#Also while you are at it go ahead and listen to 'I lied' by Lord Huron. Bye!
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How he loves (Jun Lee)
Jun Lee's love is as traditional as he is. As the god of contracts, he has seen enough human relationships. It was also not without marriage contracts. Couples in love looked at each other with burning eyes and confessed their love almost every minute. But to feel it on your own skin, another conversation....
You are an adventurer from Mondstadt who came to stay in Li Yue. You were seduced by the traditional dishes, music, as well as the history of the region. One windy evening, when the leaves were falling in gold on the stone path. You sat down at a small table in the open air. The eyes of the people were directed towards the narrator, who, waving a fan, told the legend of the Lord of the Stone.
- May I join you? The other tables are occupied. - The man with brown hair smiled gently at you, asking for permission.
You gestured to the next chair-of course.
He nodded gratefully, taking a seat.- From your clothes, it can be said that you are not a local.
You nodded, yes. I'm from Mondstadt. It was interesting for me to look at the culture of other countries. To begin with, colleagues recommended visiting Li Yue.
- So you're a traveler?
- It's interesting to watch something new. In Mondstadt, legends are usually sung by bards in taverns or on the main square. But coming here, you might think that you found yourself in a completely different world.
- The culture of all regions has been different since the most ancient times, when the seven archons began to rule each his own people. But legends can sometimes be interpreted incorrectly, distorting its true meaning." he watched the narrator, sipping fragrant tea. - The true meaning of this story is not about the war, but about the salvation of the human race.
You looked at him, puzzled, then at the narrator. Was he listening all the time while you were chatting? - I'm sorry. Do you know how this legend ends?
He put his mug down on the table-Yes. Similar tales are repeated day after day. Many people may choose the wrong words or tilt the topic in a completely different direction. From which the whole meaning changes.
You listened to his version of the story with curiosity. He spoke the language well and looked aesthetically pleasing enough for a gentleman of local origin. He also liked your curiosity and endless questions. You could sit like this for the rest of your life, but time had its effect on people. It's time to go to bed. This gentleman introduced himself to you as Jun Lee. It turns out he was famous for his intelligence. Someone called it a walking library. Even the people of the older generation could not combine with his aesthetics and love of culture, as if the Lord of the Stone himself had blessed him.
The man did not leave you, offering to take a walk. It seemed to you that this acquaintance would remain within the limits of friendly conversations. And so it was, until the environment began to look at you as a couple. This was expected, given the close relationship between a man and a woman. You didn't give in to it because you weren't sure how he felt.
Over time, Jun Lee began to bring everything from flowers to small gifts to your meetings. He himself did not expect such gestures, but for him, as an archon who left his post and vowed to lead an ordinary human life, it should be the norm to start a relationship with a person.
This decision was very difficult. Immortality does not combine with an ordinary mortal soul, but if you think about it often, you can stay completely alone and go crazy. Right? Before it is swallowed up by Erosion, it is better to have time to enjoy your still stable life to the fullest. And so began the love story of a mortal girl with an immortal dragon.
His concept of love is traditional, which means there are no events ahead of their time. You still need to get to know his real self, and for this the human psyche must be ready. No one wants to wake up with a huge lizard in a small room when your loved one was lying there before. He should also trust you.
If your reaction to his true parentage is negative, then it will break his heart and he will leave you with a heavy burden. It seems that this is how it should be. That's fate....
But if the reaction remains positive, moreover, you will love him even more, then you will leave him no choice. He will melt in your arms.
Being in a relationship with the archon himself is scary, actually. This is a comparison of heaven and earth. Who would have thought that the Lord of the Stone himself would start dating an ordinary person? The concept of God for man is something powerful. Humans cannot understand their beings, just as the gods cannot understand humans. You asked yourself similar questions at first, but when Jun Lee was lying on your lap and almost purred from your stroking. All the questions immediately flew away on their own. Maybe gods and humans are not so different?
Kisses are mostly chaste. He usually likes to touch your forehead, temple, or hands with his lips. A real gentleman. You can't say anything, but this side of him is only shown in public. Indoors, it allows you to touch you more intimately. His kisses can be more sensual, longer. Until you finally suffocate from his love, he will not leave you.
His playful side and even possessive side don't show up often, but they are there. It's normal for a dragon to have treasures. His house is full of rare precious things and you are one of them. As strange as it may sound. - * All the jewels belong to me, my love*
When it comes to jealousy, which is also not a common occurrence. He trusts you, and trust is the foundation of any relationship. If it so happens that some impudent person claims your heart. Jun Lee calmly takes you aside, ignoring the outraged shouts. The main thing is your safety, and it is above all.
Speaking of security. You are a human being and your body is very fragile compared to it. So for your own safety, be kind enough not to stab yourself. If you're going on guild assignments, be prepared to feel someone's eyes on you. Xiao never sleeps....
What about intimacy? This is a level of trust that you must overcome together. In the past, Jun Lee would have been very liberated....he knows all about sex. If it used to be a common thing, now there is you. An innocent little flower that can be broken by carelessness. First, you have to be ready to accept it, and then everything will go by itself. He's trying to be careful.
His patience is a quality he prides himself on, so trust him. Well, if you want more. Well, you asked for it. His resilience is amazing. Therefore, while you're lying on the bed, you're exhausted. He will meow in your ear, offering to relax a little more.
You wondered when he often forgot his wallet. Why are there so many precious things in his house, in your gifts? Jun Lee only replied that the item was borrowed or a good friend helped him buy it. You mentally felt sorry for his friend, knowing how much your lover is absent-minded when it comes to money....He takes the best of everything, but he doesn't know how to bargain at all......
If his wisdom was worth the money, you would have been rich long ago...
Also, do not forget about his employment. Jun Lee is an exemplary citizen, and all citizens must work to survive. There are days when he is immersed in a routine. All this effort will be for the two of you. So that you can have a normal life. So you'll have to put up with being alone for a while.
There is one big BUT - time. You'll get older over the years, but he won't. Your mortality will win this battle by leaving a man at your grave. Jun Lee assures me that if necessary. He will stay with you forever, even after your death, his thoughts will return to you and he will not regret anything. Someday the time will come and he himself will be where all his colleagues and friends are now. You will wait for him and then you will definitely be together forever, even if not in this world....
#genshinimpact#headcanon#headcanonygenshin#genshinheadcanons#genshin_impact#Zhongli#zhongli#Genshin impact#zhongli x reader#zhongli genshin impact#genshin impact zhongli#genshin
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From Grace Gems…
You will soon end your tedious, tiresome journey!
(James Smith, "The Believer's Companion in Seasons of Affliction and Trouble" 1842)
LISTEN to Audio! Download Audio
https://www.sermonaudio.com/saplayer/playpopup.asp?SID=101912158102
"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth!" Hebrews 11:13
Every believer is a pilgrim. He is traveling to his Father's house! He is presently a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by temptations, trials, and foes. His journey lies through a great and terrible wilderness. Therefore he must not expect a very smooth path, or many comfortable accommodations. He will have much to grieve and distress him. His heart will be often burdened with grief, and filled with sorrow. Tears are common to the Christian. He feels the unsuitableness of the things of time--to his spirit, profession, and aim. And therefore he confesses, "I am a stranger and a pilgrim, as all my fathers were!" Psalm 39:12
Weariness and painfulness are his portion now, but a rest remains for him! It is a glorious rest. It embraces and includes all that the believer has prayed for, and can desire!
It waits for him at the end of his journey,
it was prepared for him from the foundation of the world,
it is now promised to him in the faithful Word, and
it will be bestowed upon him when he has fought the good fight, and finished his course.
Everything at present may appear gloomy and distressing; but ahead of you, believer--everything is glorious, magnificent, and blessed! Press on then. Fight the good fight of faith. Travel on in the strength of Jesus! You are going home, and you have a glorious home to go to!
The minute after you have entered your rest, you will forget all the fatigue, all the dangers, and all the difficulties of the way! You will perhaps be filled with wonder, that you should ever have allowed such trifles to vex you, or such little trials to discourage you--with such a glorious end before you.
Fellow-pilgrim, expect trouble, but also expect mercy to help you in time of need! Expect to feel your circumstances to be trying, but also expect your Savior's strength to be perfected in your weakness! You will soon end your tedious, tiresome journey--and enter into the joy of your Lord!
Never forget you are now a pilgrim, a stranger, only a sojourner here in this poor world. Here you have no continuing city, but you seek for one to come.
Nothing can make this poor world your rest--it will always be a wilderness to you. Be content then, to wait until you get home! There you shall enjoy, and always enjoy--all your desires! There will not be one unfulfilled want, wish, or desire there! All will be satisfied, all will be full. In a little while, you will see the portal of your Father's house and hear Him say, "Come in, you who are blessed of the Lord, tarry no longer outside! Come, dwell forever with Me!"
~ ~ ~ ~
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✧ astro notes and titbits pt. 2 ✧
please do not copy my work.
other astro notes: 1, 2, 3
✧ people who have strong 8th house influence in their synastry possibly could have bonded over trauma or experienced similar hardships/traumas in life. Thus, these people usually find themselves having similar emotional patterns/emotional reactions and instincts.
✧ a general tip for people with planets in retrograde: more than often, it will be fruitless to just go ahead and copy the standard, all that is considered ‘normal’ in your eyes, because it’s what most people do. Even though in other people’s behaviour might be partly truth to you, retrogrades force you to really look deep into yourself: how do you tick? What triggers you? What feels good for you and what doesn’t? How do you operate and what motivates you? Retrogrades push us to really figure ourselves out because they do create blocks and thus let a planets energy not flow freely. If you just try to ‘fit in’ with the rest without any second thought this could potentially backfire.
✧ people with personal planets in Libra/Libra Ascendant find themselves pretty often in other peoples business (no matter if intentionally or unintentionally) but usually don’t like it when people unexpectedly do the same with them, especially if they aren’t close. With some Libra placements this can be due to their strong wish to keep a ‘pretty’ image around their life, they don’t like it when people see they are struggling.
✧ Pluto in 3rd/Lilith in Gemini or 3rd/ Scorpio in 3rd house individuals could have experienced shared trauma with their siblings (!)/cousins, they might have walked similar paths at one point in life.
-> adding on to that: with Pluto/Lilith/Scorpio in 3rd or Lilith in Gemini it’s also likely that there was an open or secret power struggle with siblings. The siblings might have fought for attention from the parental figure or about who has the ‘upper hand’ amongst the other. Lies, secrets/secretive behaviour or pushing believe systems/opinions onto the other might have been common.
✧ Lilith in the 3rd individuals especially could have struggled with always being the second option or even ‘the other woman’. In their romantic connections there could have always been someone who they needed to ‘switch places’ with and thus their partner made them feel not only neglected but also unwanted and/or reusable.
✧ Saturn in Gemini/the 3rd could have struggled with always having to take responsibility for their younger family members/siblings -> they might have not been receiving a similar amount of encouragement/praise/warmth from parental/autorative figures in family/school.
✧ The relationship between the archetype of Saturn and Pluto can actually show a part of how we become adults: Pluto can show us where we become disempowered and helpless, while Saturns energy forces us to finally take responsibility about our feelings of helplessnes/hardships and thus we start realizing how to take care of us and how to take responsibility in the physical, material and emotional realm.
✧ General observation I’ve made over the years: people with profound Cancer/Moon, Pisces/Neptune, Taurus/Libra/Venus and Gemini/Mercury influence in their chart could have struggled with people perceiving them as the ‘manic pixie dream girl’ -> there’s potential to get an unhealthy emotional attachement to these individuals as they are usually very receptive of other peoples feelings and vibes
-> This also goes for people who have Pisces/Neptune or Aquarius/Uranus in the 5th or these generational planets aspecting Venus/Ascendant or their 7th/12 house/lord of the 12th/7th house
✧ sentences you might hear from someone with Saturn in the 8th (or more so what they generally think and struggle with): “This is my, not your problem, so I don’t want your help” - “I need to be strong for the both of us, because I don’t trust you enough to let myself fall“ - “I don’t like you seeing me weak” - “I like to spend money on you but please let’s not merge our financial ressources/I need to keep it seperate!”
-> that’s because Saturns limitations and hardships fall into the house of shared ressources, these peoples problems with vulnerability and intimacy show in the way they handle shared emotions in a connection!
✧ people who have Chiron in a Cancer/household degree (28) or Pisces degree might feel like they took on the traumas/struggles from their mother/family or might be extremly aware of generational traumas inside their family and have to confront them.
✧ a general question for people with Venus in the 11th: have you ever asked yourself ‘why can’t I find a partner that is exactly like my friends?’
-> making meaningful as well as progressive friendships may come easy to these people, but finding the same support and love they receive from friends is also a crucial attribute they need in a partner. They might want that exact same friendship connection in a partner that they have with their close friends, next to romantic feelings/interactions and thus might profit from really befriending a love interest first and taking their time with them.
✧ People with strong Pisces/Neptune, Cancer/Moon and Virgo/Mercury influence need to learn to listen to their body as it is usually a constant reflection of their emotions/mind and thus would really benefit from practicing grounding techniques and body mindfulness
✧ From personal experiences I noticed that people with personal planets in/strong influence of Scorpio/Pluto, Aquarius/Uranus, Cancer/Moon, Pisces/Neptune, Capricorn/Saturn and Gemini/Mercury usually really dislike it when people treat them like a puzzle that needs to be ‘figured out’. They usually just want someone who listens and understands them. People with strong influence of those energies most of the time know about their complex emotional nature and sense of self, they like people who show effort in getting to know them, but dislike people who try to label them too much/think they know them better than they do.
#this is literally just an excuse to show off my fav nct pictures#and you can bet that I’ll keep the aesthetics that way so I can fit in all my favs asdfghjkl#astro notes#astrology notes#astrology#zodiac#own#Aries#Taurus#Gemini#cancer#Leo#Virgo#astro observations#libra#Scorpio#Sagittarius#Aquarius#Capricorn#Pisces#Lilith#pluto#black moon Lilith#Saturn
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go back
On Ao3.
Summary: Would you go back? Would you leave him?
It was quiet, for once. And you were alone.
Sitting in the doorway of the wide barn, you could still feel the slow throbbing of the huge factory beneath through the ground. As if something gigantic was slowly inhaling and exhaling deep below. If you would have focused more, you might have heard the of tapping knocks, crackles, and rhythmic clicks as the plethora of machines did their thing ceaselessly.
The noise of the place has seeped into your very being. You didn’t really think you’d get used to the place so soon
You pulled your black coat closer to yourself while you watched the storm. The rain fed the puddles with fat drops. The drops fell into the water, creating big bubbles on their surface. It will rain for quite some time. At least that's what your parents always said. By now, it seemed like a memory from a different life.
The wind rose and you took a deep breath. The sound of approaching footsteps mixed with the monotonous thumping filtering from the factory and the raindrops on the roof.
"Finally found you." Heisenberg stopped, then sat down next to you without question. "God damn it." This wasn't address to anyone, or more like it was addressed to everyone. A huge sigh escaped him and you two sat like that next to each other for a while.
"How was the family-meeting?" You glanced at the man. Even with his glasses on, you knew he rolled his eyes.
"I told you not to call it that." He pulled out a cigar from the depths of his coat and lit it expertly. "Bunch of freaks gathering so they can worship the mother." He almost spitted the last word.
You watched from the corner of your eyes as he slowly blew out a cloud of smoke, your gaze lingered on his lips for a few moments.
"The Dimitrescu daughters said hi..." Heisenberg grimaced and took a deep breath from the cigar. "They annoyed me until I promised I will relay this to you. So there." He pointed theatrically at himself and then bowed his head a little. "Now, no one can say I don't keep my word. God damn, annoying bugs."
A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and at the same time as a pleasant warmth feeling spread through your chest. So the three of them haven’t forgotten about you, they even think of you time to time. "Thank you, it's very kind of you."
"I know." He grinned slightly. However, his smile didn’t last long when he looked at you. "I still have a hard time believing how long you managed to put up with them." His voice was unusually serious.
"I think they think the same thing about you now."
Heisenberg snorted. "Smartass."
"Thank you." You pushed him softly with your shoulder then you ran your eyes through the landscape behind the pouring rain.
It's been half a year since you got here.
You and Lady Dimitrescu still haven't talked yet, but you thought it was for the best. The Lady could be very convincing, sometimes intimidating and you were afraid you couldn’t have said no if you found yourself facing her again. She could be scary, but the same was true for Lord Heisenberg. You secretly hoped that the difference was that, while Lady Dimitrescu would have been able to hurt you, it would not be true of the man sitting next to you.
As you thought in silence, Heisenberg also found himself sinking in his thoughts. He would never have admitted it, but in a strange way he was able to calm down now. Somehow, everything seemed more peaceful when he was with you, or even just around you. At times like these even his anger subsided. He rolled the pressed cigar slowly between his fingers and tried to lengthen this moment as much as he could. Nevertheless, he was never a patient man.
"You…don't want to go back to them?"
"Hm?" You asked glancing at him.
The man didn't look at you.
"Alcina looked less mad than sad when her kids asked how are you doing. Maybe she would-" he stopped when his gaze met your eyes. He didn't tell the whole truth; he couldn't get himself to do it. How his so called sister stopped him before they returned home.
'You should give them back.' Lady Dimitrescu raised her voice, which almost trembled with emotion.
'Give them back?' He, on the other hand, wouldn't even tried to hide his annoyance. 'What are ya talking about? (Y/N) perfectly fine with me. Besides, if I remember correctly you were the one, who threw them out.'
His sister rolled her eyes. 'Oh, please. Maybe I've made a mistake. But-'
'No,' Heisenberg snarled. 'It was not just a mistake! You have no fucking idea how much you hurt (Y/N), but I'm not going to let you do it again!'
'They are mine!' Her voice became more filled with darkness with every word 'You don't know anything about them!' As always she stepped closer towering over him, trying to intimidate by her size. 'They are mine! You don't know anything about them!'
However, Heisenberg couldn’t care less, and was getting really riled up too.
'Shut your mouth! They chose to leave you; they don't need a giant SELFISH WHORE LIKE YOU! ' He knew he didn't supposed to be this angry. But he heard your muffled crying just one time too many. His fingers tightened around his hammer. There was more than enough metal around him to use, if its needed. He couldn’t really help with easing your pain, but if he could get rid of the source of your pain, maybe, just maybe, it would help.
The woman's eyes burned with anger, and her blades were ready to cut through anything that got in their way. Lady Dimitrescu leaned closer. 'Maybe they chose to leave, but they will choose to come back. They're not yours. They still belong to me and when they realize this, they will come back to me. I was the one who helped them, who took them in. A weak man-thing like you could never make them happy. And if it's needed then I'm going to take them back from you, you miserable wretch!'
'Go ahead and try, you big piece of useless TRASH!' The hammer moved behind him by itself and rose into the air.
