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miracleonice87 · 3 years

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I’ll Take Care of You, part two

a Tyler Seguin fic

a/n: this one’s from Peyton’s perspective. back in the fall when I first started writing fics again, I wrote part one in first person, which I don’t really do anymore, but I’m keeping that consistent for this one. read part one here first if you haven’t already.

tw: fainting, mention of miscarriage/loss of pregnancy/infertility/periods

“Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this to occur with first pregnancies. It happens more often than you might think. It certainly doesn’t mean you won’t ever be able to have a baby. My rule of thumb is to let couples try to get pregnant again naturally for one year without any intervention. Then, if you’re still having difficulties, you can come back in and we can talk about other options.”

It had been eleven months since my doctor had spoken those words to Tyler and me following the miscarriage that had nearly broken us both.

Those eleven months had seen us try again and again each month with no success. I tracked my body temperature and ovulation cycle each and every day before even leaving bed. I’d completely removed alcohol and caffeine from my diet and monitored everything I put into my body, controlling every single factor I could possibly control.

And yet, on the thirteenth day — the unluckiest of days for multiple reasons — of each month, like clockwork, my period arrived. If Tyler was at home when it happened, I simply left the bathroom with a sorrowful shake of my head, curling into his waiting arms as he comforted me silently, holding me close, disappointment weighing heavily on us both. If he was on the road, I texted him only a “🔴” symbol, indicating that my monthly visitor had shown up unwelcome yet again. He replied each time with an, ”I’m sorry, sweetheart,” though he had nothing at all to apologize for.

My patience and determination, along with Tyler’s, were wearing thin. It was feeling more and more impossible to keep the faith — more and more unlikely that this would happen on its own.

I had all but given up hope.

But then...

The eleventh month arrived, and the thirteenth day of it came and went with no sign of my cycle. And then the fourteenth day. And then the fifteenth.

And with that, the smallest sliver of hope glimmered from out of the darkness in the depths of my heart.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited. With Tyler on a road trip to the East Coast, I barely slept those three nights, tossing and turning and wondering if I should take one of the numerous tests stuffed in the bathroom cabinet.

On the sixteenth, after Tyler had already left for morning skate, I decided it was time. Though I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I also couldn’t stomach the thought of waiting for Ty to return — let alone the thought of seeing his disappointment in the event of yet another negative test.

Thankfully, though, the sixteenth was a Friday — the day that Fanny, Klinger’s fiancée, and I had long ago set aside for morning yoga in my home gym. Fanny, now six months pregnant herself with her and John’s first baby, would arrive at 10 a.m., and I decided that that was as good a time as any to find out what was next for Ty and me — we would either finally start the family we’d always wanted, or it would be time for a different approach.

After greeting one another and stretching over small talk, Fanny carefully broached the topic that I had brought to her, heartbroken, so many times in the past year.

“So how have you been feeling?” she inquired gently from the mat next to mine, bending to the side for a new pose. “Are you on your cycle?”

From where I stood with my arms extended straight out, my face turned away from hers, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and pondered what to say next.

“Well,” I began before clearing my throat, “That’s, um... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

You pivoted to face Fanny, her pretty eyes now wide as saucers. Slowly, she stood up straight.

“Stop it,” Fanny whispered incredulously, joy etched in her expression.

I shrugged a bit. “I’m late,” I admitted softly. “But only by three days. And I haven’t taken a test-“

“Peyton!” Fanny warned through her giggles, hands finding her hips. “You have to!”

I smiled, appreciating my dear friend’s excitement for me while still feeling the familiar tightness of anxiety in my gut.

“I will,” I promised. “I seriously told myself I was gonna wait to do it while you were here. I couldn’t do it alone and I... if I’m not... well, I just can’t bear to see Ty’s reaction again…”

Fanny nodded solemnly. “Oh, sweetie. I understand,” she assured. “Maybe after we finish up? Or not. I mean, we can do it whenever you feel ready.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and attributing it to my frayed nerves.

“God, is it hot in here?” I asked, unzipping my lightweight jacket and throwing it aside, still fanning myself though I now wore only a sports bra and athletic shorts.

Fanny frowned, looking at my reflection in the mirrored wall in front of us. “No, I feel fine,” she said.

I tied my ponytail into a high bun to get the hair off my neck, noting a faint ringing in my ears as I placed my feet in position on the mat once more.

As I reached down for my toes, the ringing grew louder, and I suddenly saw stars in my vision.

With trembling hands, I wiped the sweat from my now-dripping brow and stood straight up, but apparently too quickly, as the room around me quickly fell from focus, darkness taking its place.

“Fan... I-I don’t feel good...”

Alarmed at the weakness of my voice, Fanny turned to face me and gasped.

“Babe, oh my god!” she exclaimed — the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

_____

The next thing I heard as I came to was my husband’s voice, which sounded distant and faint. I moaned, squinting at the bright fluorescent lights above me as I realized that I was lying on my back on the floor, with Tyler’s face inches above mine. I opened my eyes slowly and heard him draw a deep breath, announcing, “She’s awake.”

I felt him cup my cheek tenderly as I offered a weak smile.

“Hi,” he breathed, relief heavy in his tone. “Hi, sweet girl. You scared us pretty good.”

“What happened?” I asked, confused by the hoarseness of my own voice. I moved to prop myself up on my elbows, but Tyler gently pushed my shoulders flat once more.

“Shh, shh, hey, don’t get up,” he instructed. “You passed out while you and Fanny were working out. Do you remember that?”

With a furrowed brow, I nodded. I saw Fanny standing behind Tyler, covering her lips with her fingers as she stared at me nervously.

“Oh god, Fan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, still feeling weak and shaky.

Fanny shook her head and took a couple of steps forward, standing over Tyler’s shoulder. “Babe, no, don’t apologize,” she insisted. “I was just worried about you. Tyler came in the door just a minute after it happened but I had already called 911. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, my eyes fluttering closed once more. “That’s okay,” I said softly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door upstairs, and Fanny hurried up the steps to answer it. I rolled my head to look at Tyler, who stared down at me with deep concern.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he promised, pushing some hair from my still-damp forehead. “We’re gonna get you checked out and see what’s going on, okay?”

I nodded as I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, and two paramedics followed Fanny to where I lay, still on my yoga mat.

“Hey there,” one of them smiled. “I’m Maria, and this is my partner, Chris. You’re Peyton?”

I nodded as Maria knelt beside me, opposite Tyler, with Chris placing a medic kit on the floor next to him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peyton,” Maria said kindly. “How are you feeling right now?”

I cleared my throat, attempting to blink the fog away.

“Not as bad as I did a few minutes ago,” I half-joked. “But I still feel shaky, and hot.”

Maria nodded, pressing the stethoscope to my chest.

“Can you tell me what you’ve had to eat and drink today?” she asked.

“Um... I had two cups of coffee, a yogurt... and some water during yoga,” I replied.

“Okay,” Maria said as Chris took my pulse, with Tyler holding tight to my other hand and watching their every move. “Any history of fainting before this?”

I shook my head. “No, never,” I said.

“Any blood sugar issues? Diabetes, hypoglycemia?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are you currently on your period?”

My cheeks warmed. This certainly wasn’t the way I had planned to tell Tyler of our latest development.

“Um, n-no,” I admitted sheepishly, glancing at him. I could see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind even as he watched the paramedics instead of me.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Maria asked gently as she folded her stethoscope into her bag and reached for a blood pressure cuff.

Shit.

“Uh… actually, yeah.”

Immediately, Tyler’s head snapped toward me.

“Wait, what? Really?” he inquired, joy exuding from his whole being.

I simply shrugged, beaming. “I’m late.”

A small, knowing smile crossed Maria’s face. She wrapped the cuff around my arm and began to squeeze the pump.

“Okay, well, that could be the reason,” Maria noted. “Sometimes when you’re early in a pregnancy, your body might not be getting all the extra rest and nutrients and hydration it needs. It happens sometimes, and often, it’s no big deal.”

I nodded, reaching for Tyler’s hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said with a scrunched nose. “I just didn’t want to get my hopes up, let alone yours.”

Tyler brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he told me with a shake of his head. “I get it.”

I smiled gratefully, and Maria removed the cuff from my arm.

“Your blood pressure is a little low, which doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Again, this can happen. Just to be safe, I wanna take you to the hospital for an EKG and monitor you for a bit, and we’ll do a pregnancy test there too, okay?”

I nodded, looking to Tyler for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he said, knowing exactly what I needed to hear. “I’ll be right there with you.”

_____

One ambulance ride later, with Tyler beside me and Fanny following behind in my car, I had arrived at the emergency department and was being poked and prodded and hooked up to a plethora of monitors. A cardiologist soon confirmed that everything was fine with my heart, and my pregnancy test was then the only result that hung in the balance.

I sat propped up on pillows in the hospital bed, Tyler standing at my side as we waited in silence.

Out of nowhere, tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to swipe at them without Tyler noticing — a futile attempt. When he heard my faint whimper, he stepped closer and gathered me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“Hey, hey,” he spoke softly. “What is it, baby?”

“I’m scared, Ty,” I whispered, head buried in his chest. “Whether it’s positive or negative. I’m just scared.”

“I know, babe,” he replied, slowly caressing my back. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too. You’ve been through hell.”

“We’ve been through hell,” I corrected, sniffling as I looked up at him. Tyler nodded and smoothed his thumb along my jaw.

“We just have to believe that everything is gonna work out this time,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “Good things are coming, Peyt. I can feel it.”

After several more minutes, my nurse, a sweet woman named Beth who spoke with a thick Texas accent, entered the room holding my chart. I could actually hear my own heartbeat in my ears, this time not because I felt faint, but because I was overwhelmed with anticipation.

“Well, Miss Peyton…” Beth began with a smile. “Congratulations. You’re gonna be a mama.”

I let out a sob and covered my mouth with my hand immediately, and Tyler choked out a breathless laugh. His hands grasped my face as he kissed me firmly.

“You hear that? We’re having a baby,” he whispered, eyes glossy with tears. “God, I love you so much.”

I giggled excitedly. “I love you, too, baby daddy,” I replied, causing Tyler to chuckle, too.

As Beth looked on with a grin, she wrote a few things down on my chart, then said, “Congratulations, you two. I’ll give you some privacy. Peyton, honey, we’ll be back around to check on you in about half an hour, okay?”

I nodded, tears streaking my face. “Yes, yes, thank you,” I spoke. “Thank you so much.”

With a kind nod, she left the room, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind her.

Before the door was even shut, Tyler’s lips found mine once more, his fingers holding my cheeks reverently. Eventually, I pulled away for a breath.

“You were right,” I told him, nudging his nose with mine.

Still completely giddy, he asked with a smile, “What was I right about?”

I reached a hand up to work my fingers through his curls. “You told me good things are coming,” I reminded, voice quivering. “You were right.”

Tyler was overcome with emotion once again and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. For the longest time, we stayed that way, embracing with only the sounds of soft, happy cries filling the room.

_____

eight months later...

“Are you the most handsome little man in the whole wide world? Hmm? I think so,” Tyler spoke to the tiny baby he held in his arms. “I think you’re just the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled from my hospital bed, feeling more exhausted and more in love than I ever knew I was capable of.

“And it’s a good thing you look like your mommy,” Tyler added, smirking at me before kissing the baby’s forehead — our baby’s forehead. “Uncle Jamie is gonna say that too. Yes, he is. I might as well beat him to it, huh?”

I chuckled, patting the mattress beneath me and gesturing for Tyler to join me.

“Bring him back over here,” I pleaded. “I miss him already.”

Tyler hummed knowingly and rose from his chair, carefully cradling the baby in his arms.

“I know,” he said. “I miss him, too, and I’m literally holding him. How is that possible?”

I smiled. “Because having kids means your heart walks around outside of your body,” I spoke, kissing our boy’s chubby cheek as Tyler took his place on my bed. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”

He nodded. “You’re damn right,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel it already. I never knew it was possible to feel this way, Peyt. As bad as we wanted a baby, as much as it hurt when we lost the first one...” Tyler choked up as he spoke of the loss we’d experienced now almost two years ago. After a pause, he continued. “I still just never thought it would feel this incredible.”

I curled my hands around his arm and kissed his bicep. “Me either,” I admitted airily. “I’ll never forget the pain we felt then. And that baby will always be our first. But this... this is the best day of my life.”

Tyler beamed, wrapping one arm around my waist while cradling the baby to his chest with his other.

“So, are we decided on this little man’s name?” Tyler asked as I touched the baby’s pouted lips, making us both giggled at his expression.

“I think so,” I confirmed, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Are you still thinking what I’m thinking?”

Tyler looked down at me with hooded eyes, full of adoration, and nodded. “If you’re sure,” he spoke.

I’d been sure for a few months now, since the first day that I allowed myself to browse a baby name book, still riddled with fear of the unknown, while also waiting expectantly and with hope for our new journey ahead. I didn’t get far, only to the B’s, when I found the perfect name... one that meant blessed.

As I peered down at the boy in my arms, no name seemed more fitting than that one I’d whispered into being long ago.

“I’m sure,” I replied confidently. I cradled the baby’s head in my hand and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Welcome to our world, Bennett Tyler Seguin,” I whispered, overjoyed and humbled to finally have the privilege of having a son to name not only for his daddy, but also for the precious, long-awaited gift he was to us.

“Our boy,” Tyler whispered reverently.

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flourchildwrites · 3 years

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“I want all my alchemists, current and former, to lay low for the time being while we reassess the State Alchemy program. I am here to ask what you want in return for your service and your discretion.”

Behind the reflective surface of his horn-rimmed glasses, Grumman’s eyes shift to the foot of Alphonse’s bed where Izumi’s cookbook sits open. “Your just deserts, as it were,” he adds with a smirk.

Alphonse doesn’t have to ponder what their plans are.

“All we want is to go home, sir, to Resembool,” Alphonse answers. He smiles to lighten the mood; loose skin pulls around the corners of his grin. “And I’d also like to see a few friends. Maybe try some of the foods from my list before we leave Central."

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga

Relationships & Characters: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Izumi Curtis/Sig Curtis, Gracia Hughes, Elicia Hughes, Grumman, Winry Rockbell, Pinako Rockbell

Genre: Character Study, Post-Promised Day, Recovery, Just Deserts

Trigger Warnings: Underweight Character

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,967 words (Complete)

A/N: I'm incredibly excited to share the fic I wrote for @fmacookbookzine, Tastes of Amestris! Most of the desserts mentioned in the story have recipes in the cookbook. I owe a special thanks to the zine moderator as well as my betas, Tas and @vino-and-doggos. I appreciate kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes, and reblogs if you feel so inclined.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The repair becomes part of the object’s history and enhances its beauty.

...

There is a plate in the china cabinet of Pinako’s kitchen that Alphonse likes best. It looks the same as the others with pale pink vines looping along the fluted rim. Yet, this particular piece is set apart from the rest. Once cracked in half, Alphonse’s favorite plate has a vein of gold that binds the fractured parts together.

He was there when it happened on Winry’s sixth birthday. Ms. Sarah assembled an unorthodox birthday dessert in honor of the occasion, an elegant presentation of fresh berries, whipped cream, and puffs of baked meringue. The final touch was a pinch of mint, and once combined, Winry gazed excitedly at her mother’s handiwork stacked atop the fine china. In her wonder, the child’s footing faltered.

All told, it was an everyday accident that had Pinako tutting softly under her breath as she picked up the pieces; however, precious little went to waste in the Rockbell household—a place where broken things (and sometimes people) came to be restored. With the conscience of a healer and the precision of a surgeon, Granny carefully glued the jagged edges together with golden lacquer. Raised lines stuck out along the break and dried, leaving the piece even more beautiful for the story it had to tell.

When Alphonse looks in the mirror now, his face also tells a story. Though, he thinks that it is not a tale the hospital staff wants to hear. They are thankful for the large red letters that read ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamped across his medical chart. They look away from the sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks that stare back at Alphonse from the mirror Sig is holding for him. Each time Alphonse sees himself, he half expects to confront a gunmetal helmet with half-moon holes glowing red and horizontal vents instead of gutting cheekbones. The reality is disorienting but not unwelcome.

Like the metallic bond holding together his favorite plate, Alphonse likes the way his golden eyes gleam with the satisfaction of seeing his and Edward’s bodies restored. All except for his brother’s leg, and perhaps Edward does not regret that loss. It was a price paid-in-full for the people the Elric brothers helped and the lesson they learned, albeit the hard way.

Alphonse’s fingers tremble as he grasps the razor. He glances up from the mirror to the burly bear of a man holding it. “Press the razor to your face and gently pull upward,” Sig kindly instructs. “Let it do the work for you.”

The young man nods and does as instructed, ready to savor the task of shaving for the first time with the most patient person as his teacher. Alphonse takes his first pull of the razor, and it glides across his upper lip with little resistance until, at the very end, his hand trembles again.

He feels a sharp sensation, and while examining his visage in the mirror, Alphonse notices a red mark above the corner of his mouth mingled with traces of shaving cream. Sig holds out a handkerchief.

“You should have seen my first attempt. You did well,” Sig says with a pleasant grin.

A warmth fills Alphonse’s hospital room, crammed with four people who function as a family, just as they did back in Dublith. Edward reclines on the bed next to his brother with his arms stretched lazily behind his trademark braid. Izumi watches the exchange between her husband and Alphonse with a small smile, barely keeping up the pretense of reading her recipe book. She keeps her vigil at Alphonse and Ed’s bedside despite her injuries.

There’s a staccato series of knocks on the door. Between the abrupt sound and the sudden appearance of an officer drenched in Amestrian blue, the spell of domesticity is broken. It is replaced by a colder reality: Ed and Alphonse Elric are being kept by the military. They remain unsure who is being protected from whom and to what end.

Their guard straightens up. A sheen of sweat collects on his brows and the collar of his woolen uniform. His voice is strained as he pulls up into a rigid salute to address Ed. The Fullmetal Alchemist cocks his brow incredulously at the formal display.

