#everyone say beck you are so smart and capable and kind and not at all nearing the edge

[headaching]

the salaries at my job are public information so whenever i have a bad interaction with someone i immediately look up how much more money they make than me

[whumpinggrounds]

All Caught Up

woohoo here for day 1 of @whumptober2021 with some superhero/sidekick content :) as i’m sure you’ll figure out, this is for the barbed wire part of the prompt

tagging @whumpy-writings, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

CW: barbed wire, (duh), blood, field medicine, cuts, pain, crying, sidekick whump, environmental whump (kinda??)

The mission is going well, as far as August can tell. He’s been relegated to recon, which is a nice way of saying that he’s spending the night running circles around the action. Beck, ever the diplomatic leader, makes sure to talk up the importance of it, emphasize how August is keeping them safe by watching everyone’s back. August, young and green though he might be, is smart enough to know that it’s a little less dramatic than all that. At least he’s contributing, August tells himself. Mercer, his fellow trainee, is back at the compound with the medic girl, Valerie. Perhaps it’s only because August’s power is more useful, but he’d like to pretend it’s a little deeper than that.

By his fifteenth lap around their perimeter, August has to call his wishful thinking what it is. He’s not any more capable than Mercer, and certainly he’s less useful than Valerie. He’s just convenient for the current mission, which, by the way, he doesn’t even get to know about. After just a few minutes of the task, he has to admit what he’s really doing, which is running pointless circles around a warehouse in the dark, keeping his eyes open for anyone suspicious.

“What kind of suspicious person should I be looking for?” August had asked, overloaded on adrenaline as Beck and Donovan briefed him on the mission. Beck had nodded at the question, but Donovan had looked nothing short of disgusted.

“We’ll be at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night. Anyone shows up, they’re suspicious. Is that simple enough for you?”

After weeks of training with him, August was well used to Donovan’s digs, but hearing it in front of Beck made him flush like it was the first time. He ducked his head, cringing from the friendly pat Beck tried to land on his shoulder.

“Don’s just stressed,” Beck had explained with an apologetic smile. August had forced a smile. If that was true, Donovan’s spent the past several weeks stressed, every minute of every day.

The memory of the conversation cheers August, just a little. It reminds him that he’s out here, jogging easy laps around the warehouse, instead of inside, within range of Donovan’s caustic comments. At a steady, sustainable lope, August cuts through the clear, slightly cool night air like a knife. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, including a mask pulled down over his face that hides his spiky, strawberry blonde hair. When he first dressed out like this, August had been tempted to ask what would happen if someone thought he looked suspicious, skipping around dressed completely in black. Before he got the words out, though, he imagined Donovan’s withering response, and Beck’s awkward pity. August decided it was better just to keep his mouth shut. Now he focuses on watching the world around him, scanning alleyways and empty roads in widening circles. It’s easy, meditative, the most familiar motion August knows.

Around him, the night is thick and silent. His footsteps echo down quiet streets, only the sound of buzzing streetlights and distant sirens there to keep him company. Of all the sketchy parts of the city, August wouldn’t have picked the warehouse district for a criminal hotspot – most of these places are legitimate shipping contract, complete with a rent-a-cops posted outside their chain link fencing. This building is on the edge, though. August examines it on his closer loops, trying to glean from the outside what must be going on within. He has a lot to learn, and it’ll take him twice as long if Donovan and Beck won’t explain things to him outright.

They’ve been in the area almost an hour when a new noise makes August’s ears prick up. Something rattles in one of the side streets, a way that’s been empty the last three times August checked it. Tightening his circle, August trots toward the sound, not sure whether he should hope for a stray dog, or something a little more exciting.

As he draws closer, August tries to note the ways the alleyway might’ve changed, but he just hasn’t been paying enough attention in all this quiet. There’s a bottle, gleaming empty, in the center of the alley, which may not have been there before. Slowing to a walk, August scans both sides of the way carefully, making sure to check the window sconces above him. He gets to the street on the other side, ready to give up, when he sees him. Across the way, there’s a man watching him – dark clothes, shifty eyes. Their eyes lock, and August feels his heart rate pick up.

Before he can say anything or start to move, the other man is turning and running. Despite himself, a smile spreads across August’s face. Perfect.

Springing into action, August throws himself into the chase. After all the casual jogging, it feels so good to run – muscles firing at top speed, peak efficiency. The world blurs past his face as August’s legs pump beneath him, fine and strong. Fully confident in his abilities, August charges forward, fighting the urge to grin.

Up ahead, the stranger doesn’t look back. Presumably, he can hear August’s footsteps, catching up to him in leaps and bounds. The guy darts into a nearby building, dodging through dilapidated rooms, no doubt as a last-ditch attempt at evasion. Smirking, August tears after him.

The only thing that keeps the man out of August’s reach are the doorways and minor obstacles that block August’s path. He has to slow down to dodge, and the stranger pulls ahead again, fleeing out the back door a few precious yards before August. Growling, August hurls himself forward again, springing off the bottom steps of the house. He takes two massive strides and then –

And then August is on the ground, for seemingly no reason. Heart pumping hard, adrenaline surging through his veins, August tries to bounce back to his feet without even checking what might be wrong. That’s when the pain hits.

It’s stinging, at first, in his legs, and then a strange, metallic rattling sound. August lies still, brain still trying to catch up to what exactly is going on. Slowly, tentatively, he tries to separate one leg from the other, and then sucks in a breath as the tearing pain sharpens. Peering down, he whimpers as the source of his agony is revealed.

A bunch of old, rusty strands of barbed wire are wrapped around his legs. He must’ve run into them, almost full speed. If they were stapled to something before, his momentum must’ve carried him straight through, but it’s just as likely that the coils were just sitting there. Either way, the wire is now wrapped tight around his legs, digging in with every little motion he tries to use to escape.

Okay. Okay. August tries to keep his breathing level, but it’s hard. It’s getting shaky. Okay, he tells himself, just, just sit up-

But sitting up moves the wires, makes them tear at his skin in new and agonizing ways. Hissing through his teeth, August gives up for a second, lies panting on the ground like a landed fish. The weight on his legs makes the barbs dig in all the deeper. Whining, August pushes himself up on his elbows and, fighting pain, reaches back to try to pull the damn thing off. Every single motion makes the barbs dig deeper, rip and tear at August’s skin like they have teeth and independent, vicious will.

Despite his gritted teeth, his clenched fists, his desperate attempts to control himself, tears leak from August’s eyes. Angrily he swipes them away, panting through the waves of stinging pain, trying to think. He needs to…he needs to…he needs to get upright, so he can untangle himself.

The thought of standing, of all the maneuvering he’ll need to do, puts a sob in August’s throat. He just wants it to stop hurting. Adrenaline is draining from his system, leaving him with helpless, useless pain. August wants someone to come help him – but even if Donovan and Beck are out looking for him, he has no way of knowing when they’ll find him. Besides, he’s a full-on adult. He’s supposed to be a superhero. He’s supposed to help on this mission, not hinder. August needs to fix this himself.

Drawing in a long, unsteady breath, August steels himself, eyes closed. He can’t fix anything from his current position, facing the ground and unable to see just how bad the knotting is. Trying to stand is going to dig the barbs even deeper into his thighs and calves. Flipping over on his back will tangle him further in the loose strands of wire. There’s no good option, but he can’t just lie here on his face and let the barbs bury themselves in his skin, hoping someone finds him soon.

Gritting his teeth, August makes his move fast, giving himself no time to chicken out. Throwing his body to the side, he flips himself onto his back, dragging the strands of wire with him.

The pain is blinding. Either the wire is still attached to something, or its own weight resisted August’s move – whatever it is, the wire wrapped around his legs drags hard against August’s flesh. Caught off guard, August screams, a harsh, ragged sound that echoes loud into the night. He screams just once, and then bites down savagely on his cheek, pressing a fist to his mouth to muffle his sobs. Below the waist, his pants grow wet with blood.

Fuck. Fuck. It hurts so bad his body shakes with his tears. It hurts. Inside his head, August is wailing, but on the outside, all he can do is lie on the ground shaking, pressing his fist so hard against his teeth that his knuckles split and bleed.

Fuck. Fuck. Just breathe. He has to breathe. He has to breathe, and then he has to get it together, and then he has to fix this.

After a few minutes of regaining his composure, August sits up gingerly. In the dim glow of flickering streetlights, he looks at the mess wound tight around his legs. Just seeing it makes his stomach drop. He has no tools with him, nothing that could be used to cut spiky steel wire. August will have to sit here and peel each piece away from his skin by hand, even as tugging at one strand pulls another strand tighter.

It's going to be agony. But August doesn’t have another choice. Already, his pants are damp, and it won’t be long before a puddle starts to form. He can’t just sit here and weep until his mentors come to save him.

With one shaking finger, August tries to trace the wire, to figure out where and how to start. Eventually, he abandons that idea – he’s held by at least two, maybe three separate pieces of wire, and they’re all twisted together, a chaotic tangle that engulfs his legs in too many different places. Locking his jaw together and vowing that he won’t scream, August sets out to free himself.

It feels like it takes forever. A few times, August wishes dizzily to pass out from blood loss, or pain, but though the barbs cut deep, he’s not losing a dangerous amount of blood. The pain, rather than knocking him out, seems determined to keep him inescapably, unbearably present, aware of every little agony that razor wire can cause. Every shift, every tug, every careful little motion sends searing pain reverberating through his body.

Driven to distraction by the pain, by gritting his teeth and reducing his screams to grunts, August casts around him, finally landing on an old cardboard box collapsing in on itself nearby. With greedy fingers he hauls it to himself, folds it into a packet as thick as a wallet, and stuffs it in his mouth. Cringing from the taste of earth and mold and damp, August draws in a difficult breath around the mouthful and then attempts a particularly hard yank.

Head falling back, August yowls into his makeshift gag, biting down so hard he chokes on his trapped tongue. Coughing, crying, keening into the cardboard like a wounded animal, August works an especially tight strand away from his calves, not letting himself stop, no matter how painful or loud the going is.

When the loop is finally loose, August lets his teeth creak apart. His jaw aches from the clenching, and his teeth have worn deep, blurred impressions in the old cardboard. His hands are trembling, stained with blood from his legs and from where he’s cut his palms heaving at the wire entrapping him. Swiping a bloody hand across his mouth, August tries to get his breath back, all the while moaning, letting out little repetitive whimpering cries, like an animal caught in a trap and begging for aid. Distantly, he’s surprised at himself – he’s never heard these little pleading whines before and wouldn’t have thought it was something he would do. He’d always thought of himself as a yeller, before, someone who outright bellowed their pain. Tonight, he’s timid and pathetic as a child.

By the time Beck and Donovan find him, August is working on the last round of wire, surrounded by the bloody remnants of his prior successes. He’s too exhausted and pain-sick to focus on anything but freeing himself, so he isn’t alerted to the presence of the other supers until he hears Beck’s murmur. “Oh, fuck.” The leader sounds horrified, sick. “Oh, fuck, August, what happened?”

Too weary to have dignity, August just opens his mouth and lets the cardboard fall out, hands dropping to his sides and away from the barbed wire still stuck in his legs. “Saw som’n watchin’ the warehouse.” It’s been so long since he tried to talk that August isn’t sure why he’s slurring – maybe exhaustion, maybe the pain. Maybe because he’s been biting down so hard on cardboard his jaw feels like it won’t work right ever again. “Trieda chase ‘em. Didn’ see…didn’ see the wire.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Don’ know. Feels like…a long time.”

August looks up at Beck with total, hopeless, bottomless despair. Swallowing hard, Beck drops to his knees beside August, hand slipping down to his toolbelt. In seconds, he has a pair of wire cutters out and ready, and August feels hysterical laughter well within him at the thought of how easy this all would’ve been if only Beck had been around.

From another street floats a familiar, four note whistle. Beck replies in kind through his teeth as he brings the clippers to rest against the wire. August grits his teeth, steeling himself for the snap, the sudden retraction of the coils. Hesitating, Beck peers at him. “This…this could hurt.”

“’ve peeled…plen’y of it off m’self,” August grits out. “Jus’…hurry.” He drags in a shaky breath and wills himself to be brave. “…please.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, August remembers the cardboard too late. Without it, he lets an agonized grunt escape his lips as the wire cutters sever the last loop. Even the minute relaxation of his newly released legs is enough to jerk cruelly on the barbs embedded in his thighs. Fresh tears spring to his eyes beneath his mask, and August wonders wretchedly if Beck can see them.

If Beck does see his youngest trainee crying, he’s good enough not to say anything about it. When August peeks through slitted eyes, he sees his leader bent over the wire, focusing hard, drawing each barb out carefully and trying not to jostle as he does.

It hurts only a little less than August’s work on himself, but it’s over blessedly quick. When Beck finally sits back on his heels, August is left panting and bloody, but finally free. For a long moment he just sits there, leaning back on his elbows, trying to catch his breath. Opening his eyes, he discovers that sometime in the last few minutes, Donovan arrived, and is now staring at him, green eyes unreadable under his mask.

“August was trying to chase down a possible spy and ran into some razor wire.” Beck’s voice is low, distracted. “Maybe night vision goggles next time? Or-”

“Or the trainee learns not to run into shit like fences, walls, and goddamned barbed wire.”

“Don-”

“Can’t teach common fucking sense, Beck.” Donovan snorts. “Or maybe you can, but you shouldn’t waste your time.”

Letting his head drop, August bites his lip hard to avoid dissolving into tears. He’s tried so hard to be brave. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a wavery, exhausted whisper. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence from his two mentors. “Come on, Donovan.” Beck sounds tired. “He’s lost a fair amount of blood.”

Donovan just grunts, and crosses the courtyard, and scoops August up in an effortless bridal carry. He isn’t especially gentle, but he isn’t especially rough either, and he carries August, bloody and teary and exhausted, all the way home.

[mm2305]

Radiance

Book : The Elementalists

Pairings : Beckett Harrington x f!MC (Celeste Russell)

Words/rating : 1.7 K / teen +

Warnings : mention of death, injuries

Genre : romance, little bit of angst

Description : Hurt : a series about Beckett's thoughts during the times MC was hurt. Added scenes (non-canon).

Pt 1 : Radiance

A/N : Hello everyone I'm back with another fic, this time in a new book and characters. I loved "the elementalists" and this is how I came up with the idea of writing a series about Beckett's feelings/thoughts when mc was hurt/fighting. In this part we're at bk 1, during/after the battle with Raife. This will be a 2 part series, if I manage to write another part, but no promises on when it'll be ready. No beta so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!

Masterlist

The battle against Raife and the shadow creatures was full on, all Pend Pals fighting with everything they got to cause damage to Raife, catch him off guard, buy the twins some time. Yet, as Beckett was using his magick against a monster, restraining it, he couldn't help but look at Celeste, worried as he was about her well-being. 

With a single glance though, he was gone.

She was majestic. There was no other word to describe her. He was in awe of her radiance every single time. She evidently was a capable woman, moving rapidly around the room, casting spells automatically, jumping over obstacles, hands stretched out to incapacitate anything and anyone approaching her. Using her sword to cut through the shadows, fire in her eyes, her powerful presence palpable in the room, silently supporting, encouraging everyone to just keep going. 

That was something that always emitted from her, her radiance, something you could see, you could sense in her. Some would think it’s because of her attunement but Beckett knew it was all because that’s who she is, attunement or not,always shining as bright as the sun itself. 