'You two, enough of this non-sense!' Mother Miranda had been waiting silently until now. She couldn’t let two of her most important subjects start a pointless fight and get one of them injured. 'Go to your place. Now! '
There was a sharp wind as black branches burst out of the ground separating Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Heisenberg.
"No, I don't want to go back." You leaned back on your hands, not even noticing as Heisenberg's shoulders tightening.
You let the smell of tobacco and rain creep into your thoughts. "I was happy there, most of them time."
The man felt his chest grabbed by an icy hand. He took a deep lung full of smoke from his cigarette again.
"Actually I had to, be more cautious there to keep myself safe, but when Lady Dimitrescu took me as her personal maiden. Well." You scratched your head. "Everything was alright for a while." You shuddered, you could still recall the Lady’s touch in your memories and on body vividly to this very day. But it all didn't matter now. "But, you know, after a while I started to think…I was really just a toy that they got bored of, maybe not for the daughters, but for the Lady? Certainly."
You didn’t have the strength to look at Heisenberg. If you had seen some sign of the same thing in his eyes now...If you were just an object, and he maybe started to find you less interesting now…Would he do the same?
"I knew it was going to end like this. It's fine." You lied with a fake smile.
Dense smoke rose from his lips. "So, that's why?" He almost sounded annoyed. "Why are you still here?" So maybe you would go back?
"Hm. Partly…maybe."
"Get to the point, (Y/N)." He muttered under his breath, but he was still listening seriously.
"I love being here, Heisenberg. This place is amazing, I got used to the sounds and the smell and I can do a lot more than in the castle. I don't want to go back because I can be better here, maybe even happier next to you."
Heisenberg felt his heart skip a beat.
"I can be an asshole."
"Yes, you can." Your smile became more earnest.
"So?"
You grabbed his coat with one hand, took the cigarette out of his mouth with the other, then pulled him in a kiss. You could smell the bitter, smoky taste of cigarette on his lips. He snorted in surprise but hugged you closer with one arm. After putting your cigar aside, you caressed his face gently. He kissed you the way she behaved, without holding back or acting nice. Couple of minutes later you had pull away, fully out of breath. Panting and deeply blushing you faced him.
"You are an asshole. But you are also mine." You carefully took off his glasses so you could look into his gray eyes. "Would you hurt me, Heisenberg?"
"No." The lord grinned widely, still, deep in his eyes you could see true warmth hiding there. "Only if you want me to, if you're into this kind of stuff." Pulling you into his lap, he kissed you again."
Around you, the noises of the factory and rain were pushed into the background, and you could only focus on the man's smoky lips and his strong arms, embracing you.
#resident evil#resident evil village#karl heisenberg#resident evil heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#heisenberg x reader#lady dimitrescu#alcina dimitrescu#heisenberg imagine#karl heisenberg imagines#copper#reader#resident evil 8#re village
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Hello! May I request Five, along with his s/o (who also has abilities) and Luther meets Five older self to get the briefcase?
a/n: I always struggle when it comes to writing fics based on specific scenes and I think it shows here haha // also I brought back your fave since you guys asked for her so much but this is the only time!!!
The sudden slam of the door pulls your gaze away from the daisy bush you’d been tending to and up at a disgruntled Five. His eyes are nearly bulging out of their sockets and his hair is drenched from the sweat that coats his face, and it’s with hesitancy that you slowly rise from your crouched position in the same exact moment that Five clenches his jaw with a loud pop.
“Well?” You prod uneasily. “What did he say?”
“We’ve got a deal,” Five swallows harshly. “But that doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“Isn’t... isn’t he you?”
“Exactly,” Five says through clenched teeth, only seeming to further your confusion.
You hadn’t exactly been paying attention when Five explained his plan to find another way home, but you knew it had something to do with finding his older self and something to do with homicidal rage. This didn’t exactly surprise you, and when he asked for your help you accepted without protest, but if you had known just how messy things would get you probably would have given your answer some more thought. Nonetheless, you’re here now, and with a small frown you tuck a daisy into the pocket of Five’s uniform jacket then push back the sweaty strands of hair that stick to his forehead.
The door opens again, and this time it is Luther who emerges with an older man in tow. His eyes meet your own in a glare, weary of your presence and unsure of what business you could possibly have being there right now.
“Who’s the Girl Scout?” He whispers to Luther.
“Actually, she’s kind of your girlfriend-“
“My girlfriend,” your Five corrects through clenched teeth, a pleasant surprise considering the fact that this is the first time he’s ever acknowledged you as his partner. “I don’t really think you’re her type.”
“We better get going,” Luther interrupts with a nervous laugh before the two can truly get into it. “Wouldn’t want to be late, would we?”
The two Fives stare at each other silently before moving, and with a skip in your step you happily follow alongside your anxious boyfriend. He’s extremely on edge and jumpy, everything appears to be a threat to him and he scares various children that pass him by— You’d laugh if the situation weren’t so serious.
“Mind your business!”
“Five, you need to relax. Luther says you can’t get all crazy, remember?” You try to coax him.
“I’m not crazy,” he scoffs with offense. “This is the greatest I’ve ever felt in my entire li- I’ll give you something to stare at!”
“Lord, help me,” you sigh, flinching as Five yells out again, “you wish you could pull off these shorts!”
“You know what, I’m switching with Luther,” you utter in defeat before walking ahead to catch up with the two men in front of you. “Can you handle him because I can’t.”
“Oh, geez,” Luther sighs before leaving you alone with Five’s older counterpart.
“So how do I end up with a hippie like you?” He asks almost condescendingly but you take no offense. This guy seems just as nervous as the one behind you.
“I have powers,” you shrug only for him to look upon you incredulously.
“What kind?” He asks, watching in subtle awe as you grow a tiny dandelion from the palm of your hand. “How’d that happen?”
“I like to think it was all the drugs my mom took while she was pregnant with me,” you answer with a shrug, and it seems to satisfy him for he presses you no further.
“I know you’re planning to double cross him, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill my boyfriend,” you say nonchalantly. The Five beside you lets out a bewildered laugh.
“Who said anything about double crossing?”
“I know you,” you explain, “and I know you’re going to try to save your own skin. But I also know that if either of you fucks this up then you’re just going to mess up the timeline.”
“Listen, kid-“
“Y/n, my name’s y/n and you love me in this timeline. You haven’t loved anyone since Delores.”
His eyes soften at the mention of his mannequin counterpart, a moment of weakness that lets you know you’re getting through to him.
“I know it was scary being alone for so long, and I know you’re not a bad person. So could you please just think about it? It would really stink if I never got to meet you. Well, younger you, of course.”
He says nothing as you walk ahead of him and towards the Grassy Knoll, a skip in your step and a flower tucked into the belt of your skirt. It was odd, meeting someone you didn’t know— well, at least not in your lifetime— who seemed to know so much about you. He didn’t like you very much but he could understand why his younger counterpart might have gone soft on you. You were a light in the dark and a beacon of hope during a time of utter disaster.
Behind him, his younger counterpart is on a tangent. With all the conviction in his little body he proclaims himself as a father to his uncomfortable brother, and the act draws unwanted attention from those who pass by. But then he watches as the boy pulls a dainty daisy from his pocket, inhaling the scent deeply as if it’ll ail all of his troubles. And perhaps it helps because it’s from you.
“Daisies,” the old man scoffs, shrugging off his moment of weakness before continuing on his way to the Grassy Knoll.
#i hate this im so sorry#not my best work#five hargreeves#number five#five hargreeves x reader#number five x reader#five hargreeves imagine#number five imagine#five#five x reader#five imagine#tua#the umbrella academy#tua x reader#tua imagine
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Here we go, the cadwulf that wouldn’t let me sleep in this morning. How did this ship happen to me so quickly, and why did my brain decide it needed to be poetic... these are questions that may never be answered.
[Also on Ao3!]
“You don’t like meat, and you don’t like drink.” Eodwulf grins, arms uncrossing. “Is there anything you do like?”
“Well,” says Caduceus.
Eodwulf’s fingers brush the edge of his hair.
“Well?”
And Caduceus never finishes the thought.
---
It turns out they can be persuaded - Astrid, and Eodwulf. Though it’s really Astrid who accepts their second invitation. Eodwulf’s eyes flicker to her before agreeing, and Caduceus notices, as he did the night of the dinner. A hierarchy, it seems, wherein Trent is lord, and Astrid advisor - which leaves Eodwulf a vassal of some sort. Not unacknowledged, but lower down.
Still, when Astrid has drifted to the bar and Caleb and Jester follow, and Fjord and Veth ply Eodwulf for one more round, he has no one to look to for guidance. Caduceus might have expected him to seem lost, except he flourishes under the inattention, growing bolder, more boastful - challenging Yasha to a test of strength, and losing, but only just - and Caduceus’s own attention grows, as bulky muscle strains beneath fine black velvet.
(Tonight, it was Eodwulf who pulled back his chair. “A favour for a favour,” he’d said with a wink, and Caduceus would not have blushed, only it’s strange - nobody’s paid him the courtesy before.
But Eodwulf’s dark eyes were shining with mirth, and he’d blinked his own brighter ones, and taken a seat without a single word of protest.)
The evening is spent in distraction. Eodwulf and Astrid, from their lives of solitude and scrambling; the Mighty Nein, from the next long road ahead; and Caduceus, from his good senses. It’s an indulgence, to pretend that Eodwulf’s attentions to him are anything beyond a man who appreciates a like sense of humour. But Caduceus pretends nonetheless, and grows freer by measures, enjoying the warmth of good natured teasing as much as any liquor flush.
Flirting, he’s tried before, but it never seemed to hit the mark, and his own eyes flicker to Fjord, and Caduceus brings them forcefully back to Eodwulf’s hands on the table - now rough there, now soft another place - one slapping for another drink, the other calling Caduceus over - and Melora help him, he goes.
For the wine of attention is sweet, and sticky red on Eodwulf’s lips, and he thinks he should be allowed to taste it, while he has the chance.
Surely, by now, he’s earned that much.
---
Caduceus is not a man quick to anger. If pressed, he would say he hates nothing at all.
But he hates-
He hates Trent Ikithon.
He hates what he’s done to Caleb, and what he continues to do to the people in his care, and he hates that his lies are not lies in a way Caduceus can discern with a keen eye and a careful glance. They are written in the bone, in the flesh. The body is so corrupted it can no longer tell rot from flower, nor truth from falsehood.
There is no saving this man.
But there may be hope for the others.
Righteous rebellion is the name he gives to the fluttering in his stomach, as they draw Eodwulf - Astrid as well - closer into their circle. A big ol’ middle finger to Trent, as Beau would say. To save someone who sees no way out, from under the nose of a being of impossible strength-
He’s done it before.
So, too, he names the fluttering excitement, and anticipation. Even remembrance, of the way Fjord looked at him, the day he’d given him the Wildmother’s symbol, and Caduceus had almost thought-
But no, he’d thought wrong.
And here he is, ready to make the same mistakes again.
Eodwulf looks at him from across the table. Astrid is down the way, but he never once glances her direction as he asks, “Something not agreeing with you?”
It’s care, in a gruff sort of sense. His deep voice rumbles through Caduceus’s chest, in the way he knows his own does for other people. Yasha sometimes says that it helps her sleep, so he’ll talk the night away, telling nonsense stories until they both drift off.
What would it be like, to curl up in those arms, be held close to that impossibly broad chest? To be small, and large as well - as much as he needs, in whatever direction?
He pushes the thought away.
(Sometimes, he tires of being the one who has to know where the lines are.)
Eodwulf taps his fingers on the table, still looking at him thoughtfully. “I could use some air,” he says, and raises an eyebrow. Caduceus nods, unable to break Eodwulf’s steady gaze, because try as he might, the thought keeps returning, again and again.
They leave together, slipping out into the Rexxentrum night, and the rational part of Caduceus’s mind cries danger, to be separated from his party and alone in the company of their enemy’s servant, and the lonely part cries he wants you, he wants you, in a reckless, unquenchable clamour.
“I know a place,” Eodwulf says, “where it’s a little quiet,” and Caduceus knows the words, and the words beneath. He is not so young, so naive, to miss the subtleties of Eodwulf’s speech.
‘A little quiet’ means to be alone. And to be alone is…
He half expects to be led off to some back alley out of Jester’s tales - for murder or something else, who can say - but the streets Eodwulf takes him by are wide and well-lit. Caduceus’s foreign clothes are noticeable even in the dead of night, and people stop to stare as they pass by, eyes drifting over Eodwulf like a shadow to land on him. His hair, his height, his dress - all abnormalities perused and catalogued, before people resume their nighttime strolls.
It’s not unusual, nor particularly bothersome, to be watched. But one older gentleman stares a little too long, and doesn’t stop staring even after Caduceus dips his head in friendly greeting, and something in the air changes. A hand reaches out and grips Caduceus’s arm, drawing him back into the centre of the street. Eodwulf appears suddenly - though he was always there, Caduceus remembers. It’s just that his presence wasn’t felt, until now.
It must take practice, for a man the size of Eodwulf to disappear. Through magic, Caduceus can manage the same, but it’s more of a reflex - the trigger is fear, and the duration beyond his control. But Eodwulf becomes a shadow, then a looming gargoyle of a man, then a shadow once more, and all of it is done with intention. He doesn’t doubt that the watcher would be dead before Caduceus could blink, if that’s what Eodwulf decided to do.
He grins at Caduceus as the man scurries away, and Caduceus returns the smile faintly, and wonders, who have I let myself follow into the dark?
He finds he knows the answer, and it doesn’t frighten him like it should.
The fluttering returns, moth wings between his ribs beating in time with Eodwulf’s heavy steps - loud and obvious, like they weren’t before. Like a war drum, their march is a warning for anyone else who might darken their path.
See, this is my street to walk. See, this person is under my protection. Hear me, and stay back.
They come at last to their destination: a little park with scattered trees, at the centre of which sits a stone building. Its sides are carved with olive branches and vines, and its doors are shut, and the coldness of death seeps from every crevice, and mingles with the dewy scent of grass and yesterday’s rain.
Eodwulf leads him to a bench, and they sit side by side, listening to the breeze in the leaves, not speaking, though Caduceus still has many things to say. He wants to ask where they are. He wants to know if Eodwulf talked to one of his friends about him, and if that’s the reason he brought him to a mausoleum, instead of some sweeter daytime sight.
He silently wonders if they both feel at home in a graveyard, and if there has ever been anyone else, who looked at one with the same reverence as him.
“It’s quiet here,” Eodwulf answers, as though he had asked, and Caduceus nods.
“It is,” he agrees. There’s nothing more that needs to be said on the matter, and somehow they both know it, without needing words. Eodwulf crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, tipping his head to stare at the stars above, and Caduceus tries to mimic him, but the bench isn’t meant for a person of his stature, and he ends up sitting straight again.
“So,” Eodwulf says, casual enough to tell Caduceus the conversation is about to become anything but. “So, you came.”
“I did,” Caduceus answers, and his voice is steady, but a smile doesn’t find his lips. Eodwulf turns his head, shifting, until the meat of his shoulders is facing Caduceus.
“I’m glad.” The twinkle in his eye is still there, and his lips hold the smile that Caduceus lost, as he shifts again, bringing their knees together. Caduceus swallows. “I thought you looked bored in there.”
“I don’t mind a tavern… but I also don’t drink,” Caduceus answers noncommittally. “So it does get a little dull at times.”
Eodwulf huffs a laugh, and sits back up. “You don’t like meat, and you don’t like drink.” His smile becomes a grin, his arms uncrossing, and Caduceus follows their movement with his eyes, mouth dry as kindling. “Is there anything you do like?”
“Well,” he says, with nothing to come after it. The moth in his chest beats its protest against the silence.
There’s a line here - a line, that he’s meant to keep track of. That he’s not meant to-
“Well?”
And then again, there are fingers in his hair, and then again, there’s a mouth close to his, and warm breath, rich with ale and bread and earthy things, and then again, Eodwulf is confident, and his grin is sure, and maybe-
He doesn’t need to be the only one who knows where the lines are.
Caduceus meets him halfway, and then lets himself be pulled closer, and closer, as fingers tangle in his hair, and broad arms encircle his back. He opens his mouth, and Eodwulf follows, and the wine is sharp on his tongue, for being the first he’s tasted. But the flavour changes, the longer he drinks.
No longer startling in its newness, the feeling melts down to something softer.
A new taste: heavy, and warm, and sweet.
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All Is Bliss (Until Someone Loses An Eye): Chapter One: This Is A Glorious Day/Nightmare; Strike Out As Appropriate
Special thanks to @fairy-anon-godmother and @yototothelalafell for being rubber ducks to my rant about this chapter, and to @ellynneversweet for so kindly reading it through several times as it hinged on completion!
(Previous Chapter)
When Vlad closes the doors behind Marial, that’s when Catharine asks her, ‘The Sun Summoner. Is she the real thing, or a fake?’
Marial halts so quickly that the items on the breakfast tray rattle. ‘Really? You’re asking me this?’
‘’Well, yes. Of course.’
Marial sets down the tray and promptly starts raiding it. ‘Real. Kirigan wouldn’t have any part of this if she were a fraud, and he would’ve tested her the moment she was brought before him. She’s real.’
So: Yes, yes, yes! Catherine finally releases all the bubbling joy and it’s flowing everywhere like sparkling wine foaming out of her glass . It’s like the time when she was lording it over Angelique about going to the East to be Empress; it’s the moment she went to her knees and first kissed the ground of East Ravka, greeting it, marrying it. Saints, saints, thanks to you all, how you love me!
What to say, how to say it? Upon this cornerstone she’ll build her claim. ‘The Sun Summoner. Ravka’s shining blazing hope, rising to banish the darkness and the divide in our beautiful land.’ Catherine thumps her clenched first against her breast, that will be most affecting. ‘So soon after I crossed the Fold from West to East, the Sun Summoner rose up to help me light the path ahead, for Ravka and my people —’
‘Who are you talking to?’ Marial says through a mouth full of soft cheese, lounging against the settee. It does not bode well for future speeches.
Nonetheless, Catherine persists: ‘Practising. For when the time is ripe. This is an auspicious beginning for my journey to true power. Ravka’s saviours have emerged together to free our land and our people from tyranny and shadow.’
‘Maybe get some food in you, before you go any further with the speechmaking and the grand plans?’
Impudent; but, Marial is right. This is going to need a full belly and some careful thought. She will have so many blinis with sweetened soured clotted cream and jam, oh, and some tea filled with more jam, sweetness galore!
Marial sticks with the cheese and a plain cup of tea. ‘What did Kirigan say about her? In his letter?’