“Sorry to intrude, Major Elric,” the officer finally announces, “Mr. Alphonse Elric. You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Ed parrots; a sharp remark is already on the tip of his pitchy tongue. “If it’s that Colonel Bastard, again, you can tell him-”

“It’s not Colonel Mustang,” the officer interrupts. “It’s Genera- I mean Führer Grumman.”

The collective attention of the room turns as a shorter, older man emerges from behind the guard. He moves slowly and smiles through his thick, white mustache. The deep blue of his immaculate uniform contrasts the faded fabric of the lower-ranking officer ahead of him. Service ribbons in every color weigh down the left side of the gentleman’s long jacket.

“Acting Führer,” he corrects with adroit, disarming syntax. “But then, we’re all friends here. Who cares about a little thing like formalities?”

...

Alphonse scratches at his freshly shaven upper lip as the usual introductions are observed. It seems that Ed will be doing the talking, and with that in mind, Alphonse expects a brief visit. Nevertheless, Grumman paves the way for pleasantries as well as business. Not five minutes into the discussion, Alphonse realizes that the new acting Führer speaks with authority.

It would be wise, Alphonse decides, to listen carefully.

When Führer Grumman asks Izumi and Sig to step out for an afternoon cup of tea, the request is not a suggestion. The strong-willed teacher rises with the help of her husband, and the couple leaves begrudgingly. Alphonse grins sympathetically at them as they exit. It bolsters his confidence when Izumi returns his smile with an assertive nod.

Grumman does not hesitate to fill the seat their teacher vacated. Gravity bears down on Alphonse’s frail shoulders, but he sits as tall as he can.

“The way I hear it, you boys saved the day,” the Führer proclaims, flashing a set of pearly whites. “I’d say my government owes you both a debt of gratitude.”

With all the rough-edged diplomacy he can muster, Ed responds. “Yeah, well, we didn’t do it for the government, old man. And I’m done being a dog of the military. Whatever plans you’ve got in mind, count us out.”

The Führer’s reaction is nearly nonexistent. Instead, he leans against the hardback of the chair and immediately winces.

“Dreadfully uncomfortable,” he announces, shifting forward. Grumman waves a hand to draw the guard in closer. “Be a helpful lad. See that Mrs. Curtis is given more comfortable seating.”

The young officer scurries off, closing the door behind him, and the older gentleman turns his attention toward Alphonse.

“Oh, I understand perfectly. The military will ask nothing further of you if that’s what you want,” he replies. “But the situation we find ourselves in is unusual—a conspiracy in the upper echelons of the government, a nation-wide episode of unconsciousness, the condition of Alphonse’s body, and the inexplicable connection it all has to alchemy. These are the sort of concerns that fuel the rumor mill.”

The older gentleman pauses, idly twisting the ends of his mustache between his fingers as he divulges the political landscape of Amestris.

Behind the reflective surface of his horn-rimmed glasses, Grumman’s eyes shift to the foot of Alphonse’s bed where Izumi’s cookbook sits open.

“Your just deserts, as it were,” he adds with a smirk.

Alphonse doesn’t have to ponder what their plans are.

“Your list?” the Führer asks.

“It was in a book he used to keep,” Ed explains. His tone softens, as it always does when he speaks of his brother. “It listed foods he wanted to try when he was inside... Anyway, I think we lost it.”

“I see.”

Grumman’s response is curt. With a final flourish, the old man straightens his cap and rises from the chair. It seems that he’s heard all he needs to hear.

“I’m going to keep an eye on you boys,” he concludes. “Just the one, mind you, for whatever that’s worth. It’s a fine idea for you both to return to Resembool. Recuperate and rest, and when you figure out what you’d like to do with your time, give me a call.”

The old man produces an ivory card from the pocket of his uniform; a phone number is scribbled on the front. The card itself is an innocuous thing, but the peace offering reeks of political maneuvering. Ed frowns as Führer Grumman places the card on the small table between the brothers’ beds. Alphonse is torn, equal parts intrigued and wary of the strings attached to this phone number.

“The good people here tell me that Alphonse will be ready to travel in four months,” Grumman continues. “In the meantime, I’ll see that you are allowed visitors and suitable food that Alphonse would like to become reacquainted with.”

Alphonse focuses on the task at hand. He thinks of the timeline and of the way Edward approached his recovery from the automail installation. A determined glint ignites in his golden eyes, almost glossy with the lacquer of conviction. Alphonse is weak, but his spirit remains tireless.

“I’ll do it in two,” he says.

Edward, only too happy to put the politics of Central City behind them, nods in agreement.

...

A month’s time sees Alphonse with his hair clipped short; his once sunken cheeks have regained some fullness. Edward, Sig, and Izumi have long since been discharged, but they take turns keeping Alphonse company from the spare couch of his hospital room. Just like Führer Grumman promised, it’s more comfortable than the standard chairs, but that doesn’t mean Alphonse is content to linger.

Now more than ever, he’s determined to go home, walking unassisted down Resembool’s roads. However, for the moment, it’s all Alphonse can do to steady his awkward gait by digging his toes into mats and bracing his arms against the parallel bars. He thinks something as simple as walking should come easily; his legs have other ideas. Another fall brings his physical therapy to an end for the day, and Alphonse returns to his hospital room.

He takes the bumps and bruises in stride. He makes it a point to smile at the staff even when their treatments bring him pain alongside progress. From the confines of a wheelchair, Alphonse greets his guard—a man called Doug who likes comic books and whistles to fill the silence. Doug never pries and is quick to look the other way when Ed overstays his official welcome.

“Ready for more visitors?” Doug asks.

Alphonse’s face lights up with anticipation, and he cranes his neck to peer around the doorframe. Tawny brown hair and emerald eyes fill his field of vision as the small body of a precocious child lunges toward him. She nearly jumps into his lap before her mother pulls her back while balancing a covered plate with one arm.

“Elicia! Ms. Gracia!” Alphonse greets. Recognition washes over both visitors' faces at the sound of Alphonse’s voice.

“So that’s what you look like,” Elicia observes. She giggles madly, rocking back and forth from heel to toe.

Alphonse is quick to change the subject; he also refuses to think about the way Elicia’s gregarious nature reminds him of a certain someone.

The visit is pleasant and predictable. Gracia frets about his weight and serves him a double portion of adorable pudding domes that mother and daughter whipped up for the visit. The vanilla concoctions are cleverly molded into cat-shaped faces, painted with slanting eyes and curving mouths. Soft and creamy with a hint of coffee, they are as sweet as Elicia.

Between the confection and the company, Alphone passes an hour or more catching up on life and letting the child bounce between the walls of his hospital room. When mother and daughter depart (with promises to return with quiche), the silence feels harder to swallow. Alphonse cannot help but think of Winry and Pinako, of apple pie and strong coffee mixed with the smell of automail oil.

He wants, more than anything, to go home.

...

The doctors are surprised when Alphonse meets his deadline; Ed, ever faithful, is not. Alphonse leaves Central City General with his head held high and only stops to rest when the hospital is out of sight. His senses are overwhelmed by the feeling of a starched collar against the back of his neck, the pull of a new vest across his chest, and the weight of Grumman’s card in his pocket.

Alphonse follows Ed’s lead through neat cobblestone roads that feel familiar and yet entirely different, steeped in a tactile reality that he can touch, feel, and taste. Thick exhaust from passing cars sticks to the back of his throat on their way to the train station. Yet, the stench is suddenly replaced by delicious aromas wafting from a nearby café.

His rumbling stomach is drawn to a wide store window where rounds of raspberry mousse cake sit proudly on display. Chilled pink and green tinted layers sit beneath a tempting red glaze that appears sticky, smooth, and oh-so delectable. Alphonse imagines that the confection tastes tart and tangy with notes of brandy and pistachios. He wants to charge into the cafe and order every morsel that’s for sale, but his brother has other ideas.

“Better get going,” Ed says, throwing an arm around Alphonse’s shoulders to steer him away from temptation. “We’ve got a train to catch. You’ve been waiting a long time for what Winry’s whipping up.”

Reluctantly, Alphonse tears himself away from the sight but not before committing the name of the confection and the café to memory. He leaves Central swearing that, when the time is right, he’ll be back.

...

Their return isn’t quite as Alphonse imagined. There’s no hero’s welcome; only a few nods of recognition are offered as they make their way down Resembool’s country roads. But as soon as Alphonse sees the Rockbell residence, a place that marks their journey’s end, accolades don’t matter.

Edward offers to carry him, and Alphonse refuses, bracing himself against his walking stick instead. With gratitude, he thinks of the people that have propelled the brothers along their quest—especially the travelers from Xing. He hopes that they, too, made it home.

And in the blink of an eye, their dream is realized. Den pounces upon Alphonse, recognizing him despite the amount of time that has passed. Winry isn’t far behind. She tackles the brothers to the ground and wraps her arms around them. The trio is a mess of blonde hair and tears of joy.

“Dummies, welcome home!” she exclaims, and for now, Alphonse is inclined to believe this is where he belongs. In this home and amongst these people, he intends to reconcile the pieces of himself while his appetite for the sweet things in life returns.

Winry serves him her famed apple pie on the pink porcelain plate, its halves still bound together by golden lacquer. It’s wonderful and not just because of the flaky crust that crumbles under his fork or the cinnamon sweetness of the soft apples. It’s wonderful because, for the first time in a long time, Alphonse is precisely where he wants to be.

...

Many apple pies are shared around Pinako’s dinner table. There are also birthday cakes for Alphonse (two to be exact) and pans of bread pudding served with blueberries and vanilla sauce. He eats and laughs and grows stronger by the day.

When Alphonse looks in the mirror now, he still likes what he sees, and the girls in town tend to agree. His favorite white-collar shirts hint at the toned torso hiding beneath, and his square jaw exudes newfound confidence. Yet, his ambition to make their world a better place remains the same—too loud for a quiet country backdrop.

Alphonse realizes that the path he is meant to walk extends much farther. His studies, inspired by the prospect of adventure and letters from a feisty alkahestress, resonate with the Dragon’s Pulse. Finally, Alphonse is compelled to dial the number scribbled on the back of the old ivory card and is delighted when he’s connected to the nation’s most powerful man straightaway.

“Had your fill of Resembool yet, son?” Führer Grumman asks. “Are you ready to add to that list of yours?”

“Funny you should bring up my list,” Alphonse retorts, more than willing to play Grumman’s game of allusion. “There’s this Xingese dessert that Princess Mei Chang goes on about in her letters, a red bean soup. It would be a shame if I never tried it, don’t you think?”

Grumman chuckles. “Suppose you could use some diplomatic credentials for the trip. Try not to cause an international incident until Mustang takes over.”

The golden glint in Alphonse’s eyes makes no guarantees. His well-mannered innocence is tempered by past mistakes and fused with a gunmetal resolve.

“I can’t make any promises,” he replies.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #alphonse elric #edward elric #grumman #character study #post-promised day #just deserts #kintsugi #flourchildwrites #and uses Oxford commas

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rwbyvein · 3 years

Text

Firen Lhain: Chapter 810: Taste of Freedom: Part II / III

"Guess what?" Taj asked, and spun away from his console. Emerald and Mercury just glared at him.

"Yes?" Cinder stated.

"Pirates." Taj excitedly said to a dead room. Taj spun back around, picking up the control. "I swear Nora would have been so excited about that."

"Don't lump us in with them." Emerald admonished.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not." Taj stated. "You couldn't hold a candle to them."

Cinder stood up and gently walked over. "What, exactly, are we facing?" she said with a sinister turn.

"About time you showed your true face." Taj sneered.

"Yes, well," Cinder stated, "it seems our time together is coming to an end."

"Thankfully." Taj replied, "Two airships, and outriders."

"Out-what?" Emerald asked,

"Oh, you're just going to enjoy Vacuo." Taj stated, "You can ask your flaming bitch about that later. Right she needs to get up top and fireball their asses if they get too close." He then looked over his shoulder at Emerald. "Feel free to join her." he then looked back at his controls.

Emerald huffed, "And what does that mean?"

"It means if you all jumped overboard it would make my life easier. Until then, we're stuck with each other."

"How can you possibly be so rude?" Emerald asked, "You don't know anything about us!"

"I know you think Faunus are beasts." Taj said, waving his hand over his shoulder. He then turned to Cinder, "You might want to keep your pet in line if you don't want me to just drop you all off right here."

"What did you call me?!" Emerald shrieked at him, and Taj held up the back of his hand to her.

"Emerald." Cinder said to her, and Emerald looked at her with tears in her eyes. "Another hour or so and we will be free. Until then, let's not antagonize him any more. Why don't you come and join me?"

Emerald took a step towards her.

"Try not to fall off." Mercury haphazardly stated.

"Don't pay him any mind." Cinder stated, "He will miss you almost as much as I would."

Emerald looked at Mercury, who quickly looked way.

* * *

Emerald nervously stood on the roof of the airship a she looked around. Ever so often looking right back at Cinder. She smiled and looked Emerald in the eyes. She reached her hands out and Emerald nervously raised her hands to let Cinder take them. "Just relax." Cinder said to her. "Look into my eyes and relax. You've never questioned my plans before, so just relax and trust me. All you have to do is not fall overboard. If they get close enough, an hallucination or two might help me. We're a step or two away from freedom we've never had before. He will drop us of in the lower Athabasca, and be on his way back to their little tower. We never have to see them again."

"Unless Salem figures out where the Fall Relic is." Emerald stated.

"I don't plan to wait around like sheep for the slaughter." Cinder stated, and Emerald developed a shine in her eyes. "We're not here to hide, my dear, we're here to build an empire." She then reached her right hand forward to cradle Emerald's face. She then pulled away, looking at the pair of airships approaching them. Rather than the shiny metal of Atlas, it was duller, the windows narrow slits. The craft itself shorter and flatter than the Atlasian one. Far less elegant, though. Emerald looked back at Cinder, and basked in her beauty. Simply being in Vacuo would help to make it more beautiful. She saw movement, and turned back to the airships. What was moving was, two per airship, what appeared like motorcycles, except with wings instead of wheels.

"What are those?" Emerald asked.

"I'm going to guess outriders." Cinder said with a disturbing look. "What they don't know is that they are facing the Fall Maiden. They are probably hick enough to not know what a maiden is. Just keep an eye on the outriders."

"We don't want them escaping." Emerald voiced.

"No." Cinder said, and Emerald worked towards her, "We have to let one escape. Everyone in these gods forsaken waste need to know to not fuck with the queen bitch of the badlands."

* * *

The two airships and three outriders listed, falling, on fire as one hurried to escape.

* * *

Neo jumped up as the heavy footfalls walked around the crates and just stared at Jaune's silhouette against the dim light leaking from the staircase. "So, for one thing, I have eyeshine, so I can see REALLY well in dim light. Much better than you can. Even if you're good at it." Neo glared at him, unsure of what to do. "Second, we need to decide where you are going to be sleeping."

Neo glared at him a moment before jumping up and pointing at him, looking at him questioningly before looking around.

"How did I find you?" he asked, and she looked at him with shock before nodding. "Hmm. My antlers act like Aura radar?" Jaune asked, and Neo just glared at him. Jaune just shrugged. "Anyways, where are you going to stay?"

Neo glared at him before looking down. She then dramatically looked at him before looking around.

"Nope." Jaune stated, and she glared at him. "I've been wanting to spend time finding out what's in these crates. If you want your own room, we can give you your own room." She glared at him and Jaune pulled something out of his pocket. She looked ready to fight until he handed her a key "One of our guest rooms on the third floor."

She looked at him curiously before looking down and staring at they key.

"Uh, yeah, enjoy."

* * *

Neo walked into the room, used the key to lock the door, and simply look around. Her own room. With more rooms. She walked up to one and it was a closet. Her closet? She shook her head and moved to the next, and it was a bathroom. Her room had her own bathroom. She could lock herself in here forever, never having to worry about the outside. Assuming they would bring her food. Which knowing them, they likely would. Unless the buck came to kidnap her again. She them stood up proudly to her full 4'10" height. At least in heels, and heels counted, right? She shook her head to clear away those thoughts. She had a castle in a castle, with idiots to protect her.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Neo moved up to it and stared, unsure of what to do. She had never had someone knock before. Most people were either on business and trying to not draw attention to herself, or they were the unwelcome type of visitor and usually ended up stabbed. She moved towards the door and knocked.

"Neo?" Ruby called through the door, "We, um, hope you're enjoying your room, and we just wanted to tell that you we had other things. Like a Garden! Kind of. We really did plan to work on it. At least when we don't get so many unexpected, um, visitors? Oh, there's also a library! A really nice library! That you probably saw on the way up here. Anyways, like I said, we hope you enjoy your room, and we'll, um, get you when dinner is ready."

Neo unlocked and opened the door. She looked Ruby in the eyes before closing and locking the door again.

* * *

The airship dropped down into the canyon, hovering just over the ground. Taj looked back for a moment, "Is this really where you guys want to get dropped off?"

"Guys?" Emerald asked.

"Oh no! You're offended!" Taj shouted, and looked back to Cinder.

"Yes." Cinder said with a forced smiled.

"I'd love to say I'll miss you, but I won't." Taj replied, "Hit the airship a couple of times when you're all clear."

* * *

Taj sat in his chair periodically looking back. "They're really not going to do it, aren't they?" He asked, "You know what?, fuck them."

* * *

The airship floated upward, with the three no where in sight.

* * *

Taj got his bearings to make course to the nearest trading hub. Following the usual trade routes was a hell of a lot safer.

* * *

Cinder walked into a cave, followed by Emerald and then Mercury. Iti slowly listed to the left until they saw a small, Vacuan airship. The two stopped, and Cinder turned to look at them. "You should know by now I always have a plan. Before we rejoined Salem, I used our money to buy ourself a small airship and had it filled with supplies."

"And, they hid it in a cave?" Emerald asked.

