climbing into the backseat of the twinkie and resting your head against the window. You were wrapped up in an oversized towel and a blanket but you wanted to get out of your wet bathing suit and get some rest.

“Of course.” JJ muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry did you fall off a boat?” You did your best glare across the back of the bus at him, annoyed that he would continue to hassle you after you had just fallen into the ocean.

“I went in after you! And if I had fallen off I would’ve been fine cause I can swim!”

“Just drop me off please!” You called as John B got in the driver’s side.

“It might be a concussion; you shouldn’t be alone.” Pope pointed out, frowning when you turned your glare on him.

“I’ll be fine.” You promised.

John B drove the twinkie to your house first, letting you out. When he pulled up you pushed the door open and headed for your house, throwing your hand up in a wave. You were still feeling awful and all you wanted to do was get inside, change into warm clothes, and lay down. Your dad was at work still which meant that you had the house to yourself.

“JJ,” Kiara started to say as you walked up the stairs to your porch.

“No. Kie, no way.” He snapped, knowing immediately that they were going to try and make him stay with you.

“Come on.” She insisted.

“Then you go.”

“I would but I promised my dad I’d help close tonight.” Kiara said.

“Unbelievable.”

“JB and I’ll come back with food.” Pope promised, trying to ease JJ’s annoyance.

“Whatever. I’m still stuck with her.” JJ snapped as he climbed out of the van and made his way to your house. He had already saved you from the ocean, he didn’t understand why he had to go babysit you too.

He wasn’t the only one annoyed either. You stuck your head out of your bedroom and looked down the hallway as the front door opened and JJ walked into your house.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked, coming out of your room, changed but still toweling your hair dry.

“John B and Pope are grabbing food and coming back.”

“And you volunteered to stay behind?” You questioned.

“I wouldn’t say I volunteered.” He replied, walking into the kitchen and rummaging around in the fridge.

☆

“Why can’t you swim?” JJ asked, sitting on the couch with you scrolling through netflix.

“What?”

“You live on the beach, you never learned how to swim?”

“No.”

“How come?”

You shrugged, “when I was like six my mom took me to the highschool for swim lessons and the guy there was teaching us how to hold our breath underwater. I was freaked out about going underwater so he held my head under. I almost drowned.”

“That’s fucked up.” He said, sitting up a little more to look over at you.

“Yeah. My mom totally got him fired. But I never got in the water after that.”

“You should try again.”

“I have. It freaks me out to much.” You replied. There were a few times that you’d tried swimming but it terrified you every time. “I only went today because I didn’t want everyone thinking I was letting them down. But that was really scary.”

“Well, sorry you fell over.” He replied.

“I mean, it’s not like you pushed me. You even jumped in to save me…definitely not who I expected to be pulling me out of the water.” You admitted.

“What you thought I’d let you drown?”

“Not like, on purpose.” You had

“I can’t believe you think I’d let you drown.” JJ protested

“I said you wouldn’t.” You laughed at the offended face that JJ made.

“It’s the way you said it!” He replied.

“I didn’t say it any kind of way!”

“That’s it,” JJ announced, “I’m teaching you how to swim now.”

“No thank you.” You laughed.

“No, too late, I’ve extended my friendship to you and now you’re gonna have to learn to swim.” He replied, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Too bad.”

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @pensysto @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa @katiaw2 @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @justkeepdreamingswift @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @jolomez @timotaychalabae

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pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years

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HSMTMTS 2x12: Don't say we'll have to let it go...

After a very stressful morning and several moments in which I was close to a full sanity slip completely unrelated to this, it is high time (heck, it's the highest of times, if you know what I mean) I got to the new HSMTMTS, the last one for a while.

I'm honestly scared, though. This morning I thought nothing could make me more nervous today than the whole ordeal I had to go through, but now that I'm here, I'm super scared and anxious. I don't even want to say it, but... what if this is... you know what I'm thinking. We're all thinking it. I just hope we're wrong in a good way.

I feel like I might die of anxiety, so I guess I'll just dive in. Whatever will be, will be.

Supportive Nini is best Nini. Honestly, I haven't liked her all season as much as I do now. The background, behind-the-scenes role seems to fit her a lot better than the lead. I hope to see more of her like this when (fingers crossed!!!) the show comes back.

Ashlyn, on the other hand, is a perfect lead. She was born for this, and it shows. It shows so much that everybody has finally noticed it. They took their time, didn't they?

Ugh, I hate, hate, hate this kind of moment that happens every time when someone has prepared a surprise for someone else — and we saw that twice this season — once with Carlos at his Quinceañero, and now with Ashlyn. I mean the moment before they find out about the surprise and they feel like they've been forgotten and it's all so sad... at least I know whatever my boy Reddy has planned for his girl will make up for that sort of feeling. I can't wait!

Ahhhhh @redlyncentral you called it! You called it big time! I can't say I wasn't expecting it to be something like this, though, because I trust your sixth sense more than I trust mine — and I trust mine a lot. Also, if anyone deserves to have their name in lights, it's Ashlyn. And remember when she told Big Red that, to make things light up, he just had to walk into a room? Or when he told her that the only thing he'd throw at her was a brighter spotlight? You know, I think that, just like airports are Portwell's thing, lights are Redlyn's thing. And that is so beautiful... I am legitimately crying.

Yikes... see, it's one thing when Nini calls Ricky 'Richard'. But it's another thing entirely when Kourtney calls Howie 'Howard'. Gosh, I hope they clear things up. If Howie has something to say (as in, some secret to come clean about, if you catch my drift), he'd better do it now. I was never too invested in Kowie, but it still hurts to see tension between them.

Ok, but... these two are too dorky for words! I mean, you're telling me Howie was acting that way just because of how nervous Kourtney's talent made him? Oh well, I feel like I can understand that, actually. She's a powerhouse. But also, everyone around here needs to learn a lesson or two from Redlyn. About communication, reciprocity, expression of feelings... it's no accident that they're the parents of the drama club. But this is not about them. Oh, who am I kidding? With me, everything is about them. Unless it's about Seblos or Portwell. Never mind. Moving on.

I am trying very hard not to have a visible or audible reaction because my brother is in the room and I'm supposed to be working, but... EJ had his dad put in a good word for Mr Mazzara at Caltech. And that is something that makes me feel feelings I can't very easily put into words. Also, what does that mean for Mr M's future at East High?

As clear as the imprint of Jamie's words is to see on EJ's face, I feel like he's not giving up on Portwell quite yet. 'Play it by ear' sounded quite promising to me, all things considered.

Not Ricky and Nini writing the same thing in slightly different words... again! I absolutely get why people ship them, at least on the surface level I do, but I really can't see them as a couple anymore. That is not to say, however, that I'm not rooting for them on their way to figuring out how to be 'just' friends. (See, I'm not a big fan of the expression 'just friends', as if it's something less than a romantic relationship, so...) They could be the best friends ever. If, and only if they learn to communicate properly. All kinds of relationships require good communication. I feel like I'm saying that a lot, but, you know, if it's true...

I can't look at Miss Jenn the same way after last week's episode. The Menkies have turned her, quite frankly, into a monster. She's too obsessed with beating Zacky Roy to notice how she's treating her students who have always been nothing but devoted to her and the play. Well, some of them anyway... I feel like it's time for Carlos to reconsider his opinion of her... and I know it must be painful, and the least thing I'd ever wish for him is pain, but... sometimes certain painful things are necessary. I just hope everyone comes out of this alright. I think I might not, though. I've been crying for a while already.

No... why is Gina crying? My girl needs a hug... Oh, here comes Nini. This seems like it's been a long time coming.

This was beautiful... only one character played by an actress named Olivia will be redeemed today. And it's the right one, if I do say so myself.

Alright, who called it? Gina connecting Nini with her brother about her music, I mean. I know for a fact someone here called it. If you happen to be that genius and you read this, please come forward in the notes to get the credit you deserve. This is... a little too perfect to be true, but I feel like it's the best way to connect and wrap up several storylines with one blow. And I love when that happens. Gosh, why does this feel like a series finale? Please tell me I'm wrong. I am not ready. I will never be ready. Ok, maybe one day I will be, but not anytime soon. Please tell me my feeling is deceiving me this time.

Oh, good, it's being addressed. The 'jump off of something high' comment, I mean. It would have been wrong not to address it. I kind of really liked the way they did it, too. Also, 'getting there' really is the most accurate answer to the question whether Ricky is happy. I feel like he's got a long way to go before he does get there, but he really is closer to that destination than he's been in a while. This boy deserves all the happiness. He's been through way too much. And I'm glad Miss Jenn is finally seeing her part in his struggles throughout the year.

Ahhh it's the song! I've been so excited for it all week, ever since that teaser leaked. But, once again: why does this feel like a finale? I want to curb my anxiety and watch this episode with a free mind, but the episode itself just isn't helping me. Ok, let's go back to the song for now. Whatever will be, will be.

No... EJ's verse... just no. Somebody tell that boy not to be so hung up on the words of somebody who doesn't even know who Gina is today. I've had 'the majestic S.S. Portwell' for a couple of weeks and I'm not ready for it not setting sail after it was almost out of the... port(well). Have I ever told you I make bad puns when I'm anxious?

Carlos doesn't even remember being on stage... that's too relatable to be overlooked. See, I used to perform on stage (I've decided to quit for good now and it makes me cry only slightly), and that has always been how I've felt about it. I feel like my favourites are who they are because I relate to each one of them to an extent — some are who I think I am, some are who I used to be, and some are who I wish I could become... and so much more on top. I'm being so emotional. I'm not ready to let these kids go. Please someone tell me I won't have to, at least not quite yet.

The Wildcats' reaction to... Capital-B-witch and Fake-French-Git-who-is-apparently-French-for-real (as I've taken to calling those two because calling them by their real names would mean showing them respect which they don't deserve) was exactly the same as mine. No one invited them there. They're not supposed to be there. Someone kick them out.

'Big Red... you were... also there!' Um, excuse you, he was not just 'there'! I mean, I know we didn't get to see him on stage (we've been robbed!!!), but I'm sure he was the most amazing LeFou to ever grace a theatre stage. That being said, we have been robbed! But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I want to see what Big Red's reaction will be. I've been fantasising about this moment for weeks now.

Ok... so I said a couple of weeks ago, in my post on 2x10, that Ricky has been given a chance to prove what kind of friend he is right then and there... and, well, this wasn't exactly how I envisioned it, but it was nice. I think that's the word for it. Nice. Ricky is just too nice to do what I kept seeing in my fantasy. And Big Red is doubly too nice to do it. But I... I surprise myself sometimes with how aggressive I can get in defence of other people. Maybe it's better this way than my way.

Did that capital-B-witch just say what I thought I heard her say? Because there's no way she just said that. Also, 'sometimes people deserve a second chance'... well, yeah. And sometimes they don't, you... well, I don't use words like that, but you guys can put two and two together, right?

'I'd trade it all for this group right here tonight'... me too, Eej, me too. I'm not even going to pretend I'm not crying because, guess what, I'm bloody bawling my eyes out! I kind of stopped for a moment when you-know-who and her second-in-command came in, but now I'm crying again. I am so not ready to let these kids go.

So... they're dropping out? Just like that? Well, that was anticlimactic! But hey, I absolutely get it. That's the Wildcat spirit, after all, isn't it? They did win already. They won something that some of North High's students can never understand. And that's more important than just about anything. [side note: I've got to say I appreciate the fact that my boy Reddy is now able to joke about his opening night predicament. See, that's another thing I relate to. I go through the craziest stuff, and then I laugh and tell stories to anyone who will listen. And I think that's the best approach to that kind of stuff. I just wish I could be less dramatic about the little things, too. It seems to me it's easier to laugh about the big, serious stuff once it's over, but not about some things that most people would deem unworthy of their attention. But hey, I'm working on that. Also, this post is not supposed to be about me. Moving on.]

Bless Ashlyn and the fact that she's good at communication. Even if she's a little late. She's not too late yet. Portwell might still be saved.

No, Ricky, you so did not just call you-know-who! I will not stand for any of that. Unless it's to shut her off once and for all, in which case I say go for it and go full steam. But why do I get the feeling it's not going to be like that? Ok, never mind, let's set that one aside and focus on Portwell for a second.

Ok, that was... that was going to be so beautiful, and then they cut it off. Is Portwell about to be Redlyn 2.0? Oh well, if it really is, that isn't going to be so bad after all. But now all I can think about is... when are we getting the renewal? How am I supposed to sleep at night until we know for sure?

Not them making me cry with a BTS montage... as if I wasn't crying hard enough already. I'm not alone in the house, you guys! In fact, we're having a bunch of guests from overseas in... wait, I think they're at the door. I'm not ready for people! Not now. Pray for me, you guys! (In all seriousness, though, don’t pray for me. Pray for a season 3 announcement to come soon)

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts s2 #hsmtmts spoilers #ricky bowen #nini salazar-roberts #gina porter #ej caswell #ashlyn moon caswell #big red redonovich #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew-smith #kourtney greene #hsmtmts howie #hsmtmts miss jenn #hsmtmts mr mazzara

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toooldforfandom-liveblogs · 3 years

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RWBY V8E02 - Refuge

Who needs "refuge" besides our protagonists? Well, besides the entirety of Mantle. I have no idea, so let's do this!

Watching the OP again I just realized what these lights remind me of:

Welp.

Looks like the friendly scene from the opening is not happening any time soon.

ooh, now it makes sense.

It also probably reflects Qrow's state of mind with the camera framing him during that line. Blaming himself and all that.

I wonder. Having Jacques in jail is a perfect excuse for Whitley to transfer the SDC to himself if he wanted.

Other characters wiping Jacques's smirk still is very satisfying.

Well, I didn't expect this scene from the OP to happen so quickly. I guess Ironwood is making recovering Penny a priority. Nothing like working with a former enemy (who made him lose an arm) to keep making it clear he's willing to do anything and everything to defend Atlas, "no matter the cost"

note: there's no exciting music

Would that be Ironwood or Tyrian? Probably the latter, unless he sees Ironwood ordering their arrest as the ultimate cause for Clover's death. Which is a bit of a jump but it's not like it doesn't make sense, especially from the point of view of someone grieving.

Okay, she's awesome.

Not so subtle reminder of their motto(?) with the graffiti behind her.

The previous episode (and the previous scenes of this one) were so serious that Yang's face looks reaaally weird in context.

And so short too. Which I guess is good, but it just makes it feel more out of place.

"Refer to owners manual for diagnostic information"

Can't wait for the bike to explode because no one found the manual.

That's ominous. The grimm hunting for Oscar?

I'm glad someone volunteered to stay as bait.

You know this is fiction because she didn't continue arguing.

This really feels like the set up for something bad to happen. Which is probably unavoidable with Salem being up there.

I really, really hope this pan up to show Atlas doesn't mean they'll end up working together with Ironwood.

big fan of weiss's face

Doesn't help that she left her only "friend" behind.

I think I spent most of last season saying that Penny was trapped in Atlas by her responsibilities. Her being the Winter Maiden means she'll never be free. Which kinda makes me want to try and think of ways for her to escape.

If she dies (again * shakes fist at RT's general direction *), would her powers go away before Pietro revives her soul? I guess it depends on the exact way Pietro's semblance works. Did he give part of his soul to Penny's memory core (so now it's a different soul inhabiting the same body, with the same memories) or did he kickstart Penny's surviving soul in her core? Would the powers look for a successor during that state of limbo?