She never gave up, not once. She learned about a whole new world and a whole new version of herself. She didn’t  back down. Instead she fought hard to reach her full potential. She excelled in everything and everyone could see it. She was attacked multiple times by creatures as dark and dangerous as the night, yet she always kept her head up. She fought against a madman once and she came back to do it again. To save her new-found sister, her friends, the world.

She was fierce yet gentle. Loving, friendly, funny. Beautiful and dashing. Smart and brilliant. Sarcastic and passionate.

She was forgiving. She forgave him, when he couldn’t forgive himself for being the cause for her to get hurt. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it did. With a smile and a soft hand on his cheek, looking straight into his eyes, she forgave him.

Celeste Russell was everything. 

And he wouldn't lose her. 

In that moment their eyes met for a second. Two pairs of eyes locked in a blazing gaze, two hearts thundering as one and two small smiles on their faces. At that brief moment, it was like they were the only people in the world. 

They realized they had another thing to be fighting for. One another. They would make it out of there alive. There was no other acceptable way. 

Drawing strength from that single look, they turned back to their opponents, their efforts doubled in determination to not give up. 

After a while though, even when things seemed to be turning in their favor, each member of the group was falling down. Raife was strong. Extremely strong. 

Beckett was the only one left standing, his muscles strained painfully, teeth clenched, sweat starting to drip down his furrowed brow, trying to suppress the chains from crashing onto him. He couldn't afford to lose, Celeste needed all the help she could get, he repeated to himself like a mantra. Yet, despite his efforts, he was feeling his magick wavering and she could see that too. She pleaded with him to keep going, but before she could give him a boost, the chains fell on him, pinning him to the floor, knocking the air out of his lungs. 

Celeste let out a desperate scream of agony, swearing that she would make Raife pay for everything he had done. Beckett could notice that she seemed on the verge of tears yet the fire in her eyes was so intense, that if possible, would burn through anyone who dared to look at them.

Everything was starting to become more and more blurry. He tried to keep his eyes open, because he knew that if he did not, it would be very difficult for him to do so again. 

He was catching glimpses from the fight between the twins and Raife and he was glad to see they had been going well for a little while. But the next time he looked at them, they were both restrained to some kind of platform. He willed his muscles to come to life and go help them, do something, anything, but the only thing he achieved was to intensify the pain, a small groan escaping his lips. 

Celeste looked his way sorrowfully and he tried as hard as he could, to fight the darkness and the incredible urge to close his eyes. 

The last thing he remembers before darkness enveloped him, was softly whispering "I'm sorry" and a pair of warm  brown orbs burning deep into his heart. 

-\- 

When he came around, his chest and body felt lighter and breathing had become easier. He could still feel pain all over his exhausted form but darkness wasn't creeping in on him. He realized someone was softly stroking his cheek, occasionally threading their fingers through his hair, whispering to him. He tried to focus on the voice and with a sudden burst of energy, he opened his eyes upon recognizing the voice. 

"Beckett?", she breathed, tears running down her face. 

It was the first time he was seeing her cry. Was it because of him? Or was she finally breaking down after everything that happened? Whatever the case, he found himself wanting,needing to soothe her, comfort her. 

"C-celeste… are… you a-alright ?", he asked her, his voice a bit hoarse from the dust around the room, lifting his hand to wipe the tears off the side of her face. 

She chuckled, leaning into his touch, breathing deeply and closing her eyes for a brief moment, as though savoring this feeling. 

" You're the only person I know who would be worried about me, when you're the one who was under a ton of chains. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?", she carefully checked him over searching for any visible injuries. 

"I'm exhausted and to be honest yes, my body aches all over but I'm okay I promise"

"Okay. But I'm keeping an eye on you, so tell me if you feel any pain, alright?"

Nodding, Beckett allowed his eyes to wander around the room, noticing the destruction in it. The room was full of rubble, pieces of what once was the roof, scattered everywhere, having coated everything in dust. 

"I'm guessing everything went well while I was out?", he started sitting up, leaning against the wall. 

Celeste wordlessly helped him up before she answered, resting her forehead on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. 

"Yes. Professor Swan came to help and it turns out she is a Blood-Att too, but she was defeated. Me and Atlas were… close to the end-" 

"What?! You-you almost…", he couldn't even utter the words. "Oh God... you could have… died and I…wouldn't have been able to do anything to stop him, to -" 

"Beckett! Hey… I'm alright now see? I'm here with you and I don't intend to leave you anytime soon."she said gently to him, putting her hands on his cheeks, reassuring him.

A moment passed before she continued.

" So when me and Atlas touched our hands saying goodbye, we had a burst of refractionary magick. I… ended him Beckett. I did it myself. I don't regret it, but that makes me wonder... Does that make me a bad person? ", she looked up at him worried. 

He turned to her, his earnest gaze reaching deep into her soul. "Celeste. Look at me and listen carefully. You could never be a bad person. Honestly you are the most compassionate , brave and kind woman I have ever met. Please don't doubt yourself, ever. He deserved everything he got and more for all the things he did to you and so many other people."

"Really?"

"Really."

Celeste sighed in relief, nestling deeper into his side. "Thank you Beck. You always know what you say to make all my worries fade away."

Wrapping his arms around her, Beckett rested his cheek on her head, kissing her hair. "Anytime. How is everyone doing?" 

"They are going to be okay. When we finished with Raife we were unconscious for a bit. When I woke up, professor Kontos and Aster were here taking everyone through some kind of portals. They were all unconscious but fine. I… stayed with you for a bit trying to wake you up and I was going to call them because you weren't coming around but then you did so… "

"Ah thank goodness we're all fine.", he exclaimed, relieved, his head falling back onto the wall behind him. 

"I knew you were a softie for Pend Pals!"

They both laughed softly, glad to have survived this relatively well. 

"Beckett?", Celeste broke the comfortable silence that had settled over them. 

"Hmm?" 

"I'm… very glad you're okay. When you fell unconscious… I was worried you'd never wake up again…and then you weren't responding and… I can't lose you Beck, I just can't. Not you", Celeste let out an involuntary sob, her arms tightening around him. 

"Oh Celeste… it's okay, I'm okay… I'm here sweetheart…I'm not leaving you... ", he whispered in her ear, rubbing her back in soothing cycles, his heart breaking at the sight of her crying. 

She took a deep breath and looked at him with a vulnerability that he rarely saw in her. "Will you promise me something?" 

" Anything." 

"Don't scare me like that again. Ever. Please.", she said, her voice breaking again at the end, the sobs wreaking through her body. 

Beckett tightened his hold around her pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks and finally on her lips,silently promising her to do anything she asked from him. 

The kiss started slow and gentle, but quickly turned passionate,both of them trying to pour all their emotions into the kiss. Celeste wrapped her arms around his neck pressing herself closer to him, deepening the kiss, almost desperate to feel that this was real, that he was okay. Beckett let her do as she pleased with him, happy and relieved to have her in his embrace,breathing in her natural vanilla smell, his hands roaming across her body, bringing her closer to him,losing himself in her.

They parted away from each other, giggling, upon hearing Aster's worried voice calling for them. 

"Celeste? Did Beckett wake up?" 

"Yes Aster we're here!" 

She kissed him again briefly, helping him get up and linked their hands together, her bright smile back on her face. 

"Let's go home, shall we?" 

Beckett grinning back at her, allowed her to lead him towards Aster, ready for the next chapter in their lives at Penderghast.

-/-

A/N : thank you for reading this! Every single like, comment and reblog is appreciated! ❤️

The elementalists taglist : @gryffindordaughterofathena @starryeyedrookie @theclassycandy @miss-smrxtiee @itsjustwinter @strangelycami

+ @choicesficwriterscreations

[enkelimagnus]

Words We Stole from the Night

A Caleb/Astrid story, a roleplaying thread between @brunetta6 and I

4849 words, Rated M, Warnings for Abuse, Murder Plotting and everything that comes with Trent Ikithon and the Volstrucker.

Read on AO3

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

The house across from Claykeep Prison was as decrepit as ever.

The paint of the door was even more chipped than she remembered. Signs of the time that had passed were scarred deep into the walls, into the roof, into everything Astrid saw. Vigil’s Circle was always bustling and passing people and the passing war had clawed and burned its marks into the sanctuary.

She hadn’t been there in a while. The last time had been when she’d first heard the Mighty Nein were in Rexxentrum. She’d stood on the roof where she’d spent so many hours and nights staring at the prison, and she’d waited. He hadn’t come. She really hadn’t expected him to, but she’d waited, just in case.

It felt ridiculous now, watching the sun come up on the major places of law and judgement of the Empire, now that she knew what it was like to be executioner for a corrupted judge and no jury. It felt ridiculous to stare at it the way she had in secret as a child.

And now she was back. She climbed up the side of the house, feet finding where she’d scaled many times before. She was steadier than before. Shakier too. But differently, she guessed.

She sat on the edge of the roof and waited. The night was dark, but Rexxentrum was alight. No one would see her here. No one who didn’t know what to look for.

Then, a soft, accented voice called out — just barely loud enough for Astrid to hear.

“It’s hard to forget this place,” Caleb murmured.

Astrid turned instinctually to see a familiar face. His deep-set eyes were obscured with shadow, that light of brilliance and hunger the only thing that survived the dark. His red hair was loose and dirty, falling around his shoulders, and a dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. If some unwitting peasant had seen him, they might have mistaken him as some kind of spirit.

It was, as always, hard to see him.

Astrid always forgot that over a decade had passed. Her mind kept bringing up the image of the Bren she'd known. And then, their paths crossed for a moment, and she saw him, and she remembered that he wasn't Bren, that he was Caleb, that they were 30, that they were broken, that there was a wall the size of a mountain between them and that it was unscalable.

"You're here," she said softly. "You really are?" She hadn't wanted for it to come out as a question, but it was, and she was so tired. So she didn't hide it.

“I was about to ask you the same question...” Caleb whispered hoarsely.

Astrid huffed lightly, humorless.

He watched her for a long moment. For anything. A twitch of movement. Something to show him she was real.

Caleb bowed his head, swallowed thickly, and turned his eyes back to the prison.

There was a lot to say. Years apart, and then the last few months and what it had brought. Him back to her. And... her plans changing, shoved out of their course by eyes too blue and too familiar and too haunting. She reached up to her neck. The burns had long past healed. It had been over 15 years.

"I'm here," she nodded. She looked up at him briefly, before turning back to the view of the prison. "I've seen the inside of it many times now. Claykeep." She pointed out. "It's nothing like we used to wonder.”

“I suppose you will be visiting me there soon,” Caleb murmured, his voice rough and wasted. “At some point.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, looking up at him again. "Are you planning to give yourself in?" She asked quietly.

“No,” Caleb murmured. “But I am not foolish enough to believe I can run from him forever. Or from you... Not anymore.”

Astrid shook her head. "Prison is never going to be for you. Not this one anyway." She didn't hide the bitterness in her voice.

“No. No, it will not...” Caleb whispered, eyes locked on the distant building. “But it would make a brilliant torch, would it not? Standing against the sky this way, as it does...”

Astrid closed her eyes for a second. "Burn it all to the ground. It's already covered in ash anyway." She exhaled. "Why are you in Rexxentrum, Br... Caleb?"

She was happy to see him. Happier than she'd been in for so long. It was almost overwhelming. She didn’t know how to express it exactly.

“We did what we needed to do in the wastes of Eiselcross,” Caleb explained. “The others are safe. I told them I needed a break... so we agreed. Split up. Meet again.”

Astrid nodded at that. "And you came here, of all places." She pointed out. "On this roof, at this time."

Had he hoped she would be there? Or did he just want to reminisce about the past and stare at the future, or some iteration of it?

"I'm glad they're safe."

“Are you?”

"You love them," Astrid shrugged. "They love you." She didn't want him to be alone. He had a family now. She didn't want them to leave him.

Caleb took an unsteady breath, eyes wavering, his own sore heart threatening to crack. Do you? he wanted to ask. But he couldn’t ask. He wasn’t sure if he could survive the answer, one way or another.

They sat and stood there for a long time, watching the lines of the prison stand resolutely.

Finally, Caleb broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking,” he murmured quietly. “About if I were in your position, and you in mine.”

It was hard to imagine being in Caleb's position. Being free. Having a family. Loving people. Astrid would rather not try to think of it. It was too hard. Too difficult. It made something hard and suffocating wrap around her chest.

"And what did that thinking lead to?"

“It made me hope a little more... that I might convince you to come with me. To leave your dark purpose behind.”

Astrid looked up at him with wide eyes. "My dark purpose?" She watched him, a little bewildered. "What do you think that is, exactly?"

“A self-inflicted destiny,” Caleb whispered, still not looking at her. Those eyes were burning, smoldering with redirected hate towards the distant Candles. “A desire for power that you were born with, but caged by him . Told that you’re only good for one thing. Supplanting him feels like the only answer, but it’s not, Astrid.”

"Then what else is there?" Astrid snapped, sudden anger rising inside of her. He thought he understood but he didn't. He'd escaped. "Someone has to do it. Someone has to supplant him. I'm perfect for it. I'm the only one who can do it properly."

“He will never choose you, Astrid.”

"You're foolish if you think I'm giving him a choice." She snarled back.

Caleb finally looked at her, but the hatred was gone. His shoulders were heavy with sheer exhaustion. “And what will you ‘do properly?’” he asked hollowly. “What will change?”

Astrid hummed. "I've never been good enough for him. He doesn't consider me even capable of having thoughts for myself, let alone anything more complex than that." She muttered. "I've spent the last.... fifteen years with weekly reminders that I was nothing compared to what you were. The longer it went on, the clearer it became that he didn't see me... And he gave me to the Academy, and to the recruits and to.... When he's dead, I will protect these fucking kids."

“You’re better than me in many ways, Astrid.”

"I'm not," Astrid shook her head. "I'm not. But... Two years ago, there was this kid... Brand new recruit. Wide-eyed, fresh out of the middle of fucking nowhere... And I'd been... asking the questions. You know the ones. Where are you from, do you have family. Will anyone fucking miss you if you disappear." She swallowed. "And there... this girl. Red haired, brown eyed, full of freckles. With eyes like she wanted to gulp down everything she could. Like you. I asked her the questions. And she said..." Astrid closed her eyes. "Blumenthal."

Caleb closed his eyes too. Bowed his head, as if praying at a funeral.

“...And what happened to her?”

Astrid looked down at the ground for a moment, letting vertigo take her.

"The report in her Academy file says she's unsuited for the specialized study courses."

“What. Happened.”

"I lied on the report." Astrid whispered, knowing the admission could be her end. "She's safe."

“Good,” Caleb hissed. Burning blue eyes locked on her. “That is step one. But what happens now?”

"For her?" Astrid hummed. "She's studying. She's brilliant, but she's made friends now. She's integrated. She's out of his reach." She explained. "I'm keeping an eye on her, but I can't... I can't be close. Ever."

“And nothing has changed,” Caleb whispered, softer now. “You lied for one girl. But you cannot do that forever. He will expect things of you. If you take his seat, they will expect things of you, Astrid. The pressure will not vanish when you become an Archmage. They kept him on for a reason. They will expect an elite force to keep the peace. How will you satiate that need when he is gone? You cannot take volunteers— there is no protection. No safety. Only illusion. You have to see that, don’t you...?”