"Actually standard practice in Vacuo." Cinder said with a wicked smile. "They are not fond of undue scrutiny. Or any scrutiny, really. Welcome to our new home, such as it is."

"Are we really going to live in a place like this?" Emerald asked.

"You were a street rat." Mercury said to her, "You have to have slept in worse places."

"But?" Emerald asked.

"This is our home." Cinder said as she stepped up to her, gently craddling her face. "It's just a bit of a work in progress. But, we have food, water, an airship, and no one knows where we are."

"Except Taj." Mercury stated, and Cinder looked at him.

"Who vowed to never have anything to do with us, ever again." Cinder replied, and both Mercury and Emerald recoiled with shock. "What?" Cinder asked, "I like to plan for these things."

#rwby #firen lhain #faunus au #pollinated knight

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salty-sith-bitch · 3 years

Text

Sweet Child O’ Mine

Chapter 1

Words: 5k

Pairings: Din Djarin X Orla Fett (Boba Fett’s daughter), Boba Fett & Daughter

Genre: Fluff, humor, angst, romance

Warnings: cursing, canon typical violence, eventual smut, more to come?

Summary: Orla Fett is reunited with her long-lost father five years after his presumed death and welcomed into his palace. Hired as one of his best bounty hunters, Orla struggles with finding her place in the galaxy and if she wants to stay a bounty hunter. Her new companion, The king of Mandalore - Din Djarin - may end up helping her make up her mind.

“I’m just a simple woman trying to find her way in the galaxy, like my father before me ”

That’s what Orla told herself every morning when she woke. She was just a simple woman trying to survive and make her way in the galaxy, catching one bounty at a time as her father did. It was her only job - staying alive and filling her father’s spot.

When her father passed five years prior Bib Fortuna hired her as his main mercenary and provided her with more than enough jobs to support herself. Orla didn’t particularly love it but it’s what she had. Her father had made sure that if anything were to ever happen to him that she had a large and appreciated skill set, making it easier for her to find work. She was thankful for that. Thankful her father prepared her for the worst like his father before him.

There were still days she missed her father. Days where it became hard to get out of bed and put her armor on. She missed the Slave I too. Not because it was a great ship or that it was supposed to be passed to her at the fall of her father, but because of the memories she made with her father there.

Laying in her cramped quarters Orla stared at the ceiling, brushing her fingers through her hair gently as she recalled one of her earliest memories - her first hunt with her father.

The smell of rain and metal dripping from her father's armor made her slightly queasy, reminding her of blood. She could almost taste the iron in her mouth if she thought about it too much. She wasn’t used to it but her father said it would become less noticeable over time. Nodding silently she watched her father drag the bounty away and towards the carbonator. She could hear the hissing and screams of the bounty and it sent a cold shiver through her body. She tried to instead focus on detangling the soaked braid on her head.

Growling in frustration Orla dropped her hands and stomped her foot. Her body ached with exhaustion and she was uncomfortable. Letting a sniffle escape she leaned her head against the wall of the ship and cried.

"Ad'ika," her father called softly.

When she didn't respond he approached her and set a hand on her shoulder. "Orla, my princess. What is wrong?"

Orla rubbed her eyes and took in a hiccuping breath before speaking. "My hair is tangled, papa."

Smiling sweetly, her father patted her cheek. "Come, daughter. I'll fix it for you."

Orla found herself being scooped up and cradled into her father's chest. He carried her to the makeshift cot he made for her and set her down, letting his fingers gently pull apart the tangles.

"You did good today my child."

Humming Orla let her eyes drift shut as she leaned back into her father.

Sighing heavily Orla raised a shaky hand to her cheek and wiped away the tears. A full-grown woman and highly respected bounty hunter, crying in the sleeping quarters of her little hut long before the suns had even risen. She laughed at herself. If her father was here now he would sternly tell her to get herself together and then gently pat her cheek lovingly.

Steadying herself Orla wiped the last few tears and sat up in bed. Throwing the covers off she made her way across her hut and started to assemble her armor.

***

Orla sat in the Cantina of some outer rim planet stressed and annoyed. She had been on this mission for nearly a week and still couldn’t find her bounty. She had even asked the locals and none of them could give her information on the bounty. Clutching the glass in her hand Orla watched as foam swirled as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She was ready to give up, head back to Tatooine and tell Fortuna he could just shove it up his ass. The thought brought a smirk to her face but she knew she couldn’t do that.

Sighing heavily Orla poured herself another glass of mead and brought it to her lips. Throwing her head back Orla downed the entire glass and slammed it on the table. Wiping her mouth she raised an eyebrow as she made eye contact with the new visitor.

The woman, small and sleek with a braid down her back, eyed Orla back. Her eyes were piercing and it made Orla unsettled. It wasn't often that she felt uneasy about someone but for some reason, this woman in front of her made her uncomfortable.

“I’m not really in the mood for company at the moment. So unless you have info about my bounty I would appreciate it if you left.” Leaning back in her chair Orla reached for the pitcher of mead.

Her new, unwelcomed visitor was quicker though, swiftly grabbing the pitcher and her glass to fill for herself. Lips pressed into a thin line Orla continued to lean back, letting her hand slowly brush over her thigh and towards her blaster.

“I’m not here to keep you company or to give you info about your bounty. And there's no use in trying to shoot me. I know all your tricks. You’re just like your father.” Smirking, the woman lifted the glass of mead and downed the entire glass much like Orla had just a moment prior. “I’m here to take you back to Tatooine. Your presence has been requested at the Hutt Castle."

Orla scoffed. She was starting to grow unsettled but refused to let it show. No one openly talked to her about her father, especially so forward. Yet here was this woman she knew nothing about and seemed to know almost everything about her.

"I'm on a hunt. I'm not just abandoning. They know where I am. If it was so important they could comm me."

"It's under new management now. This hunt isn't important. What is, is that you come back with me to Tatooine and do just as I say."

"Dank Farrik," Orla cursed under her breath.

Her mind was racing with hundreds of questions and thoughts. New management was never good. It meant Fortuna was most certainly dead leaving her without work. The new owner could very well be demanding she come back to the castle to give her a new position… or to simply kill her off. It would all depend on just who killed Fortuna and where the Fett Clan stood with them.

Orla couldn't think of anyone who would be seeking her demise but her father told her to always assume someone would be after her. She thought about escaping. Trying to find a way out of the cramped cantina and find a new home elsewhere, or maker, even change her name and lay low in a village or dinner caves. But then her thoughts turned into what if she just listened to the woman in front of her and went back to Tatooine. This woman wasn't trying to fight her or take her as her own personal bounty as far as she could tell, and if she listened maybe they would see that as her committing her skills to them and hire her on a permanent mercenary.

"Listen," the woman spoke up. "I can see you thinking. This isn't a trap and you're not gonna die. You're more than welcome to just leave now, forget about the bounty you are on, and start a new life but I think you'll want to see what happens at the castle."

Chewing her cheek again, Orla stared into the woman's eyes, looking for any hint of a lie. When she couldn't find anything Orla leaned forward and grabbed the pitcher and glass, pouring herself the last serving and gulping it.

"Fine. I'll go. But what about my ship? And how can I trust you? I don't know who you're working for and I doubt you'll tell me, so can I at least get your name?"

"Your ship doesn't matter anymore. You'll be given a new one. We can stop and collect anything you may need from it for now but if you wish to come back and get it in the future then do as you will."

The woman stood and Orla followed, trailing after her out of the cantina and to the ship docks.

"And my name," the woman said as she looked over her shoulder, "is Fennec Shand."

***

The ride to Tatooine was spent in silence. Orla didn't mind, she was never one for conversations with people outside her close ring and Fennec didn't seem like much of a talker either. Orla spent most of the flight napping in the passenger seat, hand lingering over her blaster just in case Fennec tried to do anything funny. The trip was long and Orla's body cried for rest. Relaxing into her seat she let sleep eventually consume her. When the ship started its descent she woke and stretched her stiff limbs as the dunes came into view.

Even walking to the castle was spent in silence. Orla started to worry less and less about Fennec trying to harm or kill her but she still couldn't shake the feeling that something big was about to happen. The universe felt off, heavier, and almost foggy like a dream. Shaking the feeling off Orla continued to walk until she reached the castle, stopping just outside the entrance to the lower level.

Fennec didn't bother stopping calling out to her as she continued to go down. "You don't want to keep him waiting."

Shutting her eyes and taking one last steadying breath Orla walked down the stairs and down into the throne room.

The silence that welcomed her was terrifying. She had never seen the palace empty and was prepared for someone to jump out and attach her. Turning around in circles she searched for Fennec but couldn't find the woman anywhere. The only thing that greeted her was the echoing sound of her footsteps bouncing off the palace walls. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt the tension in the air, like electricity wrapping it around her and coursing through her veins.

Down the hallway, a new set of footsteps echoed off the palace walls. Orla turned slowly to see who it was, her hand inching towards her blaster prepared to draw and start shooting if anyone tried attacking. Before she could reach her blaster though she froze. Every muscle in her body locked up and she felt her lungs screaming at her to breathe.

Brain screaming, Orla tried to calm herself but she found it nearly impossible as she stared at the bounty hunter before her. Finally able to breathe again Orla dropped her hand away from her blaster, only for her brain to start screaming more, telling her this could still be a trap. She felt like she was going in circles. She couldn't process what she was seeing.

Finally getting herself to relax enough Orla took in a couple of steadying breaths before collecting her thoughts and speaking.

"Dad," she questioned, brows knitting together. Her knees started to shake as she continued to eye the man.

Giving a small tilt of his head the bounty hunter started to take cautious steps forward. Shaking her head in disbelief, Orla walked backward until her back was pressed against the wall.

Confused and on the verge of tears Orla reached for her blaster and drew it quickly. She knew this was an imposter, her father was dead. Killed many years ago by the Sarlac, leaving her to take care of herself and forge her own path in the world of bounty hunting. The only other explanation she could find was that she was also dead. That she had gone with Fennec and was killed in her sleep and as some cruel joke, the maker chose her and her father's resting place as Jabba's palace - the last place she had seen her father.

Continuing to watch the man slowly approach, she studied the freshly painted armor. It didn't fit the man like it did her father, being a little tight in the gut, but the dent on the helmet told her it was indeed at least her father’s beskar. That dent had been there as long as you could remember. Orla had heard rumors not long after her father's death of his ghost walking around in the far parts of the planet but refused to believe it. Then she heard about how it was just a marshal who had found the beskar, using it for his own advantage. She pondered if this was that man, but couldn't think of any reason why he would be here and why he would have killed Fortuna.

Shaking her head Orla switched the safety off on her gun and lifted it, aiming at the man in front of her. No matter who this was it was not her father and she wasn't willing to let anyone take her life or get her father's armor.

"Take one more step and I'll shoot," she snarled through clenched teeth; her hand shaking just slightly from the adrenaline.

Stopping, the man raised his hands in surrender, letting them drift slowly to the helmet as if going to take it off.

Trembling, Orla clenched her jaw, unable to speak any further as she watched the man lift the helmet from his head. Time ticked by slowly, almost painfully as she waited for the man to reveal himself. When the helmet was completely removed and tucked under the man's arm Orla felt as if the wind was knocked out of her.

"My child," Boba whispered. He studied Orla, wide-eyed as he took in her face. "You've grown so much, little one."

Dropping her blaster Orla lifted a shaking hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut; hot tears sliding down her face. The world started to spin as she continued to shake, her breathing becoming heavy and labored.

“This, this can’t be happening. Y- you were dead!” Snapping her head up she pointed a finger at her father. “You left me! You left me to fend for myself and promised you’d be back!” Taking the last couple steps towards Boba she pushed against his chest with both of her trembling hands, the sound of flesh hitting beskar echoing in the empty room.

Stumbling back Boba threw his free hand up in defense, allowing her a minute to process and sob.

Orla was so full of rage and anger she couldn’t tell if she was still shaking from the shock of seeing the man she thought was dead or because she was so furious he was alive all this time and didn’t come to find her.

Furious Orla gave out a shriek and started swinging at her father. Boba was quicker though, quickly stepping back to avoid her fist colliding with his face.

“Verd’ika…” Boba pleaded his own desperation and hurt seeping through.

Letting her fists fall to her sides Orla hung her head and sobbed. She had almost forgotten what her father's voice sounded like after all the years he was gone. The sounds of her nicknames rolling off his tongue were like a spear through the heart. It sent her body limp and every nerve on edge. But the desire for nothing more than to hug her father and beheld was stronger than her anger.

Rushing forward Orla threw her arms around her father, almost knocking him over. Dropping his helmet Boba threw his own arms around her, lifting her from the ground and burying his face into the padding on her shoulder as dust flitted around. The smell of her father overwhelmed her causing her to cry harder. Trying to inhale and catch her breath Orla clung closer to her father like she did when she would have a nightmare and he would be there to protect her.

Maybe that's all this was, she thought. A bad dream and she was just now waking up.

“My little girl,” Boba wept. “I’m so sorry. I should have come back sooner. Should have told you."

"Papa," Orla cried. "I'm just happy to see you. I can't believe you're here."

Setting Orla back down Boba took a step back and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I was so scared, Orla. When I was tumbling down into the pit I-I thought about nothing besides you and how I had failed you." Boba's lip trembled as he tried to hold back another sob, determined to be strong for his little girl.

Boba was a fierce man. Anyone could tell you that. He was a little rough around the edges and seldom let outsiders into his life - Fennec, Din, and Orla's mother's being the exceptions. When it came to his daughter though he would go to the ends of the galaxy for her. She was his entire life from the moment she arrived. A piece of him and a piece of the woman he once - and even now still- loved. She reminded him so much of himself when she was younger and when he was falling to his death he couldn't help but think about how he was leaving her, just like his father did. Since the day of the Sarlacc pit, the idea of leaving his daughter haunted home.

Reaching up Orla gently wiped the tears from her father's scarred cheeks. "But you're here now Papa. And I'm here. We're ok. It's gonna be ok."

Giving a wet and loving chuckle Boba pulled his daughter into another hug.

They stood there for a couple of minutes holding each other until their crying died. Father and daughter reunited again and both were determined to keep it that way.

"Sorry to break up family time," Fennec said from the hallway. "But Mando is back and I don't think it will do him good if he sees you crying from your little reunion."

Sighing heavily, Boba stepped back from Orla, giving her a smile and a soft pat on the cheek.

"Buir," Orla groaned playfully. "You haven't done that since I was a child."

"And every day I was away from you I wished I could do it again." Scoping up his helmet Boba set it back on his head. "Now come child, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

***

Meeting the Mandalorian was… interesting. When introduced to him by her father he gave a curt nod and nothing more. The rest of their meeting went with little talking. Her father gave him the credits he earned for his bounty, told him where to find his next one, and asked him how he was doing.

At her father's last question the Mandalorian hesitated before answering, his helmet turning to her for a brief moment before responding with a quiet "fine."

When the Mandalorian left the room Orla stood and looked down at her father.

"Seems like some great company. Reminds me of a certain someone." She said cheekily.

Sighing heavily Boba stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You'll warm up to him while we are all here. The man's just been through a lot."

Frowning slightly Orlla raised her eyebrow. "While we are all here? What does that mean?"

"You work for me now little one. And you'll be staying here in the castle with all of us."

Scoffing, Orla brushed her father's hand away. "Working for you?"

"What, you think just because your father shows back up you don't have to work?"

Shaking her head Orlla leaned against the wall. "Well, I didn't ask to be a bounty hunter papa. There are other things I want to do in life. And I have my own home."

A low growl cake from Boba. "What do you possibly want to do in this life ad'ika?" His tone was sharp as he spoke. "You're a fantastic hunter from what I have heard and just because you are my child doesn't mean I'm gonna give that up."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Orla glared at her father. "I'm a great hunter because I had to be. Without you, it's all I had. It's not what I wanted at all. I want to be able to be me. Do things you never got to do properly and I know you longed forward. Like having a real family! To fall in love and not worry about losing them or my children! And you just came back! And you're gonna send me out on hunts? You of all people should know how dangerous that is!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble Orlla, but that's not how our lives work!" Boba's voice continued to rise in volume, causing Orlla to flinch away from him. "We'll never be the type of people to settle down and just enjoy the mundane things in life. I tried, and look at how that turned out for your mother! So if you want a family then you're gonna have a damn struggle of a time keeping them safe. And maker above, if that day ever comes I hope you're prepared to be fighting for the rest of your life, and whoever the bastard is that touches my daughter - so help me Orlla, it will not go well!" Sighing again Boba took a moment to try and cool himself. "As for the missions I know it's dangerous and the risks I'm running by sending you out there. That's why you're going with Mando."

"What?!" Orla yelled, throwing herself from the wall and storming towards her father. "If you wanna send me out then Ita best to tell you now, I work alone. I trust no one. Not even you right now. You taught me that! I'm an adult! I don't need some sort of babysitter! Or you telling me what I can and can't do with people!"

Lowering his head Boba stared at his daughter through the visor of his helm. "You're my daughter! My only family left Orla! I'm just trying to protect you! In and out of bounty hunting! And I've changed my opinion. At least when it comes to mando. So you're going with him on missions and that's final!"

Grinding her teeth together Orla set her piercing gaze on her father's helmeted face. She couldn't see it but she knew underneath his face was twisted with worry for her. "Fine. I get it. I won't argue. For now. Right now I'm tired physically, emotionally, and mentally. I haven't slept in a bed in I don't know how long. I haven't eaten anything today and I'm still trying to process everything. Let's talk more about this later?" Relaxing her gaze on her father softened, telling him she was done fighting.

Nodding his head in agreement, Boba looked towards Fennec in the doorway. "Show Orla to one of the rooms please so she may rest."

Turning, Fennec left down the hallway, leaving Orla to wander behind.