‘Apparently not much; Orlo says he likely dashed it off before starting back to Os Alta from the Fold. He’s sent the Sun Summoner ahead of him, heavily guarded. Her name’s Alina Starkova, isn’t that just so perfect? She’s young, she’s a cartographer in the First Army. Or,’ Catherine’s throat twitches, a gulp of tea to moisten it up, ‘she was a cartographer. She’ll never have to sketch a map again.’
‘So…’ Marial makes Catherine wait while she takes her own sip of tea. ‘The Sun Summoner just happens to emerge, right at this point, after escaping notice in the First Army for years?’
‘Evidently. What about it?’
Marial fusses with her cup. ‘Seems a bit convenient. How was she able to go without being discovered for so long?’
‘By the Grisha testers?’
‘They test every child in Ravka. Every child. How did they miss her? How did she hide her powers for so long?’
Catherine swallows more of her tea and her why does it matter? because clearly Marial thinks it does and if she’s going to be Empress in her own right, she needs to start thinking beyond the first flush of joy, the fantasy of a storybook romance and a cute pet bear. ‘Maybe she wasn’t tested. There are so many people in East Ravka and the records are shoddy, some people are bound to slip through the cracks.’ Not that this will happen in the future. When she is in power there will be bread, freedom and security for all, never mind what Marial and Orlo say, and all voices will be heard.
Marial sits on the chaise’s arm. ‘And she’s never shown her powers before now? The baby Grisha in the Little Palace are always losing their tempers and causing uproar. One of them killed a man by accident, once, right in front of me.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘I’m absolutely serious. Though admittedly Count Kireyev was an absolute cunt, and the Emperor thought it was hilarious, so all was forgiven.’
Catherine is not going to ask what exactly happened to the cuntish Count Kireyev , if Peter of all people found it amusing. ‘Well. If she couldn’t control her powers, then she would have been found before now.’ She twists about in her seat and manages to catch and hold Marial’s eye. ‘And if you’re suggesting she’s a spy, then she wouldn’t have survived in Fjerda and in Kerch they’d have enslaved her.’
‘Granted. What do you think she’s like?’ The last question is a little less sour and more intrigued, so it deserves some consideration.
Cuddling into cushions, Catherine licks up jam and thinks. All those old performances of Sun Summoner plays from her girlhood, before the independence movement began stirring and they fell out of fashion. A girl in yellow, fighting and bashing other dancers in black, and now the story those girls performed has stepped out of myths and legends! It’s all too much! What’s most important now?
‘She will be… tall. Golden haired,’ as she tucks her hair strand back in place and takes up her cup again. ‘Graceful...polite, delicate, refined, poised, punctual.’
‘Did you get that from another one of your books? What was it on, deportment?’
‘From my mother. She gave me a grand speech about how I should make myself pleasing to my husband. She said they were the ideal qualities of a perfect wife.’
Catherine could picture her mother’s face. She could imagine her standing tall, golden and graceful, refined and poised, splendid and outshining her scant finery. She’d rather fantasize about grabbing her mother, shaking her, knocking her to the ground, getting in her face and screaming what were you thinking to send me here, to him, so unprepared; did you know, did you know what he was?
Best just to focus on the bright sunshine coming through the window, and to sip her tea.
They both chew and swallow several times before Marial speaks again: ‘If the Sun Summoner’s from the First Army, she’ll likely be none of what you just mentioned. Chances are she’s a foul mouthed, filthy peasant, with mud coloured hair underneath all the dirt. You really want to ally yourself with something like that?’
Marial’s only being her usual sour and snarkish self, true, but Catherine bites down hard on I’m allied with you right now, aren’t I? Marial might technically be all of those things at this very point in time (save the filthiness) but Catherine herself is not one of the bitchy court ladies. Though, need Marial be so sour and snarkish about everything again?
‘Of course I do. And why are you so determined to be gloomy, when a new hope has dawned over Ravka?’
‘Gloom is my refuge, Empress. A servant has no right to react, even to the country’s salvation.’
Catherine’s fingers are sticky from the jam, but Marial needs a hand on her wrist to shake her out of staring at nothing and her desolation, right now. ‘You’re not going to be a servant for much longer, Marial. Don’t let it grind you down.’
Marial smiles all sharp. ‘I’m already placing my hope in you, Empress. Placing it in the Sun Summoner as well is deadly. Hope’s such a dangerous thing.’ And she’s keeping her hand limp in Catherine’s, like a loose glove filled with long stones, too wary to grasp.
‘I will kill Peter. And you will be free.’ Catherine tears off a bit of blini with her teeth, just to prove her point, and it does get Marial smiling a little softer!
That’s enough touching, now; time to let Marial go, time to be Empress again. ‘And if Alina Starkova has served in the First Army, she’s no doubt brave, noble, bold, courteous and devoted to her mother country.’
‘No doubt. Have you ever spoken to one of the First Army’s soldiers, Empress?’
‘No?’
‘Then you’re in for a treat.’
Catherine sniffs and looks back to the window, the sunshine quite lovely on her cheeks. ‘Alina Starkova will also naturally be tender, compassionate and joyous.’
‘That I do doubt. It’s been a long war, Empress, and no one has gotten much joy from it, save the Emperor.’
‘Then that is one more thing I will have to remedy, when I take the throne. I should make some notes. Where’s the paper? This is a glorious day.’
***
‘This is a fucking nightmare.’ Thus, Orlo opens their latest council of war. It is not glorious.
‘Orlo, not you too! She’ll banish the Fold, she’ll help me reunite Ravka.’ And when Orlo raises a finger to try and cut in or tell her to just wait a moment while he waffles on, Catherine only says louder, ‘In what way, pray tell, is this a nightmare?’
‘It’s!’ Orlo actually seems close to panicking; listen, listen. It must be important. ‘It’s not the Sun Summoner, that’s actually very good. But I hoped we’d have months. I thought you would be far more established at court by the time Kirigan got back, you would have been able to meet him fully secured in your role. Right now Peter’s only barely been persuaded out of killing you, the Apparat’s support is fleeting, all the court ladies are wary of you, and the Little Palace thinks you’re an utter joke.’
Well. Hardly a pleasant thing to hear, but regrettably true for his first three points. Marial gets there before Catherine when it comes to the fourth: ‘How the fuck do you know what they’re saying about her in the Little Palace?’
Orlo clearly already regrets everything. ‘I. Well. I have a few acquaintances there.’
‘What kind of acquaintances? Is it a Heartrender? Big, beefy Heartrender? I can see the appeal; the best ones can make you come without even touching you.’ Marial tries her best to bring her lips to Orlo’s ear as he tries his best to get away. ‘Multiple. Times.’
‘Fuck’s sake!’ Orlo decamps to a place of greater safety, so Marial gets the whole of the settee to lounge upon. ‘I have to discuss aspects of Peter’s policy with Kirigan’s delegates on occasion. You know, my job.’
‘Oh, disappointing. Once again I’m reminded just how boring a life you lead.’
Once Marial shuts up, Catherine can finally get her word in. ‘So, wait, you actually talk to the Grisha, Orlo?
They stare at her like she’s a pet bear.
‘Well, yes. Of course. If we wish.’
‘They can even talk back, if they wish. They’re not servants.' Marial stands up all of a sudden at that, just in case someone bursts in and catches her lounging.
‘Do you not talk to them? Empress?’ This from Orlo, beginning to look most worried. Is Catherine the cause of that? She can’t lose him now! What does he want her to say?
‘Our estate wasn’t near enough to the border, or wealthy enough, to merit one being in residence. And any children on our land who were discovered were sent to the Little Palace right away. The first time I ever saw a Grisha up close was during the journey through the Fold, and then I wasn’t allowed to talk to them for fear they’d get distracted and we’d all die with the Volcra chewing our guts.’
They all nod. Indeed, something to be avoided at all costs.
‘And then I saw some of them were at the wedding banquet, but none of them got near enough.’
‘Empress, may I just ask –’ No, no! Orlo is worried by her now. By what she’ll say. What did she do wrong? ‘What are your attitudes towards the Grisha?’
Careful, careful. ‘How do you mean?’
Marial, casting her eyes up in thought: ‘Well, let’s see; do you think they’re demons walking around in human skins and devoid of souls?’
‘What? No!’
‘There, you see?’ Marial ignores Catherine to look at Orlo. ‘Already she’s doing better than the Church.’
‘Oh saints, do people here actually still believe that?’
‘A few.’ Marial considers. ‘Mmm, more than a few. Most of the peasants. Some of the more devout and stupid nobles. The Apparat, on his bad days.’ She spots Catherine’s face and grimaces. ‘Yeah, he and Kirigan don’t really get along.’’
This from Orlo, clasping his hands like he’s ready to rub them in glee — not worried now, is he?! ‘What is your position on the rise of indentured servitude inflicted upon the Grisha in Kerch, and particularly Ketterdam?’
‘Abominable, of course!’
Orlo hisses Yes! and pumps his fist. ‘And if Kirigan should ask what you think of the fact that General Zlatan’s likely turning a blind eye to Fjerda raiding West Ravkan ports, and abducting Grisha?’
Catherine bites down hard on He’s fucking doing what? because she isn’t talking to Orlo now, this is merely a prompt for when she will be speaking to Kirigan, who will be judging her and cannot find her wanting when it comes to the Second Army, his army, her army. ‘I would say that — that Zlatan is a fool and a traitor towards Ravka, to not only let her subjects be captured and slaughtered by her enemies, but to actually permit it.’
‘All right. That’s wonderful! Oh saints, that’s such a relief.’ Orlo almost falls into a chair, takes off his glasses and rubs away the sweat.
While he recovers, Catherine turns to Marial. ‘I just thought, because Peter was the only one to speak to them at the banquet, no one else was of high enough rank? Or we both are, as Emperor and Empress. But the nobility can talk to them as well?’
Marial shrugs. ‘Even we servants can; but, that’s the thing. You can, but why would you want to?’
Catherine meets Orlo’s eye. Once more she feels his kindred spirit, how he pleads with all his soul for her to deliver him from this uneducated hellhole, he hates it here too.
‘Aside from the fact that I need to get the Second Army on my side, why would you not want to? When they practise the Small Science? When their existence so thoroughly shapes and affects the universe, and they have fought so hard to protect Ravka against her enemies?!’
Marial, she who has no romance in her soul, snorts. ‘Again, watched a baby Grisha kill a man before my very eyes. And they’re all arrogant pricks.’
‘Which you clearly have plenty of experience with.’ Orlo stands and twists out of reach of Marial, snarling and trying to land a blow on his arm. ‘The Grisha rarely come to the Grand Palace save on official business, and non-Grisha are only welcome in the Little Palace by special invitation. I was hoping we’d have a chance to improve your reputation with the Grisha, before Kirigan returned; I know certain of them will have written to him about your — ’
He gestures helplessly at the entirety of Catherine. ‘Your everything.’
‘But now he’ll return to find me with a husband who barely tolerates me. A court that hates me.’ Strange, that Catherine only really starts thinking of the Black General himself when he’s opposed to her, rather than serving her. She should be terrified. Should she be terrified?
‘He’ll judge you, and – forgive me, Empress, but he’ll find you wanting. And you’ll be a weakling in his eyes forever. He might not be able to fob off Peter, but he’ll never allow you to touch the Sun Summoner’s train if he deems you worthless.’
Think of being the object of disdain, for a man like that! Enough to make one shrivel and die. But if she’s going to be Empress she cannot be afraid of anything. She especially can’t be jumping at, hah, at shadows. Not when the sunlight is so warm on her hair and skin, even through a window and her gown.
Marial breaks the silence in her own special way. ‘Besides which, he’ll be inclined to fuck you over regardless, since he can’t get at General Zlatan.’
Ah. Zlatan. Of course he would still be cocking things up for her, even on this side of the Fold. ‘Zlatan protested my betrothal at every turn, and I shall see him dealt with. But why would Kirigan hate me, if my marriage unifies Ravka?’
‘Therein lies the problem-’ This from Orlo, palms facing upwards and empty- ‘-he dearly wants West Ravka brought back into the Emperor’s bosom-'
‘Brought to heel, ‘ Marial mutters.
‘-but not at the expense of the East. Peter’s already far too obsessed with the West and western thinking for Kirigan’s liking as it is. He’ll worry that you’ve brought dangerous ideas to court that could threaten his position.’
‘Plus his Little Palace and his army.’
Orlo nods agreement with Marial. ‘The General is a most fervent protector of the Second Army and the Grisha. When the search for Peter’s bride moved to West Ravka, Kirigan did voice his concerns about an Empress with western attitudes towards Grisha.’
Frankly, Catherine’s flattered that Kirigan might think her attitude has any weight whatsoever right now; and more flattered Orlo believes that Kirigan would think it. ‘His concern is misplaced. All people of Ravka are my children, West and East, Grisha and non-Grisha alike. Every Ravkan child has the right to live without fear, in the knowledge that Mother Ravka is their staunchest defender.’
Marial groans — she actually rolls her eyes, the cow. ‘Pretty words, but he’s heard such things a thousand times before, signifying nothing. You’ll need to back up all your grand speeches.’
Catherine marches over to the table so that she can at least finish her bloody breakfast. ‘Fine. Then how am I to do that, if he’s apt to “fuck me over ” rather than listen to me?’
‘Marial’s being ridiculous; there would be no fucking.’ Orlo pauses, distracted, and shudders like a startled horse. ‘And you do have some advantages — the chief being that you aren’t Peter.’
‘That is not the least bit encouraging, Orlo.’ Catherine bites into the last blini, looking him dead in the eye and chewing hard.
‘I meant that Kirigan’s known Peter for nearly all of his life, and any hopes he had for him are thoroughly burned. You, now, are an entirely new and unknown factor. You can woo him with your ideas and plans. You need to show him that when you take the throne, you have the drive and capacity to bring about the change he desires.’
‘Right.’ Catherine nods, swallows, sets her best foot forward in her mind. ‘So. What exactly does he want?’
‘Basically, just promise him whatever he asks for when it comes to the Grisha, and you’ll have him eating out of your hand.’ Marial’s voice gets lighter as she stares off into the distance: ‘Maybe even eating from further down.’
What?
Orlo chimes in thank the saints. ‘Whatever he asks, within reason. Remember, it has to be believable. And you do not want Kirigan angry at you, if you fail to keep your promises right away when you come to power.’
Catherine waits for the terror to finally arrive. Think of one of the most dangerous men in Ravka, in the world, furious with her! And yet think, too, of making deals with the Black General, of being able to lure and hook and reel him in, of having the ability to grant his desires! ‘He’s the leader of the entire Second Army, he won’t be satisfied with small promises.’
‘All right then. Forget wooing him, try seducing him.’
Catherine glares at bloody Marial. ‘Two minutes ago, you were saying he’d gladly fuck me out of spite because he can’t get at Zlatan. Now you’re saying I should spread my legs for him? How is this in any way an improvement?’
‘This is quite different . Make him want to fuck you out of raw desire, as opposed to revenge by proxy.’
‘Yes, because that worked so well last time.’ And they both look at Orlo. Who looks at his shoes and also looks like he wishes to shrivel up and disappear, but he manages to squeak, ‘He’ll never go for it.’
‘Unlike some people around here, Kirigan actually knows what to do with a woman. And he has a definite taste for royalty.’
Not Peter. Don’t let it be Peter. Please, Sankt Valentin, don’t let her have to compete with her husband over another one of his bed mates.
‘Supposedly he was one of Elizabeth’s lovers for a time, back in the day.’
That…is marginally better. ‘Really?’ Somewhere behind Catherine, Orlo’s saying ‘oh saints’.
‘Oh, yeah. Sometimes when she’s more off her tits than usual, she says he ruined her for anyone else, no matter how she searches, and I do believe she’s serious. So, he must have left quite the impression.’
Which means Catherine might have to try and seduce the deadliest man in Ravka, who is also old enough to have swived her aunt-by-marriage in her girlhood…so, old enough to be her own father, at least. Saints. At least Peter’s young and easy on the eye, and he smells like something living. Plus Kirigan was able to satisfy Aunt Elizabeth; who knows what kind of bizarre tricks he’ll expect in bed, or against a wall? And she fucked it all up with just virgin Orlo, fuck.
Orlo breaks out of whatever had him so horrified and enthralled (likely also the act of satisfying Aunt Elizabeth) to say in desperation, ‘Why does she have to seduce anyone?’
Catherine suddenly might just love Orlo, though not enough to kiss him.
Marial hmms and nods. ‘That’s true. If you threw yourself at Kirigan right now, with how little you still know of sex, you’d just look utterly desperate.’
‘…as opposed to when I threw myself at Orlo?’
‘Orlo knows nothing of sex and was far more frightened of you than you were of him. The General, now, would either be amused or despise you, and we’d go right back to “being weak in his eyes for eternity”.’
‘Well.’ Her voice cracks, shit. Catherine swallows and tries again. ‘Well, first I must meet with him, and then I can decide if it is a route I will take. In due course.’
‘No, first you must decide on how to win back the approval of the ladies. Get your court in order before you start courting the armies!’
‘Fine; but, Orlo, I cannot lose sight of the Sun Summoner. I will not let Peter take the credit for her!’
‘I know, I know. We can plan for that, we’ll start right now, she’s not going to arrive for at least a few days yet. Where’s the paper?’
‘And there is this.’ Marial goes to tidy up the breakfast tray and clear the table for plotting purposes. ‘Kirigan’s going to hate sharing his big find with Peter and the Apparat. You’ll look like a saint incarnate when the Emperor starts screaming and throwing a tantrum.’
‘Indeed. Praise saints for once that I’m married to a fucking moron.’
(Next Chapter)
#shadow and bone fic#shadow and bone#the great#the great fic#catherine the great#count orlo#marial#the great hulu#hulu the great#cw language#fic: all is bliss#alina and Kirigan will be in the next one
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νοσταλγία (Chapter 31)
νοσταλγία Masterlist
Pairing: Ivar/Reader
Word Count: 5.3k
Warnings: The usual
A/N: Hope you like this one! There’s a greek dress mentioned, and it is inspired by this one and this one
Thank you for reading lovelies, please lemme know what you think! Love ya!
Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @receptionistfromhell
The sun is starting to leave way for the moon when the door to the shop is opened again. Words about being closed are leaving Valdís’ lips but she catches the figure of the Prince and saves them.
Hvitserk greets her and Freydis with murmured kindness, and turns to you with questions and also an apology in his eyes. Reminded of the last time you saw him, when he left you in the training fields after angering his brother, you think he may feel guilty, so you offer a smile as you approach him.
“What is the matter?”
He offers only a half-hearted shrug around his easy smile, “I will let you guess.”
“The King calls for me.” You say in a sigh. The Prince laughs quietly, nodding his head.
“Yeah,” Hvitserk says, offering you your cloak from the hanger by the door, “You didn’t need your premonition for that, did you?”