"And what then? I will not do nothing. If I can save one, it's already that. Two. Maybe more if I'm smart enough, if I'm strong enough, if I stay the pathetic, not good enough girl he thinks I am," Astrid shrugged. "I can't lie for them all, and I can't undo a lot, and I know they will desire results but I'd rather be fighting them for the rest of my life, no matter how short, than do nothing. I'm tired of that."

She sighed deeply. "She's 17 now," she explained. "But then... when she started, she was only 15. And she was from Blumenthal. And I almost, almost asked her what our names meant now. What had happened to the names Beck, Ermendrud and Grieve."

“But you did not want to know. Did you.”

"It doesn't matter," Astrid shook her head. "Beck will die with me. Ermendrud is already dead... Grieve is agonizing." She shrugged. "And I didn't want to hear about how tragic it was. How sad everyone was. How they remembered them and their kids fondly. And they hoped we were doing okay in Rexxentrum, being mages and all. And I didn't want her to know what I was."

“I am surprised that there are still children from Blumenthal willing to come to the capital after us...” Caleb took a hollow, shallow breath. “But then again... knowing us, perhaps I should not be. There will always be hunger in humanity. A fascination with the arcane...”

The middle-aged man — that was what he was now — rested his back against the chimney stack.

“I was thinking of finally going to find out for myself. I could not do it with my friends, but... maybe alone.”

"As far as I know... Trent made sure that there was no enemy for us out there. No one who could remember our faces. As far as I know, they think we all died too, perhaps even in the fire." Astrid reached for her neck again. "You can go. Find out. But... whatever you find, I don't want to know." She felt so heavy now. So empty, at the same time, like a gaping hole in her chest that was swallowing everything down and taking her with it. "I have work to do here. Solutions to find. People to kill."

“Come with me,” Caleb pleaded softly.

Astrid turned to look at him for a moment, sad and tender. "Why?"

“Because I want you to...?” he whispered, gazing at her with all the weight and bittersweet love in the world. “I know that— I’m sure that my desire means little to you after all this time, but...”

He licked his dry, cracked lips and sighed, closing his eyes.

“I have never believed in fate,” he confessed weakly. “But this is such a coincidence... I feel that I must try. Perhaps you are— perhaps we are standing on a precipice and don’t even know it. I don’t want to step off alone. Not again. Perhaps it is selfish, I don’t know, but I never professed to be an unselfish being...”

Astrid picked up her feet and stood, walking towards him.

"Caleb..." She whispered.

She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be selfish and say yes and leave and forget the world and fuck the consequences, for her or for others. She wanted to run to the ends of the world and wait for Trent there, content and happy and warm for once.

"I want to be selfish. But I have already been, for so long..." She leaned against the chimney next to him, watching him. "I want to be loved, and I want to be free. But I'm pretty sure... When we dropped you off at the sanatorium, I knew then and there, when the door was closing on you and he was holding my arm.... I cannot be loved and I cannot be free, and I would... I deserve to die trying to right it all, or else I will have accomplished nothing worthwhile. Magic and power and knowledge, what are those worth to me when I stand there alone and broken and missing people I can never have?"

A hard lump rose in Caleb’s throat. He took an unsteady, shaky breath.

“Come with me...” he pleaded with her. “Be selfish, Astrid. I may be a worthless bastard, but... I will do all I can for you. I will right the wrongs that I can. I will profess to you truth . I am so... sick of lying to you, walking on eggshells around you. We spent our youth together. We... We gave ourselves to one another... Physically and... in all the ways that matter. I know that it’s not going to be the same, not at first, but— if you are willing to try, so am I...!”

It would be so easy to kill him right now. He was standing there so close, so vulnerable, and he wouldn't even fight back, wouldn't he? She could just... do it, and throw his body away and walk home and wait until Trent's rage took physical form and he realized what she'd done and he came for her and killed her too, and then she'd go to where worthless things like her go.

Astrid reached up to touch his face. "You should see all the kids, Caleb," she whispered. "You would love them as much as I do." She nodded. There was stubble under her thumb. "Gods... You've only gotten more beautiful with time..." She was more shy than ever under his gaze. "What will your family say?"

That startled a cough of amusement out of Caleb. “They will be suspicious of you, for good reason,” he admitted quietly. “You will likely go through a few talks with them. There will be distrust at first... but all trust requires risk. And you’re worth the fucking risk...”

Astrid took a deep breath. "I... I want it," she muttered. "I want that. The... risks and all, I just..." She turned away, looking back to the Candles, back to the high walls of the Academy. "What about them? When I'm gone, who do they have left?" She asked quietly. "If I could take them all with me... I would."

“There will be other teachers,” Caleb whispered. “Take a sabbatical. Take some time overseas... do research in Marquet. Go north. Guide your own expedition to Eiselcross. I have artifacts that you can bring back, as a cover. You don’t have to go forever... I just... Let me steal you away. Just for a time...”

Astrid bit her lip. It could work. For a time, she could... forget. She could be free for a moment. She would get stronger, she would think through plans. She would find out as much as she could about everything she needed...

"I have... I have an idea." She muttered. "You will have to trust me. Blindly."

Caleb’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth uncertainly... then sighed heavily, eyes narrowed.

It’s worth the risk.  The worst that could happen is that I die.  And that’s not so bad.

She’s worth the risk. This is worth the risk. On my own, this is worth the risk.

“...All right...”

Astrid looked at him. "I need to tell him I'm leaving with you," she muttered. "He needs to think... that I am doing my work correctly.”

Caleb took a deep breath... and let it go.

“What will he think we are doing?” he asked softly.

"That... that's not important," Astrid shrugged. "He needs to know I'm with you, and with your friends. And I... will feed regular information." She explained.

“You won’t be with my friends,” Caleb murmured. “Just me. I’m not... willing to share you just yet...”

"If I am to stay with you, it needs to be useful for him," Astrid explained. "He won't let me go to Marquet or Eiselcross just because I want to. I'm a teacher, yes, but I am a Volstrucker. I am his. He needs to think he's gaining something by letting me out of his sphere of influence. He knows about our history, so it will be... it will make sense for me to seduce my way back into your life for him."

“Then it is better for me to be alone, no?” Caleb murmured, searching her eyes. “My friends would keep me on a short leash. But if I am alone...”

His gaze flickered subconsciously down to her lips and quickly away. “If I am alone, it is easier for you to pull me off track.”

Astrid nodded. "Yes, yes. But I will need to bring something from them too. They are a big point of interest for him." She smiled a little. "I need you to trust me. I will give him the kind of things he wants to hear. Things that are hard to disprove. Things that are close to the truth. I need you... to be open with me. And I will be open with you, in exchange." She looked at him for a moment. "And it won't be hard to be close to you, anyway. You always had such a magnetic effect on me. It has only... heightened with time."

Caleb coughed softly in amusement, shaking his head. “No need to stroke my ego. Really...” he murmured, rubbing his face. “I know I am not much to look at. My face is too long. My features are too cruel. I am... wrinkled. Gott , to return to a time when we never thought we would have bags under our eyes and lines around our mouths, hm...?”

"Look at me. All scarred and marked and... used," Astrid had a small laugh. "We were so arrogant and confident in our own bodies," she chuckled. "Thought time would never get to us." She reached to run her fingers over his face, over his features. "You're still beautiful to me. Still magnetic. It's not about your face, it's about... everything else." She muttered.

Caleb couldn’t help but close his eyes, leaning into her palm. It felt like dangling over a precipice of immense size... but while he was alone, it was worth the risk to feel her touch again.

“I have... um... something...” Caleb whispered. “For you. If you want it.”

Astrid watched him for a moment, taking time now that his eyes were closed and she could let herself drink in everything he was now. Caleb Widogast. She liked the name. A lot.

"What is it?" She asked softly.

“It is not physical...” Caleb told her quietly. “And... it might not be wise to give it to you right now, if you do want it at all. But...”

He took a breath and opened his eyes, but his lashes were still lowered. He gazed down at the curve of her arm. The dark fabric of her cloak.

“I can take your years away,” he whispered. “At least thirteen of them. It won’t extend your life, but... if you wish.”

Astrid looked up at him for a moment. "I..."

It was one hell of a thing. 13 years less. The weight of everything that had happened in the last thirteen years. Missions and pains and murders and two marriages, neither good in any way. 13 years of Trent. 13 years of nightmares.

"I'm okay," she whispered. "I don't need it." She muttered. "Not now. It wouldn't make much of a difference..."

Caleb nodded silently. “I wanted to offer,” he murmured. “I’ll— I’ll be here. When you’re ready to go.”

Astrid looked at him. "Thank you. I..." She looked over at the Candles. "Give me... a week. Maybe two. Get my affairs in orders at the Academy. Take care of everything. Tell Trent." She nodded. "You can stay at my house, if you want. It's... unscryable." She muttered. "Safe."

Caleb rubbed softly at his temples. “...Alright. I will,” he mumbled. “What about your servant? The halfling man?”

Astrid shrugged. "He'll be quiet." She said simply. "He's been with me since I got the house." That said enough, hopefully. Caleb knew what she did.

None of her staff would dare to talk about what happened inside of her house. Not if they wanted to live another day. And they were very aware of it.

Caleb closed his eyes and nodded. “I need a shower...” he mumbled unhappily.

"You do," Astrid chuckled. He looked dirty, probably from trying to make himself invisible. "There's also probably some clothing that you could wear." She muttered. "And we'll have a nice meal."

Caleb nodded again, his mind shutting down in preparation for the next week. Blind trust did not come easy, especially not to him. Certainly not in the shadow of Trent Ikithon’s tower...

Worth the risk. Worth the risk.

“...I will come in the afternoon, while you are away,” Caleb told her softly. “Will you— Will you tell Wulf?”

"Do you want me to tell Wulf?" Astrid tilted her head to the side for a moment. "I... I don't know where his loyalties lie. I haven't for a while. He's... different."

“Different...?”

"He's devoted," Astrid explained. "And not only in his worship, which he found relatively recently but... He's not like me. I've always been a bit... shadier. More gritted teeth and tight-lipped smiles. I don't know if he's an amazing actor or if he really worships Trent as much as his goddess."

She didn’t know where Wulf stood anymore, and it was the worst part of her life.

“I would hope not...” Caleb whispered. “I wish I could talk to him without barriers.”

Astrid could understand why. But she didn’t know if it was possible anymore. "Wulf... He's in the field a lot. Never spends long in Rexxentrum. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even have his own place." She explained. "He's been... very useful as a ranged weapon for Trent."

Caleb’s eyes darkened. He looked at her sternly. “Useful,” he repeated. “Astrid, he can’t feel right about this... Can he...?”

Astrid looked down. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know. He's..."

She crossed her arms, trying to shut out the impossible guilt and shame she felt at what had happened to her best and only friend.

"15 years since you left us,” she started, both an explanation and a bit of a criticism. “And it hasn't stopped for us. Especially not for him. I'm lucky, I don't... do as much of the dirty work. Or at least my work is different. more poison, less dagger." She muttered. "I don't know. I just know I can't trust him."

Caleb sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair. He hated it. Hated that he had abandoned them to this fate. Abandoned Astrid. Abandoned Wulf.  

But he was back now.

Caleb exhaled shakily. “If there is hope for Wulf,” he murmured steadily, gazing emptily through the skyline of Rexxentrum, “it will be in the future. When... we can talk, and protect him, without risk of Herr Ikithon finding out. I despise this... but we must leave him be for now.”

Astrid didn't want to tell him she'd given up on helping Wulf a long time ago.

He stayed at her house when he was in town, in the guest room that was just his room now. And they crossed each other, and sometimes, she saw in his eyes her best friend, but that was so rare she'd stopped hoping. Most of her time she let him be quiet and go through the motions and didn’t even try to rage against his coldness anymore. She wasn’t sure he cared enough not to report her to Trent if she disobeyed to help him.

Not that she'd been in a much better state until the girl from Blumenthal. That had woken her up, but before that... she was as much of a zombie as he'd been. Empty. Deadly.

"The Matron will keep him," she whispered. More of a desperate hope than anything else.

The gods have never helped us. Why should they now? That was what Caleb wanted to say. What his deeply bitter and angry soul wanted to snarl into the shadows. But he couldn’t say that, not when such sadness and quiet desperation permeated Astrid’s voice.

He rubbed at his eyes, brows furrowed. “I am sure she will...”

The anguish at what had become of Eadwulf threatened to overtake her for a moment. Astrid gently reached an arm around Caleb to pull him closer to her. Hold me. Remind me you're real. She wouldn't say it though. She needed his comfort. She needed to be close, now that she’d let herself say yes to an impossible plan to taste freedom.

"If you have questions over the past years, I can answer them," Astrid muttered. She had never told anyone anything. Even Wulf. She couldn't add to his weight. Maybe Caleb could help. Maybe he would let her tell him all the things that haunted her at night.

Caleb hesitated... but he wrapped his arms around her; after a moment of hesitation, he pulled her into his lap and held her there.

“...You’ve always been small...” he whispered, burying his face in her shoulder.

Astrid hummed and snuggled into him, closing her eyes for a moment. "You're taller than I remember," she pointed out. "Stronger."

“I am still a very skinny man.”

Astrid nodded. "Hmm. Can feel that," she muttered. "Still a very skinny woman." Everything was... so nice for a moment. "Still. You're different." His hair was much longer, he had a light beard and he was taller and stronger, somehow, than he was in her memories. Maybe it wasn’t physical strength as much as it was the steadiness of his mind.

“So are you...” Caleb hesitated... then he rested his hand against the side of her throat. Feeling the warped, smooth, rippling sensation of those old, faded burn scars.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “So sorry...”

Astrid closed her eyes a little harder. "You weren't in your right mind," she muttered. "It's okay. it's fine." She repeated. "it's been a really long time." 15 fucking years and counting. The burn was long healed. The memory of it was not as fuzzy as it should have been, however. She wished she could forget the state he’d been in, his despair and his anger. She wished she could forget the pain.

“...I should go.” Before I do something stupid.  

Caleb took a breath, stroking her hair and forcing himself to let her go. “I will see you tonight, Astrid...”

Astrid didn't want this to end. She wanted to stay there for the rest of her life, on this roof, in this night, with Caleb.

"Don't change your mind about me," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come." She didn’t know if she would be able to take a defection like this one.

Caleb’s heart ached at her whisper. He swallowed thickly, and finally met her eyes. He cupped her cheek — his face crumpled with conflicting desire — and rested his forehead to hers.

“Ich verspreche dir, dass ich kommen werde.” I promise you that I will come.

Astrid exhaled. "Danke." She whispered.

She wasn't alone anymore. She dared to hope for this to last for a while, so she could soak it up like a sponge.

“Gern geschehen, Schatz...” You’re welcome, sweetheart...  

Caleb faltered, wondering if he had gone too far... then huffed and gently forced himself away. He hurried down the stairs, out of sight.

Astrid watched him go, swallowing.

"Ich liebe dich", she whispered to the night, once he was out of sight.

Forbidden words. Almost forgotten words. Words she was afraid of.

[pccrunfortunatesouls]

|| Get to know NAVEEN MALDONIA who’s TWENTY-ONE years old and a JUNIOR in college majoring in UNDECLARED. He is from CORONA and is often times mistaken for CHANCE PERDOMO while others say he reminds them of NAVEEN from THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG. ||

Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the Maldonia family always took their status as royalty very seriously. While it was nothing more than a figurehead position, the family still believed they were more important than most, and that's the exact mentality Naveen was raised on. He was taught to believe that he was superior to everyone else, and it was demonstrated through buying Naveen superior clothes, toys, and electronics than most of his peers, demonstrating that status is everything.