***

Sleeping was impossible. Tossing and turning in the unusual bed Orla replayed the events of her day in her head. The fact her father was alive and well - despite some gnarly scars and possibly some emotional damage - overwhelmed her. Everything she had known over the last five years was abruptly coming to a halt and she couldn't help the gut feeling that the actions of today were going to drastically change her life. She wasn't sure how but she knew they would.

The argument with her father wasn't how she wanted to say goodnight to her father but it was fitting. Before he left the last time she saw him they would constantly argue before he left for every mission. She didn't like it and it was stupid but it seemed to be their way of communicating with each other. It worked needlessly to say. They always heard the other out and usually came up with a middle ground where they could meet each other's requests. But this argument was different. Orla, much like her father, was not an open book. She didn't share her truest desires or feelings but seeing her father today set her emotions over the edge.

Groaning, Orla tossed over in bed looking at the chronometer on the wall.

4:34 am

"No use in sleeping," Orla grumbled.

Throwing the sheets off she climbed out of the bed and pulled on her slacks. Running her fingers through her hair yelping when she hit a knot, accidentally tugging on it. Giving up on her hair before even really trying to fix it she tucked her long unruly into the collar of her shirt, keeping it out of the way.

Shuffling her way down to the dining room the smell of freshly brewed caff welcomes her, pulling her towards her destination. Wondering if her father was already up by some miracle or perhaps he couldn't sleep either - neither of them were morning people - she rounded the corner into the dining area and was met with a surprising sight.

Standing at the counter pouring coffee was a man with luscious deep brown hair and soft tanned skin. He wore a gray old short sleeve and what appeared to be his flight suit pants. She couldn't see his face straight on but the tiniest bit of facial hair could be seen.

Gasping louder than she meant Orla realized it was the Mandalorian from earlier. Looking over to the table she saw his gleaming silver helmet staring back at her.

"Hi."

The single word filtered into her ears softly, causing her to whip her head back to the man.

Gawking she restudied the man. His eyes were gorgeous. A warm earthy brown that made it feel like summer was swimming around her. Ans his lips… she watched as he brought the mug up to his mouth, his lush lips kissing the rim as he drank.

"H-hi," she croaked.

Lowering the mug mando licked his lips before speaking. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be up for a while."

"I couldn't sleep," she said sheepishly.

Nodding in understanding, Mando moved from the counter and sat at the table in the middle of the room.

Making her way across the dining room Orla grabbed her own mug and poured herself a cup of caff. She could feel the Mandalorian's gaze burning into her back as she rummaged around I'm she cupboards, trying to find the object she was looking for.

"If you're gonna stare can I at least get a name to address you besides Mando?" Reaching behind some cans of food she found want she was looking for. Standing she uncorked the bottle and dumped the contents into her coffee.

Turning to lean against the counter she looked at Mando who was still eyeing her.

"Isn't it a bit early to start drinking?

Rolling her eyes Orla took a drink of her caff; the hot liquid and burning of the alcohol warming her insides and helping her relax. "Not in this family. It's never too early. More like too late by the time you find the alcohol." Taking another drink she rolled her shoulders, leaning further into the counter. "So do I not get to know your name? I'd like to know something about the man I am going to be spending most of my time with."

"Din."

Curling her lip Orla gave a soft 'hmm'.

Looking away from Orla, Din stared down into his mug. "I get the impression you don't like me very much. Any particular reason? Or do I just have to go off of the information I heard between you and your father earlier?"

Flushing, Orla's gaze burned into the side of Din's face. "That's none of your business. And now that I know your eavesdropping on my conversations it just gives me reason not to trust you even more."

"Not really eavesdropping when the two of you shout at the top of your lungs," he mumbled under his breath.

Seething, and knuckles white from gripping the mug so tight Orla let out an annoyed snicker.

"I'm just saying," Din said with a shrug as he turned to look back at Orla. "Your dad is just trying to protect you. He's scared of losing you again."

"And how would you know that?" She snapped back. "You've been part of my father's life, what, maybe a week?"

"I know what it's like. To lose a child," Din admitted heavily.

"Oh." Relaxing Orla made her way to the table and sat across from Din. "I-I’m so sorry. I didn't realize you were a father."

Sighing, Din gave a weak smile. "It's ok. He was a foundling I saved from the empire. He's with his people now. If it wasn't for your father I don't know what would have happened to the kid."

Looking down into her mug Orla fought the tears that tried to spring from her eyes. Of course, after everything her father had been through with her grandpa, and thinking he lost his own daughter he would help another man save his child. Again, her father was tough but when it came to children the poor man turned into a softy.

"I'm glad your kids safe," she whispered. "However," she raised her eyes back up to look at him, "that still doesn't mean I fully trust you."

"Who says I don't trust you either?"

Smirking Orla brought her mug up to her lips once again with a smirk and a twinkle in her eye. "Touché."

Din and Orla sat in silence for the next hour, sipping coffee and spacing out. It wasn't until they heard footsteps down the hallway they perked up and looked at who it was.

"My own daughter, up before me?" Boba chucked before ruffling her hair.

"Couldn't sleep. Fresh caff is brewing. Alcohol is in the cabinet."

Smiling Boba made his way to the counter, coming back a moment later with a steaming cup of spiked caff.

"Taking It you couldn't sleep either mando?"

Shaking his head Din finished the last of his coffee.

"Well, sorry to say but we've all got work to do today."

Groaning, Orla stood from her seat, downing the last of her coffee. "I'll go get ready then."

Before she could leave the room though she felt a tug on her hair; pulling it free from the collar of her shirt.

"Ad'ika… what is this? Please don't tell me you let your hair be like this all the time while I was gone." Boba scolded.

Orla smiled sheepishly at her father. "I never learned to braid after you left. So I just put it in a ponytail or bun. But when it's down it gets tangled so easily. It's just so thick.

"Orla," Boba chided.

"Papa! I didn't have the energy to learn when you left! And I was gonna cut it off but I couldn't bring myself to do it…"

"You're just like your mother. And if I ever find out you cut off your hair it might be the actual death of me." Chuckling Boba guided his daughter back to her chair. "Now sit."

Groaning Orla plopped herself down into her seat, letting her father pull apart the tangles in her hair.

"Your so dramatic buir."

"And you're not?"

Both chuckling Boba continued to gently separate her hair into strands, braiding them together and picking up pieces as he went.

Across from them, Din went unnoticed as he watched intently; learning how to braid.

*******************************************************************************************

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Tag-list: @kesskirata @piscespussybabe @wanderlust69 @itssamcry @alis-into-wonderland @stardust-danvers @g0ldenlush @sweet-silver

#din djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin needs a hug #good dad din djarin #protective din djarin #soft din #mandadalorian #Mandalorian #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian x oc #boba fett #boba fetts daughter #orla fett #star wars #Star Wars fanfic #the book of boba #female Boba Fett

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laequiem · 3 years

Text

She kills my self control - Chapter 6

Even when I loved Nicasia, I never considered anything past a strategic marriage. I am not sure I am even capable of … loving that way. Unconditionally. There was never much of that in my family, either.

cw: unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol, sex); physical abuse; nsfw

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Chapter 6. A lot of wonder going through my head

"My door," I drawl as I approach Hollow Hall.

"My Prince," my door replies.

"Is my brother home?"

The last few days have been quiet for me, thankfully. Balekin is away more than usual, trying to get in our father's good grace. It was never officially announced who would be crowned, but we all know it will be Dain. That does not mean Balekin and Elowyn will not try harder than usual to appease the High King. It does mean, unfortunately for me, that my eldest brother tends to be in a bad mood when he is home. Consequently, I have made a habit of asking the door before entering, must I find some other place to be.

"No, my prince."

When I get in, a human boy takes my coat to hang. He looks no older than 14, is he new? I cannot tell. We cycle through so many servants that I have long stopped trying to tell them apart. We tend to keep twenty servants around at any given time. The turnover is quite high, as Balekin has a tendency for neglect and a penchant for torture. Some of them also mysteriously find their way back to the Mortal Realm with pockets full of gold.

Seeing the dazed boy does give me an idea. Since my brother is away, I can check on the servants and see if he already replaced the girl I sent back last week. So, I count. I walk the hallways, counting servants as I go.

Eighteen.

I know for a fact that there were twenty last week before I freed the girl. Another one is missing. I survey the house again to see if I miscounted. Still eighteen.

As I stand in front of a set of closed doors, I realize there is a room I have not checked.

I stare at the doors leading to the basement. I have only been down there a handful of times, when Balekin wanted to see if I had ‘toughened up’. The horrors that he did, that I did, still haunted my dreams. I put a hand on the door and breathe in deeply, gathering the courage to open it. The phantom smell of mildew and bodily fluids awaiting me in the crypt floods my senses.

If the missing servant is down there, I would rather not know.

A coward through and through.

None of the servants pay me any mind as I walk to my room and close the door behind me. On a mannequin in the corner, I see the outfit I had commissioned for myself for the coronation.

The image of the dress I pictured for Jude flashes in my mind again. How well it would match with my own. I sigh at the unwelcome thought. I can hear Balekin's voice in my head, Romantic fool. You're a disgrace.

Still, I rummage through my drawers. I find the sketchbook the tailor has left for me to decide which outfit I preferred. In it, I find some unfinished sketches for dresses probably meant for my sisters. I grab paper and ink, then trace the general shape of one of them on the new sheet.

I am no artist, but with the help of the sketchbook, I manage to draw a half-decent sketch of what I have in mind. An ombré dress, dark blue to white, with the silhouette of a forest stitches around the skirt, climbing up a form-fitting bodice with a plunging neckline.

I order a servant to call for the tailor, not trusting anyone to deliver the message and not leak the information. If the information was to get to either of my brothers, I would never hear the end of it.

I sit at my desk, twirling my quill around my fingers as I wait. As Fae royalty, I grew up being told that human females are for breeding. Vessels to carry Fae children, since we are so unlikely to conceive. However, I was never one to think about children: why produce heirs if I will never ascend to the throne? I would rather be free of the responsibility of raising them (not that my parents did much of that). Even when I loved Nicasia, I never considered anything past a strategic marriage. I am not sure I am even capable of … loving that way. Unconditionally. There was never much of that in my family, either. Still, could this explain why I seem to lose all control where Jude is concerned? A biological need to find a human to keep the bloodline going. Is this why her sinful curves have been keeping me up every night since the everapple incident? Why I am unable to take other females to bed without thinking of her?

A knock at my door makes me jump and brings me back to reality. I look down at my desk and realize I have been writing as I daydreamed.

Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude.

I quickly crumple the sheet of paper, aware that the fresh ink is going to stain my fingers, and call for the visitor to come in. The tailor enters and bows deeply.

“You asked to see me, Your Highness.”

This is stupid.

Why did I do this?

She will not even wear it.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You are too far down this path to back down.

I take my drawing and hand it to the dressmaker, trying my best to look overconfident.

“I would like to have this made for the coronation.”

She looks at the drawing and her brows rise slightly, but she catches herself quickly. “Yes, of course,” she puts the paper in her bag, “Shall I have it sent here?”

No. Absolutely not. “Send it to Madoc’s stronghold,” I pause for a moment, thinking of how dead I would be if Madoc (or Jude, for that matter) knew it came from me, “For Jude. Do not write who it came from.”

“Y-Your Highness, the general’s family already ordered their outfits,” she says, panicking, “I do not have the time to make two outfits.”

“Figure it out," I say as I wave her away. I cannot give myself time to second guess this.

#tfota #the folk of the air #cardan greenbriar #cardan #jude duarte #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #holly black #smut #angst #fanfic

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.

1,878 words

Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.

“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”

“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”

“I am a doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”

“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.

“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.

He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”

You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.

“Did you bring the laptop?”

Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”

“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”

You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.

“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”

Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.

He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.

After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.

This was not one of those times.

As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.

You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.

It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.

***

Thirteen days.

High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.

As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.

“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”

You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”

“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.

A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.

The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.

He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.

The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.

You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.

Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.

“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.

You had barely been there for half an hour.

***

Fourteen days.

“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.

“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.

“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.

“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”

Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.

“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.

“It isn’t… pointless.”

“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”

“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”

“Stop!” he hissed.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.

“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.

“Wh-what?”

“Just… go,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”

You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.

“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”

It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.

You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.

You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.

“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”

The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #hannibal #Raúl Esparza #angst #recovery angst #hospitals #here have your daily serving of pain #my writing

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hardygalwrites · 3 years

Link

FanFiction.Net Link

(image source)

Anime/Manga: Hetalia

Characters: England and 2P!England

Synopsis: "We are not just ourselves, you know. We're our people as well. I may be some other aspect of the people, but I am the people all the same."

Assaulted and made a prisoner in his own home, England is forced to endure the hospitality of an unexpected and very unwelcome visitor, who puts England's self-deprecating attitude into a whole different perspective.

Note: Originally published on FFN sometime in 2016, deleted, then edited and republished early 2018. TW for force-feeding

—

The powerful voices of Bostridge and Drake, singing their cover of Franz Schubert's Die Forelle, echoed about the kitchen as the strawberry tarts were pulled from the oven. He inhaled the sweet-scented smoke and sighed pleasurably. But for the sounds of frustrated exertion that could be heard above the tenors of Bostridge and Drake, it was all near perfect. He frowned and quickly went on with finishing up the tarts.

Soon, he had the sugary little pastries displayed on a fine china plate, which he carried into the dining room. All the while, his feet danced in time with Schubert's lied - around the overturned table, over the shattered vase, between the splintered halves of the broken chair. He came to a stop at the dining table and set the tarts in front of his dining companion, just as the song ended.

There was no other sound now, besides the light static of the record player, though that too was gone once he removed the needle from the record. He smiled down at his companion. Then, he noticed the blood making slick the cords around his companion's wrists.

"Well, goodness," he exclaimed. "What did you do to yourself?"

His companion was silent, knuckles white about the arms of his chair, posture stiff, countenance stony, overall just looking plain inhospitable.

He sighed, tutting disappointedly. "You can't go hurting yourself like that, all right?"

He pinched his companion's stiff cheek, drawing a wince, and went to sit across from him. "After all, I don't want all my hard work to go to waste. It's been a fair while since I cooked a full on dinner for someone."

His companion simply glared, teeth bared in a distasteful snarl, which he easily countered with a benign grin. This persisted for several seconds.

"...Not very talkative, are y–?"

"Damn it, what the bloody hell do you want!?"

"And no wonder!" he gasped. "Did you kiss mum with that mouth?"

His companion strained to release himself from the chair, only inflicting more damage to his wrists. "You broke into my house, ransacked my drawing room, and–!"

"Broke into your house?" he exclaimed, offended. "My dear Iggy– Ah, do you mind if I call you Iggy? It's something that the boys sometimes call me. I know it's meant to be demeaning, but I can't help but find it adorable. Do your boys give you any affectionate nicknames?"

Bad-tempered silence was the only reply.

He nodded understandingly. "Ah, I see. Touchy subject."

"Oh, shut up," the other muttered. He tilted his head back, sighing. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I heard about you - don't ask me how - and I thought, well, why not go visit?" He clasped his hands. "I wanted to see how alike we are. And judging by the state of your kitchen, I imagine we are not quite so alike as I'd hoped. A tart?"

His companion curled his lip. "Untie my hands first."

"Oh, no, no, no, if I do that you'll jump at me! Here..." He plucked a beautifully crafted tart from the plate. "Open wide!"

The seated individual cringed, leaning back as far as his bonds would allow. "Like hell I'm eating from your hands!"

"Now, that's rude. I do wash them before and after I cook; what uncivilized brute doesn't? Really though, I insist." He poked the tart at the seam of his companion's tightly sealed lips. "Come on, open up! You know, my little boys loved it when I played the 'eat your food' game, especially when they were being disagreeable."

"And how does that go?" the other growled, only speaking when the tart was lifted away.

He lifted a finger, smiling brightly. "Oh! How about a demonstration."

Holding up the tart again, he leaned in close to his companion. "So I'd do this, and I'd say something to the effect of, 'Sweetheart, you need to eat your food.' And if they still said no..."

He gave his companion an expectant look, prodding him with the tart. A shake of the head was all he received, and he smiled.

"Well, if they still said no, then I'd do this."

Quick as lightning, he lashed out with his free hand, gripping his companion's jaw in a vice. A tight squeeze forced his companion's lips open, and he popped the tart between them with a happy giggle and manually aided his reluctant guest into chewing the treat.

As soon as said treat was gone, his companion jerked out of his grip, cursing furiously. "You bloody git! You son of a hell damned wanker!"

He gasped, affronted. "Goodness me, you really do need to work on that language of yours!"

His companion glared at him dangerously, slowly rotating his jaw.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Such language was hardly called for, and I know for a fact that my food can't be that bad. Scone?"

"You're mad." His companion released an odd sound that was something akin to a laugh. "Yes, that's it. You're stark raving mad."

He returned the laugh, choosing a scone from one of the plates. "Mad, yes. An absolute freak. One might even say a punk. I acknowledge this with full acceptance."

He picked up a knife and pressed it against his chest, as though making a vow. "As our dear gentleman, Mr. Carroll, once so aptly wrote, 'We're all mad here.'"

Laughing again, he cut the scone in half and lathered one half with jam. "Or at least, that's the case where I come from. Everyone there is depressed, sociopathic, and just plain mad. You ought to visit sometime."

"I ought not."

"Ought too! But let's not argue. Here, try the scone."

Despite his offer, those lips were once again sealed.

"Come now dearest, you don't want to play the 'eat your food' game again, do you?"

His companion scowled, but opened his mouth, and he happily pushed the scone between his companion's lips lips. Looking him straight in the eye, his companion bit down on the scone and shut his mouth. He waited expectantly, but his companion's jaw remained otherwise unmoving.

He frowned. "Go on! Chew it! ...If you don't chew it I'll have to make you."

He waved the jam knife in front of his companion's face, only to pull back when his companion lunged at him like a mad-eyed Jack-in-the-Box. The yelp that had escaped him quickly turned into laughter as his companion was halted by his bonds.