As you walk away from the shop with Hvitserk by your side, you cannot help but asking, “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, but…we must talk of war, and Ivar wants you to be there,” After a few moments of silence, you hear him speak again, pride shining through his tone, “My plan to avoid more losses than necessary when raiding Strepshire, it pulled through.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had contacts that had traveled to that city, some even that had been called to bring forth some of the Lord’s more…extravagant tastes.”
“Should I ask?” You ponder out loud, a small furrow of your nose. The Prince chuckles.
“No,” He sentences without hesitation. With a deep breath, he continues explaining, “Well, I discovered through these…merchants that the city has tunnels for the family, servants, and all the like.”
“Tunnels your brother can use. Tunnels Stithulf wants to use.” You breathe out, stopping dead in your tracks and facing Hvitserk with a growing smile on your face.
But he only shrugs in response, and explains, “You mentioned old stone, and it didn’t…make sense that the Saxons would depend so much on a fishing town.”
“You are brilliant.” You laugh, eyes wide.
Hvitserk shrugs, but you see him puff his chest at the praise. It is almost adorable.
With an arm going around your shoulders casually he offers,
“I had to be. Can’t have the Greek Priestess outsmarting all of us.” He teases with a smile, to which you roll your eyes. Hvitserk keeps his arm around your shoulders, and guides you all the way to the longhouse.
____
The Vikings prepare for a raid on Strepshire, with Hvitserk’s information being the last piece they were waiting for to take the city. A matter of two days, and they will set sail.
The brothers and their men are discussing war, and once again you are reminded, as the King speaks, of how brilliant Ivar is when it comes to battle and thinking like his enemy.
He discusses how to ambush them from their tunnels, how the ships should approach the city, how the brunt of the forces -the ones that will approach directly through the front gate- should ready for the attack; he talks about it all with a certainty and a glint in his eye that speaks of seeing the world differently than everyone else, and you find yourself enthralled.
Hvitserk calls out your name and you turn to him. He gestures with his hand,
“Do you have anything to say?”
You share a look with your husband, “Ivar already knows all I know of Stithulf’s army.”
Leaving the longhouse behind with certain steps, you eye the area around it for a small clearing of peace, Ivar trailing behind you. When you find it, you stop walking, turning around to meet Ivar’s eyes. After a moment of consideration, you smooth the ground underneath you with a sweep of your foot, and try imagining the formations in the earth.
“What are you doing?”
“You asked me to show you my people’s ways of war,” You reply without hesitation, not lifting your gaze of the ground, “I’m showing you.”
You feel his eyes on you, but eventually Ivar sighs and with a small sound of exertion lowers himself to a sitting position across from you.
“Narses always fought like a Byzantine, waged war like one too,” You recall the outskirts of Dublin with a small smile, and draw the first line, “But here he bent to Stithulf’s formations, he accommodated our people to fit his plans. It cost us everything.”
“You spoke of someone else, a man from the Mediterranean.”
“Acar, the mercenary. He’s commander of the Arab forces. They are going to be the first forces Stithulf will send to aid the city, I’m certain,” You start confidently, “They are the same men that have brought a large part of my homeland to heel.”
“How do you Greeks fight against them?” One of the Vikings asks, and you are forced to walk up to the map when an opening for you to do so is made, silently, between the warriors discussing.
You do not fail to notice you are made to stand on the other end of the table, across from Ivar. You meet his eyes for a moment, and he only bows his head, prompting you to go on. An encouragement, a promise you have a safe place to land, a reassurance he has your back.
You never realized how much you needed it, needed him; until the moment you had so many eyes on you, awaiting like beasts for the next move of the foreign witch, and found your heart settling its beat, your confidence strengthening, when he met your eyes and promised he trusted you, promised you he was listening, promised he was proud.
Resting one hand on the table and letting your eyes trace the letters of Strepshire’s name, you explain, “We don’t fight them in open fields. The cavalry will always push for flanking your formations, especially if you hold a shield wall, and if you hold a direct onslaught against them for too long, their infantry will make way for their cavalry to strike through no matter the cost. Avoid that, avoid…predictability.”
After a breath, you add, “There’s also warriors we called champions. They are precise and deadly; they were used in the Mediterranean to weaken an army’s morale, to disarm their plans.”
“How?”
You swallow past a dry throat before answering, “By killing the leaders, the heroes. They send their best not to thin the army’s numbers, but to cut off the army’s head.”
You find Ivar’s eyes and you realize now what the knot in the pit of your stomach that settled since you heard they were to raid Strepshire was. Fear.
Even the best fall in battle, even the best go to their Valhalla when their Gods cut off the thread of their fate. And you cannot help but fear Ivar will not return from that city, even if he survived Repton, York, and so much more.
You tell yourself you should feel shame at wanting to keep him alive, that you are believing his lies and your own by allowing yourself to care about him. You also know if he were to die, if Ivar weren’t to return, your status as a free woman -and your status as Queen, even if consort and nothing more- would be useful and you could leave Kattegat, return to the Greeks, never spend another day on this cold land.
You know all this, and still you fear, still you know when time for battle comes both their Gods and yours will hear prayers for protection.
Returning your eyes to the map on the table, you suppress a sigh. You were never nothing other than hopelessly foolish, were you?
____
Ivar told you to go ahead and retire for bed without him, and from the room where they discuss war you two went on different directions.
While you were changing, you eyed the red dress Thora had helped you make a few days ago, while she’d not-so-subtly prodded at Hvitserk’s doings. It is a light and simple dress, certainly not made for the harsh cold of Kattegat, but confectioning it was familiar and nostalgic, and even if only as a keepsake of your home, you made it to resemble a Greek summer dress.
Instead of the night dress you usually wear, you chose the soft red fabric, and for a moment, with your feet bare and your hair loose, you felt closer to Gods you did even while standing in their temple.
You now sit on the ground by one of the larger windows of your bedroom, a collection of flowers and branches around you as you work on a wreath, not so different, even if life has proven to be so, from when you were a child in Eleusis, a healer in the Silk Roads, a Hiereia in Attica.
In your mind you go over what was discussed tonight, you go over all the certainties the Viking’s planning gives you that this will turn out in a victory.
You knew before this you trusted Ivar, his instinct, his intellect, his eyes that see beyond what others’ do. But Gods, to hear him speak of war and battle so surely, to see his eyes turn cold and calculating, the eyes of a strategist, to hear his voice imposing and certain, the voice of a leader…it is something else entirely.
He accepted your words about the Arab champions with surprising ease, and with his eyes on Hvitserk he asked about the dimensions of those tunnels under Strepshire.
In a matter of moments, Ivar turned the tide and decided to let Stithulf’s men have the tunnels, certain the Saxon would send through those tunnels the Arab champions to take out the sons of Ragnar and their higher-ranking men. With but a moment of consideration, he’d found a way to outsmart them.
You still hear his voice in your head, stating confidently that the Arabs haven’t faced enough Vikings, that the Saxons may be used to tricks but the foreigners aren’t. It still sends a thrill down your spine, remembering his voice lower when he stated the last steps of his plan, remembering his smile as he looked at the map on the table, certain of victory and hungry for it.
You don’t know how long you spend here, working on the wreath of flowers, with each intertwining of the stems a plea to the Goddess of Spring that she lets winter hold for a while longer, with each drop of blood you let the roses draw from your fingers an offering to the Queen of the Dead that she doesn’t take him from you just yet.
Ivar walks into the room, but don’t lift your gaze from your work, only greeting him with a hum.
“That dress is different, did you make it?”
“Greek peplos,” You tell him, nodding, “Or, my best attempt at it, anyways.”
“You look…”
“Cold? Yeah, I’m freezing.” You still stay there, your feet bare on the cold wood and your fingers carefully tracing over the crown of flowers.
“Beautiful,” He corrects, before taking his eyes off you with a slight twitch of what you could swear is embarrassment in his expression. Ivar acquiesces, “But…yes, also cold.”
You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot. Not even reminding yourself that you are Queen, that you are a grown woman, that you are married to him could keep the stupid flutter of your heart.
“T-Thank you,” Is what you settle for saying. “I’ve missed wearing familiar clothes, to be honest. I feel closer to my Gods in this.”
“Ah, so you’re praying.”
You lift your gaze from your work, eyes narrowed, “I was there at the sacrifice, I honored your Gods. That doesn’t mean I won’t honor my own.”
He doesn’t fight you on it, and a part of you wonders why.
Ivar chooses not to say anything, and with practiced ease starts working on the buckles and fastenings of the braces on his legs.
“What are you praying for?” He asks after a few moments.
Time.
You keep your gaze on the flowers in your hands, strikingly reminded of the last time he left you behind to chase after war and death.
Through gritted teeth, you bite out, “I hope you know that if you don’t return, if…if you leave me alone here, I’ll find a way to make you regret it. You won’t rest in your Valhalla while I have breath, Viking, so don’t…don’t die.”
Ivar only smiles, eyebrows lifted.
“Are you threatening me?”
You hold his gaze, and swallow past a tight throat. You only ask one thing, “Don’t leave me alone here.”
In this kingdom, in this world, in this life.
“You’re not…scared for me, are you?” You say nothing, only glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you saying you’d mourn me if I died?”
What kind of question is that? You resist the urge to let your fear become venom, you bite back accusations of how he continues to be so blind to how much he means to you.
“Ah, so you notice I care for the monster that took me captive?” You say, though there’s lightness, mirth, in your taunt, “You are either insulting me by implying I am weak enough to pray for the life of a man I supposedly hate, or…you are admitting you were wrong.”
Ivar accepts your words with a shrug, and crawls to one of the cushioned settees near the bed. After a few moments, with his hand by his mouth, he admits,
“I…realize you were right.”
“So you were wrong.”
He frowns, “I didn’t say that.”
“But you were.”
Ivar rolls his eyes, an exaggerated gesture that only manages to make your smug smile wider.
Still, when you’re close enough, he extends a hand, beckoning you to him. And it is as easy as breathing, for you to take it and sit next to him, drawing your legs up underneath you, as if to protect vulnerable feet from the cold of Kattegat.
“Gods, woman, you’re freezing.” Ivar frowns, warm fingers closing over your own.
“What happens if those ships don’t return, Ivar?” You ask, your voice wobbling. You feel your breath quicken, and you are once again a child looking over the horizon of Eleusis, waiting for a navy that was never to return. “What happens if you don’t return?”
“Then you are free. Free of me, free of-…”
“Ivar.” You interrupt him, and it is all you can say. His expression softens, and he sighs.
“Do you want me to promise you that I will survive?” He asks, an edge of incredulity, of levity in his tone. As if he is trying to make you see the madness in your request.
It is in the hands of the Gods, you know this. You know you should not fear, you know you should not worry, you know you should do and feel and be many things.
But you still offer the shrug of one shoulder, and Ivar almost smiles.
After a breath, he acquiesces, “Better men have tried to kill me and failed.”
You accept his words, his strange form of reassurance, with a smile and a sigh that trembles past your lips.
After a few beats if silence, you ask, “You will come back before winter, won’t you?”
“Yes,” He assures you, but Ivar spares you a glance out of the corner of his eye, and offers, “If I don’t…”
“You will,” You sentence, interrupting him. You don’t even hear whatever words he tried speaking, words that spoke of the possibility of a winter alone here, if not a lot longer than that. After a moment, you offer, “If you don’t, you’re easy pickings for the Saxons. Dublin cannot hold if Stithulf regains his strength.”
You know you’re right, and Ivar knows it too. Still, he offers you a smirk, and taunts you, “And you are certain of this, wife?”
“Your arrival, your support, spared Dublin of capture, you know this. We had the upper hand,” You motion towards him with your chin in a taunt, your lips pulled into a smile that dares him, “Even with your mighty army, Ivar the Boneless, us Greeks made you falter.”
“Arrogant.” He accuses, but he still smiles, dark and proud.
“We were hungry and cold, far from home,” You remind him, “But we made you change tactics a few times, didn’t we?”
“We weren’t going to lose.”
“No, I know that. It was Fated that it ended the way it did,” You shrug, “But we made you fight for it.”
You could swear Ivar’s smile turns softer, more secret. He lifts the hand he holds to his lips, and presses a soft kiss to your fingers.
“That you did.”
As he is to drop your hand back, his eyes focus on the small wounds you sport on your fingertips. A drop of blood trails slowly down your ring finger, and Ivar hesitates only for a moment before he brings your hand to his mouth again, only this time to lick off the offending drop.
Your breath catches in your throat, and in the hungry and proud smile he sends your way you see the faint stain of red. The only thought in your head for a moment is the need to taste that blood off his lips.
You quieten those thoughts, using that same hand to shove playfully at the side of his face. Ivar snorts a laugh, but you could swear his eyes are darker when he looks back at you.
Your own eyes are drawn to the slight smear of blood you leave on his pale skin and…Gods, what wouldn’t you do to be able to close the distance and lick it off.
But you force yourself to also let go of those thoughts, and you let your smile dim as silence reigns between you again. Your eyes trace the wreath of flowers that lays there near one of the windows, an evidence of your prayers, an evidence of your weakness and your fear.
An evidence that your heart isn’t yours anymore.
If it ever was.
You cannot keep yourself from remembering his words yesterday, his accusations that you were somehow playing with his head, with…
Before your thoughts get ahead of you, you ask, “Do you truly believe I’ve been playing with you?”
Ivar looks ahead as he considers his answer, leaves you to watch his profile and the way the dim lights of the room play with the angles of his face.
“If you’d been playing with me, you wouldn’t have fought the way you did.” He tells you finally, but there’s words he isn’t saying.
“And I’m not fighting anymore,” You offer, earning a half-hearted shrug from him, and nothing else. An exasperated yet fond smile curves at your lips, and you sigh, “I told you before, your own thoughts are what drives you mad most of the time.”
The smile Ivar offers is one purely for your benefit, tired and bitter and gone in an instant.
For a moment he lowers his gaze to your joined hands, distractedly brushes over a small cut on your finger. His gaze is enthralling even if his eyes still don’t meet yours, and there’s a fragile sort of vulnerability written into the way he holds himself that makes you pause.
“In all my life, nothing…nothing has come easy,” He explains quietly. After a moment, he offers another flickering smile, though this one does speak of softness, “You certainly didn’t either, but lately things are different, and I can’t help but think it a…a vision, a mirage, that once I get close enough to having will just…vanish.”
He finishes his sentence with a gesture of his hand, and your eyes follow the movement with a dull ache in your heart.
You’re suddenly a chained and wrathful Priestess again, sitting across the table from your captor and having him share very similar words, “Nothing has come easy in my life, and since I was a child I would always ask the Gods why.”
You still don’t have an answer, though you wish you did.
You do have the certainty that this isn’t a trick, that this isn’t something easily lost. Never could be.
And looking into his eyes, meeting your fear with his own, both so different from each other; you decide to let go of pretenses and masks, if only for a moment.
If only for a brief, stupid moment of courage.
It won’t vanish. I love you.
You let your hand cup the side of his face, your thumb caressing the scar you are so smitten by. Keeping your eyes on Ivar’s, you lean closer, silently begging that this is not wrong, that this is not another mistake.
His skin warms under your touch, and you watch with baited breath his lips part in innocent anticipation as you grow closer and closer. Ivar’s eyes travel to your own lips, before anxiously returning to meet your gaze again, looking more lost and vulnerable than you ever thought you would see him.
Deciding to listen to your heart, you press your lips softly against his, closing your eyes and letting the electricity and the warmth take control over your body.
Ivar’s sharp intake of breath through his nose, the way he tenses under your touch and almost freezes at the affection is not strange to you any longer, and it doesn’t deter you.
You move your mouth over his, the hand on the side of his face urging him close with as much tenderness as you can have when your heart beats like it wants to leave your chest and burrow into his.
When you pull back, his mouth chases after yours, and Ivar leans forward as if a thread tied you two together. You allow yourself a smile, tremulous and girlish as it is.
His eyes open slowly, as if awakening from a dream, and his breath leaves his parted lips quickly as he gazes back at you. A few moments go by, breaths shared and your heart beating fast and thrilled in your chest.
A challenge, really, to see who yields first, who admits to craving the touch of the other’s lips, who offers and who accepts or rejects.
The Gods may have made you arrogant but they didn’t make you stupid, and you’ve known for a while this is where you were headed, this is where you wanted to be.
Doesn’t mean you’ll admit it, at least not like this.
Surprisingly, it is Ivar who caves first.
“Kiss me.” He breathes out. A dare, a command, a plea.
And you do, with no hesitation this time.
Ivar kisses you back hungrily, deeply and desperately, demanding with teeth and tongue what you give freely.
His strong hand grabs onto your wrist tightly, keeping your caressing touch on his face, while the other finds a home in the back of your head, gripping onto the loose strands of your hair.
It feels like it is the first time you’ve kissed him -been kissed by him, been kissed at all- and yet it feels like the electrifying touch of his lips on yours is a dance as old as time itself.
There’s a tremble in your hand when you hold on to the fabric over his chest, there’s an urgency in his hands as he pulls you closer; but there’s an ease to the way you straddle him, there’s an intimacy in the way he breathes your name over your lips.
You lose track of time in the heady feeling of his lips on yours. One of his hands grabs at the side of your jaw, tilting your head to meet his kiss, the other settles roughly on your ass, bringing you down against him, drawing you closer, closer, closer.
You gasp his name against his lips, breaths labored when you rest your brow against his, heart beating wildly in your chest when you meet his eyes.
You smile, breathless and a little mad.
But Ivar looks at you like someone who just realized stands at the edge of a precipice. His eyes widen, and he pushes you off him, however shakily.
Rejection burns, it burns and scalds and your lips part but no words leave them. You can only stand there, cold and hesitant, and watch as he scrunches his face in reluctance, in hesitation, in anger.
Ivar lifts a hand to the back of his head, avoiding your eyes with a twitch of anger, of shame.
“You know I can’t…I can’t do this.”
You stare back at him, heart still beating fast and cold taking over you. However slighted you were by his abrupt rejection, however scared you are of your own feelings, however torn you are about the things you want; all of it pales when you see the expression in Ivar’s face.
When you learned Laconia was free, when Fate released you of the strings holding you by the throat and you threatened to break at the seams; you clung to Ivar like he was the one thing keeping you in this world, and past the unsteadiness of his legs that at the moment you couldn’t think of, maybe out of sheer will and strength alone, he stabbed the wooden floor and kept you upright, didn’t let you fall, didn’t let you break.
And the same certainty flows through you, the same steeled resolve, the same drive to grant safety and comfort and peace.
And so you don’t hesitate when you step closer again, one of your hands tentatively settling on his shoulder, the other, as if half of you was braver than the other, reaches for the side of his jaw, thumb going back and forth over the scar under his eye.
“This doesn’t have to be anything other than…this.”
You lean down and bring his mouth to yours, softly. It surprises you and delights you in equal measure, how easily Ivar surrenders to your kiss, how pliantly he leans to meet the touch of your mouth on his.