Interesting expression there for Penny, even if I don't what it's supposed to mean. Maybe she doesn't really believe Ruby yet? With Ironwood being her "boss" all her life, it's probably rather hard for her to go "yeah, he's wrong"

Simply amazing

very capable sheep

but still cute

oof, not very tactful though

Yeah, bad approach there

It feels like the animators/writers really took to heart the complaint of Fiona's semblance not being very clear last season.

And here's the fight scene we didn't get last episode. Is Oscar going to get kidnapped while everyone is distracted?

That was way faster than I expected.

...what scares Grimm?

I like this, good source of tension, because really, what makes Grimm turn the other way? Maybe the Grimm hunting for Oscar?

lol at me saying this Grimm needed a distraction. Couldn't care less about anything

1) that was really fast

2) why does it look like his body is made of play-doh

They learned their lesson with the Nuckelavee: adding some bone cracking sounds really amps up the creepiness

And it's smart too!

It reminds me of the more advanced nomus from My Hero Academia. Grimm are already scary, add some smarts or even sentience and they jump to horrifying. And it's a good way to add some difficulty to beating them. The show just showed us how fast they can beat the normal Grimm after all.

"my baby"

Wow. I really didn't expect Oscar to get kidnapped right away. I guess the season taking place in a couple of days makes it a necessity to move things faster than usual.

I didn't quite pick it up while watching this episode, but thinking about it, the heart of it seems to be Penny's chat with Ruby. Sure, Oscar getting picked up like a fry by a hungry seagull is more exciting but we know where's that's going. Penny though? I'm not so sure.

Was it only me or did it feel like Ruby was talking past Penny?

Penny has never been able to choose what to do. First she was told to participate in the tournament, then after getting revived she was told to protect Mantle and then she had to take the Winter Maiden's powers. Which, sure, she could have chosen to say no but in that situation there was no other acceptable alternative for her. She did choose to leave with Ruby but that doesn't erase the weight of everything else in her back. So now she's finally learned enough about herself and her feelings to realize she doesn't like the roles and responsibilities she has been thrust into. But Ruby completely misunderstood what she was talking about and just reinforced that being The Protector of Mantle is her job.

There's a painful look to the side before Penny thanks Ruby. A look that screams to me "you don't get it." Which, oof. Let the poor girl be happy before she gets hacked, please.

Something interesting is Qrow's new quest for revenge. That usually never works for anyone in fiction, always ending in never-ending cycles, suffering and being consumed by hate, the dark side and all that bad juju. Hopefully Qrow can reign it in and kill Tyrian just enough feel satisfied. Because, really, who can say that Tyrian doesn't deserve to be very dead and buried? Qrow already stopped drinking, let him have a little murder instead.

Unless he meant Ironwood. Which, sure. It could happen. And it has a ton more possibilities for drama since they were "friends" before, but I don't know. While with Tyrian feels more cut and closed, with Ironwood it feels like the show would go for Qrow being stopped or realizing revenge is wrong or something like that.

The last thing I wanted to talk about is Yang's team and storyline. They are having many more problems than Ruby's, their interactions having a lot more friction between them.

They are not really "saving" people, they are preparing for a last stand. We know Salem, we know it's hopeless unless something or someone comes to saves them. I mean, where do you go story wise when your goal is to get everyone inside a crater?

And the show knows it too, making their scenes the most serious of the episode. The few moments of humor are some quips and Yang enjoying her motorbike, and even those feel slightly out of place, probably on purpose, compared to the humor in Ruby's scenes. They are tired, frustrated with their friends, and they have to know they are just delaying the inevitable. Oscar getting kidnapped almost felt like a respite.

I think the episode struggled a bit with all the parallel storylines to the point it didn't feel cohesive but I guess those are the struggles of being an extremely serialized show.

Very happy to see the Happy Huntresses having more of a role this season.

I'm going to stop myself from reading too much into how Ozpin's comment about how they everyone needed to work together seemed to imply they need to work with Ironwood. I think that ship already sailed and to do it now would feel very "we have to compromise, hear all sides" which ugh.

I'm really curious about where this is going, especially Penny's arc, so that's all for now. Until next time!

#rwby #rwby liveblog #rwby v8 #rwby v8e02

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fangirlings-things · 4 years

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@adoringoned said: hii, congrats for your 1k followers!!!!!🥳 Please can I have Hvitserk with the song Lucky by Jason Mraz💗

A/N: this one was really nice to write love, I really liked the outcome and I hope you do too!! Thank you so much 💕💕

Fandom: Vikings

Word count: 1K

Warnings: none

gif credit: @vikingsinuppsala

Summary: just by looking into his eyes, you knew what he was going to do. You knew Hvitserk well enough to know he was about to jump ship and join Ivar

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

“Hvitserk?” you could see the hesitation in his eyes. The way they kept on going to the shore, where Ivar sat at a rock, looking at the ship you were in with a irritated expression on his face.

Hvitserk turned to look at you when you called for him. As soon as your eyes met, you understood what he was thinking. What was about to happen. “No” the single word came out of your mouth like barely more than a whisper, filled with some desperation. “Hvitserk…”

He looked at Ubbe, who was fixing the sails and helping some of the others put the live stock inside the boat. His older brother did not have any idea of what he was about to do and it would break him, you were sure it was. Hvitserk meant everything to Ubbe, exactly as he meant everything to you. Perhaps that was what made you and Ubbe so close friends, the love you shared for Hvitserk. The three of you were always together but now, that was going to change.

“I have to” Hvitserk walked towards you in a rush, placing his hands on your arms as he looked deep inside your eyes. The flames in there you knew, the fire he had the need to put out in battle. His will to fight and conquer. “I cannot go back to Kattegat now, I want to stay”

“With Ivar?” you did not say that as an accusation, but as a real question. Ivar was cruel and for better or for worst always spoke his mind, but he had always been somewhat nice to you. And he was also Hvitserk’s brother, just like Ubbe. What troubled you, was the fact that the two of you would be split apart. You never wanted to be apart from him, never.

You had gotten lucky enough to fall in love with your best friend from childhood, one of the sons of King Ragnar. For years, you had watched him have fun around with other people, lovers, and you had always kept your feelings to yourself. Your desire to be with him, locked deeply inside your heart.

That had only changed when after seeing him with Margrethe. Something about her was different from the other people he had been with. Whenever he would sneak around his her, he would have that mischievous, wide grin on his face. That thirst in his gaze. Only then, you realized that he might perhaps want to marry her someday and you would be kept in the dark for good, without never being truthful to him. So then, you had spoken your mind before a feast, when you were both resting in the woods after a sparing lesson. You told him you loved him, that you loved him for years. You had made peace already with the idea that he did not feel the same. But then he had laughed and kissed you back, and that changed everything. You could still remember the surprised, satisfied laugh Ubbe had done when you walked into the feast hand in hand, both with swollen lips from kissing. That had been the best day of your life.

And now… apparently you were having the worst one.

“I want to fight” he said, clarifying something you already knew. Of course you knew. You knew everything there was to know about Hvitserk. “I feel the urge to wet my sword with the blood of the English men. We avenged my father, but I don’t want to go home yet” he was smiling, excited. Quite often you would find it beautiful when he was like that, but not now. “We can stay here with Ivar and our army and fight like we always wanted to do”

“I am not staying, Hvitserk” as soon as he heard your words, the smile was wiped out of his face in only a moment. The excitement gave space to shock and worry. “I want to go back to Kattegat. I have seen enough fight and death for now”

His grip in your arms got tighter as he shook his head from one side to the other, not being able to believe it. “You should stay with me. You have to stay with me”

The urgency in his voice made you smile minimally, as a knot was formed in your throat so tight that you thought you were going to suffocate. “We will be together again someday, somehow” you raised one of your hands and placed it on his cheek gently. “Although I don’t approve your decision, I respect and understand it. You are Viking” you leaned in and gave him a kiss. A long, calm one as you just pressed your lips together and then pulled back afterwards, getting out of his grip.

In that moment, where Ubbe was walking past to settle down the last things needed for the voyage, he saw your sudden movement. The way you pulled away from Hvitserk like you never did. He stood by your side, facing Hvitserk and with only a look to each of you, he understood.

Hvitserk faced his older brother for a long moment, apologizing silently for what he was about to do. When he looked back at you, you saw the tears that had filled his eyes but did not fall. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. “Jump ship, Hvitserk”

And after some hesitation, he did.

————

“Do you think we will see him again?” you had your eyes sat in the horizon, where Hvitserk’s image had faded hours ago. A part of you hoped he would just appear there, calling you. That he would be back by your side.

“I think so” Ubbe sigthed heavily. As much as he was trying to appear strong, you could imagine the pain he was in right now. He felt betrayed, no doubt. “But I don’t know if he will be in your side or be our enemy when he do”

You knew Ubbe was right. He usually was. The idea of having to face Hvitserk in battle made you feel ill, as much as the idea of never seeing him again. “Please, Hvitserk” you whispered, as the waves crashed against the ship, across the deep blue ocean under the open sky. “Please, come back to me”

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #vikings #vikings imagine #history vikings #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk #vikings hvitserk #1k music event

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imaginedhaven · 4 years

Text

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Six

Link to Masterpost

So when I said this “might even come out Thursday” yesterday I had completely mangled my understanding of days and weeks and didn’t realize that at the time “Thursday” and “tomorrow” were synonymous. Whoops! But it was as ready as it was going to get anyway soooo...

Enjoy!

~*~*~

After her birthday, Aelin’s days settled into something resembling a routine. In the mornings, she would train with Aedion and his men. Sometimes she would bring her knives, and more rarely she convinced Aedion to give her another lesson in hand-to-hand fighting. During these morning lessons she retained her human features and senses, in part out of fairness to the men and in part to make certain that if for some reason she was unable to shift, she would not be defenseless.

Her afternoons were filled with training in magic. Though it wasn’t strictly required in order to wield her power, Rowan required her to shift at the start of every lesson.

“Is it because you enjoy seeing someone else with pointy ears?” she had dared to ask once. “It can’t be because of the magic, there are plenty of humans without a drop of Fae blood who can use magic.”

Rowan had simply bared his fangs and growled in response, and she had decided that it wasn’t yet worth pressing her luck. Their newfound lack of animosity was tenuous enough already.

They hadn’t yet discussed any further what had been shared between them that night he had chased her down. Aelin wasn’t certain there was much point in bringing it up. For all of his posturing during their lessons, now that she knew she could see the glimmer of pain that would likely always reside in those pine-green eyes, but he never once acted as though he was in any way affected. If she asked directly, she was only likely to get a barked command to try to light yet another candle.

Perhaps it was a shield, the casual air of cool distance he kept about him so often. If it was, Aelin knew better than to press past it unnecessarily. If he wanted to talk, he would.

Instead, Rowan had crafted what seemed to be an increasingly infuriating series of challenges for her to overcome. Their first lesson after she had finally shifted he had set a candle in front of her on the ground and ordered her to light it. Instead, she had exploded it, and Rowan had needed to quickly smother a ring of fire two feet around where it had once been.

Several weeks and countless lectures about control later, it had become evident that bigger tasks came to her more easily. Of course, Rowan hadn’t allowed her to remain content with that. One candle became two, and two became four, and she would have to focus her entire will on only lighting one of them at a time.

She attempted to practice when she could outside of their lessons as well, but it was difficult to find a place within the palace to work. Most of the inhabitants got understandably nervous while she was playing with fire beside them. And so she settled for the slow improvement she was seeing under Rowan’s training.

She knew she had grown complacent when she felt a glimmer of surprise as she watched the Fae warrior striding toward where she was warming up for another session with Aedion. “I thought we weren’t meeting until after lunch,” she called in place of a greeting.

“You thought wrong,” he replied. “You focus better during your combat lessons. Today, we combine them.”

“You want me to throw fire at you,” Aelin deadpanned as she fought yet another wave of shock.

He grinned in response, chin lifting. Do you think I can’t handle a little heat, Aelin Fireheart? his posture screamed.

Her eyes narrowed. As long as you remember that you asked for it, she thought as she settled into a more open stance and shifted.

Before she could do anything else, a cool breeze blew around them both. A shield, she realized, and this time the surprise she felt was more pleasant.

He nodded, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at her recognition. Nothing will get through that, she read in his expression. Do your worst.

She glanced down at her hands, remembering the feel of a knife against her palm. If she could create fire, and if Rowan was so convinced that she could influence its shape as well, perhaps she could…

A dagger of flame appeared in her right hand, and she grinned as she inspected it more closely. It was light, almost impossibly so, but the fire did not burn her hand. She took a chance and flicked her wrist in a motion that would’ve sent an actual knife into the targets Aedion had set up, focusing all her will on recalling how the blade would fly and slice through the air.

The blade of fire collided with the hard air of Rowan’s shield and dissipated, just over the bullseye of the target.

The pleasure she felt at her success was matched by the brightness of his eyes as he looked on. Before she could say anything, though, he had crafted a blade of ice and was deftly twirling it around his fingers. “You handled a blade well enough,” he called. “But what is the first lesson of any competent combat instructor?”

Before she could open her mouth to reply the ice dagger was sailing through the air, directly toward her face.

Aelin growled, and her flames sprung up around her, clinging like a second skin. The blade Rowan had thrown spluttered and melted a scant fraction of an inch from slicing her cheek.

She glared up at him, only to see he was smirking. “Sloppy,” he said dismissively, “and wasteful. You’ll burn out too quickly if you don’t control your shielding. Small, precise, and controlled, like an actual shield you would wield.”

With a snarl she sent a blade of her fire at him, growling when he didn’t even lift a hand to alter its path just enough to miss him entirely. Please, he seemed to say. I’ve been doing this for centuries, and you started a few short weeks ago.

Two more knives of ice hurtled in her direction, and she thought several foul names for him as loudly as she could as she rushed to summon a shield. This one was smaller, but the edges were frayed and ragged, and she began to sweat from a combination of the effort of maintaining it and the heat. Better?

He lifted a single silver eyebrow in response. Keep trying. You might get somewhere eventually.

She threw the whole shield at him this time, taking advantage of his surprise to throw herself along the path the circle of fire had cleared. He blocked her first swing, but flames kissed the edges of her boots as she swept her foot across his legs and knocked him down for the first time since the day she’d first shifted for him.

Aelin pressed her advantage and pinned him down, fire twining around his wrists before she gasped at the feel of an icy breeze running along the back of her neck. With a smirk he threw her off of himself and froze manacles of ice around her forearms. She grinned back, melting the ice with nothing more than a thought, and launched herself back at him with a shout.

~*~*~

They sparred for another hour or so before Rowan called a halt to it, picking himself up off the ground and then extending a hand down for her. As she took it, the shield around them dissipated and the sound of a whistle pierced the air. A glance around revealed Aedion as the offender, having obviously gathered with several of his men to observe.

Aelin took one step toward him and gasped as her knees buckled. Before she could hit the ground, though, something solid and warm wrapped around her and pressed her into something even more solid and warm, and she dimly realized that Rowan must have caught her before she could fall.

The slight chill still lingering at his fingertips and the scent of snow on the air despite the relatively warm late spring day confirmed her suspicions, and she glanced up at him. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re not used to expending that much energy over an extended period of time,” he said rather than directly responding. “And you didn’t have time to pull it out properly. Honestly, I shouldn’t have let it go on as long as I did. You’ll be fine once you eat something, but if we’d gone too much longer you would’ve risked burning out.”