Clapping his hands, he exclaimed, "Oh, that was naughty of you. Very sly! Ah, but really, I would finish that scone if I were you."

His companion groaned frustratedly.

Two quick chews and a swallow later, he nodded approvingly. "Good lad. You really ought to eat a little more slowly though. Eating fast is so American, and it does terrible things to the digestive system."

"Tell me," his companion growled, continuing to work at his bonds. "When your store of cyanide and strawberry preserves runs dry, do you feed off of the humiliation you inflict on others?"

He smiled, buttering up the second half of the scone. "It's funny, my loving big brother asked me the exact same thing..."

"And what did you say?"

"'Brother dear, I never humiliate others,'" he quoted sincerely. "'They're humiliated, but only because they perceived it that way.'"

He took a bite out of the buttered scone and shrugged. "If you find it humiliating, that's your problem. Tea? Or perhaps you want to finish your scone..."

The other laughed humorlessly. "Oh, a lovely principle you've got there."

"Tea it is, then."

"I'm sure that your friends agree wholeheartedly with that little philosophy. That is if you even have any friends."

He sent his companion a reproving look as he prepared a cuppa. "No need to be sarcastic, Iggy dear. I do have friends, thank you very much, though at this point I am unsure whether or not I can say the same for you."

"I do have... some friends." His companion squirmed, something besides frustration and anger crossing his facial features.

He smiled sympathetically, returning to the preparation of the tea. "Ah, I've been there, mate. There was a time when not a person in the world wanted to be my friend. Then they discovered my wicked cooking skills, and the fact that I am a stubborn little man who won't take no for an answer."

He turned back to his guest, teacup and saucer in hand.

Instantly, his companion's face darkened, as did his voice. "You force-fed me scones and tarts, but I swear that if you try to force-feed me tea I will give you the soundest thrashing you'll have ever received in your life."

"Tough words coming from a man with jam on his mouth."

His companion started, evidently having been unaware of the strawberry jam staining his upper lip, and he laughed.

"Oh, you are adorable," he sighed, managing to wipe away the offending gob of preserve in spite of his companion's evasive flinch. "If you're really so adverse to our veritable lifeblood, I'll set it aside for later. Remember though, it's best served hot."

He set the cup and saucer aside, within reaching distance of his companion, who hissed, "Well, maybe if you bloody untied me, I could enjoy it to my leisure."

"Well, maybe if you weren't such a foul-mouthed little troublemaker, I would consider doing so," he retorted cheerfully. "Oh come now, dearest, enough with the glaring. You have such a handsome face if I do say so myself, and you shouldn't mar it with that drab expression."

He pinched his companion's cheek. "You ought to smile more!"

His companion pulled away with a snarl. "Stop telling me what I ought and ought not to do! I don't care to have anyone telling me how to live my life, least of all you!"

"I'm sorry, I hope you'll forgive my playing shrink, but maybe that's why you're so lonely. You rely solely on self-deprecation and slow-learned lessons, as opposed to outside criticism and well-meant advice."

"You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Don't I, now?" He raised an eyebrow. "I am you, after all. We've both gone through the same history, made same choices, suffered the same consequences..."

"I am nothing like you," the other hissed, glaring.

He succeeded in startling his companion by clasping his face and examining it closely. "Hm, unkempt hair, handsome facial structure, eyes not too far from the blue spectrum, subjectively svelte, impeccable fashion sense - though I can see that you prefer stark green over something a little softer - and of course those uncontrollable brows... I'm sorry, but what was your point?"

"Let go of me," his companion snapped, tearing his face away. "The resemblance is superficial at best."

"On the contrary, I daresay that if we had a test, we'd find that we share the same DNA!"

"Our DNA is that of the people, you idiot; of course it'd be the same."

"That's just my point!" he exclaimed, spreading his hands. "We are not just ourselves, you know. We're our people as well. I may be some other aspect of the people, but I am the people all the same."

"Oh, is there some aspect of the English people often associated with pastry-obsessed psychopaths who insist on overbearing hospitality that I am unaware of?"

"Again with the sarcasm. My dear Iggy," he said, regarding his companion with pity, as one would regard a man who was too slow to fully participate in the world around him. "You would be surprised at what aspects are so prominent within our lovely culture, and yet so unclear to ourselves.

"Now..." He clasped his hands. "How about a teacake?"

"What do you mean by that?" the other demanded.

He grinned obligingly. Picking up a small teacake, he held it out in front of his companion.

"You see this? Foreigners associate this notoriously delicious baked good with our country. It is what the tourists come here for. It is the epitome of traditional English baking. And I baked it," he declared proudly, placing a hand on his chest. "Now, based on your own argument of us having nothing in common, and judging by the frankly miserable remains found in your kitchen, what do you think that means for you?"

His companion maintained a sullen silence, and he continued. "You are simply another aspect of our people that I had never quite considered having existed until now. An unfortunate aspect, but an aspect nonetheless. ...And on that note, open wide!"

His companion deliberately turned his face away.

He sighed. "Really dearest, we aren't honestly going to do this again, are we? Come on, open up."

His companion leaned away still further.

"You're not sulking now, are you? That's very childish of you, darling. ...Don't look at me like that, you know it's true." He sighed again. "I'm giving you one more chance to accept this graciously, Iggy, else I'll have to let our little game commence. Open wide now."

His companion glared defiantly.

The following struggle was an interesting one, and he found himself being quite impressed with his companion; for someone tied hand a foot to a chair, he was a jolly good fighter.

"Good gracious, you are a troublemaker," he exclaimed, finally succeeding in getting a firm grip on his companion's face. "It's only a teacake, no need to make a kerfuffle over it."

The other continued to struggle, and he was starting to feel rather exasperated. "Oh, honestly, my boys never put up this much of a fuss. Not even America was this troublesome!"

"Really?" his companion hissed between clenched teeth. "Was he always defiant of you?"

"Has been since his discovery and continues to be so. Now open..."

"Funny, because my boys always loved my cooking. They enjoyed my company."

It was as though an electric charge had gone through him. He stood paralyzed, teacake held limply in his hand and his grip slackening.

His companion took the chance to pull away from the loosening grip, a triumphant glint appearing in his green eyes as he said, "So what exactly does that say about you, Iggy?"

His own eyes narrowed, and he managed to regain a sharp grip on the other's face, pulling him close. The teacake lay forgotten on the carpeted floor as he spoke, voice quiet but filled with malice.

"Oh, that is clever of you. Flaunting your past as though it's something special, something better, that's just jolly. And yet the joke is still on you, dearest," he sang, smile returning. "We still end up in the same boat. And we both know that our boys left it a long time ago."

Smack.

His vision went white and he staggered back. A painful throbbing emitted from his forehead and went on to take over the rest of his head. His companion lay on the floor, the chair having become unbalanced and tipping over backwards. The two groaned in tandem with each other.

As he pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to stem the pain, something began to build up in his throat, slow but powerful. Before he could identify what it was, it burst forth from his mouth in the form of hysterical laughter. He laughed for what seemed like hours, when in reality it may have only been seconds. By the time he was finished, the pain had died down and his whole body felt exhausted.

He wiped a tear away from his eye, giggling tiredly. "I feel like I may have overstayed my welcome."

His companion still lay on the floor, staring up at him with a strange look on his face. "You're one mad bastard."

"Yes, yes I know." He sighed, straightening his bowtie and cuffs. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

With a wink and a bright smile, he turned away.

"Hey, you can't just leave me here!"

"Can't I, now?"

"I'm a seasoned British soldier! I've escaped from concentration camps! It's only a matter of time before I get out of this!"

"That's what I'm counting on," he said cheerfully. "Sorry I won't be able to see your great escape, but I do have to run. Don't worry though, I'll leave Schubert to keep you company."

Already humming a few bars of Die Forelle, he put the needle on the record. The powerful voices of Bostridge and Drake soon rang throughout the house once again. But for the broken furniture and shattered objects strewn about, and the sounds of frustrated exertion and furious cursing rising above the powerful tenors, everything seemed exceptionally ordinary.

Smiling benignly, steps dancing in time with the lied, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

#posting from THE ARCHIVES #remember when hetalia was relevant?#I don't but I remember really enjoying it while growing up #I won't lie im still fond of this one #writing a bit of a mad character was so much fun #and I have to give myself props for having stuck to the gimmick of never naming the characters outside of dialogue #hetalia #character analysis #hetalia fanfiction #aph england #arthur kirkland #2p england #fanfiction #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes fanfiction

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calumrose · 4 years

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Trigger [Police/Gang!AU] Chapter 7 || C.H

A//N: I feel like I haven’t updated in so long when in reality it’s only been 3 days. I’ve got so many WIPs right now, and I am so excited to post more! So keep an eye out for those! But yes, here is chapter 7 for all you lovely people! Thank you to everyone who has been reading this so far, I really appreciate it!

Word Count: 11.6k

Summary: Eloise Gray and Calum Hood, not two people you would ever think to put together. What started as a ploy for power turned into a romance, resulting in the realisation that loving your enemy may not be such a bad thing after all.

Previous Chapters: Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

12 Days Left

The constant honking of traffic, the incoherent chatter of bystanders, and the smell of excess petrol had become comforting to Eloise over the years. It was the natural scent of the city she resided in; the smell always so unbearably strong that it practically embedded itself in the noses of the visitors the city welcomed every day. And as much as Eloise wanted to escape and explore new places, she knew it would be a smell she would miss, even if only a little.

Central Park had only ever been a place she visited with friends, typically because the likes of Paige and Jackson lived in that side of New York, it being quite literally on their doorstep, unlike the rest of them who had to travel in order to visit the well-known location.

“Fancy a trip to the zoo?” Calum’s question caused her eyes to break from the sight of the busker to her left as they entered the park. She looked in the direction of where his eyes fell, looking towards the zoo entrance in all its glory along with the crowded queue that was almost painful to think about.

“Maybe another time,” She chuckled, not really in the mood to stand in a queue for god knows how long and pay a ridiculous price just to look at animals for a few hours, “Why don’t we just find a place to sit and have a conversation like normal people?”

“Normal people?” Calum’s tone held fake surprise, “You mean to tell me that you, Eloise, want to have an actual conversation with me?”

“Shocking stuff I know, now c’mon,” She responded with the same joking attitude, nudging the back of his arm as they continued to walk through the park. It was a sight that never failed to relax her, the greenery and gentle atmosphere being enough to temporarily transport her to a state of believing she had no worries, like she had nothing to be afraid of.

The past week with Calum had been nothing like she had experienced before. It felt good to know she had a safe space other than her own apartment although she had begun to feel unsafe in her own home, fearing that an unwelcome individual would burst through her door at any given moment after discovering her little secret. But in Calum’s home, she felt like she could live, breathe, and embrace every moment that she felt her heartbeat in her chest.

Seven days felt like seven months when they would lay together in his bed, fingers interlaced as she would trace his tattoos that were painted on his brown skin. She’d ask a million questions about them, wanting to know every story behind each individual piece of art that littered his body. She had learnt the story of how the initials on each hand were for his parents, the name on his left forearm was his sister, how the thistle on his bicep was a homage to his Scottish heritage, and how the Roman numerals on his collarbone represented a year that his life changed. There were so many stories he had shared that she felt as though she wouldn’t remember them, but she found herself being able to recall every single one each time her eyes caught sight of the ink.

Late night conversations were full of questions about their pasts, asking about their childhoods and about stupid things they could recall from simpler times. Calum was a lot more open about his own memories than Eloise was, many of her own recollections being forgotten with purpose. She didn’t know if she was ready to dig them all back up just yet, and Calum respected that.

Early morning rises would be filled with the smell of coffee and fruity essences from the yoghurt Calum had added to his shopping list after learning of Eloise’s love for the strawberry flavour. He learnt of her tendencies of waking up in the unsociable hours of the morning, her body clock naturally seeming to have shifted since she started staying at his place on a more regular occasion. Before, she was lucky if she could sleep past 10am, now it was 7am. Calum often woke up and found her in the kitchen, legs crossed as she sat up on the countertop by the window, staring out into the city as the sun rose up, a bowl of yoghurt and chopped fruit in her lap as she enjoyed the peaceful silence of the morning. He never disturbed her when she was in that state, his body just standing in opening of the hallway, dark eyes on her that were filled with nothing but admiration.

He had come to learn that she was very appreciative of the small moments that she got to experience, figuring that a lot of that was due to the great deal of loss she had suffered over the years; wanting to absorb everything she felt as though she took for granted, like the sunrise; a beautiful sight that only a lucky few got a chance to see in all its glory.

An open patch of grass caught Eloise’s attention, her fingers gripping onto the fabric of the sleeve of his empathy hoodie, subtly dragging him along so she could claim the empty space before any other civilian who was found at the park.

“El, babe, slow down,” The nickname fell from Calum’s lips like butter, as if it were always supposed to. He had dropped pet names like those a few times throughout their time together, and she wondered if he truly noticed how often he let them slip. They were natural to him, feeling as though there was no other name that he knew for her other than what he felt suited her so perfectly. Eloise could swear her stomach flipped every time a simple nickname fell from his soft lips, assuring her that she wanted nothing else than to hear them a thousand times over.

“You’re the one who dragged me outside, so we’ll do things at my pace, that’s the deal,” She smirked to herself as she adjusted her jeans slightly before sitting down at the dry grass.

“Since when did I agree to that?” He raised a questioning brow, the slight upturn of his lip’s inkling on a borderline smirk. That smirk would get him in trouble one day, Eloise could sense it.

The sun beat down on the city of New York, speckles of gold seeping through the gaps in the tree branches as it painted the park with strips of yellow. It created a sight that Eloise could only wish she could see every day; the sight of Calum sat there with the sun beating down, the bright rays only bringing out how golden he truly was, as if gold met gold in the moment the sun connected with him.

Brown eyes cascaded over the park around them, Eloise’s gaze settling on a young girl who sat a few metres from them. She watched as the young blonde’s hand worked against the sketchpad in her lap, eyes flickering up to glance at the grand building that towered over the park. Eloise felt her back straighten almost inquisitively, her head tilting slightly to side as if to try and get a better view of the pad.

“What’s she drawing?” Calum asked, leaning back against his hands to keep himself up, eyes watching Eloise’s curiosity get the better of her. He had noted that she was a curious person, always watching what people were doing, always noticing people who were so submerged in their own world, especially those of the artistic mind. She seemed to have an eye for it.

Eloise watched as the pencil in her hand glided along the paper, imagining she could hear the soft strokes of graphite against the white paper as if she were sitting right next to her. She had a lot of respect for art, it always blowing her mind how someone could create something so beautiful with their own hands. She let her brown eyes look back to Calum, noticing how his eyes were sat on her own, admiring the interest she had shown in the stranger’s talent, before she responded with a smile, “I think she’s drawing the top of The Plaza, because if you look just over there,” She pointed in the direction of where the girl had been looking, “You can see the top of the hotel over the trees.”

“You seem to notice a lot of artistic people in the city for someone who doesn’t hold an artistic bone in her body,” Calum chuckled, remembering how they had discussed previously Eloise’s admiration for art but never having the ability to create any herself. He pulled his arm close to his chest in attempt to avoid her hand as it tried to smack him, his nose scrunching just a little as the smile on his face grew. “Did you ever have any hobbies when you were a teenager? Or anything that stuck and grew into a passion?”

Eloise shook her head, wrapping an arm around her right knee as it bent so she could keep it close to her chest as she responded, “I was that kid who always tried to find a hobby but gave up within a few minutes because it wasn’t as straight forward as I wanted it to be, and I also had zero patience.” Her free hand reached up to pull down the sunglasses that were resting on her head, setting them against the bridge of her nose so they shielded her eyes from the sun as the bright glare shifted direction in the sky.

“Ah, so you were one of those kids,” Calum spoke as if it all suddenly made sense, resulting in another playful smack against his arm from Eloise. She had definitely met her match when it came to teasing people, “And yet there’s still so much for me to learn,”

“About?” Eloise quirked a brow, reaching around her back to pull down the back of her shirt, the cool breeze against her spine signalling that the shirt had begun to ride up.

“You,” Calum sat upright, reaching down between his legs as he plucked a few blades of grass from the ground, eyes watching his hands before he reconnected them with Eloise’s own dark ones, “I’ve got an idea; quick-fire quiz with random questions about you, you have one pass and you’ve got to answer everything, got it?”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret agreeing to this stupid game?” A playful roll of her eyes were given as she shifted her body weight, turning to her left so she could face him head on, “Right, go ahead then if you must.”

Calum parted his lips slightly as he looked up in thought. He hadn’t even considered making up any questions to ask, not quite expecting her to give in that easily. Who was he kidding? She gave into almost anything he asked, he knew that, so he should have been more prepared. The hamster wheel in his brain seemed to run for a few seconds before a thought came into his head. Thank god for that.

“First question, your favourite subject in school?” He raised an eyebrow, throwing a finger in her direction as he pointed at her, awaiting her answer.

Eloise pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. Come on El, this whole point of quick-fire questions is that it’s supposed to be quick. She tapped her fingers against her thigh for a few seconds before giving an unsure answer of, “I’d probably say English even though I was awful at it, Maths was more of my strong suit but I wouldn’t say I loved it,” She threw a shrug of her shoulders at Calum, “Next question.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Easy, it’s probably red.”

“I have never seen you wear the colour red,” Calum commented, his teeth brushing against his bottom lip as he highlighted the third word, “You barely wear anything other than black or grey, babe. So, for that reason I am calling bullshit.”

“And how would you know? What if I’m wearing red underwear?” Eloise couldn’t stop teasing smirk, a coy pout playing on her lips as she saw his eyebrows raise at her remark. She knew that he was fully aware of what colour her underwear was, as he was the one who had enjoyed the task of removing it from her hands before she had the chance to get dressed this morning, before pulling her into the bathroom for a morning of strenuous activities.