When you part, his eyes open slowly, and the absolutely enthralled expression on his face as he stares up at you sends a rush of heat through you.
But, after a moment the daze disappears. And he still grits his teeth, his eyes still jump from place to place, and he still insists, “I…can’t give you what you need, what you want.”
You shake your head, unwavering. You once again wonder which one of you is the bewitched one, when with but a look Ivar makes secrets spill from your lips, when with nothing but his touch he makes invisible bindings release you.
“What I need is you,” You whisper. Your hand on his shoulder lowers, presses softly over the center of his chest, and you lean your brow against his, never taking your eyes off his, “What I want is this.”
You wouldn’t have believed yourself to be brave enough to, even after the words leave your lips, and with the truth you tried ignoring is looking right at you; not falter, to not feel the instinct to pull back, to return to secrets and safety.
There’s no hiding you’ve wondered what the cost would be to give in, hoped maybe he would give in and so you would be able to have this without the guilt of having chosen it.
There’s no hiding you wished to just forget for a moment there’s a world past him and accept that maybe it was Fate after all, that maybe this borrowed time is a chance to live another life.
Your fingers digging into the wooden pillar of the home are the one thing that keeps you upright as you confess, the last breath of an already dead woman: “I wish I never returned here. I wish…I wish I had gone with you to Kattegat, like you said we could. I wish I could have lived another life, móðir.”
The life that should have been, maybe.
Maybe that is why it is so easy to accept his hands on your hips bringing you back to him with a gentleness that almost surprises you, maybe that is why it feels like home when you straddle him and put your arms over his shoulders, maybe that is why it feels like your heart beats in synch with another’s when Ivar leans his head against your chest and sighs.
Your hands trace over his back, his shoulders, you cannot help it. You find yourself almost giddy with the realization you can now touch as much as you want to, as much as he will let you.
A voice in the back of your mind reminds you that pretend as you wish, you are aware you could have had this, or something so much closer to this than the scraps you’ve been living off of, much earlier.
Ivar says something, but you do not hear it, and you ask him with a hum of question to speak again.
You feel his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, “You’re what I need too,” He breathes, before moving so that he presses a kiss right over your heart. Your breath catches in your throat and your hand moves to the back of his neck before you even realized you’ve moved. He smiles against the red fabric of your dress, and offers, “What I want, too.”
It is yours.
But you can’t say that. He will be taking your heart all the way to England with him, and you wish you could relent and let him know of that, if only to give him the task to bring it back to you.
You don’t make any attempt to move, and he doesn’t either. Your fingers tire of aimless wandering, and you silently take up the task of undoing his braids.
You could swear he leans more of his weight against you as you work your fingers through his hair.
You once prayed for the borrowed time you’re living on to last a lifetime, and as you sit there, his arms around your waist, his face pressed against your chest, you don’t see why it couldn’t be so. Why you couldn’t stretch time however you want it to. You have no doubt you could, as long as you can remain with him holding you like this, letting you hold him like this.
After a small lifetime, you whisper, “We should go to bed.”
Ivar hums an agreement, but it takes a few more breaths before he leans back. His hair falls loosely behind him, pliant and soft after you lost track of time running your fingers through it, and you find yourself smiling, lovesick and foolish, at the proof of your work.
That night you don’t sleep. You talk, and kiss, and touch, and discover. And you make out of the borrowed time you live on a small eternity.
____
Sooooooo...? :)
#ivar the boneless x reader#ivar x reader#ivar the boneless imagine#ivar the boneless#ivar#νοσταλγία masterlist
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Hellion
pairing: Jeonghan x female reader
genre: fluff, suggestive, idk what this is
warnings: cursing
word count: around 1.5k
A/N: Firstly, happy birthday to the Jeonghan, our con man. I know I'm a day late so forgive me for that. Secondly, I've no idea what the hell I wrote. I've cancelled two other drafts I wrote for his birthday cause none of them were coming together and in the end I've decided to post this shit. Anyway, your feedback would be really appreciated in this mess of a story :').
"What's Jeonghan doing here?" You hiss to Mingyu who has a hard time prying his eyes off of Chaeyeon. "I invited him. I never thought he'd actually come. I'm surprised too." He replies.
"Wha- why would you invite Jeonghan to my birthday party!" You glare at him to which he rolls his eyes, "Come on now, he's in our friend group. And college is almost over. You don't know when you'll see him again. Ogle him while he's still here." He smirks.
"What did you just s-"
"Oh come on, don't act like I don't know that he's your secret crush. Maybe make up with him and if you're lucky you'll get some good dick as a birthday present." Mingyu chuckles at your open mouth before scurrying away to avoid your wrath. You glare at his retreating figure before inhaling sharply. And before you can stop yourself, you start to look for him.
You spot Jeonghan at the large porch in the back of Mingyu's house, sitting in one of the porch seats while sipping beer. He looks dashing as always, his black hair messy, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, his cheekbones getting a prominent shine. You sigh.
Jeonghan was an exhausting person to be around and maybe, he'd say the same for you. You've known him since highschool and after a particular incident of him spilling his banana milk all over your brand new scarf, you decided to call it war. To this day you believe that he did it on purpose because you told your homeroom teacher that he slept during his class.
After that it was like an unspoken rule- you two would bicker whenever you were in the same space. It only infuriated you that he was so good looking, smart, famous and the fact that you had some feelings developing for him. Each time you saw him with a girl you'd feel a bitter feeling all over and you could only hope that those feelings would pass over time. But no they didn't, they only grew- the small branches had formed a tree now, the roots planted deep in your heart.
"How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?" Jeonghan calls, without turning behind. You clear your throat before walking to him, "Didn't expect to see you here, fuck face."
"Can you not call me names for a day please? You're just jealous I'm good looking." He remarks drowning the can of beer.
You snort, "Haha. You wish, loser." You plop down beside him. "I see you've finished quite a few cans. What's up? Got ditched?" You poke him.
"What do you care?"
"You're ruining the mood here with all these sad aura around you. Go drink your sorrows away somewhere else, this is my party."
"Yet you are sitting with me and my sad auras."
"I came to tell you that," you scoff, crossing your arms over.
"Parties are not your thing, I know. And Mingyu wasn't shy on inviting people. It feels more like his birthday than yours." Jeonghan comments, still staring ahead. His words are true and they infuriate you. You can't help but get defensive, "What do you know, sad boy? I'm enjoying myself just fine."
"And yet you are sitting with me and-"
"Stop saying that, will you!" You snap. Jeonghan chuckles before looking at you. He unabashedly eyes you up and down, heating your cheeks up in the process.
"Nice dress," he murmurs. His words catch you off guard and you glare at him, "Stop staring at me, pervert."
"You were staring at me earlier."
"Seriously? Can you stop for one goddamn second?"
"You're the one who started it."
"That's it. I shouldn't have come here," you stand up to leave but to your utter surprise Jeonghan grabs your hand, sending your heart to a frenzy. "Wait."
You swallow nervously, heart thudding loudly in your chest as Jeonghan lets go of your hand and meets your eyes, "Sit down, I've a gift for you."
You frown, "You have a gift for me?" Jeonghan nods before sitting straight, setting down his can. "Before that, I need you to know something."
"W-what?"
"I really didn't spill my milk all over you intentionally that day." He meets your eyes.
You can't help but laugh out loud partially because he's still concerned about that and partially because you believe he's lying.
"Listen here, sad boy, I've put that well past me. And I know for a fact you did it on purpose so don't-"
"You didn't, ___. We've been fighting over that for our whole goddamn lives. And no, I'm not lying. I've no reason to. I never cared if you told our teacher shit or not." His chocolate orbs bore into yours and you swallow. The air surrounding you suddenly becomes thick and you start to feel jittery and maybe a slight amount of guilt. Is he really speaking the truth?
"W-whatever, I don't care anymore." You say, sitting down gently beside him.
"And yet you still hold a grudge against me," Jeonghan sighs. "Besides you're not even fun to fight with."
"What did you say?"
He laughs, his eyes forming crescents and the sweet melody echoing in the air. You quickly look away before he catches you staring, "I don't have all day. Where's my gift?"
"Yeah, right." From beside him he produces a bag that you didn't notice before. He hands it to you and you tentatively peek in, half expecting a bug to jump out.
To your utter surprise, a scarf that looks identical to the one he ruined lies there. A small gasp leaves your mouth.
"I bought it that day after I stained yours. I was going to give this to you as an apology but dear lord, you were on my ass the second I got to class next day." Jeonghan speaks and a blush coats your cheek leaving you feel vulnerable all of a sudden.
"I don't know what to say," You whisper more to yourself. Jeonghan chuckles, "I know, you're touched. It's okay, we're even finally."
You bite your lip and exhale loudly before meeting his eyes, "Thanks." Jeonghan moves his hand in a dismissive wave. "I thought I'd finally give it you, call it a truce. We'll probably never see each other again after this month and I wanted to depart on good terms."
Your throat constricts, an overwhelming sadness enveloping you. He's right, you two would probably never see each other again. His dad owns a huge business and he'd probably go abroad to manage it.
"You're right, let's call it a truce," you whisper staring at the scarf in your lap.
"Come on now, don't look so sad, sad girl," Jeonghan teases you and you roll your eyes. He's still the same.
He hands you a beer, "Have a drink with me to sign the truce." You quietly laugh, taking the can from him. You two share a comfortable silence, staring at the night sky, the music from the party fading into the background until Jeonghan decides to break it.
"I know you like me, ___." The words slip past his lips like it's the most casual thing ever. You choke on your beer before looking at him eyes wide like saucers, "W-what!"
Jeonghan slightly turns to face you, his features calm, "You don't have to act. I've known all along."
Oh. My. God.
Heat spreads all over your face like wildfire. Your first thought is that Mingyu told him. You chew your lip as you see no way out. "W-who told you?" You squeak.
"I've figured it out myself," He says nonchalantly, resting his head on his hand as you stares at you.
"You-you did?"
"Mhmm."
You fumble with the hem of your dress before murmuring out, "I-I should get going." You need to escape him. Forever.
But Jeonghan isn't done. He casually goes on, "I've always thought you were pretty. Even when you get red after losing an argument." You blush furiously as your palms sweat.
"You know I really had no intention of picking a fight with you but you...you were so desperate to bring me down. You always speak too much and I often think about the many ways I could shut your loud mouth. Such a shame, we would've made a great couple."
Your face feels like it's on fire by now. You swallow before nervously laughing, "I s-see what you're doing here...You're trying to p-prank me, asshole."
Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, sighing, "See? There you go again, running that damn mouth." Your lips press together as you clench your fists, thinking of a way out. In the blink of an eye Jeonghan scoots closer to you and leans in to capture your lips in a kiss.
A squeak leaves your mouth as Jeonghan tilts your head, cupping your cheek. You want to pull back, smack him, call him names but you can only moan as his mouth slots against yours perfectly. Your tongues clash as you grab a fistful of Jeonghan's shirt, moaning.
When you pull back for air, you're mortified, wanting to be swallowed up by the ground. Jeonghan is totally calm as he takes in your messy state licking his lips.
"Do you want to continue?"
"W-wh-what?"
"I said do you want to continue this? If you don't want to I'll leave. If you do then you're coming home with me. Which one is it gonna be, ___?"
You bite your lip. Oh my God. This can't be happening.
You grit your teeth as every ounce of your resolve disappears, "I...I want you."
The smile on Jeonghan's face is victorious, a smile you've seen million times before, a smile that makes you week in the knees. "Good girl." He says encasing your lips in another kiss before standing up holding out his hand. "Come along, sweetheart. I'm gonna ruin you for any other man. Even when it's morning you'll only be thinking about me," he whispers in your ear before tugging you out of the porch- your heart hammering in your chest as you squeeze the scarf on your hand.
Fuck, you owe Mingyu a fruit basket or some shit now.
A/N 2: Also, that video of Jeonghan exercising made me 🥵🥵 this man is so infurating. I was literally dehydrated from watching that video.
#seventeen#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fic#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen au#seventeen fluff#seventeen angst#seventeen smut#seventeen jeonghan#svt au#svt fanfic#svt imagines#svt fluff#svt scenarios#svt fic#svt smut#svt jeonghan#seventeen drabbles#kpop drabbles#kpop imagines#kpop fanfic
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[HOME] IS WHERE THE SHIP IS [PT.2]
HOME MASTERLIST
SUMMARY: in which a lot of doors are slammed, because zuko is an angsty mess. but it’s okay, because at least he has Y/N by his side as everything becomes a big mess.
WORD COUNT: 7.1k
WARNINGS: mentions of death, threats
A/N: sorry this took so long! i hope you all like it! also im at 400 followers wow klasdkhkhaks idk why haha, anyways remember to drink water my friends
This shouldn’t be possible.
Staring at the young boy in wonder, Y/N can’t help it as her mouth gapes open. He’s Airbending. Making him the last Airbender, making him the Avatar. The issue, Y/N L/N is the Avatar. Or at least, she thought she was. Maybe she was just a cheap knock off? So many thoughts circled through her mind as her brows furrowed, the Southern Water Tribe was the last place she would’ve expected someone who was well over a century old to be hiding out. Though the ‘old’ man, appeared to be younger than Y/N.
Regardless, from the look in Zuko’s eyes as he took the young boy into custody, he had hope that they could return home without Y/N arriving in a pair of cuffs and immediately being sentenced to either death or life in prison.
It was nice to see him happy again.
Ever since they’d discovered her ability to Waterbend, making their search for the Avatar pointless, Zuko’s small sliver of hope to return to the Fire Nation had diminished. Iroh had noticed this sudden change in attitude, and made several attempts to brighten the young boy’s mood to no avail, though he had no idea about the major issue the pair was dealing with. Or perhaps he did, Iroh was a mysterious man, with a mysterious amount of information. Y/N had contemplated asking him for information in regards to the possibility of two Avatars several times, though she elected not to, fearing she would arouse suspicion.
Then again, who would Iroh tell? He clearly wasn’t fond of his brother, and it appeared his loyalty lied with tea, pai cho, and Zuko, who had no intentions of allowing Y/N to fall into Fire Nation hands, but Zuko didn’t like the idea of living in a ship for the rest of his life.
At this point, home is where the ship is.
Y/N found herself staring at the child capable of Airbending as they took him to the brig, a wave of sadness washing over her. He was a kid, he didn’t deserve this, he had done nothing wrong other than exist. Now that she followed the guards as the placed him in one of the cells in the brig, Y/N wondered what would become of him if he was ever in the Fire Lord’s presence, she tried to shake off these thoughts though, sighing as she turned away. He was probably just as confused as she was, well maybe not as confused, he was blissfully unaware of the second potential Avatar on the boat.
“Get some food, I’ll watch over him for now.”
The two guards that had escorted him here alongside her exchanged looks, before turning back to her, “are you sure, ma’am?”
It was easy to forget that Y/N was basically a guard as well, a glorified one, but a guard nonetheless. Being Zuko’s right hand had come with a lot of responsibilities when they were in the Fire Nation, and keeping him alive had been one of them. It had obviously come with several benefits as well, but Y/N tended to forget in recent times.
“Yeah, go on ahead. Just don’t leave me for too long, eh?” She waved them off. Given Zuko’s attitude, one of them had to maintain good rapport with the other members of the ship, otherwise they likely would’ve revolted a while ago. It was a job for two, one that her and Iroh shared. Regardless of rapport and general kindness, Y/N wanted a moment alone with the young Avatar, she had questions. Lots of them.
It appeared he did too as he looked at her, she’d sat herself across from his cell, sword strung over her lap. “So..” Y/N began, “where have you been the past century?”
He looked up at her, head tilting, likely in confusion as he responded. “In an iceberg. I kinda went into hibernation I guess, to keep myself from dying during a storm.” He plopped down onto the floor of the cell, “what happened the past century?” The boy asked in turn, looking at Y/N curiously, his hands bound in chains.
With a frown, Y/N replied, “nothing good.” She stared at her hands, feeling shame flood her. Her nation’s actions had never been... good. And she didn’t want to be the one to tell the young boy about the genocide of his people, but it had to be done, “in case you haven’t heard, the Air Nomads were... eradicated. The Fire Nation is now striving towards world domination.” It was the truth, the sad truth, the Fire Nation had been working towards the goal of world domination for quite some time now, and it seemed they might be successful.
This boy could ruin all of that.
His face visibly darkened at this explanation, looking away, his voice seemed to harden, “yeah. I heard.” There wasn’t really much else to explain, the war had been the only constant in all this time, Y/N couldn’t find a way to see the brightside, probably because there wasn’t one. Just a side filled with incredibly bright flames that would likely lead to the end of the world.
Swallowing nervously, Y/N’s lips formed a tight smile, “I’m Y/N. By the way.” Maybe it was weird, but Y/N wanted to form a friendship with this kid, something about him felt different, and she wanted to understand what exactly that was.
A small smile found it’s way onto his face, though the remnants of what was likely anger, sadness, and confusion were still evident on his face as he replied, “I’m Aang.”
It felt odd, sitting across from him as their eyes met. Like there was something buzzing in the air, like something was wrong. The hairs on the back of Y/N neck rose, and she felt goosebumps form on her skin as she gave the young boy a smile as well. His mouth seemed to gape open, brows furrowing in confusion as he prepared to speak.
“Miss L/N.” Called out one of the guards, earning both the attention of Aang and Y/N, who had been mesmerized by the mysterious feeling in the air. “I came to relieve you of guard duty.”
Y/N’s smile remained as she turned to the guard, “thank you.” Though she wished she had more time to speak with Aang, it was clear he’d felt whatever it was as well. Not that she could ask him about it with anyone else around, though she’d been on the ship for years now, her lack of trust in the crew remained the same.
Inhaling deeply, she stood, and she could feel the gaze of Aang on her as she walked away, the odd feeling slowly dissipating the further she got from him. Now, a new feeling filled her, guilt. They’d locked away a child who awoke in an entirely new world, only to find that his entire civilization was dead.
Frustrated, Y/N brought a hand to her temple and sighed as she made her way to her room. She opened the door, and went to slam it, except her hand never touched the door, though she did fly against the wall on the opposite side of the room as she did slam the door.
With a gust of wind.
That’s new.
Y/N cursed, shaking her hand aggressively as she glared at it, she sat up from her position on the floor, her room now in disarray thanks to the random gust of wind. Y/N moved to pick up one of many things that fell on the floor when her door swung open, a million different excuses for the mess were suddenly running through her mind as she tried to think of one that actually made sense. Opening her mouth as she looked up at the intruder she realized it was none other than Prince Zuko, who tackled her in a hug.
None of this made sense.