“That sounds… painful,” she managed as he led her back toward the palace.

“If you extend yourself that far, it will kill you,” he replied. “It will tear you apart inside, and then kill you. If you had prepared in advance of this, tunneled into your power, you could have lasted longer. This is far from the limit of your power.”

“Careful, now,” she teased. “Did it hurt, to compliment me like that?”

His silence was answer enough for Aelin as he pulled her into the kitchen and sat her down, thrusting a bowl of broth into her hands with a wordless command to eat. Still, though, she tried one more time to provoke a reaction out of him. “It’s lucky no one else is around,” she said. “If someone were to see this, they might almost think that you care, and we can’t have that. It’ll ruin your image as a soulless Fae bastard.”

A single silver eyebrow quirked up, but Aelin cheered internally as she saw the faintest glimmer of a grin on his face. “I’ve told you before,” he replied, “I haven’t lost a student during their training yet. It’s a point of personal pride. Nothing to do with you, though I appreciate your concern for my image.”

“Speaking of your image, perhaps you can answer something for me,” Aelin said as she stirred the broth he’d given her. “Aedion’s the one who heard all the storied before you arrived, and there’s one I simply couldn’t believe. He says you once killed a man with a table.”

“Of all the stories your cousin could’ve shared, that’s the one you didn’t believe?” he asked incredulously.

“It just seems so unlikely. What did you do, squash him like a grape?”

His expression turned into a feral grin, one that reminded Aelin very suddenly that she was speaking with someone who had been honing warrior skills and instincts for centuries. “No,” he said, pine-green eyes gleaming. “I tore off the leg of the table and stabbed him with it.”

Aelin deliberately yawned into her broth. “Oh,” she said lightly. “That sounds much less exciting. I think I prefer the way Aedion told it.”

As Rowan sat beside her at last, his posture seemed to say the truth is rarely as glamorous as the stories that are told. Surely you know this.

Aelin shrugged and finally turned her attention fully to the broth, letting out a soft sound of surprise as she realized how hungry she truly was.

Though he didn’t overtly react, the warrior’s eyes were full of laughter. I told you you needed to eat.

Overprotective Fae male bastard, she thought with a scoff. It’s lucky for you I know you’re all like this.

If he responded to her play at nonchalance, or even considered responding, she missed it entirely as she devoured the broth before her. Finally, his voice filtered into her awareness. “You’ll need to eat more than you have been, as we begin working with your magic,” he was saying. “Although your magical ability isn’t decided by your physical strength, how you take care of yourself does have an impact. As you drain your magic, you’ll likely feel a drain on your energy as well.”

“Great. Just wonderful. So I can expect to have two overprotective males hovering instead of one,” she teased.

Rowan stiffened beside her, and she could tell she had unintentionally touched on a point of discomfort. “It is… instinctive, for many Fae—yes, mostly males, stop giving me that look—to be on edge around someone they perceive to be vulnerable to threat, real or imagined. There’s also a cultural element to it, at least where I come from. With you, it helps that you seem to know how to handle yourself even when your magic is drained. That said, it is very difficult—”

“No,” Aelin interrupted.

“No?” he repeated, obviously confused.

“If you’re about to apologize to me for something so deep in your nature, I’m not interested in hearing it,” she explained. “You certainly haven’t apologized for being a bastard, why should I ask or expect you to apologize for being a hovering buzzard?”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she continued before he could. “You’re not human, Rowan. Anyone who expected you to act like one would be in for a surprise. That being said, I absolutely reserve the right to be annoyed if this keeps up, because it’s in my nature to take care of myself. But I won’t apologize for that, and you don’t apologize for your own nature. Am I clear?”

Pine-green eyes gleamed within his tan face, though with what she couldn’t say. She narrowed her own eyes at his continued silence until he managed a nod in reply. “Good,�� she smiled. “Because things were going to be terribly awkward if we went on our trip with you still acting like this.”

She realized her mistake as soon as the light in those eyes turned into ice. “What trip?” he growled.

Aelin laughed, buying herself more time to gauge his reaction. “Trip? Did I say trip?”

He snarled. “Aelin. What. Trip?”

One of the most important lessons for warriors and assassins and rulers alike was knowing when one was outmatched. Sometimes a tactful retreat was the correct response, rather than pressing onward into certain defeat.

At least, that was what Aelin told herself as she fled up the stairs of the palace, followed closely by a Fae male snarling curses at her all the way.

~*~*~

Several days later the formal invitation from Adarlan arrived, and before Aelin knew it they were riding toward the border at a brisk pace. She surveyed the small clearing they’d found with a grin as the sun began to set. “Do you remember the last time we were allowed to go camping, cousin?” she asked.

“I’m surprised you remember it, as young as you were,” he grinned as he began to gather wood for a fire.

“Please, you’re only five years older than me.”

“That matters a lot more when one of you is five,” he retorted.

Aelin sighed and laid back against her bedroll. All right, so it had been a long time since she was allowed to go on a trip like this. Likely, Darrow assumed they would be staying in hotels most of the way, and he was right for the most part. However, at the pace they intended to set it was impossible to completely avoid camping as they cut through the wilderness between Orynth and Rifthold.

A pair of knee high leather boots entered her vision, and she frowned as she looked up to meet Rowan’s gaze. “Did you need something, Buzzard?” she asked.

Either he had still been upset with her for the way she had told him about their journey or he had missed stretching his wings, for Rowan had spent the majority of the day flying ahead of them as the white-tailed hawk whose form he could take. Aedion had joked about her driving the male into an animal form until Lysandra had grinned and shifted into a ghost leopard. He had been noticeably paler and quieter after that.

As she sat up, Rowan inclined his head toward the pile of wood Aedion had gathered. “Light a fire.”

Aelin frowned. “Are you certain that’s a good idea?”

A cool breeze scented with the pine and snow she associated with her homeland blew around them, and Rowan met her gaze with a fierce grin. “I think we’ll be safe enough,” he replied.

She sighed and reached a hand out toward the pile of logs, only to have it smacked away. When she glared at him, he only smirked. “It’s a crutch. You don’t need it,” he declared.

“Maybe I like the dramatic effect,” she huffed, but obediently she wrapped her arm around her knees instead and began to focus on the logs.

“Easy,” he muttered by her ear. “Control. Only take as much as you need, and no more.”

Aelin gasped in a breath of the cool air that was still flowing around them and examined the well of power that was slowly becoming more familiar to her. Surely it would only take a little to start the fire, and so she imagined just a small thread coming out of that well…

The fire lit, and she grinned in satisfaction.

“Good,” came Rowan’s voice beside her. “Keep it going.”

“How long?” she asked, already beginning to sweat with the effort needed to restrain the rest of that well.

“For as long as I say,” he smirked.

Aelin grumbled at his typical lack of a specific guideline, but focused on the flames regardless. They were almost hypnotic, with the way the reds and oranges and yellows swirled and with the way the individual flames danced and swayed together. With Rowan around to contain her should something go terribly wrong, she was able to let go of some of her fear of the power she wielded and appreciate the beauty of it all.

As she watched, she idly wondered if she would be able to create fire that did not burn. Perhaps another time, though, as this fire needed to be able to cook the fish Lysandra was busy catching from the nearby stream. Instead, she worked to manipulate the height of the flames, first coaxing it down nearly to embers and then working up a bonfire nearly as tall as Aedion.

“Easy,” Rowan hissed as the flames licked higher, but Aelin was lost to the beauty, mesmerized by the rhythms she could see in the movements. She swayed with them until a cool arm wrapped around her, pulling her into a body that was equally cool, and she suddenly realized that she was burning like her fire. No, she was her fire, and he was his ice, and she nestled closer with a contented moan at the temporary relief from the heat.

“Aelin, that’s enough,” she heard distantly. “Let go.”

Why should she let go? She was one with the flames, and they were beautiful, swirling together in a stunning and glimmering dance. As she watched they danced higher, and she shifted to work out a twinge in her lower back before going back to swaying with the fire.

Aelin. Was the voice in her imagination now, or was Rowan actually speaking? Aelin, stop this now. Let go. He sounded so worried, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him to stop fussing. Couldn’t find any words at all, actually. All she could do was hold on.

A distant sigh carried the scent of pine and snow to her, and she sighed in relief at its familiarity but still couldn’t look away from the beauty of her creation. “Forgive me,” said a voice beside her, though she could hardly focus on it.

Before long, she couldn’t focus on anything but gasping as the air was pulled away from her. She choked on nothing, hands going to her throat, but still she clung to the tether between herself and the fire. Why it seemed so important, she couldn’t say, she just knew that all would be lost if she let go now.

Darkness encroached on her vision, though, and without the air she couldn’t hold on. Distant shouts rang in her ears as the tether slipped away from her and she fell away into the shadows.

She must have only been gone for a moment, as when she opened her eyes the fire was merrily crackling without her aid, but she realized with horror that something must have gone terribly wrong.

She was burning inside, and not even the cool of Rowan’s wind was enough to stop it.

~*~*~

Rowan let out several curses in both the common tongue and the Old Language as Aelin collapsed into him. She was burning up, overly hot to the touch, and dimly he realized she must have overextended herself. She had lost control of her magic, to the point where words had been unable to reach her and he’d had to forcibly break her connection to their campfire. Who knew how much power she had let flow into the flames?

It was too much, that much was evident from the flush of her cheeks and the arch of her back in combination with the heat emanating from her.

Quickly, he worked to remove the leather jerkin she’d worn for their ride, not stopping as her cousin let out a startled cough. “What are you doing?” Aedion demanded, torn between confusion and anger.

“She’s burning up,” Rowan snapped. “She lost control and used too much, and she needs to get cool now or…” He didn’t let himself think of the possible consequences.

Not even the removal of the heavy leather from her frame was enough, he realized, nor was the breeze. He didn’t dare remove the cotton tunic and trousers she wore, not with her demi-Fae cousin looking on and already on edge. But there was a stream nearby, and if he could freeze the water around her… Yes. That was their best chance at getting her through this.

Without a second thought he scooped her into his arms, gritting his teeth as she moaned and buried her face against his chest. How had he let this happen? One moment she was leaned against him, face upturned into the breeze he was directing to blow past them, and the next…

He should have been keeping a closer eye on her, he admonished himself as he ran for the stream. He knew she was largely untrained, and liable to lose control, and he hadn’t been watching closely enough for the signs.

The stream had been near the camp to begin with and he was quick to reach it as she burned in his arms, wading in with her without a moment’s hesitation and hissing as steam began to rise around them. Before she could raise the temperature of the water dangerously high he quickly froze what was coming into contact with her, only for her to melt his ice almost immediately.

He growled in frustration and froze the area again. This was his fault, and it was up to him to help her through this. He would not—could not—fail now.

Once they got through this—for she would come through this and be all right, he would not accept any other option—he would give her the lecture of her mortal life about control and recognizing the signs of a burnout. Gods, they had just talked about this potentiality a few short days ago, only for her to be in this position now. He knew, though, that it was ultimately his fault. He could’ve better explained the signs, he could’ve watched more closely, he could’ve cut her off before she reached this point…

A litany of his own shortcomings as a teacher raced through his mind as he struggled against the heat she was generating, freezing the water again and again before she could boil them both. A crashing noise emanated from the bank—her cousin or his mate, no doubt, come to observe. He didn’t even glance in their direction as he growled a warning. He couldn’t be certain if his growl or the steam she was still generating was what decided it, but whoever had joined them remained blessedly silent as he continued to work.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he continued to focus as much as he could on bringing her temperature down, nearly-blind panic lending him strength. The extreme shifts in temperature she was experiencing would likely be deeply unpleasant for her, and she would hurt the next day, but he was no healer and had only limited resources at his disposal. She could hate him later, as long as she survived this.

Each time he froze the water his ice lasted a little longer before melting away, and finally the water stayed cool around them. Aelin remained flushed, eyes unfocused and overly bright, but she was no longer burning in her own skin. She wasn’t all the way back to a normal temperature, likely wouldn’t be for several more minutes at least, but she was no longer in immediate peril and so Rowan allowed himself a single moment of relief.

Her turquoise-and-gold gaze finally landed on her face. “What…?” she began to ask, voice hoarse.

“You almost burned out,” he managed, carefully not allowing himself to wonder just how close she had come to the edge of her power. “How are you feeling?”

Aelin shivered, though the flush remained high on her cheeks. “Awful,” she admitted.

“That’s to be expected, I’m afraid.” Rowan carefully directed a cool breeze to blow across her face, eyes closing for a moment as it wafted the scent of hot embers and floral jasmine into his awareness. “Are you in danger of flaring up again?” he asked as he redirected his attention to watching her face.

Aelin’s eyes fluttered shut, obviously taking stock of her own state of being. “No,” she managed, another hint of steam escaping from her as she breathed. “No, it’s still… but it’s getting better.”

Carefully, Rowan pulled her further into the stream, enough to tilt her head back and allow the cold water to flow into her hair for one more point of contact with something cool. His chest and arms cried out at the sudden cold, and he dimly realized she must have burned him while he was getting her to the water. It was much milder than the first time she had burned him, though. He would have endured far worse if it meant getting her to safety. “You’re still too warm, and you’re going to feel this tomorrow,” he warned her. Already he could feel the urge to take her away somewhere safe, keep her comfortable and protected while she recovered. She would be largely useless for another day or two as her magic replenished, likely too weak and sore to even hold one of the knives she loved so well.

Rowan quickly did his best to tamp down on the instincts now screaming at him to bundle her into a cave or whatever small room they could find on the road. It’s not my place, he reminded himself, though the words rang hollow even in his own mind.

Aelin sighed and shivered again, the flush of her cheeks finally fading to something more normal. “Thank you,” she breathed. “If you hadn’t cut me off from the fire, I…”

He hissed softly. “I pushed you too far. You should’ve told me you were so close to your limits, though.”

She grimaced. “I’m in for one hell of a lecture tomorrow, aren’t I?”

He gave her a glare in response that he hoped said something along the lines of you’d better believe you’re in for a lecture.

Aelin sighed, curling around herself. “I suppose I deserve that. I thought everything was fine, it all happened so fast.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said quietly. “Right now, I just want you focused on recovering. Let me know when this gets too cold, and we’ll get you out of the water.”

A moment of discomfort crossed her face, then. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she fisted a hand in his shirt. “Aedion,” she managed. “If I go back to the camp like this, if he sees me struggling into dry clothes, he’ll panic. I’ve already got you to deal with, I want him to be as calm as we can keep him.”

He nodded. It was a reasonable enough worry, after all, for this girl who was surrounded by males with Fae ancestry. “I’ll head back first, then, bring your bag back here.” He carefully didn’t tell her that her cousin was likely already on edge, instead moving her closer to the shore and making sure she would stay put before climbing out of the water himself.

He grimaced as the wind of his own shield around the camp came into contact with his shirt, before calling a stronger wind to dry his own clothing out as much as possible. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now.

As he’d suspected, Aedion was impatiently awaiting their return, pacing around the fire. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“In the stream, cooling off,” Rowan replied. “She asked me bring her bag to the shore. Something about overprotective Fae males.”

It was clearly something he had heard her say before, judging by his laugh and the hand that carded through his own golden hair. “She’s been telling me off for it since we were children,” Aedion said, confirming his suspicions. “If she’s good enough to yell at you about it, that’s good enough for me. We should reach the next town tomorrow, unless…”

Rowan shook his head. “She’s not going to move anywhere fast tomorrow. It’ll likely be the day after.”