She swore she could see the events of their morning playing in his mind, watching as his jaw worked while her comment echoed in his ears. She loved watching how flustered he got in moments like that; moments where a certain tone, or a sudden string of words had him silenced.

“Favourite artist?” His voice sounded raspy; he hadn’t cleared his throat before he spoke. Eloise’s tongue poked the inside of her cheek, noting how he tried to brush over what she had said, fighting the urge to poke fun at the avoidance, knowing full well that what she had said had taken its effect on him.

“Oh that’s a tough choice,” She pursed her lips, a little smug due to knowing what he focusing on right then, she swore she could hear the little voice in his head as it shouted at him to think of something else, “It’s got to be either Mayday Parade or The Maine.”

“Good choice,” He nodded, coughing into his fist as a way of attempting to rid the scratch in his throat. Calum could barely hold himself together and Eloise knew what hold she had over him.

Both knees were pulled to Eloise’s chest, her arms resting on top before she placed her chin down to settle against her forearms, brown eyes looking up at the handsome man she found herself with. She always thought about what they were, if they had a specific title for what they had going on. Did she even want to put a label on what they had? Was there a point in labelling it? It was still something she was trying to figure out; how quickly she felt so normal with Calum, how suddenly everything just seemed like it fit into place as if it had always been that way.

Calum and Eloise had talked briefly about what they were. Calum never rushed her into deciding what she wanted, assuring that he would go with what she felt comfortable with and what she felt ready for. Calum knew he wanted no one else, only having eyes for the girl who had his heart in her hands. He felt vulnerable around her, as if she could shatter his heart within seconds. And unfortunately, there was truth in that concern, as was there with Eloise’s matching one in regard to him. They both held such a strong connection that could be turned and used against them in the press of a button.

The only thing Eloise was sure of was that Calum was everything she had been looking for without even knowing it. He was all she could have wanted in someone; gentle, caring, understanding, forgiving, and so much more that she couldn’t put into words. She had admitted that to him a few mornings ago when they were lying in his bed together, limbs tangled within the sheets, her fingers combing through his hair as they stared at one another. Calum voiced his understanding over her concern for how she felt, suggesting they just say that they’re exclusive with one another, keeping it private, but known to each other that there was no one else in the picture, only the two of them who had eyes for the other.

The little pet names seemed to fall into habit rather quickly after that conversation, the next morning being the first time Calum dropped one in the moment, yawning before he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek before climbing out of the entangled sheets to make his way into the bathroom to get himself ready for work. Eloise had let it slide at first, assuming it was just a slip of the tongue, but then they grew to be more regular, and she couldn’t deny that they didn’t not get her heart going.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Calum spoke up after a few minutes, “My ass is getting numb sitting here.” Eloise looked up to find him standing already, hand reached out for her to grab onto.

“We’ve been sitting for barely twenty minutes and you’re already complaining,” She scoffed, a gently chuckle being sounded as she reached up and grabbed onto his hand. She couldn’t hold back the soft grunt she let out as she let him pull her to her feet, focusing on the warmth of his hand that held onto hers. She noted how he didn’t let go, adjusting his fingers so they slipped in between her own, his hand practically enveloping hers in warmth as they moved back onto the path that led through Central Park.

Calum’s hand was so much larger than hers, she couldn’t help but notice the difference every time he held her hand, the size almost laughable. Eloise cursed at herself at the way butterflies erupted in her stomach at his touch, the smooth skin of his palm against hers being enough to make her feel like she was walking on sunshine. It was almost sickening how much she had grown to love the feeling of his skin on hers in more ways than one.

“What time’s your shift tomorrow?” Eloise spoke softly as they walked, eyes glancing down at their hands swinging gently between their bodies meanwhile their feet walked at different times, her long legs surprisingly unable to keep up with his timely long strides. For a taller girl, she could never walk quickly, not with Calum anyway.

“I start at eight tomorrow,” He responded, eyes catching the small family picnic that was going on just to their right, the corners of his mouth turning up at the thought of that possibility in his future. He had always been a family man, it only setting him up to be ready to eventually have one of his own with someone he loved, someone he could settle down and have a life with. “So, I was thinking, I’d give you a lift home tomorrow morning before I go to work if you need to grab some clean clothes and stuff, and then I could pick you up once I’m finished, take you back to my place and we could do something,”

Eloise’s eyes followed in the direction of where he had turned his head briefly, eyes falling on the young couple who sat with a child, he looked to be around four, as they laughed and smiled together. The open picnic basket was self-explanatory to Eloise, causing a cold shiver to run up her spine at the inkling of a memory she didn’t even know existed. She pulled her attention back up to Calum, hoping he didn’t notice her subtle shudder. “I was thinking I might stay at my place tonight for a change, my neighbours are gonna start being suspicious if they don’t hear me stumbling up my stairs at the crack of dawn soon,” She chuckled, squeezing his hand reassuringly, “It also means Duke can actually get some space in the bed for first time in a while, but I’ll come and see you tomorrow after your shift,”

“Duke’s gonna be upset that you’re leaving him in the house alone,” Calum pointed out, “I think he’s gotten quite fond of you sticking around during the day while I’m workin’, means he’s not on his own all day.” Eloise knew what he was doing; trying to subtly use Duke as a way of persuading – guilt tripping – her into staying at his place for another night. But Eloise knew she had to play this right, she had to go home at some point, she would have to submit herself to the clutches of the Gypsy Kings once again soon enough.

“And you can tell him that I’m very sorry but I have to,” She pouted her lips, leaning into Calum a little as they walked, “Or to make it up to him, I’ll make sure I bring a treat with me when I come back.”

“So, you’re going to bribe my dog?” He furrowed his brows down at her, glaring playfully at the brunette. Eloise puffed her cheeks briefly, eyes shifting out of Calum’s gaze as she focused on the floor for a second.

“Well, it’s the only way I can make sure that he’ll forgive me when I come back,”

“And what about me?” Calum tugged on her hand and pulled her to a stop, moving them out of the way on the path so they weren’t in anyone’s way. His eyebrows raised questioningly, a knowing smirk on his face as his spare hand found her waist, slipping beneath her jacket so he could feel the fabric of her oversized t-shirt beneath his fingers, voice barely above a gravelled whisper when he spoke, “How’re you gonna make sure that I forgive you for leaving me?”

“I’m sure a grown man like yourself can work out a few ways I can ask for your forgiveness,” She winked, giggling softly at the expression that sank onto Calum’s face, his head falling onto her shoulder as he let out a barely audible groan, although it was loud and clear in Eloise’s ears.

“I swear for the love of god,” Calum groaned out, grip tightening around Eloise’s waist as the hand that held hers awkwardly bent as he attempted to raise it. Eloise’s giggle echoed in his ears, the sound highlighting her awareness of how her words had affected him in public yet again. He was weak when it came to that girl, and it was as if she knew exactly how to play to his weakness, using it against him in a poorly timed place. “You’re cruel, and the fact that you’re not even coming back to my place tonight only proves my point,”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to amuse yourself without me,” She whispered, leaning her head so it rested against his on her shoulder, a soft smile creasing her lips as she stood like that for a minute. She wished she could pause time right there and take a picture from someone else’s point of view, to see them together. She tilted her head slightly, pressing a feather like kiss to the side of his head before she softly spoke, “Now c’mon, I’ll buy you a- Scott?”

Calum’s head shot up at her words, forehead creased as his brows furrowed, “You’ll buy me a Scott?”

Eloise didn’t even register his response, eyes looking over in the distance to where a scattering of people walked through the park. Her dark eyes spotted the familiar man in the distance, able to pick out his soft curls from anywhere as well as his particular walk.

“Wait here,” She told Calum, softly releasing his hand from hers and before she could even hear him respond she was running down the path towards the familiar body who had his back to her.

Calum stood there in place, watching as Eloise’s figure shrunk as she ran further into the distance, arms crossing against his chest as he moved along the path a little bit and found a tree to lean against. He pulled out his phone, trying to occupy himself as he waited for Eloise to come back, eyes shifting every few seconds between the screen in his hand to the pretty brunette as she attempted to catch up to her friend. He couldn’t help but feel protective, wanting to make sure she was alright at all times.

Eloise felt her chest get heavy as she ran down the path, a few eyes watching her as she ran past numerous runners; their eyes obviously judging her choice of attire for what they most likely assumed to be an afternoon run. Her eyes closed in on the familiar golden locks of her best friend, his leather jacket shining against the sun.

She reached her hand out as she caught up with him, panting lightly as she called out, “Oi Erikson, do I not even get a hello anymore?” Scott’s expression seemed almost dumbfounded when he turned around, his face relaxing when he registered her voice and saw the one and only Eloise stood behind him, hands resting on the caps of her knees as she caught her breath, bending slightly as she felt her heart hammer faintly against her chest before she could bring herself to stand upright, breath returning to normal after a few seconds passed.

“You’re seriously out of shape,” Scott scoffed, laughing at his best friend’s poor attempt at hiding her heavy breaths as she stood up. Eloise reached out and shoved his shoulder lightly, sending him a warning glare as she straightened up, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, and stood comfortably.

“Shut up, I’m in better shape than most of that lot,” She laughed, jutting her chin out in the direction of the park, directing her comment towards the others within the gang. Both of them knew which members she was silently talking about, a joint laugh escaping them both at the inside knowledge. “What’re you doing here anyway, last time I checked Central Park is a bit far out of Brooklyn, especially for the likes of you, Scott?”

Scott chuckled at her comment, almost nervously, as he raised his shoulders in a half-shrug, “Suppose I could say the same for you, you’re a bit far out of Brooklyn yourself,” Eloise couldn’t help but notice how his eyes were shifting, as if he were searching for someone or keeping an eye out. He seemed antsy, not an unusual occurrence when it came to Scott being this far out Brooklyn. “How’ve you been anyway? How’re things comin’ along with your cop friend?”

Eloise let out a quiet sigh, shifting her weight to her other foot as she answered, “I should be asking you how you are, you’ve hardly answered your phone and you seem to be ignoring my texts. Am I too lame to talk to now?” She scoffs jokingly at him, chewing the inside of her cheek as she continues, “I’m working on him, I’ve got some information that’ll be useful for Jay to know. I’ve also set up a few decoy details for him to take back to his precinct, so give me a few more days and we’ll be ready to go,”

Scott nods, taking in the words that Eloise had practically spoon fed him. She prayed he couldn’t see through it, praying that for a man she believed to know her so well, that he couldn’t see right through the lies she had just fed to him. She knew he would take her words back to Jay, informing him of the ‘work’ she had done. Scott’s eyes travelled behind Eloise, she had noticed he had done that a few times already, wondering what he was looking at.

“Take it, that’s him?” He jutted out his chin in the direction of the park behind her, eyes finding the dark ones of Calum who kept his gaze firmly planted on Eloise’s back, “Either that’s your copper or some big creepy dude has been staring at your ass for the past five minutes, and my money is the former.”

Eloise rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she glanced behind her, brown eyes finding Calum’s. She smiled softly at him, offering him a small wave as a silent act of reassurance that she was alright. She noted how his shoulders seemed to relax a little at her action, the muscles sinking as his eyes never left her, “Yeah, that’s Calum.”

“So, you gonna let me meet the guy who you’ve been spending all of your time with or are you going to keep me in suspense?” Scott raised an eyebrow, lips parting briefly as he glanced in Calum’s direction. Eloise thanked the sun for her helping her hide her flushed cheeks, making her cheeks and nose almost rosy at the thought of Calum and Scott meeting, the thought making her feel like someone had just dropped a lead weight in her stomach. Eloise couldn’t help but feel as though she was in a catch 22; stuck between her best friend who believed she was acting one way, and Calum who knew her to be acting in the opposite.

But that didn’t stop her from nodding, feeling Scott’s arm slip around her shoulders as they began to make their way to where Calum stood. “Be nice,” Eloise warned through gritted teeth as they closed in on the tree that Calum stood under. The air felt as though it thickened with the closer that they got, Eloise’s chest tightening as she tried to fight the feeling of anxiety that she could feel bubbling up inside of her.

Calum straightened up, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and walked over and met them halfway, a friendly smile on his face as he met Eloise’s uneasy eyes, noting how uncomfortable she must have been at the thought of Calum meeting her brother by association.

Eloise forced the discomfort in her stomach down, trying to ignore it as she stood with Scott by her side, arm still around her shoulders as he looked towards Calum, a rather unimpressed look on his face. She let out a small cough, clearing her throat, as she introduced them, “Scott, this is Calum, Calum, this is my best friend Scott,” She felt as though she wanted the world to swallow her whole as she felt Scott’s grip tighten ever so slightly around her, a natural tension he had around those he didn’t know and didn’t trust.

“It’s nice to meet you, mate,” Calum sent him a gentle singular nod of his head, a warm smile on his face as he reached out his hand for Scott to shake, “El’s told me a lot about you, you sound like a very important man.”

Eloise sent him a glance, silently thanking him for trying to play it cool, for being nice towards Scott even though the reaction he was receiving from the blond was anything but. Her eyes fell to Scott, sending a subtle kick to the back of his ankle as if to silently say, ‘Just shake his hand.’

Scott sighed as he reached out his hand, grasping Calum’s in his grip as they shook, a dry laugh coming from his throat as he tried not to roll his eyes. “That’s quite a strong grip you’ve got there,” Eloise couldn’t help it as she rolled her eyes at Scott’s remark, silently praying he would drop the act and just be like the Scott she knew, that he would act like her best friend.

“Comes with the territory.” The response was quick to come from Calum, it being instant much like the forced smile on his lips. Eloise knew he would be silently making his job known to Scott, even though he wasn’t trying to rupture Scott, she couldn’t help but want to move things along, trying to cut the interaction as short as possible to spare any unnecessary tension.

It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of it already.

“I was gonna suggest to Calum that we go and grab a hot dog if you wanted to join us?” Eloise offered, head nodding towards the exit of the park, the memory of the brightly coloured food cart outside the gates making her mouth water at the thought. “It’ll be my treat.”

Scott shook his head practically as soon as Eloise let the words slip from her mouth, hand coming up and shaking alongside his head, “I can’t stay long, I’ve got somewhere to be. I just wanted to come by and say hi,”

The awkward silence is almost painful. Cursing herself, Eloise wished she never agreed to letting Scott come over. She wished she had just said something along of the lines of how she’d rather keep them separate to save questions but of course she didn’t think this through. Nice one, Eloise.

She was about to open her mouth to speak, her brain scrambling as it attempted to create a sentence for her to use in order to break the silence before Calum beat her to it.

“So, how long have you known Eloise?” Calum asked, adjusting his stance as an attempt to be perceived as more friendly, trying to cut the clear tension that clouded them, hand resting over the outline of his phone in his pocket.

Eloise didn’t need to see the shift in Scott’s eyes as they fell to her, she could feel the burn in the side of her head along with the way his arm moved, it dropping from around her and returning back to his side, hand sliding back into its home inside his pocket. Eloise wanted to curse herself, knowing she should’ve warned Calum about one thing, but of course she didn’t think. She could only hope this helped her out, that Scott took it as a sign that things were working, that she was invested in the way she needed them to believe, that she was capturing Calum’s attention like they had intended. She just hoped that it wasn’t seen for what it really was.

She needed to slow down; she knew that she was getting too far ahead of herself. Scott was smart, but he wasn’t that smart.

“Too long,” Her voice muttered, a gentle smirk playing her lips as she glanced at Scott, playfully nudging him with her hip to try and go along with the friendly interaction.

“Uh yeah, we’ve been best mates since we were kids. The both of us went through some rough stuff growing up and we’ve stuck together ever since,” Scott nodded, throwing a casual shrug of shoulders into the mix with his response, “I just can’t seem to shake her off.”

“Fuck off,” Eloise laughed, raising a knowing brow, “You’d be lost with me or dead even. I have saved your life more times than you can count.”

It was true. There was more truth in that statement than what Scott wanted to admit. Eloise had helped him out a lot throughout their time together; throughout school, starting off in the gang, and just about every other occasion where things didn’t go to plan for the blond boy.

Eloise had been the one to help him talk his way out of situations he found himself in when he thought he was clever. She had also been the one to cover for him when he would get himself into messes and need a friend to pull him out. Eloise had always been there for him over the years and he couldn’t deny that.

Scott shot her a warning glance before letting a small laugh laced with nostalgia leave him, unable to hide the truth in the statement, “I was a bit of a klutz back in the day, and this one here helped me out a lot. I guess you could say I never quite understood what public embarrassment truly meant,”

“A klutz with a big mouth and shocking taste in women,” Eloise couldn’t stop the mutter before it was too late, eyes watching as Scott scoffed at her and he amusingly jabbed her with his elbow.

“On that note, I’m gonna take my leave,” Scott excused himself, taking a step back as he attempted to extract himself from the gathering rather quickly, “It was nice to meet you, Calum. Suppose I might see you ‘round if she keeps you for longer than usual,” A dry laugh escaped him as he made the remark, eyes catching Eloise’s glaring ones.

Eloise shook her head, the nod barely noticeable as she clenched her jaw and grit her teeth, a warning glare being shot at Scott, “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come by my place tonight and we could hang out, but just for that you can fuck off,” She sighed, raising her hand as she threw a middle finger in his direction.

Scott hummed, knowing she would still want him to come by her apartment. She never didn’t want him to come over when she had offered. “I’ve got plans tonight, some business I need to take care of for work. How about tomorrow night instead? I’ll call you when I’m on my way,”

Eloise sent Scott a nod, “Sure, see you tomorrow then,”

Eventually they bid Scott a goodbye, watching as his silhouette disappeared into the distance, vanishing out of the park as it merged into the crowds that were usually thought of when it came to New York. Eloise released a relieved sigh, the departure of her best friend making her feel as though she could breathe again, feeling the tension deplete with the great distance between them that grew as he was out of sight.