Her arms slowly wrapped around him as her brows furrowed, confusion flooding her as Zuko spoke, “we did it!” Listening to his words, she realized that she hadn’t heard his voice sound that happy in a while, and Y/N couldn’t stop herself from smiling momentarily. Key word being momentarily, as she soon recalled that it was a literal child that would be their ticket back to the Fire Nation, guilt consumed her.
Y/N did not support this, and despite the way Zuko smiled for the first time in forever, she contemplated releasing the Avatar once she got the chance, for a variety of reasons. Not that Zuko needed to know that as she replied softly, “yeah, we did.”
“We can go home, Y/N.” He released her from the hug to look her in the eyes, his hands remaining on her shoulders.
Raising a brow, she teased him, “I thought I was your home.” A light pink dusted Zuko’s cheeks at her comment as she continued, recalling that day, “didn’t you even say I was your girlfrie-”
“What happened to your room?” He asked in an attempt to change the subject, finally beginning to look around, his brows furrowed.
Y/N hollowed out her cheeks as she gave him a sheepish smile, “raccoons.”
Yeah, that was the worst excuse on her list. It was better than nothing though, stressing Zuko was the last thing she wanted to do, and an accidental Airbending incident while the last Airbender was on board the ship would probably stress him out.
Zuko opened his mouth, likely to tell her how stupid that sounded, though he was interrupted by another person shoving Y/N’s door open, “Y/N, we have a proble-” Upon seeing Zuko, the guard froze, pausing his sentence. Y/N already knew the news must’ve been bad if the guard had wanted to come to her first, likely expecting Zuko’s reaction be rather explosive. It was well known on board the ship that the only person capable of minimizing Zuko’s temper was Y/N, which is why most bad news tended to come from her, after another crew member told her. This seemed to be one of those instances, though it had gone wrong seeing as Zuko was in her room.
The guard’s eyes met Y/N’s momentarily as she nodded for him to continue. Zuko simply rose a brow at this interaction. “The Avatar has escaped.”
Everything went downhill from there.
The attempt to recapture the Avatar went rather poorly, and Y/N hadn’t really done much in assistance if she was honest. The boy had started glowing, that wasn’t something normal people did, then again he was the Avatar. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if she could glow as well, even as Zuko questioned her lack of action.
Due to his failure to recapture the Avatar, Zuko’s mood seemed to worsen immediately, and his anger was mostly directed at Y/N. She was a talented Firebender who had done little to help recapture him, partially because she was focusing on ensuring half the crew didn’t die of frostbite. Not that Zuko was taking this into consideration during his bout of rage.
Had Y/N been more focused on him, she probably would’ve knocked some sense into him, but she figured Iroh had it handled as she handed the final crew member a blanket before returning to her incredibly messy room. Serving only as a reminder of another one of her problems.
One, the only Airbender in the world had just disappeared, shortly after she discovered she could Airbend, leaving her without someone to teach her. Two, this probably would’ve happened regardless since Y/N really didn’t want to sentence a child to death at the hands of Fire Lord Ozai. Three, Y/N had no choice but to figure out how to control all her abilities, or else another accident could occur and she’d expose herself to someone who wouldn’t be as merciful as Zuko.
She’d mastered Firebending and Waterbending for the most part, though it was difficult without a master, she’d managed to teach herself just fine. Y/N wouldn’t deny that training in secret was difficult, with only an old Waterbending scroll to aid her, but something was better than nothing. And she was doing better than the Waterbender from the Water Tribe, so that was good news she supposed.
Zuko had been helpful, nobody questioned it when he ordered a random stop on the coast and they’d disappear for hours at a time. He’d been supportive of her endeavors to learn how to control her abilities, training alongside her, Y/N had noticed the way he was slowly incorporating Waterbending movements into his own Firebending, though he’d deny it if she pointed it out.
There were peaceful moments on the beaches they practiced on, ones that reminded her why she’d joined Zuko in banishment, why she cared for him.
Right now was not one of these moments.
As Y/N picked up a book that had fallen onto the floor due to her Airbending incident, placing it on her desk, the door swung open for the third time that day, hitting the side of the wall. This action knocked down her book, and Y/N didn’t need to turn around to know who it was as she extended her arm outward to signal for Zuko to remain silent as she inhaled deeply, trying to maintain patience.
“Reconsider whatever you are going to say.” Y/N began, closing her eyes, “because I am this,” she puts her fingers ridiculously close together, “close to ending your life.”
He rolled his eyes at her words, but closed the door more gently and leaned down to place the book back on the desk before speaking, “why didn’t you do anything to help against the Avatar?” When they’d discussed it earlier, she hadn’t given him an answer, mostly because she was busy melting the other Firebenders out of the ice that had entrapped them during the fight with the Avatar and his new friends. But Zuko sounded calmer than he had earlier, which meant he'd taken her threat seriously.
Good.
“He’s a kid, Zuko.” Y/N replied incredulously, continuing to go about cleaning her room. She bit her tongue as she contemplated pointing out that they were kids too, they shouldn’t be dealing with this. “And he’s the only person who could possibly understand what I’m going through.” Her voice is quieter as she says this, as though there’s someone else in the room who could hear her. Despite the fact that she’d been training with Waterbending, they had tried their hardest to avoid discussing the fact that she was the Avatar. Or, kind of the Avatar.
Zuko grimaces at her comments, looking away from her awkwardly, “we deserve to be living in a palace.” Y/N swallows nervously, his words only serving as a remind of their past, her past.
“You didn’t seem to mind leaving that behind when we found out what I could do.” Y/N retorted, staring at him as he desperately tried to avoid her piercing gaze.
These words seemed to strike a chord in him, and all the unspoken words from the day they found out seemed to be revealing themselves as they spoke, “because we had no other choice!” Zuko exclaimed, gesturing wildly, “now, we have a chance at returning to the Fire Nation.”
Picking up a small box, she placed it onto her desk alongside several of her things, “what if we just didn’t go back?” Y/N proposed quietly, staring at the small figurine. She’d had the thought multiple times, maybe it would’ve been easier to convince Zuko before they’d found another Avatar. Prior to discovering the Airbender, there had been no point in searching the world for the Avatar, and settling down somewhere would’ve been far more ideal than living on a ship for the rest of her life. Iroh had expressed similar feelings despite his blissful ignorance of the Avatar living alongside him, though he supported his nephew’s endeavors, “what if we ran away from all this Zuko? Your Uncle has always wanted to start a tea shop we could-”
“Are you crazy?” Zuko asked, “Y/N we are so close. If we find him again then my father will restore my honor. “ He insisted, and the desperation, the pain in his voice almost hurt Y/N as well, the fact that he still believed in his dreadful father. Y/N opened up her mouth to respond, only for Zuko to continue, “don’t you care?”
Y/N wanted to scoff at this comment, and couldn’t help the way her fists balled up as she felt anger consume her. Did she care? She had gone to banishment with him despite the protests of the Fire Lord himself, and he was wondering if she cared? After everything Y/N had done for him? She couldn’t help but feel bitter as his words washed over her and suddenly, all the things she’s done for his sake came to her attention. Oh god, if only he knew what she did.
He’d probably kill her.
Y/N quickly shook away those thoughts as she responded, “I refuse to condemn a child to the likes of your father.” Zuko wouldn’t acknowledge it, even after 3 years, but his father was horrible. Y/N knew from experience how far his ambition went, she knew how much he was willing to give up for power. Y/N tries to ignore those memories as she exhales sharply before replying, “we've both seen what he’s done to his own children.”
Zuko is silent at this comment, his eyes narrow at her and Y/N quickly realized she struck a nerve, grimacing as she mutters, “I need... to go see Iroh.” She’s grappling for any excuse to escape this conversation. And Y/N supposed this was better than the raccoon excuse she had used earlier.
Y/N quickly decided that she could apologize later as she made her way to her door, sparing Zuko a glance to see that he was staring at a painting that had fallen during her Airbending incident, one of Y/N, him and Iroh. The glass of the framed image had cracked, and Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if that was a sign. Her secrets were piling up, and today only made it worse. From Airbending to the... interesting connection Y/N seemed to have with Aang. She couldn’t let him get into Fire Lord Ozai’s hands at least until she had a better understanding of this connection, for all she knew, if Aang died, she would too.
Heading over to Iroh’s room had once been an excuse, but now she had a mission, she was going to ask him about the possibility of two Avatars. And perhaps drink some tea for the sake of calming down, though her fight with Zuko hadn’t gotten too heated, she knew the tension between them would remain for days to come. Though they had no choice but to get over it, the two worked side by side each day, and they both needed a clear head to get through each painstaking day on the ship without complications.
If Y/N had an attitude like Zuko’s, the crew might just abandon ship.
Coming upon Iroh’s door, Y/N begins to reconsider her decision, maybe he was napping, or busy in some other way. Perhaps, this wasn’t the best idea, and consulting with Zuko before doing something so drastic would be better. Then again, she wasn’t really on speaking terms with him at the moment, so she summoned her courage and knocked on Iroh’s door, a small part of her hoping that he wouldn’t open it.
Y/N’s wish didn’t come true as a smiling Iroh opened his door, “Y/N, welcome.” He greeted. Iroh’s room smelt of tea and candles, and looking at it now, Y/N realized he was a rather organized person with very few belongings. Though, the things he carried with him clearly had sentimental value. “What can I do for you?”
“Do I have to need something to come see you?” She asks playfully, Iroh had always been someone pleasant to converse with, even before banishment. Though these years traveling together had certainly brought them closer together, bonding over Zuko was a common pass time, though their friendship had long since expanded into other topics of conversation.
Iroh hummed in response, sitting down in front of his tea kettle, “so you don’t need anything?” He begins to boil the water, retrieving some tea leaves from a cabinet that Y/N is sure has an endless supply.
“I do have a question.” Comes her reply, taking a seat across from him. “About the Avatar, and such.”
Taking two teacups, Iroh looks to her curiously, “there are a few things we could discuss in regards to the Avatar.”
Y/N considered how she could word this without sounding suspicious, and she quickly realized that her options were rather limited as she opened her mouth, “I was wondering what the other Avatar sightings could’ve been, if.. this kid is the real Avatar.” What she said wasn’t a lie, there had been dozens of sightings of other people bending more than one element. And from the research she’d done, most of the people who were allegedly capable of bending more than one element died at a young age.
Iroh hummed in understanding, pouring the tea into the cups he’d set out for the two of them, “do you know what a Dualbender is?” He asks, looking to her.
Y/N nods slowly, “I’ve heard the myths, but I don’t know much. Some question if they are just that, myths.” She’d considered the possibility that she was a dualbender, and made an attempt to research the topic, but there wasn’t much information since it was rather rare. That and the fact that the name ‘Dualbender’ implied the capability of bending two elements, and Y/N could evidently bend three.
“Well, the Fire Nation has encountered a few in the past.” Iroh explains, “Dualbenders are born when the Avatar experiences near-death.” He blows on his tea, staring into the dark liquid, and Y/N follows suit. “To put it simply, they’re mistakes. A failed attempt to continue the Avatar cycle because the Avatar at the time doesn’t actually die.”
Y/N’s brows draw together at his words, a mistake? She decides that’s a lovely way to regard herself as she speaks, “the Avatar said he was frozen in an iceberg all that time he was gone.” Iroh doesn’t question how she attained this information, simply nodding along to her words, “would that qualify as near-death?” Aang had referred to it as a state of hibernation, and Y/N wondered if this could explain her existence. Regardless, this meant that she wasn’t the Avatar, or an Avatar. She was a mistake. If Y/N had to guess, she wasn’t capable of bending Earth, and given how long the Avatar had been in his state of hibernation, that’s the only reason she was capable of bending three elements of four in the first place.
“Yes, I believe it would.” His eyes fell onto the small circular window of his room, looking outside it at the crashing waves. “There are likely several dualbenders out there. Or...” Iroh paused, likely considering his next words as he turned back to Y/N, “an incredibly powerful one.” Y/N couldn’t help but curse Iroh for his mysterious way with words, though he likely knew nothing of her little secret, it sure felt like he did as his eyes pierced into her very soul.
“Interesting.” Y/N said, trying to seem disinterested, sipping her tea nonchalantly.
Iroh raised a brow, “speaking of the Avatar. What are you going to do now that we’ve actually found him?” Y/N wanted to laugh at this statement, nobody had expected to actually find the Avatar when they set out on this trip.
“What do you mean?” She asked, tilting her head at him in confusion.
Exhaling deeply, Iroh sighed, “should my nephew successfully bring the Avatar back to the Fire Nation, you’re going to a have a problem.” Understanding washed over her as she met Iroh’s eyes.
Y/N’s face darkened at his comment, “I’ve tried to convince him not to go back, to abandon this.”
“But he refused.” Iroh said knowingly, his nephew was certainly set in his ways. Regardless of how many times both Iroh and Y/N had broached the topic of giving up on the search for the Avatar, he’d always rejected the possibility. Though Y/N had never managed to actually have a discussion with him about it until today since she never thought that they’d see the day that they actually found the Avatar and had a chance to go home. She thought she had time.
Iroh shook his head, “Y/N, you need to tell him.”
Her timeline had just been moved up.
Scowling at the reminder, Y/N turned to Iroh, “I don’t regret it.” She affirms, placing her tea down to face him, she says this mainly to convince herself, not Iroh. Though she appreciates him and all that he has done, confrontations like these are less than favorable.
With a shrug, Iroh replies, “I didn’t ask if you did.”
“You didn’t need to.” Y/N grumbled, her mood souring. This day had been horrid thus far, and Iroh was not helping.
Picking up her up to take another sip of her tea, Y/N jumped at the door slamming open, exhaling deeply in an attempt to calm herself. She already knew who it was, only one person on the ship had that bad habit.
“Uncle, I need-” Zuko paused upon noticing Y/N.
“Thank you for the tea, Iroh.” Y/N spoke with a tight lipped smile, before giving Zuko an empty look and sitting up, “I was just leaving. Have fun.” Stepping past Zuko, Y/N contemplates bumping shoulders with him, but ultimately decides against the petty action as she gently closes the door behind her.
She doesn’t notice the way Zuko reaches out for her as she exits, or the way he groans in annoyance as he brings his hands to his face.
Iroh gave the young prince a look, “what did you do?” He asks, putting away Y/N’s cup of tea, and bringing an empty cup down for Zuko as he gestured to the now empty spot in front of him.
“Hey, it wasn’t just me!” Zuko exclaimed, plopping down on the floor across from his Uncle, watching him pour a cup of tea before taking it begrudgingly.
Iroh hummed in response, “then it sounds like you need to have a conversation with Y/N. Not me.” He pointed out. It wasn’t the first time they’d both come to him after a fight, Iroh was aware of the bond the two shared, and the mutual denial of how extensive it was. But recently, things seemed to have changed, and he wasn’t sure if it was for the better or not.
Zuko scoffed, sipping his tea, “she’s being mean.” He almost scowled at how childish his words sounded, but her reference to his father had caught him off guard. Then again, he’d insinuated that she didn’t care, even though she had traveled the world in search of someone they thought didn’t exist.
Okay, they’d both said things they regretted.
Maybe Zuko was right, maybe Y/N was being mean, but that was mainly because she had bigger problems than capturing the Avatar, Zuko only knew about... some of those problems.
Entering her room, Y/N sighed, looking around to see it was now clean. Likely a courtesy of Zuko. Actions speak louder than words, and Zuko wouldn’t be the one to apologize verbally, she knew that much. Making her way to her bed, Y/N collapsed into it, this day had been longer than she’d expected.
Sleep sounded nice right about now.
Y/N opened her eyes to see she was in the air, rain pouring violently down onto the saddle she was seated in. Thunder rattled above her, and she could see a flash of lightning strike down into the water, spinning around, she noticed that all she could see for miles was water, the ocean seemed endless.
Moving to look over the saddle, Y/N saw fur, quickly realizing that she was on Aang’s Sky Bison, her mouth gaped open in shock, turning to the front of the animal where a panicked Avatar sat, attempting to steer the creature to safety.
Scrambling towards the front of the Sky Bison to try and speak with Aang, Y/N extended her hand, only to see that she wasn’t wearing traditional Fire Nation clothing, instead her clothes left her arms exposed. A tattoo of two dragons snaking around her arm, one colored white and the other colored black, the image leaving Y/N’s brows furrowing in confusion.
She didn’t have a tattoo.
Shaking off the confusion, she quickly realized there were bigger problems at hand than a mysterious tattoo before grabbing Aang’s shoulder. He turned to look back at her, eyes red due to the tears streaming down his face and mixing with the water pouring down on them, panic clear in his face, though his eyes seemed to widen in shock at the sight of her.
Y/N wondered who would’ve spoke first had they not begun to fall towards the water, quickly getting sucked in by the current. Sstruggled to keep control of her body, and though her vision was blurry, and her eyes stung due to the sea water, she could make out Aang and the Sky Bison in the water, swimming towards them despite the burning sensation in her lungs.
She reached for him, preparing to swim upwards as quickly as she could to ensure they both survived, but he began to glow, causing her to falter. Though Y/N quickly realized she had no choice but to grab him or they’d both die, and her hand shot out to grab his arm.
Once she’d made contact with her, the tattoo snaking up her arm began to glow as well, and she felt panic flood her.
Everything went white as they were encased in ice.
Shooting up from her bed, Y/N gasped out for air, as though she’d actually been drowning, her hand coming to her neck. The shock of the dream almost distracted her from the rapid series of knocks coming from her door, her head whipping towards it as she blinked, once, twice, before sitting up from her bed and shakily making her way towards it. Y/N opened the door, to see Zuko’s hand preparing to ram against her face now that the door no longer stood in his way, along with several other crew members standing behind him.
They were all in sleepwear, and Y/N suddenly realized she’d fell asleep in her Fire Nation armor, looking to them for answers as to why they’d gathered in front of her door. There was a panicked look on Zuko’s face as one of the crew members that had noticed her confusion explained awkwardly, “you were screaming, Miss L/N.”
Oh.
Y/N let out a small laugh of embarrassment, her hand coming to her neck, “sorry about that guys. Bad dream.” She looked away from them, trying to determine what to say next.
Zuko spoke first, turning back to the crew, “you heard her.” When they did nothing, he continued, more frustrated, “leave!” He exclaimed, as though it was obvious, and the crew members that were there suddenly nodded rapidly, saluting the two of them before returning to their quarters.
Zuko turned back to Y/N, his face red as he sighed, “are you okay?” He grumbled out.
Y/N nodded slowly, bringing her arm up as she recalled the tattoo from her dreams, sliding up the sleeve to see that her arm remained free of a tattoo.
It was just a dream.
“Yeah.” She mumbled, inhaling deeply. “Sorry to wake you.”
He’s still staring at her as he repeats, “you were screaming.”
“Apparently.” Comes her response, but looking at him, Y/N realizes he was more worried than he’d let on. “You wanna come in?” She asks, opening her door wider.