Aedion nodded slowly. “I’d rather spend less time out in the open, but if she can’t make it she can’t make it. We’ll adapt.”

Rowan nodded and grabbed Aelin’s bag. As he headed back toward the stream, he took a deep breath and allowed a part of himself to sink into the well of wind and ice at his core.

If they were to be on the road for longer than expected, with Aelin almost entirely defenseless, they would need all the help they could get.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09

#rowaelin #rules of engagement #haven writes

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calpops · 4 years

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veiled valor | 12 | c.h.

evening echoes

series masterlist

<< >>

Sword lessons continued as the rest of the snow melted and spring was nearly in the air. Warmth was beginning to claw its way back to them, brown grass laid beneath the snow and rocked a sense of reality back into Calum. Soon they would set sail once more. One part of him wished to stay; craved for more time with privacy as their intimacy was less guarded and their hearts were more free to roam and feel. The other part knew that staying in one place for too long could be dangerous, that Elodie wished for more than her heart to wander with his, she wanted to see and feel the rest of the world. With him and Duke by her side. The dog was dutiful as ever during their continued endeavor of lessons. He always found a home on a patch of grass and watched with interest. Calum could sense the animal was just as protective of Elodie as he. Growls and protective stances coming from the small dog highlighting that fact.

Calum found Elodie’s progress with the sword impressive. A mild afternoon found them in the backyard once more. Her strength had improved and technique was becoming polished. Calum no longer had to wrap his arms around her and help guide her. He missed the intimacy of it, the warmth of her back pressed to his chest and the giggles he could feel against his neck when she stood on her toes and turned to look at him. But pride swelled within him as she began to master a way of protection on her own. Independence was becoming of her. The shimmer in her eyes at her own progress left Calum in awe. He wished to see the breathless smile that accompanied an accomplished maneuver all the time.

Calum had yet to be an opponent to her, he merely watched her go through the motions and helped guide her through each new technique. He wanted her to build confidence. And when she found her footing he would introduce her to combat; take it easy and slow even though Elodie seemed to be a quick learner. Calum was impressed that afternoon, the way she cut with the blade and parried looking as natural as movements Calum himself would accomplish. She grinned over at him and he couldn’t stop the smile that overtook him for her. He moved from his statuesque stance he kept to watch her and approached, put a hand out and let it cover hers that held the grip. Their arms lowered and so the sword did too. His other hand found a home on her waist, brought her closer as he quirked an eyebrow and felt her melt into his touch.

“Looks like you will be able to fight my battles, sooner rather than later,” Calum teased lightheartedly. “I’m washed up and battle wounded. It’s about time for me to hang up the sword and retire anyway.”

Elodie laughed but her eyes flickered down to his bicep. It’s as if she could see through the material of his shirt, down to the dagger that stained his skin and scar that etched a story of his past onto his body forevermore. It was almost as if he could still feel the press of the rag held by her hand mending his wound. His heart had been guarded yet curious then. Open to wonder about the princess that was one with the shadows of the galley but born of royal blood surrounded by palace walls. Calum realized it may have been that moment his heart decided to take a leap of faith; to try his best to unravel the mysterious woman who couldn’t leave his thoughts alone. That he didn’t want to be alone without.

Elodie trailed her hand up his arm, fingers soft as she passed the wound and Calum didn’t flinch, loving the subtle touch and the fact her hand settled on his jawline. One of his hands still covered hers on the sword, fingers pressing in to remind her he was there. A slight wind blew between them; her curls drifting with the breeze and reminding Calum of intimate moments on the deck of the ship. With her as close as now, sat on the rail with the night sky around them. Calum yearned first those moments back but still held onto the privacy and quiet the house in the woods afforded them. He longed to see the sparkle of silver stars reflecting off golden eyes seeking adventure.

Calum moved in time with her; leaning down as she looked up. They shared a soft kiss, one that spoke of easiness through the longing and trials they had faced. Affection was becoming second nature with the shroud of privacy and lack of wandering eyes and ears. Calum would miss that, how easy showing his heart’s true colors could be when Elodie was the only one around to see them. Calum reveled in the kiss, chased after her lips as soon as they drifted and found them once more—Elodie always coming back to him. They wrapped up lessons for the day, a kiss being a reward for a job well done on both ends. Smirks and held hands brought them back to the house in a haze of accomplishment and bliss. Duke followed after them dutifully, always a shadow behind Elodie. He’d taken to Calum as well but still stood protective of and for the princess—just like Calum.

***

As winter broke and spring sailed through the air with rising temperatures and greening grass Calum knew their time alone was coming to an end. It was during a day in town that a thought struck him; a plan of one last night on land. A night that Elodie could remember and take with her out to sea. It was born of a tradition but was reminded to Calum through mumbled words and a present that sat in hiding. He needed one last thing for the night to be perfect; he stopped at a shop he’d never been in with a pocketful of coins and a pendant he used as a guide—the present already purchased lingering in his thoughts as well. Excitement coursed through him as he raced home that afternoon; having dealt with last minute sailing preparations for the next week most of the morning and retrieving the present in the afternoon. Elodie was nowhere to be found on the first floor and with the weather being so agreeable Calum knew she would not be in the bedrooms. He knew she was outside, Duke likely with her as she sat in the grass with a book about the stars in her lap. The situation was too perfect; a chance to hide the new present alongside the old presenting itself. He’d bring her back inside for the surprise.

When all was taken care of he bounded back down the steps and towards the yard to where the princess sat in waiting with knowledge of the universe in her hands. Calum did not spare a moment in settling down by her side, hands closing the book in her lap with a cheeky smirk as she looked up in question.

“Never leave your back unprotected, Princess,” Calum warned. “You never know who could be lurking.”

Elodie tilted her head to the side, eyes sparkling at the new game of wits. “You mean there could be something or someone worse than say… a pirate?”

Her smile was as sharp as her comeback and suddenly Calum was swept up in memories of verbal sparring on the ship. He mimicked a time not long ago that felt like years ago. With a hand over his heart and a slackened jaw to feign surprise and offense he played their game flawlessly.

“Are you implying something?” Calum wondered aloud, voice low as he leaned closer to her, book being tossed to the grass at his side.

“I do think the branding on your wrist implies it all,” she said without missing a beat, her fingers finding the brand and bringing fiery warmth back to the solitary letter. It was a familiar path for her trace and she did it without even looking—as flawless as ever.

“And yet here you sit with said pirate, does that not put you in connivance?” Calum asked to which Elodie merely squared her shoulders. “And you’re not even trying to fight it.”

Elodie smirked and reciprocated closing the distance between them. When she was just a breath away, lips so close Calum could nearly feel and taste them she said, “You did promise to make a pirate out of me.”

Calum couldn’t resist the opportunity for a kiss, his lips brushing hers in a teasing manner, just a quick moment before pulling away. He would miss those casual forms of intimacy when on the ship; unsure she would be comfortable with an audience always roaming about. He didn’t take it for granted when she herself couldn’t resist coming back to him, just one more quick moment before she was smirking.

“Is it not my guard dog’s duty to protect me from scoundrels and pirates and whatever may be worse than that?” Elodie asked with a pointed look at Duke; the small dog lamely sleeping by her side. Not so much as looking up in acknowledgement.

Calum chuckled as he stood and offered her a hand. She gladly accepted and let him pull her to her feet and into him. Once more barely the wind able to pass through the minimal distance between them.

“A princess with a guard dog. A navigator of the stars,” Calum listed off, knowing the book of constellations was still at their feet and Elodie had been learning quickly. “A pirate in training.”

Calum went quiet for a moment; thinking how best to pose the surprise, knowing he couldn’t keep it from her any longer. Tomorrow would bring the surprise to a front and he wanted her to have time on her side. He was wary about surprises with her, unsure if she would be unsettled by something of this caliber. Flowers brought her delight and special tea he bought in town on whims always made her appreciative. This surprise was something of another level; something he knew she wanted deep down but was unsure if she was ready for.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” He asked and Elodie blushed as he took her hand and spun her so her back was now pressed to his chest. “How do you fare at dancing?”

Elodie’s eyes shot up in surprise as she maneuvered to look back at Calum. “Dancing?”

“You know… moving to music, usually with certain steps,” Calum quipped with a smirk.

“I’m familiar with the concept,” Elodie replied, eyes narrowing as she looked up at Calum and tried to calculate the question and his intentions. “Is there a reason for your query?”

Calum’s smirk broke into a grin as he led her into the kitchen, Duke hot on their trail so he wouldn’t be left behind. Coming into the kitchen Calum had Elodie stop, hands bringing her hands up to cover her eyes.

“Wait here and don’t peek,” Calum instructed though he knew she was as cunning as a pirate—he taught her everything he knew, and she already knew some to begin with.

It only took a moment to retrieve her surprise, he kept it behind his back, noting the split in her fingers and that she was in fact peeking through. Calum let out a small chuckle disguised as a breath as he approached and told her she could open her eyes—though she was already looking. In one grand sweep from behind his back Calum presented the surprise he had been waiting months to give her. The gleam in her eyes and the gasp of shock that fell from her petaled lips painted her appreciation and admiration for the gift.

Her hands reached out for the fine dress and Calum laid it in her hold gently. Red like a ruby pendant was in her clutches; fine silk stitched and accented with gold and and deeper tones of red brought the dress to fiery life. She was awestruck into silence; golden eyes shimmering and nose twitching as she fully took in the sight.

“This is beautiful,” she admired but her gaze swept up quickly and a pained sigh escaped her. “It’s too bad I have nowhere to properly wear it.”

Calum grinned and stepped forward, something new sitting within his pocket along with the pendant. It was flimsy and small but matched all the components and needed an explanation.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Princess.”

Elodie cocked her head to the side and let her eyebrows furrow, teeth sinking into her lower lip and a tiny shake of her head punctuating her ultimate confusion.

“I assume you’re no stranger to fine gatherings with music and dancing,” Calum began to explain. “An annual ball is held the first day of spring in this fine town. I thought you might accompany me.”

Calum soaked in the surprise that crossed her face; the slackened jaw and wide eyes, the breath that escaped her and the rapid blinks that became her.

“I can’t possibly,” she muttered. “It wouldn’t be safe, someone could recognize me.”

“I guess that’s a chance we’ll just have to take,” Calum said but smirked as he pulled out a masquerade mask in the same colors as the dress. He had traded John the last part of his payment for it; knowing exactly the life he intended for it the moment he saw it. “Luckily everyone will be in disguise.”

Her reach for the mask was cautious but still filled with admiration. They traded; dress for mask. Her fingers lightly ran over the intricate design of swirls and stitching. She nodded and Calum didn’t understand why but left her to her own devices of figuring out her comfortability with his proposal. He could see the spark of want in her eyes. But doubt infiltrated him in tiny specks. She wanted to wander and often used to ask about going into town with him; he thought there would be no more worthy an occasion for a princess than a ball. But she resented most of what came with her title. Perhaps this wasn’t what she wanted at all.

“We don’t have to go,” Calum began but a severe look of want stopped him short.

“I’d love to,” she replied but still there was something uneasy in her tone. “I’ve never truly enjoyed a ball before. They were always political. I was always the princess. This time I can be anyone I want to be.”

She put the mask up to her face, eyes shining and a smile accompanying the action. She sashayed her dress and it swept the floor with the motion. Calum could only imagine how the ball gown would look adorned on her. How beautiful the red and gold tones would melt against ivory skin. He’d never danced before, but he’d learn for her. For the princess, or whoever she wished to be that night.

***

The night of the masquerade ball came with shining stars and a full moon. Everything was prepped to set sail the next morning. Elodie was divine in the gown Calum had dreamed of seeing her in for months. Her hair was pulled back and the mask did well to conceal her defining features but left the beauty of her eyes and lips to be seen. A ruby pendant that hasn’t left his pocket in months finally fell against her chest and made it more beautiful than ever. He wore his best formal attire and a simple mask that covered his eyes and skewed the perception of his face. Calum reveled in being able to have her on his arm. She was delighted as they strolled through town, the light of the moon and other patrons guiding them to the hall. Music could be heard outside the walls, a tradition of dance lightening the mood and the air. Calum could feel every movement Elodie made, kept a careful and trained eye on her as they descended into the grandiose ballroom. All were invited and by Calum’s count all had showed up. The crowd let them blend in though a few eyes followed after Elodie. Calum straightened and tried to remind himself there were reasons other than her concealed royal status a man may look upon her.

“This is wonderful,” she exclaimed with a beaming smile and a sway in her steps. Her dress slightly dragged along the floor but hugged her curves in way her simpler clothes she had escaped with never had. “This isn’t like any ball I’ve been to. Everything is so lively. Even the music is better, my kingdom...”

She trailed off and thought better of her words. They were no longer afforded privacy, they couldn’t speak truths no one else knew when others could find out. Calum rationalized it was good practice for when they were back on the ship. He had vetted any new crew members to ensure Elodie’s safety but her identity would remain between only the few who knew. He pulled her closer in exchange for words she couldn’t say; quieted her words and thoughts with a kiss.

“Let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?” Calum asked with an offered arm and gesture toward the crowd of dancing people.

Dancing proved difficult but laughter punctuated fumbled movements and stepping on toes. Elodie’s grace had always been refined in Calum’s eyes but her movement didn’t translate to routine dance steps and neither did his. It didn’t matter though. The shine in her eyes and the feeling of her hand in his was more than enough to make up for it. Calum knew she needed this, craved moments of escape and being someone other than a princess. Being someone she could fully embrace and not hide from. Being herself. Calum loved every moment of it. Wanted to commit the way her head fell back with laughter and her fingers pressed against the back of his hand so tightly to memory. He didn’t want to lose all of the pieces of her that this wondrous moment in time let him know.

The music changed to something slower. Calum was unfamiliar with the compositions but knew the symphony matched the feeling of Elodie’s ability to make his ribcage feel like harp strings. With no routine known and the rest of the world fading into the background all they could do was get closer. Elodie was pressed against him, head resting against his chest and feeling his thrumming heartbeat, he was sure. His hands wandered to the small of her back and head dipped down to kiss the top of her head. She pulled away from his chest as his heart skipped a beat. She looked up at him, contentment unable to be hidden by the mask. Lips begging for the same treatment and hands bringing him closer to fulfill both of their wants. When they broke away, with rib cages playing harmonious symphonies for one another her fingers trailed up his jaw and settled on the edges of the mask.

“No more hiding,” she whispered and if Calum hadn’t been so close he knew he wouldn’t have heard it.

His heart leaped as his chest tightened at her words. He didn’t understand, wasn’t quite sure what she was inferring or asking for. But the gentle pull of his mask and the fondness that captured her eyes eased his worries and let a lighter feeling dance across his heart. He made a gentle turn with her in his hold, her dress swayed with the movement and loose hair tumbled out of its intricate updo. Just for a moment she lifted his mask, just long enough to see him for who he truly was and take in everything about him. With a delicate drop it went back into place and they went back to hiding. He could feel the burn of his brand and the pain of her past life simmering in the background as dancers collided behind them. He brought a hand up, unable to resist the simple pleasure of tucking her hair behind her ear and watching and feeling the way she reacted. A minute movement to bring her closer into his touch and revel in the feeling. A moment in time when everything was calm and beating hearts found synchronicity to symphonies.

The moment was bliss. The music was divine and Elodie was angelic as Calum easily swayed them back and forth. Calum swore he could stay here forever, even with masks guarding them and identities hiding in plain sight. It was idyllic and a life Calum wished he could give Elodie regularly.