Naveen grew up with a butler, Lawrence, that was at his beck and call to do absolutely anything that young man wanted. He never learned to cook, clean, or do laundry, because Lawrence was always there to do it for him. Managing money meant nothing to him, because Lawrence always took care of it. Up until he got his own place in college, he had never so much as done his won grocery shopping because whatever he asked for would magically appear in the pantry a few hours later. He never even had to do his own homework, as Lawrence was there to write in all the correct answers, and then proceed to convince his teachers to give him a passing grade despite subpar test scores. It wasn't that Naveen was stupid, it's that he never once saw the need to apply himself. Naveen was living his best life, while others were working tirelessly behind the scenes to make it happen.

It wasn't until he was graduating high school that the Maldonia family realized they made a mistake when it came to raising their son. So concerned with giving him everything he wanted, they realized they made him want for nothing, never bestowing him with a work ethic, but instead giving him an arrogance and laziness that wouldn't suit him well in the real world.

The day Naveen was told by his parents that he was expected to attend college was a shocking one. He was so used to his parents giving him the freedom to do whatever he wanted with no push back that being told what to do with unwavering firmness felt like an attack. He had always been of the firm belief that after high school he would simply go to work at his father's company, taking a high ranking position on the board where he could get paid lavishly to sit around telling other people what to do, doing very little work himself. Learning that he had to earn his position was nothing short of a slap in the face. There was a big part of Naveen, the stubborn, spoiled part of him that resented being told what to do, was tempted to say fine, cut him off. He didn't need their money anyway. But as Naveen looked around the house he grew up in, he came to the earth shattering realization that everything he loved cost more money than he could possibly make on his own, especially as a high school graduate with no marketable skills. His love of material possessions weighed stronger than his pride, and as such he found himself attending Corona College before he even quite knew what was happening.

There was a big part of Naveen that expected to be above college — someone of his social standing couldn't possibly fit in on campus when he was so high above their social class. It was his freshman roommate that made him believe differently, so enthusiastic to both be at college and have Naveen as a roommate. Still bitter about having to live on campus and share a dorm room with someone else, he resisted at first, making it clear he had no desire to get to know the other boy. Yet his roommate was not deterred by his lack of enthusiasm, dragging Naveen to meals and every activity on campus, giving him no choice but to get to know the people he would have otherwise ignored. It was there that Naveen realized that maybe he wasn't better than everyone else — or not that much better, at the very least. Poor people could be nice, fun, and interesting too, and suddenly it was like Naveen was seeing a whole new world.

Similarly, Naveen never expected to enjoy attending classes quite as much as he does. By coming in as an undeclared major, Naveen realized that he could take whatever classes sound fun and interesting without the expectation of taking the boring, serious, or difficult classes. No business or math classes for him. No history or science or economics. Instead you'll find him taking art and philosophy, women's studies and film studies. Catch him signing up for physical education, music, and hospitality courses. Perhaps it's not the way that you're supposed to do college, but it's the way Naveen's doing it and he loves every second.

Despite being in his junior year, Naveen has found a way to avoid this dreadful "hard work" thing that everyone is talking about. It was a bit of a shock when he first attended classes and the professors expected him to do work, not at all caring who he is, but not to worry. Naveen found a way around it. He's willing to put in some work to avoid doing actual work. He uses his charm and a little bit of kindness to befriend a few particularly smart people in each class, depending on them to do all the work in any group projects, and counting on a lot their help for any individual assignments. They do all the work for him, and in return they get the delight of his company. Sure, his test scores leave something to be desired, but his high grades on his assignments are enough to pass the class, much to his professor's dismay.

After taking such a mismatch of classes, he's nowhere close to graduating because nothing he's taken can add up to an actual degree in anything. The advisors at school keep warning him about this, informing him that he'll be in college forever if he keeps this up, but Naveen simply doesn't see how this is a bad thing. He's having the time of his life, why would he ever want to leave?

At all times, Naveen is first and foremost focused on having a good time. He wants to be the life of the party and is fully convinced that wherever he is, the party is. He wants to be surrounded by people eating up just how charming he is, enthralled by his good looks, quick wit, and charm. Because of this he'll never miss a party or event around the island; he has both a fear of missing out on something fun, and also a fear of others missing out on his brilliance. For the very same reason he's started joining various clubs, both at the college and around the island.

As a bit of a player, Naveen has accidentally left a string of broken hearts around the island. Naveen is caring and attentive when he's with someone, making them feel as though they're important and special. And while others may not believe it, when he's with someone he truly does care. The problem is that he has a short attention span; always looking for the next best thing, he moves on in a whim. Some only get one night, others a few weeks, those that are really lucky get a month or two, but so far nothing has lasted longer. Some know about his reputation and expect it while others are left blind sighted, and while it does leave him with a pang of guilt every time, he simply hasn't found someone that he feels is worth sticking around for. Deep down Naveen knows he's capable of love, that there's someone out there that can convinced him to change his player ways, but while many have tried to be the one, he simply hasn't met them yet. He also firmly believes he's too young to be tied down — he has his whole life ahead of him and doesn't need a ball and chain just yet.

His favourite way to pick up the ladies (or gentleman — he's bi as fuck, baby, he doesn't discriminate) is to borrow his friend's dog and take a walk by the dog park. He likes to think that having a dog makes him appear kind, thoughtful, and sensitive (and deep down he really is all of those things), but most importantly, years of watching tv has taught him that no one can resist a man with a dog or a baby. And since he can't get his hands on a baby (nor does he particularly like being around children at this point in his life), the dog will have to do.

While he might be a little self centered, Naveen is one of the best friends you could have. He loves and believes deeply in his friends, hyping them up at every accomplishment, supporting them when they have a bad day, and is there to listen no matter what. He's always up for a fun and stupid adventure, prides himself in being an excellent wing man, and might even let you borrow a jacket if your outfit is in desperate need.

One of his most prized possessions is his car. Growing up, the one rich boy thing he didn't indulge in was being driven around by a chauffeur. While it certainly showed his status and wealth, something he always loved to brag about, he liked the freedom of being able to go wherever he wanted, when he wanted, without his parents or their staff knowing where he was going. Not that he was ever getting into that much trouble, but hat freedom was a rarity. From the moment he was old enough to drive, he convinced his parents to buy him the nicest car that money can buy and it remains his pride and joy to this day. He's very picky about who he lets in his car, and don't even think about coming near it with food or drink.

Music was one of his first loves, and it remains near and dear to him to this day. He knows the lyrics to most songs on the radio, he has a Spotify playlist for every mood, every every occasion, and makes a playlist for almost everyone he meets no matter how brief their time together his. His true love, though, is jazz. Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone; It's the music he grew up on,  comforting, nostalgic, and inspirational. It's a love he keeps hidden from most people, but those who know him the most have seen him dance around his living room to the brass music and crooning voices blaring from the speakers.

Beyond his love of listening to music, he's quite a talented musician as well. The music lessons he was enrolled in as a child were the only thing he ever put any actual effort into, and he continues to play to this day. While he can play both the guitar and the saxophone, his personal favourite instrument is the ukulele. He thinks it's fun, unique, and charming, just like him, and while he doesn't often play it in public, if you're over visiting at his house there's a good chance he's broken it out. Especially after a couple drinks.

A connoisseur of game shows and reality tv. Just as he doesn't take himself too seriously, he doesn't take the media he consumes seriously either. He's here for something fun, and particularly likes watching people dumber than her is make fools of themselves on television. It's a great ego boost.

Very used to skating through life on charm alone, he doesn't know what to do when someone doesn't fall for that charm. He's so used to having people wrapped around his finger that he genuinely doesn't know what to do or say when someone sees right through him and doesn't fall at his feet. He finds himself getting a little bit flustered, and works that much harder to get their approval.

More than a little bit vain, Naveen takes great care and pride in his appearance. He insists on having fresh haircuts, wearing the latest fashion, and has an extensive skincare routine he does both morning and night. He goes for a run almost every morning (of course not too early in the morning, don't mistake him for a man that gets out of bed earlier than he has to) and lifts weights every day to maintain his physique. And when he walks by a mirror, he has to stop and check himself out, both to admire the beauty that's reflected back at him, and to make sure he's looking his absolute best.

Ever since being forced to go to college, his parents have also been asking more questions about exactly how Naveen is spending his money. While he still has free use of his credit card, he gets calls with questions when the statement comes in, eyebrows raised at some of his larger purchases. Sick of being under their watchful eyes and wanting some semblance of independence, Naveen has started doing the one thing he never thought he would voluntarily do — get a job so he can have some financial freedom of his own. There’s only one problem with that: after spending his whole life refusing to do any sort of hard work or manual labour, Naveen is a notoriously bad employee. While he has no problem charming his way into the job despite having not marketable skills to speak of, it’s keeping the job he has a problem with. Whether he’s being fired for not doing any work, doing the job poorly, or simply breaking things around the establishment because his best isn’t quite good enough, he hasn’t held a single job for more than a few weeks. He’s at a crossroads between deciding whether he should actually roll up his sleeves and work hard for the first time in his life, or throw in the towel and accept his parents conditions for his frivolous spending.

[hattywatch]

Jeff Skinner - Home

A/n: Any time I ever think I am capable of writing a blurb, point me to this, right here. I had the idea for this before I wrote the part 2 to Back Road, but I couldn’t focus on two things at once, so this took a back seat since so many people asked for a sequel to Back Road! This is 13 pages, a little over 5k words and is CLEAN. Totally sfw. 

Requested by my bae @hockeyandtaylorswift, and I would like to thank her and @xolilyxo for reading it and being my fav hockey biddies <3

“I can't keep staying with you guys. I feel like I'm living with an old married couple,” Jeff shimmies past Reino and gets to his seat at the kitchen island, where Eichel is leaning, munching on an apple and watching the toaster.

Jack grabs his bread from the toaster as it pops and Jeff watches as he slides open a drawer for a knife and switches spots with Sam to get to the fridge, neither of them thinking about the motion, it looks so practiced.

The way him and Sam move around each other in their apartment is so comfortable. It was really nice of them to ask if he needed a place to stay when he first moved to Buffalo, but it's going on a month now and he just wants a place to go home to that's his; with a spot on the couch that's his, and a mug that's his, and a bathroom cabinet that's filled with his stuff. He's sick of living out of a suitcase.

“Still haven't found anything, then?” Jack asks in between bites of toast while Jeff sips at his juice and shakes his head no.

Reino shuts the cabinet above his head after pulling a plate out of it and sliding his omelette onto it, “Eichs, you still have the number of the chick who found us this place? She was awesome.”

It's Jack's turn to shake his head as he scrolls through his contact list, “I don't think I do, maybe an email? I'll look through them later and see what I can find.”

Jeff nods and makes a mental note to remind him about it later; he's lived with his new teammates long enough to know that Jack's a scatterbrain about everything that isn't done on skates.

_______

You get the email late on a Monday while you're nestled into your couch with a glass of wine watching The Bachelor.

Hey (Y/N),

I wanna send a new teammate to you bc he's having trouble finding his own place and you really helped me out when I was looking. I lost your phone number but had your email so send me your number and I’ll have him set something up. He's sick of crashing with me and Sam lol.

Thanks,

Jack

You roll your eyes and scroll through your contact list to, Client Jack and text him:

It's me. Just got your email. Send him my way, I’d love to help.

_______

You get a text from a number that isn’t saved to your contacts two days after you responded to Jack’s e-mail.

Hi, I’m Jeff, Jack’s friend. He gave me your number and said that you’re the best realtor around. Do you think you could help me start looking for something this weekend? I have to get my own place before I kill a teammate 😑.

You call him, instead of responding to his text, because you’re a professional adult, and also you’re driving and that’s a dangerously high ticket that you don’t really want to deal with right now.

He sounds confused when he answers, with a whispered, “Hullo?”

“Hi, this is (Y/N) calling for Jeff?” You hear him scramble around a little, before he clears his throat, still speaking lowly but sounding a little more awake.

“Oh, yeah, hi! I didn’t think you’d get back to me so soon.” You laugh because your entire paycheck banks on you getting back to people as soon as possible and being at everyone’s beck and call 24 hours a day.

“I just wanted to set something up for this weekend. I already have a few places in mind I could show you. If you wanted to give me some times you’d be free I could schedule a few showings so we can find you a place before the season starts.” You hear him close a door and he finally raises his voice above a whisper.

“That’d be awesome, I love these guys, but I really need my own space asap. I’ll clear all weekend for you. This is my top priority right now.” He sounds tired and you smile, because you know enough about Jack to know he could be a little bit of a diva and honestly, bless Sam for being able to live with him. But you know it's tough to be thrown into it due to a trade or whatever Buffalo is doing right now, shaking up their team.

“I’ll text you a time for Saturday morning. We can meet at a Starbucks or something? I’ll drive, you’re new to the area, don’t want you getting lost! Does that work for you?”

“Sounds like a plan. See you Saturday.” You say goodbye and hang up. You make a mental note to look up this Jeff character, to see if you could get any information that may help you in finding him a home and so you know what you’re getting yourself into.

_______

You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting when you typed “Jeff Buffalo Sabres” into the Google search bar hours later, but what you found wasn’t it.

You learn the basics, that he was traded from Carolina, and like most hockey players- is from Canada. You click on a video, against your better judgement, and you hear voice, new but becoming familiar, giving canned answers about getting pucks on net and playing hard. What you didn’t expect to learn is that he’s adorable, positively boyish. His smile is wide and his eyes crinkle up with it. He seems like the type of person everyone wants to be friends with.

Quickly you close out of the window on your computer. As easy as he is on the eyes, this isn’t really productive to your pursuit of finding him the right apartment, and stalking is illegal in all 50 states.

_______

The next two days are a blur of showings with other clients and searches for apartments suited for one twenty-something male. You’re pleased that you find three to show him, and hope that he’ll take to at least one of them.

You send out a text Friday afternoon, telling him the time you’ll meet him and to be ready for you to knock his socks off.

Client Jeff: At this point I’d live in a box on the street to get my own space. It isn’t going to take much.

You send back a speak-no-evil monkey and the address of the Starbucks where you two plan on meeting.

_______

When Saturday morning comes, you’re grumpy to say the least. You try your best to get a lot of your showings done during the week to avoid the weekend traffic and get some time to sleep in, but you really liked Jack and Sam and don’t mind doing them the favor of helping their buddy out. Plus, who are you to say no to any new clients you can get.

You dress business casual; smart jeans and a navy-blazer over a plain white tee with some red flats, most of the apartments have stairs anyway. You also manage to get your ass into gear on time and are sitting drinking your coffee when you see Jeff stroll in, 2 minutes to 10.

Quickly, you realize he has no idea who he’s looking for, and you take a minute to observe him undisturbed. He looks around, presumably for you, and checks his phone, laughing at something before fast thumbs fire off a message. He walks up to the empty counter and orders his drink; you hear him say both “please” and “thank you” before he pays and throws his change into the tip jar. You decide you like him already.

When he moves to the other counter, waiting for his drink to be made, you decide to make yourself known. As you tidy up your table, your phone vibrates and you look down at your texts,

Client Jeff: I just realized I have no clue who I'm looking for. I'm here and wearing a Sabres sweatshirt if that helps?

After throwing out your trash, you step up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, “Jeff?” You ask it as a question, even though you know that he’s exactly who you’re looking for. He looks up from his phone and spins around with a media smile on his face, unsure of who he’s about to run into.