She turned in place, catching Calum’s eyes watching as she seemed to relax. God, she felt horrible for making him suffer through that. Scott wasn’t usually so… not Scott. She swore he was a nice guy but this just highlighted the arrogance that she tried to ignore every day, almost if she forced herself to be blinded to it, not wanting to believe he had it in him to act like that.

“I’m really sorry about him, he’s not usually like that,” Eloise apologised, figuring she owed Calum some form of an explanation as to why she shot off earlier without a second thought, “Scott’s been giving me the silent treatment for the past few days and I didn’t know why; he was avoiding my calls and ignoring my texts and it was bugging me because we used to never go a single day without talking to one another,” She was rambling now, “So when I saw him, I guessed it was a perfect opportunity to ask him about it and then he spotted you staring, asked if he could come and say hi, then he- “

“Eloise, it’s alright,” Calum cut her off with a laugh, stopping her in the middle of a ramble that not even she knew how long it would continue for, his hands placing themselves on her shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly, “He’s your friend, you’re allowed to go and speak to him,”

“Something’s not right with him though,” She sighed, feeling rather defeated, “He’s not himself and I can’t tell what it is. It’s almost like he’s changing, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You can’t do anything,” Calum told her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulder as they turned and began to make their way through the park, heading towards the exit, walking the opposite direction to where Scott had departed, “It’s probably whatever Jay’s planning just getting to his head. It’s a big scheme and a lot is on the line for them,”

“Thanks for reminding me,” She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily as they walked.

The colours of the food cart soon came into sight, Eloise’s stomach practically growling at the thought of some food. The two of them made their way over to the queue, standing in line and began to wait.

“Scott’ll be meeting with some the guys tonight,” She spoke out, “That’s what he meant by ‘work’, so he’ll be filling them in on our little run-in today,”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Calum sent a questioning look.

“I think so, it’ll make them think that their plan is working,” She nodded, silently trying to convince herself of her uncertain response, “The fact that you called me Eloise will go a long way in convincing them, it’ll make them see that I’ve ‘wormed’ my way in,” She raised her fingers to use as quotation marks at the word wormed.

The confusion is Calum’s face couldn’t be missed, the crease in his forehead and furrow of his brows only solidifying the questioning look he continued to give her, “How is me calling you by your name helping?”

Eloise sighed, knowing she would need to explain. She cleared her throat as she looked ahead of the line, making a note of the few people in front of them that were still waiting to be served.

“Back when I lost my dad, it was quite hard to hear my name. People had been calling me ‘El’ for a while since I was a kid, but my parents almost always called me Eloise, and when I didn’t have them around anymore, my name just reminded me of them and how much I was hurting,” She explained, sighing as she threw a hand in her pocket, feeling Calum’s arm drop from her shoulder as it found her free one, his fingers lightly grasping hers as an attempt to comfort her, “So I started telling people to just call me ‘El’ so it felt like I wasn’t me, so I could pretend like it didn’t happen,”

Calum just nodded, brushing her knuckles with his thumb as he listened. Every time she mentioned her parents, he couldn’t stop his heart from hurting, almost as if he was feeling her own pain when she spoke of them.

“But certain people still call me by my full name, but it became sort of public knowledge with those I associated myself with that only certain people got to call me Eloise; like Scott, Han, my friends: Paige, Roman, and the rest of that group. And now you,” She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand as they took a step forward in the queue, “So, since Scott heard you use my full name, it’s gonna intentionally take this whole thing a lot further, almost securing their perception of what it is that they think I’m doing,”

The mention of Paige and Roman reminded Eloise that she still needed to introduce Calum to them, thinking of the endless stream of text messages she had received from Paige with requests of organising a double date ever since she found out about Eloise and Calum’s mutual agreement of being ‘secretly exclusive’.

She had tried to fight with the idea of Calum meeting her friends, trying to convince herself that it was a bad idea as it just made what they had feel even more real; like it was going last and they were going to be going places after the deal was done. Eloise wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to ignore the harsh reality and let herself fall into the self-made trap of pretending that she lived in a world where she and Calum would walk away from this with no repercussions, where they would be able to live as a normal couple.

Calum was about to speak, a voice laced with a thick accent stopping him as it called out, “Next! ‘iya sweetheart, what can I get ya?”

Eloise’s eyes turned to meet the rather large man in front of them, face a little red and shining an almighty mole in the right side of his chin. He smelled like hot dogs; Eloise noted. Although she wasn’t sure if it were him or the fact that they were at a hot dog stand, but she could be sure that the smell was rather overpowering.

They gave him their orders, standing next to one another as they waited for him to prepare the carb loaded items. Calum’s hand never dropped hers, his fingers finding the spaces between hers before slipping into them, her hand fitting in his like a glove. He felt the need to always be touching her, feeling an uneasy sensation settle in his gut if he was around her and didn’t have his skin touching hers in some way. It wasn’t like Eloise minded; she embraced any physical connection she could get with Calum when she could, silently reminding herself that it most likely wasn’t going to last forever.

Hotdogs in hand, they made their way down the streets of New York, the steam from the slabs of meat in their breaded buns travelling up into the air as they walked together.

“So, you don’t mind that I call you Eloise?” Calum’s question could only just be heard over the sound of a yellow taxi honking it’s horn next to where they waited to cross the street, “I can call you El if that- “

Eloise slapped his shoulder gently, holding her finger up as she silently asked him to wait while she chewed the bite of her hotdog she had just taken. Once swallowed, she smiled at him, wiping the slaver of grease she swore she felt just below her lip with edge of her palm, before she said, “I actually prefer it when you call me Eloise, it sounds better coming from you unlike some people.”

“Good,” Calum speaks through a mouthful of hotdog, hand coming up to cover the sight of half-chewed food, “I like saying your name; it’s pretty, much like the girl it belongs to.”

Eloise couldn’t stop herself from faking a gag, laughing at Calum as she rolled her eyes, amused, “Do you have an off switch, or do you just permanently ruin moments with cheesy lines?”

Calum playfully nudged her as they turned a corner, careful not to knock her into anyone as he leaned over and pressed a quick chaste kiss to her cheek once he had freed his mouth of the remnants of his snack, “Only speaking the truth, doll,”

“Security!” Eloise jokingly calls out, “Can someone please come and remove Mr Smooth from my presence?” She’s unable to stop her laugh as Calum’s hand reaches out, attempting to nip at her sides, “Get off!” She squealed, trying to push his hand away, quickly apologising to the bystander who she accidently bumped into in her attempt to move out Calum’s reach.

Let’s just say that Calum got a friendly smack on the back of the head for that one.

They eventually discovered a bin to discard of their wrappers, tossing them away before they continued their walk back to where Calum had parked his car just a few blocks south of Central Park. The sun continued to shine down on New York, a gentle cooling breeze warranting through the city, adding a refreshing chill to contrast against the heat. They walked down the streets side by side, Calum’s arm draped over her shoulders, meanwhile Eloise’s wound its way around his waist, hips lightly brushing against one another, her small fingers gently gripping onto the fabric of his hoodie as an attempt to keep close to him, head resting on his shoulder as they walked through the city.

“You want me to drop you off at your place?” Calum asked, arm around her shoulders, fingers lightly brushing against the cool material of her jacket, “Or can I convince you to stay at my place for another night?”

Eloise shook her head, her stomach vibrating with her silent closed-mouthed laugh, “I need to go back to my place like I told you. I need time to think about what I’m gonna say to Scott tomorrow,”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to talk to him about some stuff; nothing about the plan or the shipment, nothing to do with the gang whatsoever,” She sighed as they stopped in front of Calum’s car, her arm dropping from around his waist as her back rested against the hood of the black vehicle, Calum’s arm being removed her shoulder as he moved to stand in front of her, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand in his for what felt like the hundredth time that day, “I want to talk to him as friends, as the best friends that we’re supposed to be. I’m worried about him because he used to talk to me about everything and I did the same with him when my life fell apart, but now it feels like we’re more strangers than best friends,”

Calum sent her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand gently as he reached into his pocket to find his car keys, sending her an assured, “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Eloise.”

“He’s going to hate me when this is over.” Eloise couldn’t stop the tears brimming in her eyes, her throat quivering at the thought of how this was going to affect Scott; the guilt of it seeming as though it would eat her alive.

Calum shook his head, more to himself than to her, raising his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks, his thumbs gently gliding across the apples of her sweet skin as he said, “Let him. Eloise, if he’s really your best friend then he’ll realise why you’ve done this and he’ll forgive you,”

“And what if he never does?” She asked painfully, her voice sounding almost as defeated as she felt.

“Then he clearly isn’t the kind of man you want to believe he is,” Calum spoke truthfully, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, holding his lips there for a few seconds before he took a small step back, opening the car for them to get in, “C’mon, we’ll get ice cream on our way back to your place, my treat,”

“Thank you, Calum,” She smiled, wiping away the packed tears before they had a chance to fall, taking in a deep shaky breath as she attempted to pull herself together, “For everything,”

“Anything for you, Eloise,” He whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder she would float away with the light breeze, gently reaching down and reconnecting their hands, lifting hers to his lips as he placed a soft kiss to her knuckles, “Absolutely anything.”

*****

11 Days Left

Eloise felt as though she was suffocating, the air around her thick with tension as she watched Scott from the corner of her eye. He had arrived just less than an hour ago, walking in with a pizza in his hand, claiming to be splashing the cash as an early celebration for her hard work.

Every time she looked at Scott, she was reminded of the lies she was living, the lies she was trapping him with, and the guilt was eating her alive, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. As much as her natural instinct would be to warn him of an upcoming ambush, she knew this time it had gone too far, and she couldn’t save him like she so desperately wanted to.

“I had a dream last night,” Eloise spoke quietly, almost sounding as if she was talking to herself, head leaning back as her eyes met with the ceiling briefly, “We were kids again, we must have been six or seven, and we were sitting in a field, just the two of us,” The corners of her mouth upturned, her teeth gently nipping on the inside of her lip, her voice continuing, “I was freaking out, panicking about what we were doing and you kept telling me to calm down, assuring me that we would be alright, you said that you’d make sure they would take care of us,”

Scott’s eyes caught Eloise’s as she looked in his direction, her back resting against the armrest of the couch, “Who were ‘they’?” Scott queried; eyebrows furrowed in question.

“I’ve got no idea,” She said with a breathy chuckle, shaking her head lightly as she reached forward to close over the empty pizza box that lay spread out on the coffee table, the cold stench of tomato and cheese making Eloise feel slightly queasy, before she added, “A monster? Or maybe someone we knew?”

“There’s plenty of monsters around this city,” Scott’s voice almost went unheard, the comment barely audible over the low volume of the TV. But fortunately for Eloise, she heard it loud and clear.

Scott’s words held a lot of truth in them; more truth than most would like to admit, the truth that fell deaf at many people’s ears. They had always been told as kids that monsters weren’t real, that they were figments of their own imaginations, a simple phase they would grow out of. But Eloise never grew out of it, her eyes finding them everywhere she turned. And now, to her own terror, she waited for her best friend to take that final form.

“Can I ask you something?” Eloise rolled her lips into her mouth, taking Scott’s hum as a response, taking a small breath before she continued, hoping he wouldn’t mind her bringing up past events, “Have you spoken to Seth recently? It’s just that you’ve been quiet the past few days, and I know what yesterday was, and I also know he usually crawls out of his hole around this time of year, so I just wanted to- “

“He’s not reached out to me if that’s what you’re wondering,” Scott pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly as he stared straight ahead at the scene playing on the TV screen. It wasn’t until earlier that day that Eloise had pieced together why Scott had been so distant lately, cursing herself for nearly forgetting what had happened all those years ago.

How could she nearly forget? She had a reminder of what happened on that day nearly four years ago permanently etched on her leg; the scar on her thigh never having properly healed, the textured skin serving as a reminder to not only her, but to Scott about what happened that day. And it was all down to a stupid idea made by him and someone he thought to be his friend.

They were 17; young, juvenile, and eager.

They all wanted to be recognised as key members of the Gypsy Kings; fed up and tired of being treated like the kids they didn’t believe themselves to be. They wanted to establish to the older men of the gang that they were ready to take their places in their society.

Eloise, Scott, Ben, Seth, and Gabriel had all piled themselves in Seth’s car one night, driving into the southside of Brooklyn, heading for Wiley’s mattress factory after hearing rumours of illegal liquor being stored in the basement. Scott and Seth had been talking to snitches across the city, pretending to be working for the higher members of the gang to retrieve information on any activity they could attempt to ransack. And boy, when they heard about the Moonshine, it was like they had just woken up on Christmas Day.

They had planned to sneak into the factory, having worked out their entry route as well as their exact strategy: fill a few bags with some bottles of the Moonshine, sell it off to clients that Ben had sniffed out with Eloise’s help, and prove themselves to those who doubted them.

But they had one flaw in their plan; they didn’t take into consideration that there would be any security. Their inexperienced minds had assumed that the factory would be empty, as if they could walk straight in and straight out with bags full of the strong liquor without any struggle. As genius as they thought their plan was, it was only proven to be the complete opposite from the minute they got inside that factory.

Their venture into the factory had gone smoothly, remaining undetected as they snuck into the basement, discovering the underground distillery along with the crates packed with bottles and jars of the spirit. They thought had hit the jackpot, obnoxiously throwing high-fives around as they crammed as much Moonshine into their bags as they could fit and still be able to carry.

Seth was smugger than any of them, claiming that he knew they’d win big with his idea to break into the factory, although they all knew it was him and Scott combined who discovered the rumours of the illegal distillery. Seth was the reason why it all went wrong, getting too ahead of himself and getting too excited, his voice was too loud in the quiet building, and no matter how many times they all told him to be quiet, he didn’t listen.

They had managed to sneak back up into the main foyer of the factory, spotting the door they had entered through, the heavy panel still open ajar so the glint of orange from the streetlamp outside could be seen in the distance. Ben had sent everyone out in front of him, his natural polite nature being what got him killed.

No – them being there is what got Ben killed.

They were nearly out of the factory, Scott’s hands just centimetres from the door before a shout broke their attention, eyes darting across the room to see a tall, thin, wrinkly man pacing towards them, gun in hand with their young bodies as targets. Ben had pushed Eloise forward, telling them to run, but it was too late for him.

Scott thrust the door open and practically threw himself out of it, feet moving out of the doorway as Seth followed hot on his tail, but Eloise had remained frozen in place as she watched Ben’s body fall to the ground as the sound of a gunshot echoed within the factory. Her eyes burned into the hole that branded itself into his back, the dark crimson colour painting his back almost unnoticeable due to the lack of light in the room.

Eloise could still make out Wiley’s eyes in the darkness, she swore she could see red in his irises as nothing, but rage and pure animalistic tendencies coursed through them. Scott had shouted for Eloise to run but she couldn’t hear him, the murderous gunshot echoing in her ears as her eyes became scarred with the sight of the body of the young boy who she had grown fond of.

She hadn’t realised she was moving until Scott grabbed her hand, almost ripping her arm out of the socket as he hauled her out of the building, a second gunshot being heard before a piercing yell from Eloise as her hand reached down for her leg as she tried to run. The pain of the piercing bullet in her thigh was nothing like she had ever felt before, it momentarily distracting her from the death she had just witnessed.

Scott had ended up carrying her back to Seth’s car, her mind not even registering Gabriel who had taken Scott’s place in the front seat as Seth started the car and raced back to their hideout, breaking every red light and stop sign that he came across in the early hours of the morning.

“What about Ben?” Her voice was quiet, throat dry as she blinked rapidly, trying to keep her eyes open although the urge to sleep was becoming too strong.

Scott had removed his belt from his jeans, tying it around her leg as an attempt to the try and stop the bleeding, using his hoodie as a gauze to keep pressure on the world, panicked and with a shake of his head, he said, “It’s too late, El. He’s gone,”

The last thing she remembered before she passed out was the heartache in Scott’s voice; at his words in regard to Ben but also to Eloise as he tried to call out to her, telling her to keep her eyes open and stay awake for him.

She woke up a while later, unsure of how long she had been out for, the tapestry pinned the ceiling above her head capturing her attention when she first opened her eyes, silently telling her who’s home she was in. Of course, she had been brought there.

“She’s awake,” A voice called out; older, yet familiar.

Brown eyes looked to her right, to which she found Han stood by her side, his eyes looking towards the doorway of the bedroom she was laying in. Faint footsteps got louder before two familiar bodies were stood in the doorway; faces etched with guilt and grief as they prepared themselves for the verbal abuse they would receive because of their actions, as if they hadn’t suffered enough.

“I agreed I wouldn’t ask what happened until she was awake,” Han’s voice spoke, arms crossing against his chest as he stood firmly, shoulders tense as he frowned at the two boys, “So, now you better start talkin’,”

Eloise’s eyes met with Scott’s golden ones, a gentle smile spreading across her face at the sight of her best friend, unable to ignore the way her heart hurt at the emotional turmoil he appeared to be in. She remembered almost instantly what had happened, the memories of the factory unfolding in her mind like a movie scene; the sight of Ben’s body collapsing and the gunshot prominent in her vision. She noted of Gabriel seemed to share a similar expression, except he looked to be more uncomfortable rather than upset. It’s not like it was his idea to go and hit that factory, Seth had pressured him into it. Speaking of Seth, where was he?

Gabriel looked as if he was about to speak, about to tell Han what had happened before Scott cut in, “It was all my idea; I thought it would be really cool if we were to try and prove ourselves to you guys by cashing in. I wanted to prove that we weren’t just kids and that we were ready for the big stuff like you guys were at our age,” Scott looked to be embarrassed, almost irritated actually as he claimed the blame for why they were in their current position, “So, we snuck into Wiley’s, tried to steal a couple of bottles of the Moonshine I heard he had been cooking up in his basement. I figured we could sell it on and bring the profits to the hideout… But all I managed to do was get two of my friends shot,”

Han’s sigh was nothing but full of disappointment, his exhale was heavy as he rubbed a hand over his face and looked at Scott, who’s eyes were planted firmly on his feet, unable to keep eye contact with anyone within the room.