A thunderous snap cut through the air and the music halted in a split second. Calum’s hold on Elodie tightened as he turned them to face the noise. The crowd went still for a moment and then parted as royal colors spilled in through a side entrance. Calum methodically moves them back, slight steps and a protective arm keeping Elodie behind him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” an authoritative voice bellowed and Calum’s skin prickled with unease at the naval jacket adoring the imposing man, a smoking gun still in his hand. “But it seems a criminal is among us.”

Calum’s breath caught in his throat and his heart dropped in a dramatic contrast to the floating feeling from earlier. A shiver ran up his spine as Elodie clutched him tighter. The crowd of people behind them was thin, in front laid a throng thick enough to provide concealment. Calum’s eyes darted to the doors they had come in. Suddenly they were shut but no one stood guard and in a brash decision he silently coaxed Elodie further back, patrons of the night too shell shocked and focused on the man ahead to pay attention to an escape act. Calum couldn’t be sure the criminal in reference was him but his instincts led him to the door, it was enough to make his heart race in a way he wished his feet could. Chances had never been his forte, luck had never followed him. Circumstance called for misfortune. Only for a moment did he question how; how did someone recognize him with a mask and a sleeve hiding all it would take to know.

“A pirate,” the commanding officer announced, venom in the word sinking into Calum’s heart and kickstarting his reaction.

He lost hold of Elodie as they approached the door, anxiety settled into his stomach as his fingers curled around empty air. Calum swallowed down a lump in his throat and felt a not so subtle pull at his back. His feet stumbled in a backwards fashion and fresh night air cooled his lungs as he moved outside and the slow motion reverie broke. The world came back to him and so did Elodie. He spared no time in grabbing her hand and hauling off down the moonlit cobblestone street. The winding road was familiar but the creeping paranoia and the clamor that followed and heightened it were new in a place he had once considered home. He knew the Royal Navy was following, could hear footsteps and hollers shouted into the night. Calum could guess citizens followed, a mob mentality breaking through from the theatrics of the commanding officer.

“We need to get to the shipyard,” Calum said urgently, breath lost in the run against time.

Elodie was wild eyed past her mask as she tugged him around a corner and towards the trees. Home just a short run away. “No. We can’t leave him behind!”

She was near sobs and Calum was confused beyond redemption but he followed her lead even if it ended with him in the line of fire. In that moment he was sure he’d follow her to the fiery ends of the earth. They kept running, the dark between the trees providing concealment but the navy and the mob kept on. Calum was seeing red by the time they were at the door and Elodie was sweeping inside the house, leaving him at the threshold before returning with a dress, a book and Duke all tucked into her arms.

“You went back for the dog?” Calum screamed and though it would be endearing under other circumstances a slice of terror made its way up his spine.

“We don’t have time for this,” Elodie reminded with a terrified glance behind Calum. “We can slip out the back.”

As they went through the house Calum stopped for just a few things; the terror sitting on him drowned out by the need for sentimental possessions. Calum led this time; familiar with the woods behind the house, knowing a path that led away from trees and to the shore the shipyard sat upon. He chanced a look behind him and the red he had been seeing came to life in flickering flames that burned their home to the ground. Smoke plumed through the trees and collided with the stars dotting the sky. He thanked the heavens above she had gone back for the dog. Calum’s heart was burning and his mind was reeling as the way cleared and the chase continued.

Forest turned to sand in a drawn out run and the sound of their pursuers got lost in the crash of waves. Evening was making a calm descent into the sky and it clashed with the atmosphere hanging so heavily and horrifyingly in the thick air. Tinges of deep purple and soft red became a backdrop to the chase for their lives. He ripped his mask off and left it behind, black curves lost in grains of sand and the night. The ship was in sight and crew were homed within, all Calum would have to do is call to set sail and they could take off into the night so long as bullets didn’t rain down on them or the ship too heavily. Calum had claimed a new ship during the winter; using trade money and valuables to purchase it, his old boat was weather worn and teeming on the edge of inadequacy. He rushed Elodie up the gangway, a squirming Duke apprehensive at the change of scenery but sensed the dire circumstances and complied in a mournful way. Calum’s second in command was already on deck, fine tuned to distress and on his feet readying last minute preparations at the sight of his captain and the noise of a mob.

“Where are we sailing captain?” Ashton hollered from the wheel.

“Anywhere! Just get us the hell out of here.”

They just needed to leave. In the only place other than an open ocean Calum had ever felt remotely safe he was no longer welcome—could no longer stay unless it was within the gallows. Elodie was determined to stay by Calum’s side even when he gestured for her to take up safety in his cabin. Duke was let go but stayed at her feet. They both watched in horrified shock as the crew buzzed about them to get the ship sailing.

***

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#Calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #Calum hood blurbs #Calum hood imagines #Calum hood blurb #Calum hood imagine #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #Calum hood x oc #Calum hood angst #Calum hood fluff #5sos x oc #5sos angst #5sos fluff #veiled!valor #pirate!cal

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oneyeartoparty · 3 years

Text

Meeting At Long Last - Chapter 4: The First Few Days

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753607/chapters/66923116

The kitchen was quiet as Lily entered. Gone was the scent of cooking food, the shouting chefs, the boiling water and sizzling oil. It was replaced with the smell of soap and sloshing water as mops were pulled and pushed across the floor. The breakfast rush had just ended, and so only a few of the stations were still in use, with the rest closed for cleaning or left unused.

She made her way to a small, unoccupied section of the kitchen; one meant more for the preparation of smaller meals than the grand feast that was regularly made elsewhere in the room. Stopping in front of a well-worn wooden cutting board, she placed down what she had been holding.

Lily inspected the ingredients before her with a careful eye. Since Thatch had kindly offered her access to the ship’s food stores, she was able to take her pick of the available food. The more significant issue she faced was finding what she needed. The food storage area was necessarily large and filled with an abundance of ingredients, from the mundane to the more exotic and strange. It has taken her almost half an hour to locate everything she needed, and she made to sure mentally note where she pulled everything from, for future reference.

Despite the abundance of ingredients, she was held back by her lack of adequate cooking skills. Her childhood cooking experience consisted of sticking some meat over a fire and making rice, so she had been woefully under prepared for surviving long term while sailing the sea. Luckily, she had encountered a few well-meaning sailing merchants who taught her the basics of cooking and food preservation before giving her some small rations and sending her on her way.

While it was only a few days into her stay on the Moby Dick, she thought it best to get started practicing her cooking while food was plentiful, and she had some spare time. While she doubted anything would happen during her stay, she didn’t want to be caught out if it did, especially if she ended up stranded one of the more mysterious islands in the New World.

It didn’t take long for her mind to stray once she got started cooking. She had practiced many times during quieter periods in her journey, and so muscle memory took hold, allowing her to reflect on the last few days of her stay.

Things had been calmer than she had expected. Ships sailing these waters expected to be harassed by Marines, pirates or a combination of the two, but the Moby Dick faced no resistance as it cut through the ocean. Lily had sighted a few ships as they traveled, though they were too distant for her to see any identifying features. All of them were sailing away from them like they had hit an invisible barrier and were bounced back.

Then there was the crew. Many had approached her to introduce themselves and see how she was doing. None asked about the mask, and Lily attributed this to Thatch keeping his promise to ensure no one would ask, though, no guarantee could stop the staring. There were fewer stares than she expected. No doubt many of the crew had seen stranger sights and saw her as ordinary in comparison. Of those who did stare, some were more subtle, only choosing to take glances when they thought she wasn’t looking or paying attention. Others openly gawked, or reacted in obvious shock, like one cabin boy who stared at her wide-mouthed when she was walking back to her room one afternoon. The boy’s reaction didn’t surprise her; she had seen many children react the same when they saw her.

What had been surprising was the attempts of some of the crew to flirt with her. It was odd for someone like Lily, who was so often considered a freak, to be flirted with. The first time it has happened, it was shortly after she had sat with Marco and Ace on the ship’s railing. A woman approached her; she had a slender form with wavy but thin brown hair that traveled down to meet her elbow and eyes that matched the brown of her hair. Despite her slender form, she had apparent muscle, visible through the bulky red reefer coat and blue jean she wore. She made her intention known quickly, but didn’t get very far, nor would any of the others, as Ace would appear to glare at anyone who tried as if a mere attempt at flirting with her caused him to appear to put a stop to it instantly.

After the fifth flirting attempt, Ace started to spend more time with her, and while he wouldn’t admit it, it was a clear sign the flirting was bringing out his overprotective brother side. Lily didn’t mind; she enjoyed her brother's company, especially after so much time apart. If he had other duties, he would often leave Lily with Thatch. While he had initially been wary of his fellow Commander due to his reputation, he quickly came to trust Thatch with Lily when he saw that he wouldn’t follow in some of his crewmate’s footsteps.

Overall, the crew of the Moby Dick had been kind to her, and while Lily appreciated their kindness, each new person she met caused her anxiety to spike. She wasn’t used to being approached so freely, and so often by strangers, and while she tried her best to speak with everyone, she would sometimes lockup and find it difficult to respond.

Thankfully, most of them would notice and take their leave, or Ace, Thatch or Marco would appear and whisk her away to an empty part of the ship and sit with her for a while until she felt better. It was something she deeply appreciated, and she made a note to try to find gifts for them all before she departed the ship.

Today had been a rare day where the three were elsewhere, leaving her to her own devices. She had spent her time sorting her bags, taking stock of what she had saved from her destroyed ship. Sorting through everything, she noticed a cookbook she had salvaged. Flicking through the water-damaged pages, she saw some recipes that caused her empty stomach to rumble. And so, she made her way to the kitchen to prepare them.

“Interesting dishes you’re making Lily, though they’re a bit basic,” Thatch said from beside her, pulling Lily from her reminiscing.

“Basic?” she asked, secretly not shocked by his words.

“Yeah, it’ll do for keeping you alive, but that’s it. If your living and fighting in the New World you need more than that. You need to be re-energized and revitalized. Anyone with basic cooking skills can put something together, but only the best chefs can make something that both keeps and makes you feel alive.”

There was truth in his words that Lily couldn't deny. After all, she had experienced the effects of his cooking since she had come aboard. Every meal gave her more energy than anything else she had tried before, and it made getting through the day much more comfortable.

“I can teach you a few different things if you’d like,” he offered.

“Thank you, Thatch, that would be wonderful,” she happily replied.

Getting a lesson from an expert chef and spending some time with a friend. I think today is shaping into a good day.

Cooking with Thatch was a learning experience. His love of cooking came through with every action he made, and it was apparent he took joy in sharing his craft with others. He took the time to explain every step and went over things she had trouble mastering. Despite her occasional slip-up, it wasn’t long before they finished, successfully making two dishes she had seen in the recipe book.

The food now sat on a divided plate, a serving of spicy beef rice occupying the red side and a summer salad on the white. They both looked scrumptious, better than anything Lily could prepare by herself. Still, while she had help, there was an undeniable touch of her in both dishes, and she felt proud she had a hand in creating them.

“Both look great! Thank you for your assistance in making them, Thatch,” Lily said, delight ringing in her voice.

“It was my pleasure, now which should we tr-“.

“Ahh crap!” a male voice shouted from the other end of the kitchen, interrupting Thatch.

“Is someone in trouble?” Lily asked, tensing up slightly.

“No need to worry. That sadly familiar yell was the new cook screwing up the soup again. I’ll be back in a minute.” He said in a huff, walking toward the direction of the shout.

And so, Lily began to wait. It took mere minutes after Thatch’s departure for an odd impatience to take over her. She wanted to wait as he had asked, but after all the work they had put into making this food, she couldn’t let it go cold before someone could taste test it for her.

“I’ll go and find Ace and see what he thinks,” she said to herself as she grasped the plate and turned toward the exit.

Exiting the kitchen, she began to make her way towards Ace’s cabin, a skip in her step as she looked forward to seeing her brother’s reaction to her new creations.

She didn’t encounter anyone on the walk to the cabin, and soon she found herself standing in front of the door to her brother’s quarters. Not wanting to risk dropping the plate, she used her foot to tap the door lightly.

“Ace? Are you in there?” she half-shouted through the door.

There was no response. Not that she was surprised. Ace could easily be somewhere else on the ship or napping, becoming almost dead to the world as he dreamt what she hoped were pleasant dreams.

Undeterred, she decided to knock one final time before searching elsewhere.

Again, nothing.

Could he be training, maybe? He did say he was meeting with members of his division today, is he doing that now?

Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Marco walking toward her. He wasn’t wearing his usual outfit. Instead, he wore a light grey, long-sleeved sports shirt; the first few buttons left undone to show the top of his tattoo. His pants were made of what Lily thought was cotton that had been dyed black and stopped just below his knees.

He looks like he’s trying to relax today. Maybe this is a rare day off for him?

“Hello, Lily.” Marco greeted.

“Hey, Marco,” she cheerfully replied.

“Looking for somewhere to sit and eat?” he asked, inspecting the plate.

“No, Thatch assisted me in making some food. It's my first attempt making something like this, so I was looking for Ace to taste test it for me.”

“Why didn’t Thatch taste it?”

“There was a soup emergency that he had to go handle. Since he was busy, I decided to go find Ace instead.”

“You won’t have any luck finding Ace. He went racing off on his Striker when he heard one of our ally ships needed help. I tried telling him Izu was already on the way, but he was gone before I could even start speaking.” Marco grumbled.

She sighed “That’s typical Ace. He can be a hot-head sometimes.”

“I don’t hate him for it. It's how he show’s he cares, and I will admit it’s kinda endearing.”

“So, my brother has rubbed off on you? It’s the same with Luffy. Those two always seem to make fast friends no matter where they go,” Lily chucked.

“It wasn’t that smooth a start for Ace here, but it did work out that way, and we’re all glad it did. I think the ship would be empty without him setting things on fire.”

“Changing the subject, since the fire starter isn’t here, would you try one of these for me? The red side is spicier if you’re not a fan of spice.” She asked as she lifted the plate, moving it closer to Marco.

Marco looks between them. “Which is which?”

“Sorry?”

“I can’t see colour.”

It took a moment for her to realise what he had meant. “You haven’t found your soulmate?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, though I have been looking.”

His words caused her to panic internally.

I’ve screwed up! How could I be so inconsiderate when he’s been so kind? He’s going to hate me now.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed as I did. It was horrible of me,” Lily muttered, her anxiety serving to dampen her voice, making it come out as a whisper.

“Please Lily, there is no need to apologies for not knowing, especially when its something like this.”

She was relieved. She would hate to have offended Marco. While they hadn’t spent much time together, she felt that had a bond already, and given how few close bonds she had, she didn’t want to lose it.

“Does it impede you at all?” she asked, allowing her curiosity to take over momentarily.

He shook his head. “Not really. Most things that would be a struggle have a colour-blind variant, and I can always ask for some help if it doesn’t. If anything, the worst part of it is knowing I still haven’t found them.”

“How long have you been looking?”

“Since I was young. It’s one of the reasons I set out to sea. I’d be an orphan my entire life, surviving with the scraps I managed to get my hands on. Looking back on it now, with everything I’ve done, it was more existing than living. There were happy moments, but it was no life for anyone, especially a child.”

His eyes shifted, turning to watch the ocean as it arched up and down in the wind. Though he only stared out for a few seconds, she saw a visible calm come over him.