“Hi... (Y/N)?” he says with an unfailing smile, but crinkled and uncertain eyes. “Yes, that’s me,” you shake his outstretched hand, “Ready to find your new place?” His smile shifts a little and a dimple pops into his cheek, “You have no idea. Let’s go.” He grabs his drink off of the counter and follows you to your car.

_______

You keep the music on the light channel, soft pop playing from the speakers. Jeff seems content to drink his coffee and sit quietly in your passenger seat, but you’ve never really been one for silence.

“How have you been finding Buffalo so far?” He smiles again at your question, “It’s been good. The team’s really nice, the people who recognize me on the street have been really encouraging. It’s definitely a change in scenery and weather, but it’s closer to home.”

You’re happy to hear that Buffalo has been welcoming. Moving is tough, especially alone. “You enjoying living with Jack and Sam?” The light is red and you catch his eye and smile.

“They’re two of the greatest guys I’ve ever met. It was really awesome of them to let me stay as long as they have. They’d probably keep letting me, but they both have routines and I feel like I’m in the way. I just want my own space, ya know? Nothing against them.”

Nodding, you turn onto the block for the first apartment. “Well, I’ll do my best to help you out. I’m with you ‘til the end now.” He unbuckles his seatbelt as you pull over and put your car into park. You get out and open up your folder to give him the first listing. “This is a newer building. It’s really nice and they cater to a slightly more upscale client and have loads of amenities,” you tell him in the elevator on your way up to the unit.

“This place looks too nice for me, are you sure they’d even let me live here?” You laugh out loud at that, Jeff is clearly the kind of guy who holds up well under scrutiny, the kind of guy every parent wants their daughter to bring home, wholesome looking and polite.

“According to Jack, you’re about to be Buffalo’s golden boy. I’m sure they’d beg you to live here, Jeff.” A red flush rises from his neck straight up to his hairline. “I hope so,” he mumbles out as the elevator dings and he motions for you to exit first.

Outside of the unit, you do your best to feature dump and sell him on the place, “There’s a fitness center, a lounge, a study center, reserved parking, a concierge, 24 hour maintenance, and electronic keys, which is kind of cool. You’d basically be living in a hotel.” Waving the card in front of the knob, you can hear the mechanical whirring of the lock, indicating that the door is opening, so you step in and hold it open for Jeff.

He whistles low and walks past the kitchen through the dining area and into the living room. It’s your turn to laugh, “Okay… I’m guessing you don’t cook much then?”

He shakes his head, looking out of the windows that line the living room wall. “You’d be absolutely correct in that assumption.”

“Well then, not that you care, but these are granite countertops and they’re gorgeous,” you sweep your hand in a flourish towards the counters. He does his best to look sheepish and puts on a smile and nods, “They look…. Very nice?” He rocks back on his heels and shrugs a shoulder up.

“Thanks for trying. Don’t pretend to care for me, you’re the one who has to pick a place or keep living with the dynamic duo,” you smile snidely at his stricken face.

“No dishwasher though, which could be a downside for a guy living on his own,” you look at him thoughtfully, trying to figure out if he’s messy or tidy, as if you could tell from a cursory glance.

“I have siblings, we did chores growing up. I know how to clean up after myself,” you’d almost assign his tone as sassy, but he’s far too sweet for you to do anything but keep smiling at him at try to change the subject.

“No significant other will be living with you? I just realized I didn't ask, rude of me.”

“Nah,” He walks through to the bedroom, “I don’t have a girl right now.” He manages his own subject-change now, “One bedroom?”

You nod, “Uh, yes. Only one, but this building has it all; studios and units with one, two or three bedrooms! I didn’t consider that you may be having visitors. That’s my fault; I should have asked.”

He doesn’t let you berate yourself for long though, “I don’t know if I have a preference. My last place had an extra room and my family never wanted to leave, maybe this would be the hint they needed.” He winks and checks out the closet, laundry room, and bathroom before the tour is over and you get back to your car.

“Okay give me feedback? Love it, hate it? Is it missing something integral?” He buckles his seatbelt once more and looks over at you, “Honestly?” you nod and motion for him to continue.

He heaves a sigh and turns to make eye contact with you, “I have no idea what I’m looking for. When I got my last place I was so young and everything seemed awesome because it was all mine. This time around it’s so... different.” It’s an honest answer and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t really help you figure out if he’ll like the next two places any better than this one.

As you drive to the next apartment, you decide to do some digging, maybe it will help figure out what he's looking for. “You said you have siblings that visit, how many of you are there?”

He turns to look over at you, putting his coffee back in the cup holder, “There’s six of us, plus my parents.”

“Woooow” you let out as you flick your turn signal on. He’s polite and asks, “What about you, anyone come and crash at your place uninvited. Shaking your head, you tell him no, “I’m an only child. Probably better off that way. I can’t imagine having to share with five other people. I don’t think that’s my style.”

“I think if you're raised with it, it's different. You're just used to it.” You nod along because nurture versus nature and all that.

_______

The next two apartments aren't in buildings; one is the whole top floor of a house and the second is the main floor.

Jeff is polite, but you have been doing this a long time and you can tell he doesn't like them as much as the one inside of the complex, but he does seem to prefer the one on the top floor, with the extra bathroom and guest room. You watch as he takes in the dark hardwood floors, but wrinkles his nose at the downstairs apartment lacking a tub, and you start fleshing out a more robust image of what he’s looking for.

As you're driving him back to Starbucks to his car, you decide to ask again, “Okay, I don't expect you to know everything you like, but maybe if you see something on Pinterest or Instagram or anything that strikes your fancy, send it to me and I can get an idea of your tastes? I'm sure you'd prefer turn-key?”

“That's a really good idea. Give me your handle.” You spell out your Instagram name for him and your pocket vibrates with the notification. Your car crunches into the parking lot and Jeff adjusts the hat on his head, “Thanks, I know it's your job, but I really appreciate it. Jack and Sam try to help, but...” he trails off with a shrug.

Laughing, you assure him, “You don't have to tell me. I'm the one who spent 5 months finding them that place.” Jeff's eyes open wide and his smile dims, “5 months? I can't live with them for 5 more months.” You try to head him off at the pass.

“Jeff, if you promise to send me some more things that you like, I promise that I will not leave you stranded with Jack and Sam for 5 more months, deal?”

He opens the car door and gets out, leaning back in with that big smile sticking his hand out to shake. “It's a deal. Just text me whenever. I'm free all this week and next weekend. So if you want me to come see something, I'm all yours.”

You tell him will do and he hops in his car and starts it before you drive away.

_______

He doesn’t contact you for a few days. It’s Tuesday when you get a message late at night, snuggled deep into your bed watching old Friends reruns. The text makes your pillow vibrate and you tear your eyes away from Phoebe attempting to teach Joey French to unlock your screen.

When you see Jeff’s name you’re a little thrown off.

Client Jeff: I think I like this...

You wait, as you assume there’s an image that’s coming along with it.

When it finally comes, the photo is blurry but you make out a marble bathroom. It’s simple and stark white, offset by dark grey floors. It’s something to go on, albeit blurry and small, but it’s something.

Just tell me what it is that you like, and I can def go off of that.

The response comes quicker than you would have expected.

Client Jeff: Tbh, I’m a little drunk at one of Eichs friends house. Idk what I like. It’s clean and open? Different than living with a bunch of slobs I guess.

Before you can send a text back to him, your phone buzzes with another.

Client Jeff: I’m drunk texting my realtor. This is what it’s like being a grown up, huh?

You know that feel, that’s for sure, so you cut him a break and text him back.

Seemed a lot more glamorous as a kid, I know.

You fall asleep with your phone next to your pillow and your laptop on your nightstand, searching for open, bright, clean-lined bathrooms.

_______

After his drunk texts, Jeff opened up a little bit. He sent you tons of posts from @ApartmentTherapy, interspersed with some cute dogs, and funny memes. He started texting more frequently too, asking for restaurant recommendations in the city and making some small talk. You have similar taste in movies and TV, so you have a lot to talk about, but you didn't want to be the one to break the boundary, it's not professional. The second weekend you meet him for showings he has your coffee paid for and ready to go when you walk into the coffee shop.

He ends up breaking the boundary first. You assume it’s because you’re one of about 5 people he knows in the state. He's a really sweet guy, so it isn't like you mind at all. He suggests meeting at iHop for breakfast before your third weekend of showings in a row. It seems like a fine idea, you have to eat anyway and you really like talking to Jeff.

Breakfast is spent with him regaling you of his time training in the gym with Eichs and Reino earlier this week. His impression of Jack has you in stitches as you almost spit your coffee out across the table, smacking your hand over your mouth just in time. It sends him into his own peal of laughter, and ends with him face down on the table, pointing at you and silently laughing.

You head to the bathroom to fix your running mascara and he meets you at the door with your purse and tells you it’s on him when you try to shove money at him for your food.

_______

Obviously his house-mates have picked up on your new-found friendship. Jack had messaged you once to ask you to stop, as he deemed you interruptive to boys night.

Client Jack: Listen, I know you guys are like, besties now… but it’s guys night and we’re bowling and Jeff literally can’t stop looking at his phone. he’s really bringing the team down. I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t on my team, fuck i’d prob encourage it. But tell him you’re going to bed or something so he can focus! Loser has to pick up the bar tabs, so you can understand where i’m coming from right now, (y/n).

You'd never admit it, but you smiled indulgently to yourself, pleased that Jeff really seemed to value you as a friend and not just someone he was forced to be in contact with.

Oh, so sorry that I’m ruining your night Jack. I’ll tell him I’m going to bed. At 830. On a Saturday.

Client Jack: That’s all i ask.

_____________

All the chatting helped though, each weekend you were able to fill your showings with apartments that were increasingly Jeff’s style. You both discovered that he was decidedly more modern; into clean lines and neutral colors.

You start meeting for breakfast every weekend before your first showing. It’s quickly coming up on two months before you even notice. You get along really well, so working the weekend is almost as enjoyable as your shared breakfasts. The two of you commiserate over summer months quickly coming to an end and laughing easily over people's decorating choices in apartments that are decidedly not the one.

The last listing you showed him had been especially cringe worthy, photographing way better than it looked in person. You step inside and instantly realize your mistake.

Jeff hadn't been looking up and barrels into the back of you, spewing red-faced apologies before he could even peel himself away from your back. “Sorry!” he has a hand wrapped around your waist to keep you from toppling forward under his bulk and you snort, because with his accent it comes out “sore-y” and that always gets you laughing.

You realize it before he does, the fact that his hand is still firmly wrapped around your middle, and you’re starting to get a little self conscious of the way you know your jeans are snug against your tummy under his hand. So you clear your throat and he apologizes again before removing his hand and keeping them firmly in his pockets. The tension doesn’t last long as you go through the rest of the apartment and laugh as Jeff raises his eyebrows at the shag carpet that is inexplicably in the bathroom, and you both hightail it out of there as soon as you can.

_______

It’s not out of the ordinary when he texts you late on a Friday night:

Jeff: After we go to the apartments tomorrow do you have any other clients?

You have been saving your Saturdays exclusively for Jeff's showings for the past two months, so you tell him that.

My Saturdays are solely dedicated to finding you a place to live, doll.

Did you find something specific you wanted to see?

Bubbles indicating he’s typing out his reply pop up, but it stops abruptly. They start and stop a few times, before a message finally comes through.

Jeff: Not an apartment, but there’s this new waffle house that just opened? We can change up our routine, lunch instead of breakfast...

Jeff: If you didn’t have anything else going on.  

You don’t, and that sounds like the type of relaxed weekend that you’re into, so you peck out a reply.

Sounds like a plan.

You send it over and before you can stop yourself you send a smiley face too. _______

The next day you’re positive Jeff will take to one of these units.

They all have two bedrooms, which you've learned he leans towards, just in case his parents or a sibling decide to pop in. They are all turn key- painted and furnished (he hates furniture shopping and doesn't have the time to paint)- very sleek and modern, his preferred style.

Even better, all of them come with in unit laundry. He claims laundry is his favorite chore and prefers to do it himself rather than send it out. And to top it all off, one has a balcony off the master bedroom. You think he'll choose that one, but you don't want to jinx yourself.

When you get through all three without Jeff so much as considering placing an offer, you're confused at best and irked at worst. You know he needs to find a place soon and it’s starting to feel like you’ve shown him every apartment in Buffalo and its surrounding towns. You try to take it in stride, but it’s been two solid months of multiple showings every weekend and you just want a break from it.

The rational side of you also knows that it isn’t Jeff’s fault. It’s a very important purchase and you don’t want to rush him into something just because you want a lazy weekend, but you're still a little disappointed. Jeff drove to all of the listings, “to give you a break,” he had said. He even showed up with coffee and croissants to hold you over until you go to lunch- so you’re annoyed with yourself for being cranky when he’s been so lovely.

_______

You’re clearly doing a good job of hiding your disappointment, so he pulls up to the waffle house all smiles, the dimple on his right cheek digging straight into your heart, and you feel bad for ever being vexed with him. He hops out of the car and walks up to the door and even holds it open for you, holding 2 fingers up to the hostess.

Sitting in the booth bolsters your mood, unused to waiting until after the showings to eat. It smells like heaven, and you look over the menu, already sticky with syrup. Jeff is his happy self, nudging your foot under the table to get your attention.

“What are you getting?” You look up from the menu at Jeff's rosy face and shrug. You love that he's always blushing. He's never really shy with his emotions because he's so easy to read anyway. It seems like a freeing way to live.

“I'm not sure, there's a lot of options. Banana chocolate chip? Red velvet? What are you getting?” You take the time to nudge his foot back.

He confidently closes his menu, “Cinnamon roll, for sure. With bacon.”

You close your menu at the sight of the waitress approaching, “Okay then, red velvet it is. But I'm trying some of yours, too.” Jeff says 'obviously,’ like it's something that you guys always do, and isn't pushing the lines of a realtor/client relationship.

After you place your orders and the waitress returns with a carafe of coffee for you to split, you feel a happy warmth settle from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You take turns sharing the creamer and sit in a companionable silence before Jeff starts in.

“I’m so nervous for this season,” he stirs his coffee with a spoon distractedly, you see your opening to bring up his living situation, but he continues before you can interject. “D’you think you’d like to come to the opener?”

He sips his coffee with his eyes closed, and you wish you could make eye-contact with him. “Yeah, sounds like fun. I’ll make myself available.” His eyes open at that and he flushes from his neck up to his forehead.

“Did you think I’d say no or something,” he opens his mouth to answer you, but the waitress sets your plates down in between you so he stops. As soon as she walks away you lean over and steal a piece of bacon from Jeff’s plate.

He smiles and it’s wide and bright and beautiful, and as always- punctuated by a deep dimple. He won’t meet your eyes and spends way too long cutting into his fluffy waffles and dousing them with syrup that is surely not trainer approved, “Yeah, something like that.”

You’re halfway through your own plate, starting to get full and sated, when it starts to make sense, you’re spending every week together, bonding over movies and restaurant recommendations. You’re probably the person he’s spent the most time with since his big move. Jeff’s still plowing away through his own plate though, so you try your hand at subtly broaching the issue on your mind.

“Jeff,” he looks up mid-bite. “You know we’re like, kinda friends now right.” He looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t and he flames up again immediately.

“Are we?” You nod and stuff another bite of waffle into your mouth to keep yourself from smiling at his embarrassment. He draws in close to you, leaning over his plate.