Wordlessly, he enters, slipping past her and into the room. Zuko immediately looks to her bed, the sheets are messily tossed across it, spilling onto the floor. Some of her pillows had also found their way onto the floor as well. The thin layer of frost that coats her wall reminds Y/N of what Aang had told her earlier.
He’d gone into a state of hibernation within an iceberg, after a storm.
She had just witnessed the day the Avatar went missing. In her dreams. Or maybe it wasn’t her dreams, how could she dream such a thing up, and so vividly?
It felt like she had been there.
Y/N realized her list of problems was growing rather rapidly at this point as she looked up at Zuko, who had already been staring at her, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for the best words before he finally said, “you wanna talk about it?”
He’d never been good at comfort, Y/N knew this, and the fact that he was even offering brought on a new wave of emotions for Y/N as she extended her arms outward, hoping he’d understand.
Zuko’s cheeks flushed, and he made his way towards her, allowing Y/N to wrap her arms around his neck as his came around her waist. He was stiff in the hug, and Y/N wasn’t shocked by this, though she was shocked he agreed to a hug in the first place.
She found comfort in the warmth of his arms as she spoke, “I’m fine.”
And maybe those words provided comfort for the both of them.
But her mind was swirling with thoughts, and Y/N can’t help but feel distressed as she realizes her list of problems won’t stop growing. She’d have to deal with mastering Airbending now, though the entire culture was wiped out, and most valuable artifacts had long since been stolen from the Air Temples and sold for who knew how much. The only other person who could teach her Airbending was the enemy, and someone she’d have to chase down.
That someone being Aang, who she appeared to have some odd connection with, one that Y/N couldn’t understand at all. For some reason, his past was appearing in her head, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
Then there was the fact that she might have to worry about returning to the Fire Nation should they actually manage to capture Aang, years ahead of schedule. And if they did return to the Fire Nation, Y/N would have a lot of explaining to do. Even if Y/N wouldn’t die at the hands of the Fire Lord, she might die by Zuko’s hand instead.
Her final problem was Zuko.
Yeah. He was a big problem. In more ways than one.
Y/N was only reminded of this fact as she was practically dragged out of bed the following morning to help handle the ship repairs that were very necessary given how much damage the ship had taken during the skirmish with the Avatar. Zuko had barged into her room, and Y/N wondered when he left last night, as he was now fully dressed and the sun was out. Neither of them mentioned this though, and nobody on board mentioned her little incident, thankfully. Though Y/N had a feeling that was because Zuko had threatened them, she didn’t approve of this possibility, but for once, she was grateful for it.
With a sigh, she descended down the ramp of the ship, heading towards Iroh. Y/N couldn’t help but feel worried that Zuko wasn’t in sight, he had a tendency to make poor decisions, considering the fact that Y/N was pretty much his impulse control.
“Good morning, Y/N.” Iroh greeted, beaming at her. “Lovely day isn’t it?”
Thus far, her day had gone pretty bad, considering she had woken up screaming, but Y/N nodded in agreement nonetheless, “yeah. This port seems to have a lot to offer. I might go shopping a bit.” Though this didn’t sound very ideal as she recalled what had happened the last time she’d visited a port market. Being held at knife point was not one of her favorite memories, nor was the fear that had swallowed her whole that day for several reasons.
Y/N had tried to avoid markets since then.
“Sounds like a good idea.” Comes a voice from beside her, in the corner of her eye Y/N can make out the figure of someone in Fire Nation garments. Turning, she quickly realizes who it is. General Zhao, one of the higher ranking members within the Fire Nation.
Y/N hated him.
He made his way over to her and Iroh, and bowed his head to the older man, “the Dragon of the West. An honor to meet you.” Though, as he speaks these words, Y/N has a feeling that he doesn’t truly mean them, given his rather condescending tone. Iroh regards him with a more respectful tone, his brow raised on the man’s sudden appearance.
Maybe murder is the answer.
General Zhao turned to her, “Miss L/N, correct?”
Y/N nodded, a tight lipped smile on her face, “yes. You’re General Zhao, no?”
He returned her smile, which she suspected was as fake as hers, before responding, “that would be me. I believe I recall your strategies helping us win a few battles.”
“Actually, her strategies have helped the Fire Nation win dozens.” Y/N sighs as she realizes Zuko has arrived, and the look on the General’s face makes her wonder what he’s hiding. “Y/N is a valuable asset.”
The General raises a brow at Zuko’s words, “then why isn’t she in the famed War Room at the palace?”
It’s a silent reference to Zuko’s banishment, and everyone knows it. “As Prince Zuko’s right hand, I’ve joined him in the...” Y/N faked a grimace as she tried to diffuse the situation, “unsuccessful hunt for the Avatar.”
This seems to satisfy the General, the fact that Zuko has failed, but Y/N had a feeling Zuko was glad she had lied in regards to the Avatar as his hand comes to the small of her back. “If you’ll be excusing us, we have repairs to tend to.”
“Yes.. might I ask what could have caused that damage?”
Y/N was starting to wonder if she should write out an actual list of excuses, such a thing would be helpful for moments like this, “we ran into a glacier in the South Pole.” Zuko explained nonchalantly.
“Why don’t you join me on my ship while you wait? We could have a nice cup of tea.” The General suggested, though Y/N already knew he was baiting both Zuko and Iroh.
The way Iroh lit up at the mention of tea was rather obvious, and he quickly exclaimed, “sounds like a wonderful idea!” Though Y/N appreciated the action, since Zuko was acting rather suspicious.
Y/N wasn’t shocked when the General found out they’d discovered the Avatar, and she wasn’t shocked when Zuko challenged him to an Agni Kai, just disappointed. But Y/N was definitely angry when her own name was mentioned in the Agni Kai.
The two stood across from each other as General Zhao spoke, “when I win, I will be taking Miss L/N, and the rest of your crew. Along with any information you have in regards to the Avatar.”
If looks could kill, Y/N would’ve ended the lives of both the General and Zuko as she glared at them, though her attention was mostly on Zuko, who stood in front of her. “You can’t just bet me like I’m some sort of object.” She hissed at him, “if you lose-”
“I’m not losing you.” He responded, and Y/N doesn’t miss the way his cheeks flush as he clears his throat when he realizes what the sentence sounds like. Y/N found it funny that he still found time to be embarrassed despite the violent situation at hand. “Or the crew.” He adds, though the look from his Uncle causes him to look away.
Y/N scoffs in response, trying to ignore the burning in her own cheeks, “I’ll kill you if he doesn’t.” She grumbles, leaning against the railing of the ship. But it’s an empty threat, they both know this, they also both know that Y/N is very capable of killing him.
When the fight begins. Y/N wouldn’t deny that she was shocked when she’d actually witnessed how much Zuko had improved in the past few years, under Iroh’s guidance. Though the General was certainly talented, Zuko skillfully dodged his blasts of fire, leaving Y/N to wonder how much Zuko could’ve possessed had he always been under Iroh’s charge.
Life would’ve been very different.
It doesn’t last as long as she anticipated, and Y/N wouldn’t deny that she didn’t think the odds were in Zuko’s favor, even as he dealt the final strike. Y/N was sure Iroh was practically beaming with pride as he watched his nephew win the Agni Kai, that and since he’d spared Zhao’s life.
She certainly wouldn’t have.
And the way he turns around to strike Zuko, even after losing, makes Y/N wish she had been the one in the Agni Kai in the first place as she steps in front of the blast. She parts her hands, directing the fire in opposite directions before a sword of fire is clear in her hands, the tip held against the General’s throat. Iroh had pushed Zuko behind him protectively, and Y/N stared down Zhao, though she can’t see Zuko, she can practically feel his anxiety.
The General has been bested, and yet he’s grinning at her as he says, “so you are as good as they say.”
Y/N decides she doesn’t really want to know what they say as she responds, “stay down. Or you’re dead.” The sword of fire dissipates into the air, and Y/N begins to walk towards Zuko and Iroh.
“Your talent is being wasted.” He calls out as she leaves, but Y/N ignored him, smacking Zuko upside the head as she moves ahead of him, though she remains alert.
Zuko can’t help but feel as though the man is right.
A/N: everytime i start a multipart fic i always gotta write a really short part one because its like the pilot but then part two is like hi im too many words
anyways i hope you all enjoyed it! im trying here lol its 4AM, who needs sleep, i do my best work sleep deprived.
PART 3
taglists[lmk if you want to be added or removed via comments or askbox]
home: @toobsessedsstuff @x-a-delama-x @haylaansmi @a-hopeless-fan @danicalifxrnia
zuko: @outerxorbit @shawni-h @lil-lex1 @boxofteenageideas @izzieserra @eridanuswave @bigbuckyenergy @celamoon @savemesteeb @shephard17895 @ijustwannabecanadian
atla: @bubblebars @jada-cleo @Art-flirt @the-deli-meat
#zuko x reader#prince zuko x reader#zuko x you#prince zuko x you#atla#avatar the last airbender#lok#legend of korra#atla zuko x reader#zuko atla x reader#atla prince zuko x reader#prince zuko atla x reader#home pt2
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Let Me Love You; Floyd Talbert
Fandom: HBO War; Band of Brothers
A/N: ahhh I lost the ask and this is my third attempt to post this 🙄 But it was an anon asking for Tab x insecure reader (also thank youuu 💕💕) and so sorry this took an ugly amount of time to write!
Warnings: insecure thoughts (I love you all so pls never think these things abt yourself)
Taglist: @/liebgott @stressedinadress @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @teenmagazines @hbohmygodx @meteora-fc @punkgeekchic @vintagelavenderskies @hoosiers-hoe @mavysnavy @inglourious-imagines @warrior-healer @alienoresimagines @hannahbear1 @easy-company-tradition @wexhappyxfew
__________
"Okay, maybe one," you relented. Luz had been prompting you to have a drink or two since having managed to pull you from your billet. Your nights had primarily consisted of writing home and trying to get in as much sleep as you could before the inevitable happened.
"One? One?" he scoffed. "Fine! I'll bring you one... for now." With that, he left you at the table with a few of the other guys.
You turned to join the conversation, which, as it turned out, primarily consisted of partners left behind. Or partners soon-to-be.
"Tab, are those baby blues over there flashing at you?" Chuck poked at the man next to him.
Swallowing the swig he’d just taken, Floyd lowered his eyes with a slight smirk.
The others whooped and whistled, and while you tried to join in their gleeful expressions, you couldn’t help but notice the woman in question.
“Lord, I’d give anything to look like that,” you thought out loud. Your cheeks warmed as you realized they had heard you.
“Aw, L/N, if you wanted Tab’s attention, you could’ve just said something,” someone teased.
Luckily, as they laughed, Luz had returned with your beer. You half heartedly gave them a chuckle before busying yourself with the drink. You knew they hadn’t meant any harm in the joke, but the point stood: if you looked like her, you’d have his attention.
Your crush on Floyd Talbert had started very early on during training at Toccoa, and it had followed you around like a sick puppy. You couldn’t help but be a little jealous when his eyes fell on someone else, and your insecurities had a field day with that.
You typically had your training to drown out your thoughts. Nothing like blood and sweat to keep the tears at bay.
__________
The streets of Eindhoven were adorned in orange as Easy Company found itself wading into the town'a cheerful greetings. The crowds of people quickly split the soldiers up, and you found yourself looking for familiar faces or glimpses of helmets amongst the dozens of bodies around you. Finally, you stumbled into a less congested area by a table and spotted a camouflage-clad man making out with a local woman.
You rolled your eyes, silently trying to guess who it could be. More than a couple came to mind.
"Sergeant Talbert," someone else chided in exasperation, and you watched Floyd emerge from underneath the woman.
Your stomach dropped, but you quickly moved back into the crowd, hoping he didn’t catch a glimpse of the utter devastation you were sure was evident on your face. Many thoughts coursed through your head, not the least of them being to listen to the officers shouting, "Keep it moving!" You could deal with your crush at a later time.
It's not like he would like me anyway, you reminded yourself as you tried to find an end to the sea of people.
"Something wrong there, L/N?" a familiar voice came from your right side. Bull nudged you, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere.
Snapping yourself out of the absent daze you'd been in, you changed the concentrated frown into a tight smile. "We've got a war on, Bull. Lotta things wrong." With that you ducked your head and continued on, leaving a fairly confused soldier behind you.
_________
You were feeling restless again, and despite your buddies being as entertaining as they were, you excused yourself. “I need some fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you,” Talbert offered, getting up to follow you. “If you don’t mind.”
Slightly stunned, you tried to nonchalantly respond with a shrug. “Fine by me.”
He shot you a smile before trailing you to the door. “Strange how quiet it is now.”
“Yeah,” you laughed dryly. “Sad to think we’ve grown used to gunfire and explosions.” You both let a breath or two pass. “Austria is quiet.”
“I’ll take quiet days and nights over all that any day.” He lightly touched your elbow as he moved out of the way for a passing vehicle. “Let’s go here. I walked down this way the first night we spent here. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get lost a little. Lotta culture here, or something like that.” His hand finally left your sleeve.
"You sure you weren’t just looking to find some local girl to sleep with." It came out with an unmistakeable bite, taking you both by surprise.
He hid his face, momentarily focusing on his boots. "I don't want some local girl."
"Oh, so you've got a girl back home." You exhaled sharply. "She know you've been locking lips with European broads?"
"That's not what I meant. I- Are you mad at me about the girl in Holland?"
"Why would I be mad about anything you do? The United States Army's the only thing that's got any say in what you do," you deflected, seeming less sure of yourself as you rambled.
He smiled at the ground before shifting his steps slightly closer to you. "Alright then. What if I told you that I was hoping to get your attention.”
You frowned. "I- What? What would you want to do with me? I'm boring."
"You're adorable is what you are."
"I am not."
"Well, I don't know who lied to you and made you believe it, but you're pretty wonderful."
"Are you sure you're not thinking of Shifty? Shifty's pretty wonderful," you persisted. Your uniform suddenly seemed too warm, despite the cool air.
"Shifty's great," he laughed. "But I wouldn't take Shifty out on a date."
"Really? I think you two would be great together."
"And we wouldn't be?"
"You'd grow tired of me," you stated matter-of-factly. "That dumb part of your brain telling you that I'm something special will get wise and you'll want to be rid of me. Now, how about we both save ourselves the trouble and just go about our business." You tried to walk ahead of him, but he stopped you.
"Is that what you're afraid of? That I'll hurt you? I'd never want to do that."
Something in you was telling you to keep arguing, as if the idea of him actually reciprocating your feelings were unfathomable. "But what if you do? I'm not even attractive enough to carry on after the fact. I'll be sad and mediocre, and what's the good in that?"
At this point, you were almost certain you'd either scream or cry in the next few seconds, and he seemed to sense that.
"If you don't want to be with me, fine. Just tell me and I'll leave you alone," he assured you. "But if you're only scared that I'm not actually interested in you, then you're going to have to get over it. You're beautiful, and I think the world of you."
"You’re too good for me.”
"What the hell does that even mean? If anything, you’re too good for me.” He sighed deeply, searching your face. “Please just let me love you.”
“I’d love nothing more,” you admitted, finally.
“Good.” His smile seemed a little softer than usual as he leaned down and kissed you.
#mariah writes: band of brothers#band of brothers#floyd talbert#floyd talbert x reader#band of brothers imagine
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Scarred Spirit - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.2)
SUMMARY: reader faces the consequences of interfering with the Agni Kai (emotionally and physically)
WORD COUNT: 3.9k
WARNINGS: angst. Torture, semi nudity (NOT sexually) –traumatising!! physical and some mental abuse. Violence. Mentions/descriptions of death. Crying. Swearing. Ozai being a literal nutter. Azula being nutter 2.0.
A/N: THIS IS A REPOST FROM THE AUTHOR OF THIS FIC - I had some complications with the original blog this fic was posted on so please show this some love,, ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS FOR THIS FIC WILL BE POSTED HERE!! hi friends!! Thank you to everyone who showed some love to the first chapter eep! Anyway I’m really scared for y’all to read this one, but!! I’m aiming to have the gaang in the next one so if you hate this I’m sorry but I didn’t want the story to be rushed so I couldn’t bring myself to skip this :// Please read the warnings!!
Also! In this part italics are internalised thoughts 😊
OTHER PARTS: pt1 / pt3 / pt4 / pt5 / pt6
MASTERLIST: Here!
The Fire Lords command echoed throughout the room, encompassing the crowd in a thick silence.
Zuko let out a small gasp, one only you were able to hear. After experiencing just a fragment of the physical pain he endured, you didn’t want him to make any decisions he would regret, especially if he was considering to defend you. You didn’t deserve it. Burnt, dead skin, blisters across your left side in the hot atmosphere around you. Your heart begins to tighten and rip you apart all at the same time, realising how much pain you caused for taking all of those lives.
Continuing to kneel on the floor of the duelling platform, you’re frozen, filled with disgust as you finally acknowledge the person you became. From your first commission four years ago, you were numbed to the experience of taking someone’s life. Seeing the life fade from someone’s eyes as you plunged your flame lit sword into their chest, you felt nothing. It was as if it were just a switch inside of them, nothing more. One moment they were there, the next they’re not. You recall Zemin’s reaction when you recounted the events of your first kill, and he didn’t make it seem like it mattered. His only response was to scold you for showing off because you didn’t need to light your sword on fire to kill the man.
Managing to push through the new thoughts and emotions that have awoken within you, your mind travels back to the boy behind you. Despite what you’re currently feeling, it will never amount to the emotional pain he has after being attacked by his father. Fire Lord or not.
Continuing to face the floor, you can’t bring yourself to even glance at Zuko, barely managing to croak out, “Forget who I am. Stay alive, that would be enough.”
You feel his stare to the back of your head. You wish you could turn around and say something, anything at all, maybe even hold him. Anything to get rid of the disgusting, vulnerable, and isolating feelings within you. You wanted to tell him he didn’t deserve it, even if you didn’t know who he really was. Because as much as you hated to admit it, you were afraid. So fucking afraid. Zemin never taught you what to do in these situations, especially anything involving saving the Prince’s life.
Unknown to you, Zuko’s right arm cautiously reaches out to take hold to the back of your robes. So close his fingertips graze the fabric, but not close enough. The two nearest guards rushed to grab you while everyone in the crowd stared at your figure on the duelling ground.
With one guard on either side of you, they grabbed your arms and shoved you off the platform. Hissing, and failing to shove down a pathetic sob ripping through your half-burnt throat, you fall onto your hands and knees. A moment later, the guards were back at your side, dragging you through the door you couldn’t bring yourself to walk through minutes earlier.
Freedom feels like a distant, pathetic dream.