“And so, when I was twelve, I decided I didn’t want to be alone, that I wanted to find that one person who might want to stay by my side and create a family. I still haven’t found my soulmate, but I did find a family. I think I was the most fortunate I’ve ever been when I boarded this ship on the day I left my home island. “

I can’t let me him be without his soulmate, not after all the kindness he’s shown me.

“I’ll help you look,” Lily exclaimed.

He looked perplexed. “Help me look?”

She nodded. “I won’t be with you for very long, but I do my best to help you find your soulmate.”

Marco beamed. He seemed ecstatic at the offer.

“I’ll gladly accept that offer, Lily.”

Lily sighed, “It might not be much of an offer unless we stop on any populated islands.”

“It’s a coincidence, but we’re stopping at one of our islands tomorrow. If I remember right, they’ll be holding a festival to celebrate the first harvest of the year. They get a lot of traffic from nearby islands too. So, want to go with me?”

FrEAK

They flashed in her mind again, their claws ripping her confidence and bravery apart and letting the anxiety and fear seep in. It made what had been so simple now impossible.

If I try to help him, I’ll be a burden. I should never have offered, knowing what I am.

“Sorry, Marco, it might not be the best idea. I apologies for the trouble,” the second she finished speaking, Lily whirled around and began walking away, nearly dropping the plate she had forgot she held.

“Wait, Lily!” Marco called from behind her, concern in his voice

She stopped the guilt from hearing his obvious concern causing her halt. She hated worrying people, and this was no exception.

Marco quickly appeared in front of her, leaning down they were face-to-face.

“What made you so upset? Do you not want to go to the festival?”

She shook her head. “I do, but, how could I? Every village or town I go to I get ostracised because of my mask. They think I’m some horrible criminal or…”

“Or?”

“A freak, a disgusting freak.”

There was silence for a moment “Lily, can I hug you?”

She weakly nodded, expecting a quick, pitiful embrace. Instead, she noticed the weight lifted from her hands as Marco gently took the plate and put it beside the door.

Then, with a speed that Lily surmised could only come from an expert hugger, he gave her a gentle smile and hugged her.

He was warm and soft. It wasn’t like Ace’s warmth, which with his new devil fruit was nearly overwhelming, nor was near smothering like Luffy’s ecstatic hugs. This was a pleasant warmth, experienced when sitting in the sun on just the right day, with grass dancing along your exposed skin. It was a feeling Lily wanted to get lost in. But soon, Marco ended the embrace, stepping back, but remaining close.

“I’m not going to ask what you went through and I’m not going to ask Ace either. I want you to tell me when you’re ready if you ever are. Until then, know that I don’t care if anyone looks down on me for choosing to spend time with you. I’m happy to do so even if it means I’m an outcast for it. Besides, I’m a pirate. I’m used to the looks and judgement, its sort of a job requirement.”

She wanted to doubt him. It wasn’t the first time someone used pretty words and promises to gain her trust. But she also knew people, it was a necessity for her, learning how to properly ready people. And that’s how Lily knew that Marco was sincere.

I think I can let myself trust him a little.

“Also, I should mention this isn’t an ordinary festival. It customary to dress up, so you won’t stand out, if you still want to go, of course.”

A smile only known to her, appeared on her face. “I’d like that a lot.”

A smile returned to his face. “Then I’ll come to get you once we dock. It should be around midday, so keep an eye out for me around then. For now, would you let me escort you back to the kitchen? I’m sure Thatch is wondering where you went.”

With a nod from Lily, the two began to walk together. It was a silent walk back, both of them far too preoccupied with thinking about tomorrow to speak. They were so distracted in fact that neither of them had remembered to pick up the plate that now sat next to Ace’s cabin door.

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alottanothing · 4 years

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Left to Ruin Chapter Three

Summary: For two years, the prince and the pharaoh travel Egypt in order for Ahkmenrah to better understand the land he would one day rule. Every new city and monument the prince meets fills his heart with wonder but he learns not everyone in his country wishes him to wear the crown.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 6247

Warnings: Just a wee bit of violence near the end.

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Those of you who’ve been commenting, liking and reblogging are seriously so nice 🥰 I love you all!! And those of you posting excerpts you enjoyed from the chapter in your comments bring me buckets of smiles❤️ pretty sure my heart swells a bit too. Thank you all for giving this story a shot, and I hope you stick with it for the next 20 some chapters! Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

“In three days time, Prince Ahkmenrah and I will begin a pilgrimage that will last no longer than two years,” Merenkahre announced the next morning during another council meeting.

Ahkmenrah sat in his usual place next to his brother, struggling to survive the war in his head. Sleep had been elusive the night before; he pondered from the time the sun set and the sky turned black until the soft hues of morning lit the heavens. Everything was rapidly changing about his life, and he felt powerless to hinder its progression. Change was growth, and he was old enough to know that growth was good, but he wasn’t ready to give up the routine he had gotten so accustomed to. All those carefree evenings with his friend seemed somehow ages ago and Ahk missed them, just as much as he missed Nouke.

“And, to honor the wise suggestion of this venture, I will leave Kahmunrah to rule while I am away.”

The pharaoh’s unexpected decree prompted skeptical looks from more than a couple of the men sitting around the long table. However, they kept their obvious discord to themselves, muttering under their breath much too quietly for Ahk to make out. Kah stood immediately, showcasing a look of surprise and gratitude the likes of which Ahkmenrah had never seen his brother hold.

“You honor me, father,” Kah bowed with uncharacteristic sincerity.

“I trust you will honor me in return by taking this task I lend you with the utmost seriousness. You are to listen to my councilors as I do; consider their guidance before acting.”

“Of course,” Kahmunrah nodded.

“I will warn you,” the pharaoh spoke transparently. “This mantel I leave in your hands is not a kingship. While I am gone, I am still pharaoh. You will act in my stead, but all matters of extreme supremacy are to be brought to the Queen, and it will be her word, over yours.”

Ahkmenrah could almost feel his brother's proud arrogance billow out of him like a hot breeze over the desert sands. His smug posture withered, and his face twisted back into its usual mask of apathy--plainly insulted by the limits Merenkahre put in place.

“So be it,” Kah huffed, falling back to slouch in his chair; arms folded tightly across his chest as he pouted shamelessly.

The pharaoh exhaled deeply, looking aside long enough to roll his eyes before turning his attention to his Grand Consul, his top advisor, Merhet. “Will you see that all arrangements are made: boats prepped and ready to sail three days hence?”

Merhet nodded, “It will be done, my pharaoh.”

***

Three days hardly seemed sufficient time to stock boats with enough provisions to last the duration of their impending journey, but the pharaoh’s men worked tirelessly and by nightfall on the third day, everything was in place. Ahkmenrah spent those few days on the high balcony of his bed-chamber watching the ships from afar, and the men tasked with readying them. He counted three in total to make up the fleet: one for guards and Medjay, another for food, and various other supplies. The grandest and most decorated was undeniably for the pharaoh and the prince. The sight fed his sense of adventure and the anxious need to finally go. And yet, Ahk could not stifle the part of him that wanted to stay.

The fourth morning arrived much quicker than the prince thought it would. He awoke with a smile and a tingling in his stomach that fueled his every movement in a swifter pace than normal. Ahk donned the nicest of his garments, the ones usually saved for celebrations or feasts--draping himself in finery. He figured the added embellishment was fitting. This was a celebration to him--the start of a journey--and he was going to treat the occasion how a prince was expected to. Each layer he added made him feel grander: robes of gold and jeweled wekesh that, in actuality, was much heavier upon his shoulders than he cared to admit. Still, he wore it all proudly.

For all the array that was the princes’ dress, the pharaoh's was grander: leopard skin and heavy kohl around his eyes, with a scepter in his hand. Ahkmenrah never felt more proud seeing his father dressed so, and when he grinned at him, Merenkahre grinned back.

“Look at you both,” Shepseheret beamed.

She greeted them at the base of the palace stairs where the chariots were waiting to take the king and his son to the docks.

“My heart already misses you,” her eyes twinkled with tears as she continued to smile.

The pharaoh embraced his queen and left her with a long kiss.

“I will think of you every day,” he promised.

Shepseheret gave her husband another quick kiss before pulling Ahkmenrah into her arms for the tightest embrace he was certain he had ever received.

“Oh, my darling, Ahkmen.” She kissed his cheek. “Enjoy this journey.”

“I will, mother,” Ahkmenrah vowed, returning the gesture, kissing her cheek too.

As he began to turn and follow his father to the chariots, Setshepsut, his little sister, came running down the palace steps shouting his name with a look of fear upon her eight-year-old face.

“Ahkmen! Wait!” She crashed against his side and held onto him tightly. “Don’t forget me okay?”

The prince cast her a sweet smile and crouched to better meet her eye to eye.

“You mustn't worry, Set,” Ahk said, gently wiping at the tears on her face. “I could never forget you. And I promise to bring back presents, alright?”

Setshepsut sniffed and her fear began to slowly lessen, “Alright.”

Ahkmenrah hugged his little sister properly for a long time, suddenly realizing how much he was going to miss her as well.

“You know my friend, Nouke?”

Set nodded.

“Will you do me a favor and look out for her, for me?”

The thought of leaving his friend alone for two years was starting to settle, and it yanked mercilessly on his heartstrings. A part of him needed to know she would be okay while he was away; he hated that he wasn’t going to be able to make sure she was being taken care of.

“Like you’ve watched out for me?” Set asked.

Ahkmenrah grinned, “Yes. Like how I have for you.”

His sister gave him a wide toothy smile, nodding her promise to look out for her big brother’s best friend.

“It is time, my prince.” Kamuzu’s deep voice bellowed from behind him, motioning toward the chariots, and Ahk eyed them wearily.

The pharaoh was already stationed regally in his, waiting for Ahkmenrha to join him. A battalion of guards and Medjay were lined up in perfect position as well.

To a degree, it looked as though they were readying to march off to war. Men held banners--sigils of prayer to the gods to watch over and bless their journey. Others were holding drums to steady the march of the impending parade. All of them had weapons on their belts or spears in their hands, and for a moment, the thought of leaving did feel like Ahk was preparing for battle.

With a deep breath, Ahkmenrah found his courage and joined his father.

It was only when the prince climbed into the chariot that everything became absolutely real. All the talk of the past three days finally coming to fruition. The adventure he always craved was starting; he would spend two years away from his family and his friend and his home. And once he returned; his father was going to crown him pharaoh.

All at once, every notion whirled through his mind making him excited, homesick, and nervous at the same time. As the palace gates opened and the parade lurched forward those teaming sensations rooted deeper. For the first time in all of his life, he was venturing beyond the palace walls without Nouke beside him, and the gravity of that notion tugged a frown on to his face. Frantically, his eyes searched the crowd of servants who gathered to see their pharaoh off--his heart racing with the fear that he wouldn’t find her in the chaos. But Nouke was there, right at the front alongside her mother and father, a doleful smile across her face, waving as he passed by.

The sound of drums and the braying of the horses pulling their chariots turned Ahkmenrah’s attention forward as the soldiers and the steeds marched in rhythm with every rolling thrum. The initial pace was slow--a rate that would take the better part of the afternoon to reach the ships waiting for them. But as the streets blossomed wider, the parade fell into a steady march that was less sluggish. The echoing sounds of procession coaxed commoners from their homes or to their windows, gathering with awe to catch a glimpse of their pharaoh and their prince.

Ahkmenrah had difficulty quelling the wholehearted smile curling onto his face, seeing life in Waset through a clearer lens. Every grinning face or look of wonderment he caught filled him with zeal and compassion. One day, they would be his people to guide and protect with the teachings of Maat--a lesson his father referred to often: the moral rule that helped the people know what was right and what was wrong.

The growing crowd coupled oddly with the knowledge of the duty that awaited his return. It was slightly more overwhelming than Ahkmenrah wanted to admit; a pang of anxiousness biting within the depths of his stomach as he smiled to his subjects despite it. The moment was bittersweet no matter how he looked at it. His predestined fate was to become a dutiful leader- a fact that he had learned at a young age, and one he would never be able to ignore. But at the same time, the child in him yearned for a piece of that undetermined life he saw in the care-free faces of the common people--to live a life without the looming strain of supreme responsibility. Ahkmenrah wanted to be a good king. In his heart, he knew he owed his father that peace, aware to some degree that Kahmunrah must have failed him. Ahkmenrah sought to make his father proud. A king had to make sacrifices (another lesson Merenkahre had repeated countless times over the years) and as he stood on the back of his chariot, seeing all the people dependent on him, Ahk knew the first sacrifice he would have to make was his childhood.

Once all the boats were loaded with personnel, the captains wasted no time in sailing north along the current.

Despite the lavish cabin on the royal ship, Ahkmenrah preferred the deck where he could watch the landscape change with every passing hour. It was there he watched his home shrink into the horizon, a sight that instilled him with a heavy wave of melancholy as he was reminded just how long it would be before he saw those familiar buildings again. The first night away was the toughest, missing his mother, his sister and his friend, but he found a peacefulness laid out in the map of the stars overhead. Ahk would settle himself near the bow of the boat, nestled against barrels and crates, gazing at the twinkling stars and the moon that ruled them.

The first city along their journey was almost as grand as the capital Ahkmenrah called home. Men-nefer was a sparkling metropolis nestled along the banks of the Nile, with the towering pyramids dotting the horizon. Countless narratives pulsed throughout the streets, stories of pharaohs of old that Ahk was anxious to explore. The history emitting from every building filled the prince with ample excitement, chacing away every ounce of his homesickness.

A man in fine raiment greeted them at the docks, Sefkh: Men-nefer’s governor. For the better part of two months, it was his grand home the pharaoh and the prince stayed to rest. Despite the change in scenery, little changed in the way of Ahk’s routine.

The prince wanted to wander the strange streets, see the sights first hand, and meet the people. But the most adventurous act was the morning he, Meren, and Sefkh ventured to pay their respects at the ancient pyramids. There were no words descriptive enough to adequately sum up the sense of reverence and bewilderment that accompanied standing at the base of the old tombs. Ahk wanted to stay there for hours to walk around every side so he could fully appreciate them as the marvel they were, but by early afternoon, he found himself back in the halls of Sefkh's homestead.

The rest of the princes' time was spent with his father, learning crucial lessons that would ensure he became a great king. What was new, however, was shadowing his father to city councils; seeing how governors ruled and protected simply their city and not the whole empire.

When the time came to move on, the ships at the port were resupplied, the pharaoh thanked their gracious hosts, and the prince and his father rode through the streets on their chariots waving to those who had gathered to see them off.

Every new city started and ended the same; with a parade through the streets to some mayor or governer’s grand house where they would stay for weeks or a month until the pharaoh decided it was time to move on. With every new sight and passing day, Ahkmenrah felt the hint of melancholy that plagued him vanish. Their odyssey stretched as far north as the mighty river could take them until the dull grey of the Nile bled into the vast blue water of the sea. Ahkmenrah yearned to sail deep into that horizon wondering what mysteries he would find on the other side, but their ships never strayed too far from shore, stopping at every major port city along the coast.

Fresh stories and cultures spilled into Ahkmenrah’s heart with every new metropolis--filling him with histories and tales that kept his spirited heart thrumming with fervor. Months became seasons and seasons turned to years, and before long, the palace and the ones he had left behind were as distant in his mind as the cities behind him.