“If put in an offer on the one with the terrace off the bedroom will you still hang out with me on weekends?” You perk up and lean back against the booth laughing at how dumb he is, nodding and trying to catch your breath.

“Yes you dope!” You have another bite  on its way to your mouth when another piece of the puzzle clicks together. The waffle drops off of your fork as you try to control the volume of your voice, you want to yell but you manage to contain it down to a hiss, “Have you not been putting in offers on apartments because you have no better weekend plans, you jerk!?” He has a decency to look chagrined at being caught.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to keep talking to you after I found something,” he sputters out, shrugging.

“You could have just asked. I haven’t had a day off in months!” You steal another piece of his bacon, you feel like you’ve earned it at this point.

“Are you showing anything tomorrow? We could go out,” Jeff’s fork makes its way onto your plate, you barely notice; did he just-? He’s on it before you can respond.

“I mean- shit.” He takes a deep breath before putting his fork down onto the table with a metallic clank, “Fuck it, yeah tomorrow. What are you doing, let me take you out?” He’s so far from smooth and it’s so endearing you can’t help but smile.

“I’m helping a client place a bid on an apartment. Really nice, eat-in-kitchen and a balcony off the master. Then I have a date, I think? Nice guy, kinda slow, but he’s cute. Lots of curb-appeal, if you catch my drift.”

Jeff’s smile is beatific, “You’re not so quick yourself, so it’s probably a perfect match.” You kick him under the table without malice, too wrapped up in the sugary sweet fullness from lunch and his warm gaze.

“I’m starting to think he’s a fixer-upper. Luckily I’ve got some time.”

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

20 Seconds of Courage -Part 11

The Elementalist au

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 2588

***Warnings: NSFW. Rough sex, trigger warning***

Series Master List

Complete Master List

Oriana stared down at her phone, the email from Jason up on her screen. “Why the fuck did you think I would go meet him alone?”

“I didn’t. I wasn’t even paying attention to what he was saying.” Beckett replied.

“Why just me?” She mulled.

“I’ll come with you.” Beckett offered. “He’s working with both of us, after all, I should be a part of all the discussions.”

But Oriana didn’t answer, she simply grabbed her purse and kissed Beckett on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

She hurried out of the office, leaving Beckett staring behind her. He knew where she was headed, and he quickly packed up his briefcase and started after her. She may not want him there, but he’s going to be.

Oriana let the hostess lead her over to the table where Jason sat. She wasn’t pleased with his choice of meeting, it was a classy and romantic place, only lit by candles so it was extremely dark in certain areas. If she were here with Beckett, she’d be extremely pleased. But being with Jason…she was nervous.

“Oriana.” He greeted, standing up as she reached the table. “Thank you for coming.”

“You said it was work related.” Oriana replied, taking her seat.

“Did I now.” He smirked. “I ordered you a glass of wine. Your favorite Merlot.”

Oriana glanced at the glass sitting in front of her before taking a long sip. She was definitely going to need alcohol to get through this meeting. “Thank you. Now, I understand you spoke with Beckett today, my apologies I couldn’t be there…”

“I know you were, I’m not an idiot. I saw him looking down. I remember looking down while you blew me too.” He snarled. “Not very classy of you.”

“I don’t remember you complaining when it was you in that chair.” She retorted.

Jason sighed warily. “You’re right. Your bj’s are definitely worth talking about to…well. Everyone. I know my friends personally enjoyed all the details of how you’d lick my cock while someone else could be just a few feet away. It was nice getting that done while I continued to work. It saved a lot of time.”

“What do you want Jason.” She gritted out, her fists curled in her lap.

“I’m assuming neither yourself nor Mr. Harrington paid any attention to what I was saying earlier. I don’t care so much about him, he’s just another cock for you to suck on, but you…you’re lucky to be smart and still have that pretty face of yours. You can easily sleep your way to the top of any company.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially. “My boss is quite excellent to work for. I can recommend you, of course. But you’d have to do something for me.”

Oriana just glared at him, so he continued. “Lisa’s not very good at providing the level satisfaction you gave me. All you need to do to get me to open doors for you is continue to service me.”

“Ew” Her response slipped out, she didn’t even have time to fully register what he was saying before the word was out of her mouth.

“I’d take that back if I were you. I’m your client. I can make or break this deal for you. And if I break it, you’re going down with it.”

“You’re despicable.” She sniffed.

Jason gave her a cocky grin. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. Yet. Are you sure you want to find out?”

“Is that a threat?” She asked coolly.

“Simply…a fact.” Jason reached across the table, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and trailing his fingertips along her cheek and jaw before pulling back. Oriana just stared at him in disbelief. What kind of game is he playing?

“I know you miss me.” He murmured. “I miss you too. We can make this work, I know we can. I never should have let you go, Oriana. I want you back.”

“As your side piece?” Oriana scoffed. “Please.”

“Oh you will be saying please. And thank you.” He retorted, taking her hand in his. Before she could pull it away however…

“What the fuck is going on here.” A low voice growled. Both Oriana and Jason looked up to find Beckett looming over their table, his arms crossed.

Jason leaned back, smirking. “We’re just discussing Oriana’s future.”

“Where’s your pregnant fiancé?” Beckett inquired with a scowl.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Home. Where else would she be? She’s going to be a good wife. Nowhere near as talented as my dear Oriana here, but I think we’re coming to an agreement about that.”

He stood up from the table. “Take some time to think about it Oriana. This can be beneficial to both of us.” Eyeing Beckett with a look of triumph, he walked off, leaving Oriana with the bill.

Beckett slid into the now unoccupied seat. “So this is why you didn’t want me to come? You’re reconciling?”

Oriana’s eyes widened. “What? No!”

Beckett scoffed. “Now I know the real reason you wanted me in the office earlier. You wanted to make Jason jealous.”

She responded angrily. “I wanted to suck your cock like it was a fucking ice cream cone. I wanted to pleasure you, not him. You. It’s not my fucking fault you can’t control your facial expressions or where your eyes go.”

“You said you didn’t care if he saw. I should have questioned that.”

“Oh, and little slice of revenge is a bad thing?” She cried. “You think I’m using you to get back at him? Get over yourself.”

“Perhaps it’s you that needs to get over herself.” He stood abruptly. “Enjoy the rest of your wine in this romantic establishment.” He threw down some cash, enough to cover both her and Jason’s drinks as well as cab fare for her ride home. He strode out of the restaurant, cursing himself for ever trusting Oriana Miller.

Oriana sat in shock for all of five seconds before leaping out of her chair and running after him. Bursting through the restaurant’s door and onto the street, she saw him about to enter a vehicle. She dashed to his side, slamming the car door shut before he could get in. He turned to her in genuine surprise.

“Tell me you’re fucking joking, Beckett Harrington. You don’t seriously think I want that asshat back? Especially now that I’m with you? You two are night and day, why the fuck would I ever want to be with someone else, anyone else? Let alone Jason?”

“He had his hands all over you.” Beckett growled. “He was touching your hair, your skin, he held your hand, Ori. What am I supposed to think? Do you have any idea how that looks? You didn’t even stop him! You just sat there!”

Oriana paused, really taking him in. He looked completely flustered, his hair was mussed up as though he’d been raking his fingers through it, his shirt half untucked revealing the wrinkles where it had been tucked into his pants.

“You’re… jealous.” Oriana observed.

“I don’t get jealous.” He responded with a huff.

“Really?” She crossed her arms, mimicking his movements from before. “So then why are you here?”

“It’s business. We’re business partners. Whatever you discuss, I should be involved.” He opened the car door again, and again she slammed it shut. He jumped back before it landed on his hand.

“Don’t walk away from me!” She yelled.

Beckett’s eyes were wide, his ears felt like they were burning. Did I misread the entire thing?

“Ori…”

“Shut up!! You pursued me. You convinced me to be your girlfriend. You emptied half your closet to make room for my clothes. I have one drink with my ex and without even hearing me out, you just assume I want out of our relationship? Think again, Harrington! I don’t want out. I want you! Just you!!”

She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, and she was glaring at him with an intensity he hadn’t seen before.

“Then why was he all over you?” Beckett accused, losing his steam. He can feel he’s made a terrible mistake by not trusting this fiery woman in front of him.

“He made me a proposition. A disgusting one. One that I will not be taking. But also, he threatened to destroy me if I didn’t. And so, I was in so much shock that when he touched my hair and my skin I couldn’t even react. And then you showed up making all these assumptions and make me feel like I did something wrong, when in reality, it’s Jason that’s doing something wrong. So thanks for that.”

Oriana spun on her heel, marching away. The nerve of that guy. After everything we’ve been through, after the way Jason just treated me, I can’t believe Beckett would…

A hand grabbed her arm, interrupting her thoughts. “Ori, wait!”

She turned to face Beckett, fully intending to dump his ass for not trusting her, but he pulled her into an empty alleyway before she had the chance. Pressing her against the brick wall of a building he crashed his lips to hers, taking her by surprise.

“I’m sorry” He breathed between kisses. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Jealousy.” She moaned as he nipped at her neck.

“Insane jealousy.” He agreed. “I never knew what that felt like. It’s awful.”

With one hand he lifted her skirt up around her waist, hooking her leg around his waist, his other hand unzipping his pants. He didn’t even bother unbuckling his belt or unbuttoning his pants.

“Beck…”

He thrust powerfully inside her and she cried out as she clawed his back. He met her eyes as he fucked her without mercy, once again claiming her as his own. They were both panting, she could feel her back scraping against the brick but she didn’t care. The unbridled passion this man had for her took her breath away every single time they came together. She was beginning to understand the meaning behind the different ways he fucked her.

When he’s slow and sweet, he’s telling her he loves her without saying the actual words. When he goes down on her he’s playful yet filled with lust. When she goes down on him, she’s discovered he’d rather cum deep inside her belly than in her mouth. He can be rough while only thinking of her pleasure, and right now he was fucking her as though he needed to possess her. As though he was claiming her for only himself. He needs to know she’s his and only his, so he fucks her completely senseless, like no one ever has before and it blows her mind how he can possibly think she’d ever want someone else from now on.

As they fell apart together, she felt the rush of his sperm spread throughout her and she groaned at the sensation. She loved him cumming inside her as much as he loved doing it. They stayed joined for a minute as both came down from their high, before he carefully slid himself out of her center and zipped his pants back up, stepping back as though in a daze. He ran his hand through his hair once more as he looked back down the alley to see if anyone had been watching. There wasn’t. The world was carrying on around them, none the wiser of their public act.

“I can’t believe I just did that.” He whispered. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘we’. We did that.” Oriana countered softly.

He looked back at her now guarded expression. “Why didn’t you stop me. I just…took you. In an alley. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Why would I?” She asked, feeling her eyes welling up with tears. Something’s wrong.

Beckett was shaking his head vigorously. “I…I’m no better than…”

“You’re my boyfriend. I wanted you. I still want you.” She pleaded, watching as he slowly backed away from her, his face becoming haunted.

“No.” he said hoarsely. “That’s what my sister did. She just went with it. I’m so sorry, I…I’ll go, you won’t ever see me again.”

He hurried away from her, feeling like the scum of the earth. Just before he was back on the street, he felt a small hand slip into his, stopping him in his tracks. He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t leave either. Oriana’s arms wrapped around him, her face pressed into his back. He felt her take a deep breath before speaking.

“I love you.”

His heart skipped. She couldn’t have just…she can’t mean…can she…?

Swallowing hard he turned to face her, his blue eyes piercing her green ones, seeing the naked truth of her words in them.

“I love you.” She repeated, not breaking their eye contact. “Don’t even think of disappearing on me. I can’t handle that.”

Beckett was frozen in place, his heart thundering, butterflies erupting in his stomach. No one but his parents and sister has ever said that to him before. No one but his family has ever loved him, ever wanted to be loved by him.

Clearing his throat, he finally found his voice. “You…you don’t have to say that to get me to stay. I shouldn’t have reacted so harshly…”

“Damn it, Beckett, listen to me. I. Love. You. I love you.” She was searching his eyes, desperately wanting him to admit he loves her too. She wasn’t positive she was ready to exchange those words, but now she wished she’d said them sooner. She wished she’d done a lot of things sooner.

He took a shuddery breath. “Ori, I…”

“HEY! You alright, miss?” A deep voice boomed.

Jumping at the intrusion, there was a very large, very mean looking man towering over them. “Miss, you are okay? Is this man bothering you?”

“You…care?” Oriana asked the stranger uncertainly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Sir, step away from her now, and there won’t be any trouble.”

Beckett blinked. He couldn’t believe someone was intervening right now. He couldn’t believe a complete stranger would care enough to make sure a young woman in an alleyway with a man was doing okay. Why couldn’t someone have intervened with Katrina? Why did no one notice her?

“Thank you, but I’m good, really. He’s not bothering me. But just so you know…he would have had plenty of time to do something horrible.”

The man looked back and forth between the two lovers before finally nodding. “Noted. Just remember that being late is better than never showing up. Take care of yourselves.”

Oriana turned back to Beckett, taking his hands in hers. “See Beck? There are good people in this world. You’re one of them. Don’t ever doubt it, okay?”

Beckett swallowed, hard. “Okay.” He whispered. He opened his mouth to speak again, but nothing came out, and Oriana just smiled softly.

“Come on. I’m hungry. Take me to dinner.”

Beckett nodded. “Anything you want.”

Walking down the street, Beckett’s mind raced with the events of the day, always landing on the specific thought of Oriana telling him she loved him. He needs to say it back. He wants to say it back. She wasn’t even pressing him for it, but he knows she wants to hear it. More than anything he wants to tell her how madly in love with her he is.

So then why can’t I form the words loud enough for her to hear?

    @annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @alesana45 @mfackenthal

 @walkerismychoice @confessionsofabrokegirl @lilyofchoices @darley1101 @emceesynonymroll @perriewinklenerdie @cordoniasmost @justendlesssummerfeels

@feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas @emichelle @kendrasgue @flyawayboo @divergentofhogwarts @symonde @brightpinkpeppercorn

[reyloforcebalance]

Bonded Chapter 30: Coming Together

The newest chapter to my Reylo fanfic (rated T). If you want to check out the previous chapters, here’s the link to AO3!

The crolute sits at the bar, swaying to the music and slapping a fat hand against his thigh. He barely fits in the chair, folds of flesh pouring over the sides of the seat, contained only by threadbare pants.

Every so often, he glances at Rey sitting beside him, a long, lingering glance.

But she just keeps her eyes forward, fixed on the disordered rows of bottles lining the back of bar. He’s tried to talk to her a couple of times, but she just pretends not to understand him.

So now he’s staring.

Rey grips her half empty drink, cursing whatever cruel twist of fate has made her a magnet for the leering eyes of crolutes.

And she thought those days were behind her…

She shifts away from him, turning to observe the rest of the scene.

The cantina is vibrant, like a living thing unto itself. The air is filled with the swinging beat of the band, three massive Kitonaks huddled together on a small platform, clumsily swaying from side to side, bumping bellies as they play their instruments.

It seems like everyone’s in motion, swept up by the beat of the music.

There’s a towering Yarkora standing in front of the platform, arms in the air, waving wildly, his tail swishing as he yells nonsensical words of praise for the band. A group of hooded Dressellians sit close by, each of them bobbing and tapping their feet, almost in exact unison. Even a service droid rocks its snout-shaped head as it rolls by with a trey full of drinks.

Rey smiles to herself as she turns to face the bar.