It wasn’t the first time Han had been woken up at four in the morning, being asked if he can help someone who was injured. He just never expected for the victim of his next bullet extraction to be the girl who he had promised her dad he would look out for if anything were to happen.

Han’s throat worked, slowly swallowing a frustrated lump as he shook his head, pointing to Scott with an accusing finger, “Just be thankful it was only one life you lost last night. The bullet was only in her leg, and thankfully for your own sake, it didn’t hit anything critical, so she’s gonna be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected,” Han practically cursed himself at the thought of this being any worse than what it was, unsure of what he would do if it had been a wound to her chest or worse, “It’s just gonna take her a few days to be up and walking again, it’s gonna be a bitch of a recovery to get through,”

“I’ll stay with her until she’s ready to move,” Scott stepped forward, nodding his head at Han.

“She’ll be staying here until then, I’ll be keeping an eye on her and making sure it stays clean,” Han packed away the bloody rags that were on the floor, tossing them into his slow burner that sat in the corner of his living room, his eyes watching the sight of the rags beginning to catch the flames as they burned vigorously.

“That’s fine, but like I said, I’m staying with her. It’s my fault this happened, so it’s my responsibility.”

“You never left my side the entire time I was stuck at Han’s place,” She scoffed with a smile at the memory, “It doesn’t surprise me that Han stopped calling in sick for us with the school,”

And it was true, Scott never once went home the entire time that Eloise’s leg was healing. He practically lived at Han’s with her during that time. He felt guilty for what had happened, and he nominated himself to take full responsibility for the factory incident since Seth ran off the minute that he dropped them outside Han’s front door, driving off down the road to never been seen again.

They still didn’t know where he had gone or if he was even alive. Seth had chosen to run away from the gang after Ben died, walking away from any sole responsibility for the death of a teenager and the injury that left Eloise physically scarred. Scott had taken the blame for what happened because at the time he still felt like Seth was his friend, and he didn’t realise that when Seth drove away that night it would be the last time they saw or spoke to each other.

Eventually the truth had come out about how the plan to raid Wiley’s was a joint effort, but it didn’t make things any easier for Scott to cope with.

They never got a chance to bury Ben’s body, nor did his own parents have a chance to say their goodbyes. They received the news of their son’s death via the Gypsy Kings, something that Scott will never be able to erase; never forgetting the sight of his mother breaking down as she heard the news that her son wouldn’t be coming home.

Scott had decided from that day on to pay homage to Ben, wanting to show that he was being remembered by those who cared about him. So, every year on the day of Ben’s death, Scott would travel to Manhattan, to Ben’s parents’ house where he would lay a single red rose on their doorstep and walk away, paying a silent tribute to the boy who had a secret love for flowers and everything nature related; a small secret that only those close to him knew.

It was the death of Ben that sparked Scott’s ignorance when it came to people’s feelings, why he never let himself get attached to anyone new. After he experienced the pain of when Ben left him, only being accompanied by the abandonment his parents left him with – though they thought they were protecting him – once his mother got caught up in her own scandals, Scott decided to distance himself from people, allowing himself to use them for his piece of fun and nothing more.

Throughout everything, Scott and Eloise only ever had each other for long enough. They both had no real family to take care of them; both having left them although in different circumstances. It was from day Eloise had started walking again, leg slowly healing, that they decided they were in it together for the long haul. They had sworn to be brother and sister to each other until they died, always being there for one another when needed.

The memories of how they were before hurt Eloise to think about; looking back and seeing how quickly he was willing to sell himself out to protect someone who he thought was a friend, and how determined he was to sleep by her side while her leg healed, never hesitating or complaining when she woke up in the middle of the night and needed help getting to the bathroom or if she needed something as small as a drink of water.

But when she looked at Scott as she sat opposite him, his floppy curls pointed in all directions, face solemn as he stared out of the window, dark bags beneath his eyes, she couldn’t help but feel as though that something had changed. As much as she did genuinely enjoy his company; she could see their connection had a crack in it. Typical nights in where they would be clutching their stomachs in laughter or racing through the apartment as they play-fought like they were kids again were nothing but a distant memory being replaced with the latest reality of less smiles between them and added tension as Scott’s focus seemed to be elsewhere, as if he had better things to do other than spend time with the girl who had he practically grown up with.

The promise they made to each other is one she’d never be able to forget, no matter how hard she tried. It was a stupid pinkie promise they made on that day that had unintentionally become the glue between them and sadly she felt as though it was drying out and they were breaking off. It pained her to know what was silently happening between them, knowing it would only become clearer when she broke that promise, betraying one of the most important men in her life – or at least that’s what he used to be. It was painful, immensely, but she knew she had to follow through with it. It was for the sake of the city they called home, as well as his own good, and like Calum said, if he were truly her best friend then he would come to forgive her, surely not?

It was a risk she had to take. She had to break everything she had grown to know, unable to stand aside and watch as those around her destroyed themselves as well as innocent people.

“Brother and sister until we die. Bullets, friends, and relationships will never separate us. We’ll always have each other, we’ll always fight for each other, we’ll always love each other no matter what.”

---

Tag List: @steviemae @elsysoza @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23

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inforapound · 4 years

Text

Ease The Dawn Pt.2 Chapter 5

A/N - Thank you for reading and for all of your encouragement.

Warnings - slight angst

Words - 2,800

The slaves were shuffled through the hall doors and forced to stand in a line for inspection. The worried eyes of the disheveled bunch scanned about the hall, nervously assessing their new home. Their eyes seemed to search for evidence, anything, that might provide insight into the next stage of their torment. Would it be better or worse from anywhere else but more importantly, most wondered, would they survive?

The threatening orders of a wiry man with a scruffy, yellowing beard jostled their attention back to Aethelswith. Waiting, she stood at the base of the stairs in front of the thrones. Despising the entire process, she held back a grimace as she walked toward them. The fear and uncertainty in their eyes made her feel ill, as did the smell of the grimy little man peddling their flesh. There was nothing about people being tethered like animals that would ever feel acceptable but she had been tasked with finding more slaves for the hall.

Behind her, leaning on the arm of his throne, Ivar had already found the petite woman with hair so fair it shone nearly white. Not quite as small as Aethelswith, she possessed all the characteristics of a Viking. Straight nose and deep blue eyes with her uncut, long hair braided down one side of her face. Her hands looked unworked and Ivar noticed that her plain beige dress remained untattered with no signs of the filth on her fair skin that covered the others in line.

The man clutched the girl's upper arm and pulled her forward for Aethelswith to appraise.

"This is the girl you spoke of? Who speaks my language?" Aethelswith asked, waiting for the translator to finish relaying her words.

"Yes," came the reply.

The slaver rasped on in Norse, looking like he was taking great care to speak as politely as someone like him could.

"This one worked as a slave to the wife of Jarl Henriksson," the translator continued. "His wife was Saxon, like you my queen."

Not correcting the translator, she was unsure if the error in her title had been his or the slaver's. She did not want to engage any more than necessary and would never deny being queen with Ivar perched above, surveying them all.

"What is your name?" Aethelswith asked the pretty girl with the slight smile.

Dipping her head, she bowed. "Freydis, my Lady."

—-

Believing that Ivar would be first to lose his resolve had been a mistake. Sitting alone in their chambre, Aethelswith was haunted by his ultimatum, not at all the iron force behind the standoff. He was distancing himself and it wounded her deeply, forcing her eyes open to the strength of their enmeshment. Ivar, had always being the one urgent to make love, and it had been a distraction from her own need for him.

For two weeks since his return from England, she had endured his punishment. Surviving only on the two chaste kisses he gave her each day; before leaving their chambre in the morning and when the candles were blown out at night and his lips never lingered. What a brilliant strategist her beloved was.

Sitting at her desk now, in their guarded room, she rested her elbows on their worktable, missing for his affection. To his men, the thralls or visitors in the hall, his behaviour would have seemed unchanged. Still attentive and protective, always holding her hand when sitting side by side on their thrones. Yet, she could feel the space in every exchange, his thumb no longer stroked circles on the back of her hand and he rarely made eye contact.

It had been some time since he had asked about her day or what she was learning in her lessons. He had stopped altogether asking her opinion on various matters regarding the city. Before this draw, Ivar was compulsive about knowing what was on her mind. Persistently asking what she was thinking. At times, his questions made her brain feel scrubbed as if she had just been interrogated. She always answered with patience as she understood it was beyond his control. He agonized when they were apart, and despite her assurance, she knew deep down, he feared she would one day leave.

Through this process of standing their ground, what ate her alive more than anything, was how bright his smile was when she entered a room only for realization to strike and the brightness to fade. As if his adoration was a flame being snuffed out by his ultimatum.

When the sun would set and night would come, he would lie in bed and pretend not to miss her. If it had not been so sad, she would have laughed as Ivar was not a man who could feign indifference. His mood was as loud as thunder.

Keeping to his side of the bed, he would look up into the darkness and the silence would ring in her ears, only broken by his uttering a quiet goodnight. She felt alone, more so than when she had been, all those weeks, on her own.

Refusing to turn her back to him, she would sleep on her side, curled up like a child. As always, stretch her cold feet forward, slipping one under his lower back and resting the other on his stomach. Despite the impasse, she was grateful that he would still take her foot is his strong, warm hand, holding it, as he always had, while they drifted off to sleep.

But still.... it had been six weeks since they last made love and each night, she had to stop herself from crawling to his side. There was little point unless she was ready to acquiesce and she was not. Could not. What would their life look like if he would not value the few things she held dear.

Adjusting in her chair, she forced her jaw to unclench and picked up a smooth piece of charcoal. It was early afternoon and she had not yet seen her king,; some meeting regarding the wall had forced him up early and he had slipped out without waking her. She prayed this was not be a new habit.

Having no interest in eating in the hall alone, she requested a tray to be brought to their chambre. Not outright disliking her new thrall, she was yet to warm to her. Regardless, Freydis' sweet smile and tray of honeyed oats and mixed fruit, along with her customary cup of milk were welcome on that lonesome day. The fair-haired girl always arrived with a bright face and a fresh vase of white flowers. She was a nosey little thing, always asking questions and sharing her many observations on the weather and the comings and goings of people in the hall.

Rolling the charcoal in her hand, the pads of her fingers grew dark with soot. She had missed the feel of it against her skin having barely sketched since arriving. Instead, she preferred being out in the market or practicing Norse with Brana, often while picking berries or strolling down the shoreline. Armoured men with blades ready always tailing them not far behind. Brana, aside from Ivar, was her anchor and the truest friend she had ever had.

Always, at the start of each week, she visited Gussr and his wife Nanna. Gussr had aged terribly in the time since England, barely mobile and never properly healing from his injuries of that morning. Nanna possessed the same spirit has him; patient, warm and always delighted by her presence. Aethelswith would often bring them small gifts and sweets or sought-after supplies that they would have never spent what little money they had on. She loved them dearly and knew they felt the same. In the camp, Gussr had been her chaperone but became so much more, showing her compassion and support with the slightest of smiles and a paternal ease that allowed them to sit in comfortable silence for hours. Days. Weeks. Months. At the time, she knew that had Ivar decided to harm her, no one could have stopped him but the fact that Gussr would have wanted to brought her comfort. Now they shared a connection that could never be severed.

The remaining hours of the day Aethelswith spent at Ivar's side, in their chairs in the great hall, while he heard and settled town disputes. As of late, he was closing the doors turning away those who had arrived to complain.

Looking down at her blank parchment, she searched her mind for inspiration, but all was dark besides images of him; his lips on the skin of her throat or taking her nipple in his mouth, his hands running up her thighs and squeezing her behind, grinding her down on top of him. His beautiful face looking up at her, his gaze teaming with love. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back allowing the warmth of her thoughts to roll up her spine. With a frustrated sigh, she rose from her chair and walked toward the door. Enough was enough, she was going to find her king.

—

The training grounds were nearly empty and the sun was now less intense but the feast was still many hours away. Standing just into the clearing, she watched Hvitserk spar with another man she did not know the name of. He was a regular in the hall but never talked with her or returned a passing smile. None of them did. They were either disgusted she was a Christian or feared the wrath of the king. Being no fool, she knew it was likely both.

Swaying and ducking, Hvitserk cut the air, tapping his opponent with the flat side of his blade. Spinning on a heel, rolling his torso, he dipped forward, avoiding contact with the other sword. Lean and strong, his movements were fluid, the most graceful fighter she had ever seen. She would offer him the compliment but felt her praise would be unwelcome or met with a cool remark. Why bother?

The sparing broke and Hvitserk turned in her direction, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Are you lost, princess?"

Fighting the urge to cringe, she smiled ignoring the condescension in his voice.

"I am looking for Ivar."

"I did not think you were here to see me."

Tilting her head to the side, she studied his green eyes. "Have I offended you?"

Startled by her question, Hvitserk's smirk faded. "No."

"A deaf man with no sight could detect your disdain," she looked at him evenly.

Sheathing his sword, he rested his hands on his hips, mouth open as if still deciding how to reply.

"It is your effect on my brother," he finally said. "This game you are playing, declaring yourself still married."

"That is between Ivar and me."

"Is it?" his eyebrows spiked. "Do you have any idea what he was like in England?" Running his hand over his pulled back hair, he glanced behind him before looking at her again. "He was crazed. He was a mad man. The death and torture he left in his wake." Shaking his head, he stared at her. "He slaughtered countless people. Slaughtered Aethelswith. Many were obviously telling the truth that they did not know the whereabouts of Burgred." He dropped the volume of his voice. "Look, seeing Christians cut down will never break my heart but this was....." he shook his head, "even his own men were doubting his sanity. Now that he feels rejected by you his cruelty grows with his need to prove himself. Save face as a king whose woman has yet to marry him. But...I see it in his eyes when he is with you. You make him feel like a God. A God!" Hvitserk repeated.

Squeezing her clenched hands, she could barely hear his words, imagining a blood-soaked Ivar terrorizing crowds of innocent people, rolling through villages on his chariot, with frenzied eyes and his mouth gaping wide, an ax high overhead, leaving behind only death. Closing her eyes, she shuddered, knowing what he said was the truth.

Stepping forward, Hvitserk bent down, grabbing his water skin off the ground. Looking at her, he took a long drink before corking it and tucking it under his arm.

"Ivar went to the barn with Loni to see how the new wheels were coming along for his chariot. Following, they were heading to the hall to check on the preparations. Finehair's fleet is already in the harbour and tonight Ivar will be receiving him for the first time as king."

Nodding, she kept her gaze down on the trampled grass.

Moving past her, he headed for the trail. "You be careful Aethelswith."

Spinning around, she spoke to his back. "Ivar would never hurt me."

"If you say so," he called back, not looking in her direction.

—-

Aethelswith entered the hall to find Ivar in his chair talking with Loni and another man she knew as Raud. They sat casually on the steps in front of him all nursing a horn of ale. Loni seemed to be recounting a story from battle as he whipped his arm through the air in an animated gesture as if delivering a fatal blow. Raud was smiling and nodding and Ivar drank from his cup, listing while staring at the floor.

As if sensing her arrival, he looked up to the large doors. Sweet recognition flickered in his eyes and he smiled before his face again turned sour and void of emotion. Regardless, she made her way toward him.

"Where are your guards!" he lashed out, his voice echoing through the hall.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she stood in place as if she was a commoner there for a reprimand. Cocking his head to one side, he squinted, unsure of her lack of reaction.

"I decided to walk up to the training grounds and did not want the fuss of an entourage."

"The training grounds? Through the forest? Aethelswith!" he barked. "Are you daft or just outright disregarding me now?" Squeezing his horn, he leaned forward in his chair. "I have told you to have at least two guards with you at all times!"

Raud looked away and Loni gazed into his own cup pretending not to notice the tension and silence filling the hall. With a neutral face, she stared back at him, never wavering despite the feeling of her insides being torn out.

He raised his finger and pointed at her.

"Do not ignore me again."

Continuing to hold his glare, she controlled her emotions. She knew this man and how to navigate his storms.

"I went looking for you," she said in a steady tone. All eyes were on her and she would not appear broken.

"You did?" Surprise sounded in his voice as he could not recall her ever seeking him out, never wanting to disturb his work.

"Yes, I felt an odd pain in my chest," she replied softly.

"Are you unwell? he straightened in his chair, his eyes looking sincere.

"It was a pang in my heart."

Leaning forward, Ivar's brow creased.

"I realized I was missing you," she smiled. "You left early this morning and I have not felt your kiss today."

Freezing for an instant, his expression melted and his lips pulled back into a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkled as he reached toward her.

"Aethelswith, come to me," he nearly whimpered.

Climbing the steps toward his outstretched hand, she could not help but mirror his expression. Loni and Raud rushed to clear the stairs making their way elsewhere.

Pulling her into his lap, Ivar wrapped his arms around her, bringing his face close to hers. Grabbing the cup from his hand, she took a deep drink of his mead turning his smile into a grin. Closing the small space between, he kissed her gently, delicately and with love. Pulling back to speak, she stopped looking at his sold face, eyes still closed as if he was savoring the feel of her mouth. Opening his eyes, tension crept back into his expression.

"My sweet," he kissed her one more time, "please do not leave the hall on your own. Tell me if you want to come and watch the training and I will take you up on my chariot." Pausing, he looked up into her light blue eyes. "I love you, Aethelswith. I react because of how important you are. I would die before I would allow anything to ever happen to you."

Placing her small hand on his chiseled cheek, she kissed him again, mewing at how she had missed his warm lips and the taste of ale on his tongue. As their kiss deepened, the description of Ivar's savagery flickered in her mind; blood and sharp teeth, ripped apart bodies rotting. Ivar's tongue swirling against hers was too great a distraction, his hot breath and needy hands pulling her harder to him. She should have been horrified and repulsed but his sweet mouth breathing her in, after so long, felt like heaven.

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