One of the last cities their journey brought them to was the port city of Thonis, a thriving seaside town located amid the blue waters of the Mediterranean and the grey waters of the Nile River Delta. It was one of the few bustling spots that their train of ships drifted past to save for the return trip south to Waset. Ahkmenrah had watched in awe floating past, noticing the temple near the city’s shore, and promised himself to explore it given the opportunity. Comparatively, Thonis was much smaller than most of the places they had visited, but Ahk still was utterly captivated by it like all the rest. Perhaps even more.

Upon their arrival into the modest, but beaming city of Thonis, the pharaoh and his son were greeted by a man named Pa-heb. Like every time before, Pa-heb was the governing rule of Thonis and welcomed them into his home for as long as they wanted to stay. He was a stoic man, much like Merenkahre, who in Ahk’s opinion valued material possessions far more than anything else. He took pride in all the treasures he procured over years of being a merchant; Pa-heb stopped many times to point them out during the tour of his household. The home itself was indeed grand for the small metropolis in which they found themselves; with picturesque foundations built adjacent to both the Nile and the Mediterranean. Yet, despite its grandeur, it was empty. Pa-heb had no wife, no children, no one to warm his halls--just his worldly treasures collecting dust.

For the weeks that they were there, Pa-heb kept the pharaoh, the prince, and the crews well-fed and entertained with many stories of his time as a merchant in lands far beyond Egypt. Ahkmenrah liked those tales the most, though it was apparent that each story was told with the hope to impress them, or perhaps to brag--Ahk wasn’t sure. During the day, Merenkahre continued his teaching and the prince listened to every word with an attentive ear. On the few evenings he found himself free of dutiful lessons; Ahkmenrah visited the beach and the Temple of Khonsu. The prince adored the roaring sound of the sea waves breaking against the shore--so different than the rush of the Nile--and the salty breeze that whipped at his hair and clothing. And Ahk was certain that he had never felt such reverence than when he was within the walls of the Temple. Not even when he stood at the base of the pyramids.

On his final day in Thonis, Ahkmenrah woke early to ensure he had ample time to stroll along the beach one last time. He watched in wonder as the sun rose, its light painting the sky and the water mirroring pastel hues until all that remained were their natural blue. The morning air was cool over his skin, but the warm breeze billowing over the top of the water danced over his flesh in contrast, eliciting gooseflesh to prickle and form. Ahk even marveled at the sand and the distinction of pure white grains against the olive skin of his feet--small details he would remember until his last breath.

The prince stayed as long as he could on the tranquil shore, calmly watching the waves under the protective eyes of Kamuzu; a part of him wanted to stay there forever, and a larger part of him wished he could have shown Nouke such beauty. She would have also found the magic in the small details.

When he returned for an afternoon of politics, lessons, and meals, Ahk missed the sea breeze and the feel of warm water washing over his toes. Nevertheless, he suffered it all--as he always had with a genuine curiosity and the motivation not to let his father down. When night began to blanket the port city, and the moon cast a glow of silver over everything in sight; Ahkmenrah quickly made his way to the temple for one last moment of reverence before their journey moved on.

Of all the temples and monuments Ahkmenrah had seen so far, his favorite was the Temple of Khonsu. It wasn’t as ornate as the other sights the prince had visited, but it still stood high above his head, impressively reaching-- it seemed--for Khonsu himself in the heavens. Upon its entry, two towering statues of the god stood with silver-plated moon disks crowning his falcon head; inside the walls were etched and painted with hieroglyphs that told the stories and teachings of the great god himself. The ceiling was split down its middle, leaving a wide opening the length of the temple to allow the hall to fill with silver light on clear nights.

Ahkmenrah kindly asked for Kamuzu to wait for him outside and serenely strode to the altar at the opposite end of the long temple, kneeling. The prince already did his share of praying that morning; he simply wanted to bask in Khonsu’s reverence, his eyes wandering to the open roof so he could marvel at the crescent moon shining brightly amid its star-filled heaven.

It was quiet for a long time within the walls of the temple until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. The echoing didn't steel Ahkmenrah’s attention; he found he could not turn away from the beauty of the moon. Even when the steps grew closer and Merenkahre knelt beside him, Ahk never turned away his focus.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Ahkmenrah blinked slowly, eyes still upturned and fixated above him, but spoke, “There is something about this place--it seems familiar somehow.”

Merenkahre laughed gently, his eyes glancing around, “I suppose that should not come as a surprise to me.”

Finally, Ahkmenrah turned his focus to his father, finding a pensive smile that he couldn’t place meaning for.

“You were born at midnight,” Merenkahre explained, glancing towards the sky. “On a night much like this. We named you after the sun god, but it was Khonsu whose light welcomed you into this world. It’s only fitting you are connected to his radiance.”

The prince’s mouth quirked into a soft smile on one side hearing the story, and he looked back to the moon.

“Fitting too, for the gift I bestowed upon you when you were born.”

“What gift?” Ahkmenrah asked, his eyes looking to his father.

A slight furrow creased Meren’s brow, confused for a moment, before looking at his son.

“I don’t believe I have ever told you, have I?” The pharaoh pondered.

Inquiry pressed a line into Ahk’s brow, “Tell me what?”

“I had my high priest forge a magical tablet in your honor, and blessed by the graces of Khonsu.” Meren paused for a moment, thinking before he continued. “One day, I will share with you all the mysteries of the tablet that I know.”

A thousand questions spilled into Ahkmenrah’s mind with the notion of such a gift given to him: why he alone was bestowed with a magical totem and not his brother or sisters? Instead, he asked only if he may see it once they return to Waset, and Merenkahre smiled, vowing to do so.

The two of them were quiet for a long time, both savoring the reverence inside the blessed temple halls. Ahkmenrah was going to be sad to leave come the dawn, but he was glad to have been given the chance to see the things he had.

“Thank you, for taking me on this journey,” Ahkmenrah said quietly. “Kahmunrah was right, I never would have ruled with the appreciation I have now. The cities, the people--I want to do right by them all.”

“Yes, uncharacteristically wise of your brother,” Meren scoffed sounding slightly suspicious still.

Ahkmenrah lowered his eyes to his lap, absently tugging at a fraying thread in his shendyt, trying to understand the obvious wall between the pharaoh and his eldest son.

“Father?” Ahk’s voice was low and almost timid. “May I ask why you plan to crown me, instead of Kah?”

It was a question that had always stayed with him from the time he was old enough to understand how a monarchy usually worked. Kahmunrah was the oldest son, and by rights, the heir.

Merenkahre considered his answer for a long time, then sighed, a sound of disappointment.

“Your brother takes everything for granted. More than that, it’s as you said: you want to do right by these people you have met, this country you’ve seen. Kahmunrah, has seen these things too, and still, he takes them for granted.” Merenkahre met his son's gaze, “Just because you rule a people does not mean they will be there for you in a time of need. You have to show them your loyalty, and in return, they will show you theirs. Kah doesn’t understand that.

Ahk bit his bottom lip and nodded; everything his father confessed, Ahkmenrah knew to be true. As much as he longed for Kah to be a brother to him, the prince knew Kahmunrah would always be jaded.

It fell quiet again until the pharaoh spoke guiding the subject slightly askew.

“Did you know; I became pharaoh at your age? Fifteen with an entire Empire in my grasp, with only a fraction of the teachings I have offered you.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, and his content mask began to crumble under the weight of the responsibility waiting for him, sinking into his peaceful demeanor.

“Were you afraid?” he asked, not wanting to admit his own fears just yet.

He watched his father nod, and it allayed some of the looming dread.

“My father died you see,” Merenkare explained. “And as I was his only son, I was crowned before his body was even laid to rest.” He paused, his mind digging up what surely were almost forgotten memories. “In truth, it was difficult to rule without my father’s wisdom to call upon…”

Ahkmenrah did his best to hide the fresh wave of trepidation, but his father caught it anyway and reached to give his shoulder a warm squeeze.

“But you mustn't fear, my son. When I step down, I will remain by your side to guide you until the moment you need me no more.”

A sigh of relief broke past Ahkmenrah’s tight composure and cast a look of unyielding admiration and thankfulness to his father. Meren returned it, and the two of them remained in the temple a while longer.

***

It was almost two years to the date when the pharaoh’s ships once more ported in the city of Men-nefer, and in a way, Ahkmenrah looked upon the familiar skyline with a new understanding. Before he had felt a boy-- still learning his trade. When he found himself amidst familiar streets once more, the prince carried himself with all the wisdom and understanding he needed to become who he was meant to always be. The returned to Men-nefer marked the end of his enlightening journey. And while he was sad to see the end of their venture, Ahk did know, he would return home ready for whatever trial's life would bring.

As before, Sefkh and his family played host to the royal entourage with ample enthuse and hospitality while they rested and resupplied for the four-day sail back to the capital. In a way, the governor's homestead felt like a second home to the prince having spent weeks in its halls on his first visit. He felt safe there--at peace. And he couldn’t keep from smiling as he roamed those familiar corridors.

Sefkh honored their last night with a feast, and the pharaoh, and the prince indulged in the festivities gladly foregoing an evening of more teachings for a night of drinking, storytelling, and mirth. It was late when Ahk thanked his hosts for making the most of the final days of his venture and leisurely ambled to the chambers made up for him with Kamuzu in tow.

Ahk hummed to himself as he walked, a sweet melody that was a reflection of his tranquil mind, and politely bid goodnight to the servants awaiting him in his bed-chamber. Kamuzu followed him in and waited by the door while the prince took his time removing all his jeweled barbels leaving only his shendyt, then wondered unto the balcony overlooking the city.

“I suggest you rest, my prince,” Kamuzu cautioned from where he stood by the door. “Your father wishes to leave at first light.

Ahkmenrah nodded but kept his eyes fixated on the city and the pyramids in the distance. A part of him was sad that his adventure had reached its end, but he knew the memories of all that he had seen would be with him for as long as he lived.

“Home…” Ahk murmured into the breeze, a wistful quirk on his lips.

Suddenly, he missed his mother and her smile that always made him feel safe and warm. He missed his younger sister--how big she would be since the last time he had seen her! Ahk could hardly wait.

And Nouke. Ahkmenrah had so many stories to share with his friend, and his heart fluttered at the notion of sitting with her and telling her about every marvel he visited. His smile grew, and the beckoning of home ate away the sadness of leaving his adventure. Ahkmenrah was ready to be reunited with the people he cared about.

“My prince?” Kamuzu repeated, questioning whether or not Ahk had heard him.

“I know, Kamuzu.” Ahk threw him a content smile as he turned to wander back into the chamber. “Thank you, my friend. I will see you come morning. Goodnight.”

Kamuzu bowed, “Goodnight, my prince. Rest well.”

“And you.”

The Medjay cast him the ghost of a smile and left without another word.

Ahkmenrah fell asleep quickly. His body was tired from an evening of festivities and the breeze from the balcony was inherently soothing--enveloping him with a wakeless calm.

The prince was in such a deep sleep, that the sound of his chamber doors bursting open didn’t stir him. What did, however, was the loud metallic clang that echoed piercingly in the still air of his chamber.

Ahk’s eyes shot open and he gasped.

Mere inches from his throat was an assassin's blade, restrained with only Kamuzu’s own weapon and the sheer strength he harnessed. Fear ripped through the prince, and his wide eyes darted from his attacker to his protector, mouth dry, and body shaking. With a guttural shout, Kamuzu’s force overcame the man with the killing blade, and he stumbled backward.

“Go, my prince. To your father--QUICKLY!” Kamuzu shouted throwing a pointed finger towards the open door before the hooded man could gather his footing.

Ahkmenrah didn’t argue. His body felt too light and too heavy all at once, but he ran, shouting for the other guards outside his chamber to assist his Medjay friend. The halls that once felt so safe now felt like a maze; every wall and corridor looked unfamiliar and threatening. Tears made his vision blurry, so he wiped them away, reminding himself not to give in to the fear that was fighting and winning to take control.

Ahk only felt safe again when he broke through his father’s chamber doors--two Medjay on his tail wearing looks of confusion. The prince settled on the floor in the far corner of the room, pulling his knees to his chest and hugged them.

Merenkahre woke quickly, the initial look of irritation vanishing the moment he saw his son cowering. Ahk’s breaths came out in labored puffs, shaky like the tremors working through his body. He knew his father was looking at him waiting for some sort of explanation, but the prince kept his focus away from everything but an empty spot on the floor, struggling to keep up the guise of a brave prince.

“What happened?” Merenkahre asked the two Medjay that followed the prince into the chamber.

“We don’t know, my king,” one of them said.

Meren’s jaw grew tight, displeased no one had an answer. The agitation fell from his demeanor when he approached his son, kneeling and reaching to place a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder, but Ahkmenrah pulled away. The pharaoh frowned, his son’s obvious fear instilling him with similar emotion.

“Ahkmen,” he spoke softly. “My son, what happened?”

“An assassin,” Kamuzu’s voice boomed in the quiet air as he entered with two guards flanking him.

The Medjay tossed the body of the hooded man to his feet, and Merenkahre stared in restrained horror at the picture before him.

A moment later, Sefkh entered; the confusion on his face swiftly becoming a similar look of terror as he took in the sight.

“Explain,” Meren demanded as he stood, shielding his son and eyeing Sefkh. “How did an assassin make it into my son’s bed chamber?”

The governor kneeled quickly, “I do not know, my king. I swear to the gods, please.”

The pharaoh took a deep breath in through his nose, teeth grinding, and he looked to his son’s protector.

“How?” he asked simply.

“There were guards at the prince's door. The only other entry was from the balcony, my king.” Kamuzu explained. “It’s possible he scaled the exterior without being seen.”

The dark-skinned guardian fell to his knees, a look of shame twisting onto his features as he bowed before his king in a show of forgiveness just has Sefkh was doing.

“Were it not for a sense of danger I felt--an intuition, I would not have been there in time to save him,” Kamuzu admitted. “I have failed you, and my prince--for that, I am sorry. I do not deserve your forgiveness."

Merenkahre shook his head and demanded he rise. “You have done no such disservice, my friend. You have done as I have always asked--keep my son safe. Was it not for your instincts, it would be a different body presented at my feet. You should seek praise, not forgiveness.”

Kamuzu nodded, “Thank you, my king.”

The pharaoh turned to assist his son once more, moving in slowly to not frighten him. Gently, Meren took Ahk by the arm and helped him onto a nearby stool. He kneeled in front of him, his grey eyes holding compassion that made the prince feel safe.

“Are you alright, my son?”

Ahkmenrah swallowed, hugging his middle still feeling shaken up, but nodded.

Meren, nodded too, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he gave his son’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“You’re safe,” he promised.

Ahk nodded again; his focus lost in the middle distance.

The tremors were gone and his eyes no longer threatened to spill tears, but that fear was still very potent. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mind was fraught with the image of the knife and the man who’d been sent to kill him. Why? The question swelled and pulsed in his brain prompting an ache that begged he pay attention to it, but Ahk just wanted to forget.

“As for you,” the pharaoh spoke sternly, casting his restrained anger upon the man who had housed them. “What has occurred tonight, is of the highest treason. Do you know this man?”

Sefkh looked at the unmasked murderer and shook his head, “No, sire.”

“Hmm,” the pharaoh rubbed his chin. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character--I believe you, Sefkh. But this will be the last time I share your city.”

Sefkh let out a sigh of relief but remained kneeling, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Shall I have Medjay search the city for any compatriots of our assassin?” Kamuzu asked.

“No,” Meren decided quickly. “We will not be staying. We leave tonight--I will have a word with the captains and the crew. No one is to let Ahkmenrah out of their sight, understand?”