She should enjoy this while she can. It’s not often that she gets to hear live music, and these fellows aren’t half bad. The atmosphere is warm, full of laughter and chit chat. There hasn’t been a single fight since she arrived, something of a miracle given the roughneck crowd.

Yes, she should just sit back and soak it all in— the music, the gaiety, the peace.

But even as she thinks this, she’s reaching into her pouch, pulling out a chrono to check the time. She casts a downward glance, then slips the device back into her pouch.

Daja’s late.

But not terribly late. It could be a good thing, really… After all, Rey’s meeting was quite short and look how that turned out.

Not that she blames Yana for her decision. The woman has a business to run, thousands in her employ, people with mouths to feed. If she were to volunteer her warehouses to hide runaway slaves, she could become a target, especially given the kinds of slaves she’d be hiding.

Rey’s going after the big fish now, slavers who operate across multiple systems, the kind who will chase down missing property for no other reason than to make an example of them. They’ve got vast resources— veritable armies at their beck and call, spies feeding them all manner of intel, and a network of businesses under their thumb.

But Rey’s building her own network.

She and Daja are one of a dozen pairs going from system to system, seeking out powerful locals who might be willing to volunteer a haven for runaway slaves. The goal is to create a secret path of safe houses to usher new escapees to permanent freedom, a place for them to lay low while the slavers are hot in pursuit.  

The only problem is that so many are utterly terrified of what might happen if they get caught. These big-name crime lords could make life hell for them if they wanted to— cut off their access to trade routes, squeeze their businesses dry, even destroy their homes. It’s quite a risk, what Rey’s asking. She can hardly begrudge those who turn her down.

But Daja should have more luck.

If the Daughters of Q’anah are half of what people say they are, then they fear no one. They’re pirates, after all. They already steal property from the galaxy’s most vicious crime lords. Surely, they’d be open to smuggling a different kind of property, the kind that lives and breathes, that shouldn’t be considered property at all.

Surely…

Rey drums her fingers on the bar, trying to quell a nervous feeling in her gut.

The Daughters aren’t exactly saints, though. They don’t hesitate to kill, and if rumors are to be believed, they relish the opportunity to show they can be just as vicious as the people they steal from.

It’s enough to make Rey worry.

Just a little.

But Daja can handle herself. She’s the perfect one for the job, really. She’s got the swagger of a pirate, a smart mouth and a rebel spirit. She’s fearless. She’s capable. In a different life, she could be a Daughter of Q’anah.

Yes, there’s no reason to worry. No reason at all…

Rey continues drumming her fingers but soon stops, flattening her hand on the surface. She sits up, squaring her shoulders and taking another look around. She accidentally catches the eye of the crolute and he flashes a gap-toothed grin.

She immediately looks away.

She resists the urge to check the time again, trying to relax instead, enjoy the atmosphere. She takes a deep breath and without quite realizing it, closes her eyes, melting into the environment.

The cantina is abuzz with conversation, dozens of exchanges blending together into a low roar. If she concentrates, she can pick out individuals from the mass…

There’s a couple speaking in Bocce, gossiping about a local merchant named Shah Kin. Apparently, he’s been fooling around with his competitor’s wife…

A man is arguing with a service droid about his tab, claiming it overcharged him for the last three orders.

There’s a group speaking in what Rey can only describe as honks and clicks. It’s not a language she understands. She’s not even sure how many are talking… three maybe? No four.

A couple next to them discuss a First Order sighting, a dreadnaught near Asmaru. They wonder what it could mean. The leading theory is that Kylo Ren is looking to run a new a trade route through the system…

Rey’s eyes snap open.

She shakes her head briskly, struggling to regain her focus. She takes a deep inhale and reaches into her pouch, pulling out the chrono. She glances down, then shoves it back in.

Five more minutes.

She’ll wait for five more minutes, and if Daja doesn’t show up, then she’ll go after her.

Rey rests forearms on the bar, shoulders hunched, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

It’s stupid.

There’s no reason to worry. She’s only late because she was successful.

Probably.

Lots of questions to answer, concerns to address—

Suddenly, Rey snaps up. She leaps to her feet and turns to face the cantina, eagerly searching the crowd.

Daja’s pushing her way past a couple of horned Davorians. As she gets closer, Rey senses her emotions, a kind of adrenaline-charged frenzy mixed with anger.

Rey’s shoulders drop.

Things did not go well.

Daja charges straight up to Rey, flushed and out of breath.

“I don’t know,” Daja halts just in front of her, “what I did to piss those bitches off but—” She takes a giant gulp of air. “Whatever it was, they nearly killed me for it.” She exhales, widening her eyes.

Rey opens her mouth to speak but suddenly stops, turning her head.  

There’s a young man standing next to Daja. She’d seen him trailing behind her when she came in but just assumed he was another patron.

“Who’s this?” Rey points to their unidentified guest.

“No one.” Daja practically yells this, shoving him away. “Just some jackass.”

The young man staggers back.

“Some way to refer to the guy who just saved your life.” He knits his eyebrows.

“You did not save my life.” Daja whips around, pointing a finger in his face. “I had things under control. I didn’t need your help.”

“Uh… yeah, you did.” He crosses his arms. “And I didn’t have to. Just like I didn’t have to see you back safely to your friend.” He nods to Rey. “But I did it anyway. Even though you’ve called me a jackass three times now.” He lifts three fingers as he mouths the number for emphasis.

Daja glares at him.

“Fine,” she deadpans. “You saved my life. I’m eternally grateful. Now, go away, jackass.” She turns back to Rey, twitching.

“You Resistance people are rude, you know that?” He grumbles.

“And you First Order people are slimy,” Daja retorts.

Rey jerks back.

“You’re with the First Order?” She demands, examining him.

He doesn’t look like a member of the First Order at all— no uniform, no insignia, no indication of rank or position. And he’s so young, barely a man…  

“Yep.” He perks up, beaming with pride. For the first time, he directs his full attention to Rey. His gaze drifts down then back up, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

“I gotta say…” His lips turn up slyly. “You’re pretty cute for a Resistance fighter.” He winks at her.

Daja immediately scoffs.

“Ok, time for you to—”

“What’s your name?” Rey studies the young man closely.

“Sylas Bonden.” He offers his hand with a smile.

Rey eyes him warily for a moment. Then she lifts a hand, meeting his with a gentle grip.

“Thanks for taking care of my friend, Sylas.” She nods at him.

“You’re welcome.” Sylas leans towards Rey, but shoots Daja a pointed look.

Daja growls under her breath.

“And what do you do for the First Order?” Rey tilts her head.

“I…” He gestures to himself with a little flair. “Am in charge of a very…” His eyes drift upward. “Special subset of negotiations.”

“Special?” She raises eyebrow.

“Yeah…” He draws out the word. “Not your standard resource exchanges, ones that require a little… finesse.” He wiggles his eyebrows. Then he steps to the side, sliding onto the seat once inhabited by the crolute. “Let me buy you a drink.” He pats the bar. “I’ll tell you all about it. Or what I’m allowed to tell, anyways.” He winks again.

Daja laughs, incredulous.

“Kid, you’ve got some nerve. You think—”  

“Sure.” Rey shrugs.  

Daja’s jaw drops.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[brightlycoloredteacups]

End Up Dead

Series: Brynhilda’s Saga, Ivar x OFC

Warnings: Violent Imagery, none for this specific chapter.

           Brynhilda is amazed how quickly two months can pass. She’s almost certain it’s because she’s kept busy. Fetching water, carrying sacks of grain for meals, and grain to the brewer for ale. Whatever physically demanding task Aslaug could think of, she called for Brynhilda to carry it out. Because of all the demands, she’d so far managed to escape the Ragnarsson’s notice. For that, she thanked Odin. From what the other slaves told her, the first three could be very pleasant to be around if you wanted a nice roll in the hay. But it was the youngest, Ivar, that proved the most difficult to work with.

           Ivar was a cripple who had been smothered his entire existence by his mother. He was in an awkward stage of life where he tried to prove himself capable despite being crippled, but not having the will power to exercise control over his anger. He was a complete terror to nearly everyone but his mother and eldest brother Ubbe. Brynhilda made a mental note long ago to stay far, far away from Ivar. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to be alone with him.

           Getting to know the slaves she shared quarters with was the hardest thing she had to do. They were so nice to her, bathing her when her back rendered her useless, rubbing her feet when Aslaug overworked her, telling her funny stories they made up when she was too angry to speak. It was sickening. Deep in her heart, she loved every moment of it.

           She used to have her own set of slaves, four girls that were at her beck and call night and day. She never raised a hand to them, or her voice, but that hadn’t meant she was a good master. It wasn’t just petty tasks and forcing them to care for her. She allowed men under her command to use them as they saw fit. She never cared if they became sick, or injured, she expected unattainable perfection at all times. To soothe the guilt she felt over those transgressions, she made a vow to Odin that she’d do right by her slaves if she ever found them again.

           She also resolved to take care of the other slaves she served with as much as she could. Which was how she found herself carrying a jug of ale to the feast hall. Apparently, because the cold was setting in, Ivar was being more of a pain than usual. The slaves were terrified of him, so they solicited Brynhilda’s help. After all, she was brave, wasn’t she? The scar on her back proved it.

           Despite her new vow to protect the other slaves, when they crowded around her, asking her to serve the Ragnarssons that night, she was hard pressed not to roll her eyes. As she carried the jug of ale she had to remind herself that the slaves dealt with a different kind of pain than she did. She could take a hit from a fist, they could not.  

           Before she enters the great hall, she takes in a deep breath to calm herself. Queen Aslaug wouldn’t be there, she had retired to bed early, a migraine overtaking her. There wouldn’t be anyone that could placate Ivar once everyone got drunk.

           Having never served anyone in her entire life, she enters the feast hall, not sure what to do. Luckily, one of the brothers makes sure to put her right to work. One of them raises their cup. He has incredibly blonde, bushy hair with a few braids on the sides. “It’s about time.” He whines. As she walks over, she’s aware all eyes are on her. The other brothers raise their own cups for her to fill. Well, it’s easy enough. “You’re new.” One of them states. He’s the only one with a full beard, and a long braid that reaches to the backs of his shoulders. “I am.” She says quietly. “What’s your name? Where are you from?” He continues.

“I’m Brynhilda, I can’t remember where I’m from.” She figures the less they know about her, the better. She doesn’t like the looks they’re giving her. “Why do you look so different?” One asks. His hair is shorter than the first ones, and shaved at the sides. “Hvitserk!” he gets a hit on the back of the head. Hvitserk grunts with the force. “She does.” He mumbles, going back to his food. “Maybe she’s from Islam.” One says. Brynhilda’s eyes snap to his. He’s Ivar, she’s sure. The cruelty and curiosity in his eyes give him away.  “Are you girl? Are you from Islam?”

“My name is Brynhilda,” she says, trying to keep her voice from sounding too harsh. “And Islam is the religion, not a country.”

“What does a slave know?” he scoffs. “Ivar, play nice.” The same one that slapped Hvitserk warns. “Why, she’s just a slave.” Brynhilda grits her teeth to keep the smart come back quiet. “I could beat her to death and you couldn’t stop me.” The boy says. Brynhilda scoffs, but manages to bite her tongue. The boy wouldn’t even be able to land a hand on her before she had hers around his throat. Ivar’s eyes snap to hers. “What was that?” he growls. “Nothing,” she mutters. “Nothing, what?”

           Brynhilda doesn’t miss the grip he has on his knife. Ivar would surely kill her if she wasn’t on her guard. “Nothing, master.” She puts, bowing a little. “I’m sorry, are you being sarcastic with me?” He turns to get a better looks at her. “Ivar, please, she’s just trying to do her job.”

“Stay out of it Ubbe.” The boy snaps, without turning to him. “You do realize you’re talking to a prince, right?”

“Oh?” Brynhilda says, “You’re so ugly I couldn’t tell if you were even human.” She winces, her and her big mouth. The unnamed boy, the one she can only guess is Sigurd, throws his head back and laughs. “I think I found my new favorite slave!” he says. Ivar growls and throws himself to the ground. Crawling towards her, Brynhilda holds her ground, wondering what he could possibly do to hurt her. She knew better than to underestimate him, despite being a cripple.

           He looks up at her, “You’d better learn some respect, slave.” He growls. “Or I will make life very hard for you.” Brynhilda raises and eyebrow, looking down at him. “I doubt it.” She challenges him. “There’s nothing you can do to me that I haven’t already lived through.” Ivar’s lips curl into a vicious smile. Saying nothing, he merely slithers around her and into the darkness.

           The rest of dinner is uneventful. The remaining brothers try their best to flirt with her, but she doesn’t take the bait. Soon enough, they’re too drunk to notice her anyway. They turn to laughing at each other and talking of great hunts. Brynhilda can’t help the smile that overcomes her face. It’s an intimate scene she’s well acquainted with. Many nights had been spent around a feast table like this, laughing with her friends, boasting about kills. Her smile quickly falls when she realizes that those friends are out there, laughing and boasting without her. Gritting her teeth, she stiffens her face to stone once again. She needs to find a way to stop thinking about such things. The past won’t help her here.

           Another pebble is flung into her side as she raises the water buckets over her head. Ivar, son of Ragnar, does not make idle threats. So far he hadn’t really made life more difficult, just more annoying. He’d woken at dawn with the rest of the slaves, just to torment her. He hadn’t outright ordered her to do anything, he was just there, prodding at her, wondering how far he could push her until she snapped. In all honesty, she wanted to strangle the little shit.

           He followed her as she brought the buckets back to the feast hall. They were to be warmed for Queen Aslaug’s afternoon bath. Brynhilda knows better than to put the water buckets on the ground, Ivar would surely come up and dump them over, smiling like a child who’d gotten away with being naughty. Just as she was reaching for the door, it opens. She looks up and sees Ubbe. “Master,” She says, grunting as another pebble connects with her back. She saw some very suspect looking mushrooms in the forest once, she could slip those into his food if she ever served them again.

           Ubbe looks behind her. “Ivar! Stop torturing the slave.” Brynhilda grits her teeth. I have a name you ass, she thinks. “Excuse me, master.” She says. He steps out of the way and watches as she carries the buckets inside to be warmed. “Ivar, enough!” Ubbe hisses as another pebble lands beside her feet. She leaves them to argue.

           Setting the buckets down near the water, she sees that they will be her last two buckets. Thank the gods. The other slaves are tending to the heating of the water. “Brynhilda,” One whispers. “Come sit down.” As she has no other chores lines up for her so far, Brynhilda sits. If she remembers right, the girls name is Sigrid. “I don’t envy you,” She leans in and whispers. “You should’ve known better than to anger Master Ivar like that.” Brynhilda merely grunts.

           The girls around her talk pleasantly. Most of the topics are foreign to her. Dreams of marriage and children, cute boys they’d like to snuggle with by the fire. Mostly Brynhilda kept quiet, enjoying the company even if she didn’t participate. “What about you Brynhilda?” Sigrid whispers. The girls all look at her excited. She stares back at them, not sure what they’re expecting. “Don’t you want to get married?” One of the slaves asked. She’s the youngest of them all, no more than eight or nine.

           “Of course she doesn’t Rhona,” the other one snaps. “She’s out for revenge.”

“Vigdis!” Sigrid hisses. The girl pales and sends a terrified look to Brynhilda. Vigdis is also young. In fact, out of the five slaves Aslaug had in her household, only Margrethe and Brynhilda were considered proper women. “And how would you know if I’m out for revenge?”

“We don’t,” Sigrid says quickly. “We were just talking earlier. We, um,” She blushes hard. Brynhilda raises an eyebrow. “Did you make up stories about me?” She asks, not trying to hide her smile. The girls look relieved that she isn’t mad at them. “So long as I’m the hero, I don’t care what you come up with.” Brynhilda says. The girls giggle.

           When the water is heated through, Brynhilda pours it into the bath. Bidding the other girls farewell, she takes the buckets and returns to the feast hall. She thinks that maybe Ubbe has taken Ivar far away from the hall, but no such lug. “Slave!” Ivar barks. Brynhilda stops in her tracks and turns to look at him. “Come here.” Brynhilda stays where she is. “Are you hard of hearing?” He snaps. “Come here.” She still stays frozen in her spot.

           Her logic is this: if he’s going to try and make her life more miserable than it already is, then she’d make him work for it. “Woman!” He yells. “My name,” She says. “Is Brynhilda.” She turns and walks out of the hall. She’s playing with fire and she knows it, but she can’t let that pompous shit brained man-child get the best of her.

She is Brynhilda! THE Brynhilda, named after the Valkyrie, she struck terror into the hearts of men long before they even saw her. How many battles had she won by the sound of her name alone? How many times had men and women reported to be the fiercest in all the land bowed to her? How many aspiring farmers had come to ask her for training? How much of an asshole did she sound?

The longer she spent thinking about what was and what is now, she reaffirmed that yes, Odin meant for this to happen. Foolish hero that she was, at one point she almost felt akin to a god. The arrogance she suffered must have been insufferable.

           She’s putting away the water buckets when Sigrid comes running as fast as her legs can carry her.  “Master Ivar wants to see you.” She huffs, her hands on her knees. Brynhilda rolls her eyes to the sky. Her father told her that sometimes, the gods continued to add challenges during adventures to teach their champions valuable lessons. What lesson she was supposed to learn from serving Ivar, she had no clue, but hoped it was damn worth it. She just suffered an earth shaking epiphany.

           Entering the feast hall, she sees Ivar is still where she left him, at the table. She stands in the doorway, looking at him levelly. “Come here.” He growls. She doesn’t move. The boy places a hand on his axe. She readies herself. She’s far enough away that she believes she can dodge his attack with little trouble. “Brynhilda,” He says, “come here.”

           With that, she moves towards him. He seems pleased that she’s finally listening to him. “Yes?” she asks. “Yes, master.” He corrects her. She says nothing. If he’s irritated by it, he doesn’t show it. He’s too busy reveling in the small victory she allowed him. “My brothers have gone to the river. I wish to join them.”

           She looks at him, confused. “What’s stopping you?” She asks. He purses his lips together. “I’m crippled.”

“I’m aware.” She crosses her arms. “I am not going to drag myself all the way to the river.”

“Why not? You drag yourself everywhere else.”

“You’re going to carry me to the river, Brynhilda.” He orders, ignoring her comment. “Now?” She asks. “Yes, now.” She shrugs and grabs for him. Fisting his shirt and the crotch of his pants, she throws him across her shoulders and heads for the door. “PUT ME DOWN!” He bellows. Again, she does as he asks, throwing him over her head onto the ground. He lands with a painful sounding thump. When he gathers enough of his wits about him, he rolls over and punches her leg. There isn’t much force behind it, which is surprising, considering how he gets around. She looks at him smirking. “What’s that matter Master?” She says sweetly. “I thought you wanted me to carry you to the river.”

“I wanted you to carry me properly you insane woman!” Another punch to her leg. Still not much force. Either he was holding back or he really didn’t know how to hit anyone. Brynhilda bends down and hooks her arms underneath him, one under his shoulders, the other under his knees. He glares at her. “Put. Me. Down.” He says, voice full of menace. Brynhilda can’t help but smile at him, dropping him to the ground again. He yelps and his head cracks against the floor.

           “I’m going to kill you.” He mutters, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not my fault you aren’t beings specific Master.”

“I am being specific.” He counters. “Carry me, on your back, to the river. And do it properly.”

           Brynhilda turns from him, gets down on one knee and waits. She hears Ivar move into position. He wraps his arms around her shoulders. She grabs them and stands. “This isn’t-” He starts. “Quiet,” She snaps. “I’ll get you situated in a minute.” She leans forward and awkwardly grasps at his pants. Getting a good grip, she takes a hold of the backs of his thighs and he wraps them around her middle. “You’re strong,” he notes. “you’re fat.” She spits back. “It’s muscle.” He defends. She lets out a bark of laughter. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

           She’s near the door when she hears Aslaug call out. “And where do you think you’re going?” Brynhilda turns towards the queen. Ivar mutters a ‘shit’ underneath his breath. “To the river,” He says. “Ivar, you cannot swim.” Aslaug points out. “That doesn’t mean I can’t join my brothers.”

“You aren’t going to the river.” Aslaug says with finality. “Oh, thank Odin!” Brynhilda says, letting go of his legs. Ivar, having learned his lesson from before, tightens his grip on her neck before he’s dropped. It throws her off balance, and she falls with him, letting out a strangled cry.

           They spend a few seconds dazed in the pile they’ve become, Brynhilda on top of him. “you’re on my legs.” He growls shoving at her shoulders. “Well, who’s fault is that?” She snaps, getting up. Her back is screaming in pain, so it takes her a while to get to her feet. “Slave, why are you playing around? Haven’t I given you enough chores to do?”

“My lady,” Brynhilda says, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Master Ivar wanted me to carry him to the river. Seeing as you haven’t given me any tasks for the afternoon, but Master Ivar had-”

“You aren’t Ivar’s slave, you’re mine.”

“Why not mother?” Ivar asks. “I want her to be my slave.”

“Ivar,” His mother warns. “She’s strong,” He says, looking up at her. “You saw her carrying me, the others can’t do that. I want her to be my slave and my slave only. I don’t want to share her like we share Margrethe.”

“I did not take her in to be a personal slave.” Aslaug explains. “I took her in to do the labor the others could not.”

“I don’t care.” Ivar states bluntly. Brynhilda is mildly surprised. If Ivar were her son, she would’ve slapped him for such behavior. “She’s strong and she can take me anywhere I want to go. I won’t have to wait for anyone else to take me anywhere.”

           Brynhilda looks at the ceiling, praying to Odin for mercy. She doesn’t want to be Ivar’s personal slave. She’d kill him. Let Aslaug  be strong just this once. She prays. It’s ignored. “Fine, Ivar.” Aslaug gives in. “She’s your slave.”

           She’s careful to keep her groan from escaping. Wonderful, from slave to pack mule. Brynhilda is now assured of one thing, one of them is going to end up dead.

[megairishrose]

Flaws Stitched Together With Good Intentions chapter 26: Chain of command

It was an interesting bunch to say the least. But Amelia looked past all the odd creatures to search for what she referred to earlier as her "backup."

She noticed Claude and Sikes first, they were classy as usual. And they all noticed her at the same time and they seemed to fight to get to get to her first.

Percival, being the tallest and most imposing, won. He gathered Amelia into a tight hug. "Good to see you, now how much trouble did you get yourself into this time?"

Back at the town hall, Neal leaned over to Emma. "I can't hear what they are saying."

Emma nodded, curious at what would be said. She waved her hands and now everything Amelia and her friends said would be heard back in the town hall.

"About the same as always." She answered before accepting a shoulder squeeze from Claude.

"I thought we told you to be careful when dealing with the Horned King. You don't listen, do you?" He remarked.

"I just bit off more than I could chew. But I'm glad you all showed up." She honestly had never been so happy to see a bunch of villains before.

"Your guardian spirit was very persistent to get us to come here and being help. She actually scared my friends." Pierre commented. He finally got to hug Amelia.

Sikes stood a few feet away. "You only care that we brought help." He said.

"No, I honestly missed you guys. But given the current situation, what did you bring me?" Amelia did want to catch up with them but there would be a time for that later, maybe.

The gargoyles are from me." Claude pointed to a few hundred stone statues that suddenly came to life. They loudly roared and bared sharp teeth. It was impressive to say the least.

"Obviously the spirits, or friends from the other side are from me." Pierre directed her attention to the ground and the buildings. There were shadows of creatures that Amelia couldn't even name. She had always heard Pierre refer to his friends from the other side but had never met them.

Then something heavy knocked into her back. She spun around to be face to beck with a large griffin. "Hey Bucky, you came too?" Amelia actually snuggled the creature. It made a grunt but it sounded happy.

"And there's more where he came from." Percival stated.

"Saving the best for the last, are we?" Sikes stepped forward and pointed to a miss matched army behind him. "Highly trained mercenaries, completely loyal to me…"

"So you brought me an army?" Amelia said sweetly.

"I am letting you borrow the army." He said seriously, and then he smiled. "They are fully at your command, Bernadette."

"Wait… wait Sikes," A solider stepped forward with an arrogant attitude. "You never said nothing about taking orders from a little woman. Women don't belong on the battle field, they belong in bed, preferably on her back."

Back at the town hall, Killian and Robin had to grab Neal to stop him from rushing across the street and ripping out a throat.

Now Amelia knew as a fact that her surrogate fathers would never let someone talk to her with such blunt disrespect. She saw Percival already advancing with his daggers in hand and Claude was actually cracking his knuckles. Amelia was thankful that Neal was out of earshot. She could handle herself. She stepped between Percival and Claude, placing a hand on their shoulders. "I got this." Amelia walked up to the disrespected soldier with a sweet smile plastered on her face.

"Hello there darling, I suggest getting out of here and finding somewhere quiet. Taking orders is so much better than giving them…" He would have said more but Amelia plunged her hand into his chest and pulled out his heart.

Neal turned to his father. "You're a horrible influence."

"I don't take orders; I barely take suggestions." She said softly before turning to the rest of the army. "Now I'm going to explain how things work in my town. I give the orders, all of the orders. You were given to me; basically you are a gift that I can command to do anything I want. If anyone has an issue with taking orders from a little woman, as this poor unfortunate soul described me as, by all means leave. I will not hold it against you. Does anyone else have an issue with the chain of command?" She still had a crazy commanding side and she loved it. There was no answer. "So does that mean you will fight for me?" She asked and was greeted with a yell of approval. Amelia turned to the heartless man. "And what about you?" She gave his heart the tiniest squeeze.

"I will fight for you." He answered, a drop of sweat appeared on his forehead.

"Good choice." Amelia stuck his heart back in and walked to her friends who were staring at her shocked.

"I don't want to sound terrified but where did you learn that trick?" Pierre asked.

"The Dark One or the Evil Queen, take your pick." Amelia answered casually.

"Look at that, our little girl moved on to bigger and badder villains. I'm impressed." Claude remarked.

"Actually, they will both be family eventually." If they made it, big if. Amelia began to walk back to the town hall and the rest of the make shift army. But she suddenly stopped. She looked down and saw a spirit holding her ankle.

"Bernadette, you can't just say something like that and not expect questions from us." Sikes kept calm somehow. How could the Dark One and the Evil Queen be family? They were villains who should be avoided at all costs. What was Bernadette thinking?

Amelia turned around. "We can walk and talk, can't we?" She began walking quite fast to the town hall, hearing heavy footsteps behind her. "The Dark One will be my father in law and the Evil Queen is my future step son's adopted mother. I have a war council set up in the town hall"

"War council? You really have this all figured out, don't you? And when this is all over, we are talking about your new extended family." Percival said.

"It's on the job training." They entered the town hall. "Okay, quick introductions. Guys, this Percival, Claude, Sikes, and Pierre, my surrogate fathers back in the Enchanted Forest. This is Emma, Killian, Mary Margaret, David, Regina, Robin, Henry, Gold, Belle…" Amelia continued to name everyone in the town hall, ending with "And Neal is my fiancé."

The four men sized Neal up. He was going to marry their little girl?

"Listen here, if you ever hurt her in any way shape or form, we will destroy you." Percival threatened him.

"You mean destroy whatever is left of me after she's done?" Neal asked calmly.

Not the answer they were expecting but it was the correct answer. Percival nodded and turned back to Amelia. "I approve." She received accompanying nods from the others.

"Okay, are we done here? We have an undead army coming." Amelia tapped her fingers on the table.

Pierre turned around to face her. "Army of the undead? What are you talking about? What did you do, Bernadette?"

"Did you listen to our advice? We gave you three simple instructions before you went to Prydain. Don't die, don't kill anyone, don't do anything stupid." Claude was livid.

Amelia wanted to hide behind Neal, he would protect her from them. But she didn't need to, Robin stood up for her.

"Gentleman, what's done is done, now we have to deal with the consequences. What matters most is that Amelia is safe and alive. Can we agree on that?"

Low grunts and nods were around the room. Amelia mouthed 'thank you' to Robin. He nodded back.

Plans were laid out. According to Percival he saw a mass of creatures heading from the south and would be in the town limits in two hours, tops.

Everyone stayed close together for the most part, they did not want to break into groups, they wanted to stay united as a town, and as a family.

Emma was then at Amelia's side. "Your town?" There was the slightest bit of a joke in her voice. Of course the sheriff was going to question the librarian's sudden ownership of the town. Was Regina next?

"My problem?" Amelia corrected herself.

"Our town, our problem. Our family." Emma said, she was completely open and willingly to have a family who cared about each other.

If this was what it took to make Emma finally feel like she belonged, so be it. Amelia wanted to hug Emma. And she did.

Pierre, Sikes, Percival, and Claude ended up standing in a corner, just studying the group Bernadette had gathered. They had noticed Prince Charming and Snow White, Robin Hood, the Evil Queen, the Dark One. Bernadette had some interesting heroes on her side but also some powerful villains. What had made them go to the good side? Was Bernadette the reason, or maybe part of the reason? Wait, she wasn't Bernadette anymore, what was she called now? Amelia, was it? They weren't sure the name suited her, but who were they to judge?

Then they noticed a certain person, someone they knew as a villain and, as a surrogate father, the very worst kind of villain.

Claude noticed the hook first. "Captain Hook? You're on the good side now? What changed your mind?"

Killian looked up at the group of four men. They were the reason Amelia was the way she was. So he was grateful but at the same time, slightly scared. "Yes, I had a change of heart and now I'm helping a friend." Killian answered honestly.

"A friend? Bernadette is a friend?" Pierre asked.

"Aye, she is." Killian did not want to go into detail about the nature of their relationship.

"Your ways with the ladies is almost legendary. Good thing our Bernadette was too smart to fall for your tricks." Sikes gave Killian a look that rooted the pirate to the ground.

Killian slightly paled. A silent Percival was playing with a dagger as a threat. Killian franticly looked around the room and caught Amelia's wide eyes and she was barely shaking her head. "Right, Bernadette was too smart." He lied through his teeth.

"Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something in any case." Percival commented, meaning every word.

Killian nodded, he agreed full heartedly.

Amelia sat in Neal's lap, her mind was in turmoil. She wasn't sure what was going to happen. There are so many possibilities and none of them ended well. Some had slightly better outcomes than others but all horrible nonetheless. She had to reach in the deepest, more ancient part of herself, her essence, in order to calm her nerves and the demons in her head.

It was the calm before the storm. It wasn't long before the call to arms sounded throughout the hall.

"The army is here! The army is here!" Leroy yelled at the top of his lungs from the door.

"The town crier strikes again." Killian chuckled humorlessly.

Amelia stood up, Neal followed suit. David took charge and began to march the troops out to meet the enemy.