“Yes, my king.” Kamuzu nodded.

“You are dismissed Sefkh. We no longer require your hospitality.” The pharaoh waved the governor away, a look of indifference on his features.

There was no parade or pomp and circumstance when the royal party left the city of Men-nefer under the veil of moonlight--Khonsu watching over them high in the heavens. The pharaoh offered no parting words of thanks to Sefkh or his family; Ahkmenrah was much too shaken to even think of a word to say.

The prince was escorted through the streets under the guise of inconspicuous robes with a whole platoon of guards barricaded around him. Meren walked with him, his strong hand pulling his son along swiftly, and the grip around his upper arm fostered a sense of security that Ahkmenrah clung too with a sure grip that matched the pharaoh’s. Nevertheless, Ahk kept his eyes on the repetitive movement of his feet, too afraid to look down any shadowy alley out of fear of someone coming from the darkness to destroy him.

It wasn’t until his feet strode over the wooden deck of the ship that his anxiety began to ebb, and his breaths became much calmer. His father quickly led him into the cabin they shared, before returning to the deck to ensure they pushed off immediately. The chaos of it all made Ahk’s head spin more than he wanted it too, and he settled himself in another corner, finding safety in the press of walls against his shoulders as he tucked himself there.

Kamuzu stood nearby, silent as always but giving the prince the sense of security that always helped to bring him peacefulness. The sickly slosh in his stomach began to wane too, feeling the boat lurch and veer into the current of the Nile.

“You should sleep,” Kamuzu said gently, running a wet stone over the curve of his blade to sharpen it.

The prince watched and listened, finding the rhythmic sound and coupling actions somehow soothing. And yet sleep seemed impossible. Ahkmenrah wanted to sleep. He was tired. But the images in his head would never allow the peacefulness he craved.

“Thank you for saving me,” Ahkmenrah said finally. His voice was low and sounded foreign laced with so much fear.

“You owe me no thanks, my prince. This was the duty your father gave me the moment you came into this world fifteen years ago.” He didn’t even look up from his task as he spoke. “It is my honor to serve and protect.”

Ahk was quiet for a moment, entranced with the stone in his Medjay’s hand and the noise it prompted as it slid across the edge of Kamuzu’s khopesh.

“Why did my father give you such a duty?” he asked. None of his sisters had a designated protector, not even Kahmunrah. It never occurred to Ahkmenrah until that moment how strange it was that he, alone, was given such care.

Kamuzu thought a moment, looking at him with abundant compassion. He knew why; Ahkmenrah could see it in the slight strain on his face, but whatever the reason, Kamuzu must have sworn never to tell.

“That is not for me to say, my prince.”

Ahkmenrah sighed, too tired and too distraught to argue and demand reasoning. Instead, he sighed and pulled his knees tight against his chest. It was going to be a long journey back home.

Next Chapter -> Chapter Four: Fourth King of the Fourth King

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #Night at the Museum #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

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sympathyfortheblinderdevil · 3 years

Text

All Is Fair: Ch. 17 Buying Forgiveness

Tommy has been a shithead, so he tries to buy Lia's forgiveness. Little does he know, she would have totally forgiven him anyway. In the time leading up to Christmas, Lia forms a bond with Charlie and encourages Tommy to do the same.

Tommy was a half-drunk, half-delirious mess. His shambolic footsteps dragged on the stairway, pitching him forward as Lia struggled to keep him from falling. For the previous hour, he’d been whispering what she could only categorize as confession into her hair; at least, that’s what she thought it was, for she could understand very little of it. She had finally convinced him to go back to bed, which led to her current predicament. She wedged her shoulder underneath his arm and coaxed him, “I’ve got you, Tommy, but you have to help me,” and they haltingly made their way to her bedroom.

When they reached their destination, she paused at the door to switch on the light, and in a moment of lucidity, he suddenly rasped, “Don’t... No lights.” He was raw enough to feel shame and to want to hide his face from her.

Once he was on the bed, she helped him out of his jacket, her arm grazing the cold steel of his pistol as she did so. She flinched, then turned her back to drape the heavy garment over the chair. Did Tommy shoot back, or did he just run for cover? she wondered. She stood there trying to collect herself, breathing in and out, pushing those thoughts down. For a fleeting moment, she thought to walk away… just go out into the warm brightness of the hallway and down the stairs to her parlor... leave him to deal with undressing himself, and let him sleep it off. But, just behind her, she heard his shaky breaths and his fumbling hands struggling with leather straps. A rush of almost maternal warmth enveloped her, compelled her to stay, and reminded her that for all his faults she was hopelessly in love with him. When she turned to face him, his glassy eyes apologetically searched for hers as she undid his gun holster. Once freed, his arms went around her. He pressed his face into her belly and he mumbled, “Stay with me, Lia. Don’t leave me.”

Moonlight shone through the window in a muted sliver of luminescence and played off of the silver strands that hid in Tommy’s hair. She brushed it away from his forehead and promised, “I won’t leave you, baby. I won’t ever leave you.”

He was high. The vulnerability he showed her tonight would vanish in the morning, but Lia couldn’t help hoping that Tommy would reveal some small bit of his pain to her once in a while. She couldn’t pretend to understand the brutality and the coldness that overcame him, and the precision with which he could compartmentalize that part of his life. How could he put all of the horrors to one side and just get on with things? But if he could show her that on some level it bothered him, that he had still had a soul to save, she could try to be what he needed.

When she had him stripped down to his undershirt and drawers, she shrugged out of her dress, climbed in beside him, and sank into a deep dreamless sleep.

***

In the days that followed the shooting Tommy and Lia didn’t discuss what had happened. It had been kept out of the papers, so no one outside of Tommy’s immediate circle even knew about the killings or Tommy’s injury. For her part, she was apprehensive about reliving the shock of what had happened to Rodney and the realization that Tommy was much more flawed than she had previously let herself believe. Jenny had tried to tell her about the violence and criminality that were as much a part of him as his pale blue eyes, but until she was faced with the aftermath of the attack and the subsequent murder of the attackers, she hadn’t wanted to believe her.

The Tommy that she fell for was a devilishly charming, handsome man. He told her that he did bad things, but he had an art collection and country estate for God’s sake! She had naively believed him when he said that people didn’t come after him anymore even though it contradicted all evidence. She had never known anyone who needed to carry a gun everywhere, but she had never known a member of Parliament. Maybe all MPs carried guns, she had reasoned. Every warning and every red-flag sailed right past her because she was mesmerized by the warm smell of his skin, the velvet at the nape of his neck, the soft words he breathed into her ear when they were alone.

The little trip to Watery Lane with Polly reminded her that he came from hard beginnings, but it took watching Charlie Strong stitch up a gash from an enemy’s bullet to drive the point home: Once a gangster, always a gangster. Maybe that was what Polly was trying to make her see all along. When she thought back to the way he reacted when she confronted him about Rodney she felt dread. He changed into someone else before her eyes. Polly’s words echoed in her memory, He did have a big heart. Did. Past tense. But then, he was so tender with her afterward. She made herself believe that there was hope for him after all, that Tommy was the paradoxical hard man with a heart. He was ruthless on his climb to the top and would always have a target on his back, so yes, he had to be hard. It was so much an ingrained part of Tommy’s life that he simply accepted it and moved on. She wanted to be like Tommy, and accept it, too.

Consequently, they fell into a comfortable pattern of denial. Nearly every day after it happened, she received a delivery of one kind or another—Flowers one day, a basket of exotic fruits the next, a box of wine and cheese from Harrods, a box of chocolates imported from Switzerland, it went on and on. On the nights he came to stay with her he brought antique volumes of poetry (obviously Ada’s idea) and a diamond bracelet to match the necklace he had already given her. She wanted so much to tell him that he didn’t need to buy her forgiveness, but pointing that out would only draw attention to the subject they were trying to avoid. Instead, she shared her fruits and chocolates with the girls at the library and drew jealous gasps from them as she told about the first edition Shelley that Tommy had given her.

As the holiday season drew closer, Lia finished working out her notice at the Birmingham branch of the library in preparation for her transfer to London. Naturally, she began to spend more time at Arrow House. Charlie was finished with lessons, so he and Lia fell into a pattern of riding, playing games, and baking cookies. At first Tommy had reservations about the growing boy hanging around the kitchen, but then Arthur reminded him of all the winter afternoons that John spent at Polly’s elbow making the Christmas treats. Ultimately, Tommy felt that while he was at work it was nice that someone besides a maid was with Charlie.

He especially enjoyed the greeting he received at the end of a long day. It was often dark when he finally pulled around the fountain and came through the door. Charlie and Lia could hear his car’s approach down the long driveway and had displaced Frances as the ones to meet him at the door. Lia would kiss his cheek and take his coat and hat while Charlie plied him with samples of their latest confections. Dinner at Arrow House was different, as well. Except for the nights that Tommy would be egregiously late, Charlie joined the grownups for dinner. Etiquette and decorum in great houses dictated that children were fed separate from the adults, and Tommy had been too busy to even question it. Lia, however, thought it was strange. She had grown up with family around the dinner table together, and she reckoned that Tommy had as well. Tommy was distant from Charlie in many ways, and she sought to remedy that where she could; having nightly dinner together was a step in the right direction.

One night after dinner, the three of them went into the sitting room for Charlie to play a while before bed. He had spent half of the afternoon setting up a racetrack, complete with pebbles marking the outline of the oval, toy horses on their marks, and toy soldiers crowded around as spectators. Tommy had one arm draped loosely around Lia’s shoulder as he chuckled lowly at the voices Charlie did for the announcers and the people in the crowd. They sipped their whiskeys and whispered their bets to each other.

“I think the black one will win by at least a length,” said Lia.

Tommy leaned closer until his nose grazed her ear. “I think it’ll be the bay. What would you like to wager, Miss?”

She looked up at the ceiling and pretended to think before replying, “How about three kisses?”

Charlie stopped galloping his horses and crowed, “Yuck, I can hear you two, you know.”

“You won’t always think it’s yucky, my boy. Now, run the race so we can see if Lia or your old dad has won.”

When Charlie was once again engrossed in the intricacies of the Derby, Tommy crossed the room to refill his whiskey. He motioned to Lia with the decanter and she joined him for a refill. They were just out of Charlie’s immediate line of sight, so he slipped his arms around her. She relaxed into his embrace and sighed, “This is lovely, but we’ll miss the end of the race.”

“I know what you are doing,” he said. His voice had taken on a more serious tone.

She put her hands on his chest and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The dinners, the cookies at the door every afternoon, all of it,” he took a final drag from his cigarette and held her gaze as he placed the end in a nearby ashtray. “You are trying to have me spend more time with Charlie.”

“Charlie is a precious boy, and he loves you more than anything, Tommy. No matter what you may think, you deserve his love.”

Tommy stared at her in silence, stunned that she had read him so easily. She was innocent, guileless, and had no ulterior motive for what she said. She only wanted him to have a relationship with his son. The revelation both warmed him and filled him with uneasiness. He had let his mask slip in front of her, and she had seen the guilt and self-loathing that he hid from the world.

He silently blinked at her. When at a loss for how to react, his default was always to stall with a blank expression, a cigarette, and a glass of whiskey. He had stepped back from her and begun rummaging through his pockets for another smoke when Charlie’s high pitched voice called, “They’re in the final stretch!”

She turned to face the boy and his track, and as she did she caught sight of Grace’s photograph. He was far too young to remember the loss of his mother, but he knew the sting of growing up with a father who was absent due to an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear. Lia often reflected that Charlie seemed remarkably well adjusted for a child who had been through so much. She put it down to Ada and the staff, who honestly spent much more time with him than Tommy did. Then and there, she resolved to convince Tommy to have the boy stay in London with them. She couldn’t imagine being separated from him if they could help it.

***

“One of my boys should take you to your parents. I don’t like you taking the train on your own,” Tommy grumbled as his eyes shifted around and noted every shadow of the train station.

Both statements alluded to the very topic they’d been avoiding for a month—one of Tommy’s drivers being shot, and his lingering nervousness about the possibility that danger was still lurking about. Tommy hadn’t minded the train journey before, because Jenny was taking the trip with Lia. At the last minute, though, Jenny decided to stay in town an extra day with her new boyfriend, a Birmingham police detective.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of hours. Besides, I need a chance to explain to my parents about us. I can’t just swan into the village in the backseat of a chauffeured Bugatti. It’ll give my poor dad a heart attack,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Tommy cut his eyes at her. “I thought you said you had told them about me already.”

“They know I’m seeing you, but they don’t know how serious we have become. They definitely don’t know about London. I need time to ease them into the idea of me moving to the city with you.” She didn’t say without a ring on my finger, but it hung in the air, nonetheless.

She didn’t want their last moments before the holiday to be anything less than perfect. She wanted the Hollywood movie sendoff, complete with passionate kisses on the train platform, but she would settle for a respectable kiss and less of his moodiness. She cocked an eyebrow and turned her face up to his. He licked his lips and leaned in to oblige her. She blushed up to the roots of her hair when she thought about everywhere his lips had been just a few hours before.

They had spent the night before “saying goodbye” until well after midnight. Tommy (or his secretary) had really outdone himself. They started with an extra-long supper with Charlie. He had become quite attached to Lia and wanted a chance to say goodbye before her trip home. After Charlie went up to bed, Tommy took Lia upstairs where all her things for her trip were packed into Louis Vuitton cases.

Lia gasped, “Oh, Tommy! It’s too much!” She ran her fingertips over the leather and along the brass closures and groaned with pleasure, “Its only a three-day trip.”

He approached her from behind and nuzzled her ear, “Consider it an early Christmas gift. The rest of it is at your house.”

“The rest of it!” She shouted through bubbly laughter, spinning around and grasping Tommy’s face. He was smiling broadly and loudly kissed her.

“You’ll need it when we go to London. So you see, my girl, it’s actually a very practical gift.”

“Wool stockings are a practical gift. This cost more than the house where I was raised.”

He caressed her shoulders and his face took on a more serious expression. “Get used to it, love.”

Lia leaned into him as his hands slid from her arms to her back. He traced down and back up her spine, stopping at the top button of her dress. With achingly slow hands he undid each button while Lia pressed herself closer to his body. Maybe it was the after-dinner whiskey that had made her so giddy before, but now her head was dizzy with want and she found it hard to catch her breath.

After he slid her dress off of her shoulders he grasped her chin between his index finger and thumb and pulled her face up to his. He took in her drowsy expression, and with his eyes wide he gruffly whispered, “Lia, eh? Look at me.”

She fluttered her lashes and complied.

Tommy ground into her until she could feel the blood pulsing through his veins. “I want you to get used to having the best of everything, Lia. You are with me now, and London is on a whole other level than Birmingham. You’re a smart girl, but in London, I’ll need you to be sharp. Can you do that?”

He still had her chin in his hand, but she nodded as best as she could. She had barely breathed out, “Yes, Tommy,” before he had taken her mouth with his own. He spent the rest of the night taking everything else she could give him.

He was thinking of the same thing when he reached into his pocket for his watch. It was time. “Call me when you arrive,” he insisted as he looked her up and down. Even though she would only be gone for a few days, he wanted to remember every detail: the soft waves of her hair, the freckles on her nose, the sad smile on her deep red lips. Standing on that platform watching her go, he began to realize that he wanted her to stay. In the sober light of day, he wanted her to stay, and that worried him.

Hell yeah, I have a Masterlist!

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