You try to take in the palace around you as they drag you to the right. Connecting where you are to the map, you saw last night, becomes increasingly difficult as the prolonged burning sensation on your skin begins to fog your mind. It’s no use keeping your eyes open. The dark colours of the palace give you a headache. You want to pass out. Give up completely. But Zemin didn’t lock you up in a pitch-black, underground labyrinth, for three months when you were eight to learn nothing. Instincts kicking in, you allow your eyes to close and begin to count your movements, listening to your surroundings.
20 steps forward.
Turn left.
15 steps.
Turn right.
You notice the guard to your left has a weaker hold on you than your right. Possibly about of disgust for holding your arm, or maybe to cause less pain. You assume the former.
18 steps.
The guards come to a stop.
You feel the guard to your left, slightly turning her body towards you. “Hey, maybe we should stop for a bit. I think the kid passed out.”
Ah, so maybe the latter as well then.
The guard to the right scoffs at her suggestion. “Don’t worry about it. She’s not completely out yet, she managed to keep moving. Probably just weak from the pain. Stupid kid. We’ve got a long way to go, and the Fire Lord will want her towards the top of the prison.”
Still unconvinced the female guard persists, “Shouldn’t we be taking her to the infirmary? These are really severe burns.”
There’s a pause. Only for a few moments, but enough for them to weigh up their options. “We should, but the Fire Lord would end us if we did that. We’ll just send a healer to the cell after we get her there.”
The guard shakes you, forcing you to open your eyes. Guiding you out of the palace, you squint your eyes as the sun blinds you, eventually able to make out a tall tower-like building before you. Entering the darkness that lies inside it, you struggle to keep up with their pace as they wind their way further and further up the spiral. Making it to a cell, the guard to the right drops you instantly making you crumble to the floor, eliciting a subtle dig to your hip. You’d forgotten all about the dagger strapped around your waist under your robes—the one you used to kill the general.
While the guard is holding your injured arm tugs you back up, you decide to act while one of them is preoccupied. Balancing on your right leg, you swing your left leg around, slamming into the back of their knees, making them fall. You quickly take out the dagger from underneath your robes, flipping it in your hand and using the blunt of the handle to knock her out in the head. The thud to the guards’ head alerts the other ahead of you. By the time they’ve processed what happened, you ran to them, kicking them in the stomach propelling them into the cell they recently managed to open. Running towards them you drop to both of your knees, arching your back as you slide under streams of fire passing above you. Rookie move on their part. Bringing your torso back up, you send a punch to their face knocking them out cold.
You grab the other guard and drag them into the cell as well and swap your robes for their uniform. It’s too large for your adolescent figure, but its good enough. Taking the keys, you lock them both in there, closing the main door on your way out in hopes no one will notice them in there instead of you.
Breath, you still have a long way to go.
With determined strides, you make your way past other guards in the prison, praying to the spirits that for once they’ll be on your side. Following the steps you memorised in your head from earlier, you end up back at the point where they led you from the arena. From this point, you decide to go in the opposite direction to which they took you. To the left.
Stay calm y/n, you’re going to make it.
You find a door leading out of the castle, and you can see the palace gates in the distance.
Holy Spirits! So… I would have made it out in time if I left the Agni Kai… That doesn’t matter anymore, you’re going to make it out now.
Walking out into the open, you force yourself to suppress a scream of pure joy. Time began to slow down as you saw the gates coming closer and closer. So close you started wondering where you’d go once you made it through.
Those thoughts were abandoned when you hear screaming from behind you.
“Close the gates! That guard is the traitor! Don’t let her out, and close the gates!”
No. No, not again. No, no, no! Fuck!
Breaking out in a sprint, you push yourself harder and further than any training exercise Zemin put you through. You let out a painful scream as if it would make you run faster than the guards at the gates, slowly pushing them shut. Nothing could compare to how much you wanted this slice of freedom. After just a few hours of being in the miserable palace, you were convinced you’d rather walk and swim to the Northern Water Tribe without any food or water, than have to spend another moment here. Mind going into overdrive, you don’t seem to hear or even register the fact that there is a group of around twenty guards behind you, ready to take you down.
With an echoing clang, they seal the gates shut. You falter, slowing down as waves of desperation and hopelessness consume you, yet unable to bring yourself to stop completely.
No, please.
One guard managed to catch up to you in your moments of weakness, throwing a strong punch to your head before you have time to react.
WEEK ONE
It had been a week since you were caught (again) and imprisoned in the Fire Nation jail cell and quite frankly, you were bored. After your stunt when you were first brought here, they ensured that you would never have access to any sharp objects, serving food in wooden bowls with only your hands to eat. Bold of them to assume you didn’t know 21 ways to use the bowl if you truly desired to kill them. No one spoke to you, not even the healer who came in wordlessly the first night to treat your burns. You lay on your right side, staring up at the ceiling admiring the small light that came through the poor excuse of a window.
I wonder if Zemin was worried when I never came back. Would he be worried? No that’s a stupid question, of course not. If anything, he’d be annoyed that I damaged his reputation by getting caught… I still hope he got those gold pieces though, at least then I can slowly waste away in here knowing I don’t owe him any more money. Maybe he could finally fulfil his dream and go to Ba Sing Se. He used to always guilt me into learning a new form of fighting, groaning on about how he gave up the money he had to move there and start a new life with the woman he loved, to raise me. Idiot. He never had an obligation to raise me in the first place, I’m probably from nowhere, and my parents were probably mediocre people in the grand scheme of things. Who even were my-
Cutting off your train of thought, one of the guards walked up to the cell and unlocked it, another quickly grabbing your wrists, and latching them in chains. “The Fire Lord has ordered to speak with you.”
You crack a smirk, “Oh goodie, I think I’m ready for a rematch!”
“Shut it kid, you’re lucky he ordered that you can’t be disposed of… yet.”
Am I lucky? Being burnt alive and having access to a non- waterbending healer and a bowl of old rice is lucky? Oh great Spirits, thank you for gracing my life with these blessings from the great Fire Nation.
What. A. Load. Of. Shit.
Leading you to the palace, you make it into the throne room. At this point, you wanted to laugh at their efforts to scare you.
Really? Dark Lighting and a fire wall right in front of the throne you sit high and mighty? If only I were an Airbender, then I could huff and puff until you fall into the flames.
A guard standing near the Fire Lord is the first to speak. “Bow before your Fire Lord!”
Spitting on the ground, you look at Ozai in the eye. “I will never bow before you!”
He laughs.
“I know you are the one who killed one of my generals before the duel after acquiring your blade. It’s quite interesting how you managed to get to him without any bending, I must find and congratulate whoever your trainer was. Lucky for you though, the general was of no value to me and easy to replace. I will also show you mercy for what you did at the Agni Kai, only because it was my disgrace of a son you protected, and just like that general, not anyone truly valuable to the nation. Regardless of your crimes, you have already proven yourself a very great asset for a mere child. For that, I will grant you the ultimate freedom, free of any ties you have with the low lives outside of the Capital. Instead, you can directly serve your Fire Lord as my personal assassin. I will have the best swordsmen train you. Taking your abilities to new heights, you wouldn’t even begin to imagine for yourself. I will make you unstoppable. For a non-bender, that is.”
Based on the confident yet bored tone of his voice, you could easily assume he didn’t care. Yet his golden eyes narrow down towards your figure. Waiting. Testing to see if you dare defy his wishes. The offer is objectively easy. Technically, all he is asking of you is to do the same thing you’ve been raised to do, just under his allegiance.
Zuko flashes in your mind. Tears streaming down his face, and begging his father for mercy. “I will never kill for you! I would rather relive the burns you gave me every day than stand by your side!”
He sighs. “If that is what you wish. Maybe over time, you will learn what a great honour it is to be offered such an opportunity, let us meet again next week.”
The guards, as if they were expecting this, shoved you to your knees, ripped off the top you were wearing, and the bindings across your chest. Frozen as the warm air from the flames around you hit your chest, you were mortified. Knowing other guards present were intently watching you be humiliated in front of the Fire Lord, you forced yourself to control the urge to vomit the contents of your prison food on the floor. Quickly bringing your arms and hands to your chest, you winced at the sudden movement from your left arm.
Without any time to mentally prepare, both guards ignited streams of fire to your back. Instinctively you hunch over, attempting and failing to avoid the flames. Unbeknownst to you, everyone in the palace all the way to the kitchens, froze as your haunting screams echoed throughout its halls.
Through your tears and screams, you faintly heard the Fire Lord speak. “You will learn to agree, and you will comply.”
THREE MONTHS
Despite crying every time it happened, you became accustomed to the burnings every week you refused Ozai’s offer. You began to lose any emotional feeling when it happened, robotically going through each step.
They bring you to the throne room.
You say no.
You take off your shirt and bindings for yourself.
The guards burn you.
You cry.
Ozai watches you as if he had better things to do with his time.
Although today, hours after the ritual, you received your first guest that wasn’t a guard or a healer. You knew who they were after sensing them as they hid behind a pillar in the throne room every week. Sensing them through the body heat within them, a gift you always had since you were little. Theirs was crackled with so much anger and hatred; it was so unique to everyone in the palace, you barely had to think about it.
“What do I owe the pleasure of the one and only Fire Nation Princess being in my worthless presence?”
“Shut it scum!”
You let out a small laugh. “Ooo scum? That’s a lovely nickname, but honestly, a little bland, don’t you think? You ARE the Fire Nation princess after all, why not add a little spice to it?”
She didn’t seem to like that. “ENOUGH! You want spice?!” Shooting a streamline of fire from her fingertips, she shot at your head. Luckily enough, you weren’t in front of Ozai or defending her brother, so you swiftly dodged her shot.
Not giving her the satisfaction of retaliation, you sat in the middle of the cell, closing your eyes and crossing your legs. You began to meditate, trying to block out the irritating sense of fire within her.
She walked up to the bars, staring down on you. “I hope you know that my dear brother Zuzu won’t be coming back any time soon.”
This was the first time you’d heard about the Prince since the Agni Kai. She paused, waiting to see if she got a reaction out of you, but you were a trained assassin for Spirit’s sake, you had more control than that. Letting out a deep breath of air, you knew all you needed to do was stay calm.
“You do know what happened to him after you failed to protect him, don’t you? Oh! That’s right if I do recall correctly, you were so paralysed with what you had done, you didn’t even spare him a glance!” She let out a laugh as you remained still.
“Awww, yes! Poor Zuzu doesn’t even know what his ‘saviour’ looks like and he never will! You want to know why, scum?”
Not really but I guess I don’t have much of a choice.
“Because he will NEVER come back. He will NEVER step foot into the Fire Nation again because he was banished to capture the Avatar! It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? All your pathetic little life, you have been KILLING to get out of here, gain your freedom, and you’re never going to get it. You’ll die in this cell. Yet, on the other hand, Zuzu wants nothing more than to come right home and stand by father’s side! That really does top it all off, doesn’t it, scum? You have trapped yourself here, to save someone who only just wants to come crawling right back. And if he ever did by some miracle, capture the Avatar? He would look you in the eyes and burn you himself for being such a traitor to this Nation.”
You tensed for a second, keeping your eyes closed you quickly regained composure. “Okay Azula, you’ve had your fun. That’s enough.”
She smirked with a sinister glint in her eyes. “You embarrassed him that day. You took away the little bit of dignity he could have had if you just let him get all his scars… Or at least let him die getting them.”
Enough.
“You will forever be a reminder of what should have been his. You’re going to die here for nothing.”
Enough.
“You thought you could do some good in this world? You were wrong! Your one poor excuse for saving someone’s life will always mean nothing! Zuko doesn’t care if you saved his life! He hates you! He hates you for taking away his dignity! You will die with him hating you! Your hope for doing good in this world means nothing because he is searching to take away the one thing that would end this war, even though they’re already dead!”
“THAT’S ENOUGH, AZULA!” Opening your eyes, they snapped from your usual e/c to a blinding golden light. The fire you trained for so long to control reached its tipping point and exploded from every pore in your body setting fire to anything in its wake. Azula rushed away from the bars of your cell as it melted around you. Feeling your hair raise in a halo of fire, you raised your right arm as a blast fired right next to her head. A warning shot.
The guards outside of the cell who have been watching you since you were imprisoned, stared in shock. Not once had you shown any indication of being a fire bender.
Generally, in this state, you were unstoppable. A force even Zemin didn’t 100% know how to train, leaving you to your own devices. However, these weren’t normal circumstances. You have been tortured weekly, barely given any food or water and countless wounds that aren’t even close to being healed. After the sudden use of intense energy, you felt yourself passing out, allowing the guards to grab you quickly.
***
Groaning as if no time had passed, you found yourself chained up on a boat. “Am I going to be executed?” You weren’t sure if you were worried or hopeful at the possibility.
The female guard you knocked out on your first day in the palace sat next to you, letting out a sigh. “No, but you might as well be in your condition. You’re going to Boiling Rock, into The Cooler.”
SEVEN MONTHS
The guards came by the Cooler to deliver your food. They usually throw it to the ground and leave, but it seems today they received news that was too good to pass up the opportunity to torment you.
“Did you hear that kid? They tracked down your poor excuse of a trainer and killed him. Figured if the best he could produce was you, he wasn’t even worth sending to Boiling Rock.”
You remained curled up in the corner, unmoving as they laughed their way down the hallway. As their laughs slowly died down, you realised how pathetic you let yourself become.
Why did people have to keep dying because of you? You wanted to scream. Burn this stupid icebox down with your hands. Set the whole place to flames. But you were tired. So, so tired. You didn’t even have the energy anymore to cry when they burned you every week. Regularly being exposed to entirely polar elements began to fuck with your body. It didn’t know how to function anymore. Physically and mentally.
Despite being four months since your encounter with Azula, her words continued to spin in your mind every day. What seemed to break you the most was that you knew even if she were right, you’d do it again. If you could go back, you knew you would jump in front of him every time if it meant he was alive. Knowing he was far away from this hell hole brought you a weird sense of peace, regardless of if he was searching for the Avatar or not.
Unlike him, you weren’t far away from this wretched place. You were helpless.
Grabbing the old and cold bowl of rice, you finished your meal for the first time in three weeks.
EIGHT MONTHS
The guards walked in to take you to the palace for your weekly offer, and for the first time, you were already standing. After placing the chains to your wrists, they took you out of your cell just like they did every week. While travelling back to the Capital, you continuously persuaded yourself, this was the only way. You knew, deep down, this was the right choice. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.
Entering the throne room, you make your way up to Ozai. Holding eye contact as the flames burn between you.
Bowing before him in the most traditional Fire Nation bow you can muster. You bring yourself back upright, stance and face stoic, contrasting the satisfied smirk on his face. For the first time, he doesn’t bother to make his offer.
“I am at your full service, and ready to comply my Fire Lord.”
A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this or coming from my old blog!! please follow this one and stick around, I am currently working on the third chapter and a lil sokka oneshot :)) and to my taglist, i love you all, thank you all so much, i’m so sorry that you all have to deal with me rn and im so so sorry <3
TAGLIST:
@slythergirlimagines @mangoberry43 @eridanuswave @whiskeywinter89 @callums-keith @kaylove12 @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins
#zuko#zuko x reader#zuko x y/n#zuko x you#prince zuko#prince zuko x reader#prince zuko x you#prince zuko x y/n#atla#avatar#avatar the last airbender#aang#katara#sokka#toph#zuko imagine#zuko fic#zuko fanfic#alta fic#avatar fanfiction#zuko x fem!reader
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Glowing True
An alternate chapter 26 for Dangerous Secrets, written for the “Write Your Own Style” Agduna Discord Server contest. Thanks as always to @the-spaztic-fantastic for beta-ing and helping me on the most devastating lines. Angst ahead; you’ve been warned.
“Iduna,” he said, reaching for my hands.
I longed for his touch but I crossed my arms instead, bunching the tea towel in one fist and squeezing hard, remembering how he had called me stubborn the last time we spoke. Still, it was a relief to see him, to know that despite the gates being closed, and the looming threat of violence against the crown, that he was safe. That he still had some measure of freedom, though he had tried to take mine away.
It made me mad all over again to think of it. “Are you here to order me somewhere?”
He grimaced and stayed on the doorstep, not making a move to come in. I could see two soldiers a few paces back, one keeping watch out towards the street and one looking at us as we spoke. “I’m sorry, Iduna. I was wrong to do that. And I am here to invite you somewhere, though you are free to say no.”
“I’m listening,” I said, uncrossing my arms but still not inviting him in.
“Mr. Sorensen is at the castle with the council members. They’ve devised a plan to question every citizen about these attacks so we can figure out how to keep everyone safe.”
“They’ve devised it? What about you?”
“I don’t need a test to tell me the Northuldra are blameless in this. We’ve seen how impenetrable the mist remains. And I don’t like the idea of questioning citizens. But these are dark times and I’ve agreed to back their plan. And I’d like you to back it too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come to the castle. Allow Mr. Sorensen to question you with this new system. Everyone in town knows you and loves you. If they see you volunteering for this, it might help them agree to do so willingly. It might take some of their fear away.”
“That’s not exactly volunteering,” I said. Lord Peterssen had warned me against this, but I considered. If this was the quickest way to find the culprits, would it be the quickest way to clear the Northuldra from blame? With the true perpetrators unmasked, might I be able to reveal my origins to Agnarr at last? “Did Lord Peterssen tell you to get me? That I should take this test?”
“No, he hasn’t arrived at the meeting yet. I thought he might be here actually. But I’m glad I could talk to you alone.” Agnarr looked so penitent. So hopeful. So kingly.
If I had managed to hide in plain sight for so long, surely I could lie my way through questioning. Even questions designed to catch lies.
“I’ll go,” I said.
Agnarr smiled and I hoped it was the right choice.
***************************
“Tell us your name.”
“Iduna.”
Mr. Sorensen nodded encouragingly, and then pointed to the crystal that glowed red from its short chain around my neck, drawing the attention of the other assembled council members. “See how it glows? That means the answer she gave is true. It will also glow if the wearer knows the answer is ‘yes’ to a question that I ask. Thank you, Iduna. Let’s continue.”
The polished mahogany of the table was so bright it seemed to be its own source of light. But it was easier to look at than the faces around the table. Lord Peterssen’s face was impassive, but I knew he was thinking this was folly. He had flashed a look of shock and then fear when I had arrived and I was certain he would have words with Agnarr later. And me.
“Tell us about your parents, Iduna.”
“They died. In the forest.” I didn’t look down to see if the crystal glowed, but at the sight of Sorensen nodding, I assumed my half-truth worked.
“Do you blame the Northuldra for their deaths?”
“No. I don’t know who killed them. I didn’t see them die.” Some of the councillors moved in their seats or furrowed their brows at this question, but I kept my body as still as possible, trying not to choke on the word “die.” Hoping the crystal couldn’t discern the crowded thoughts in my head.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask what risk they thought a peaceful people who had left Arendelle alone for years could pose. I wanted to say that the Northuldra were blamed for every inconvenience, large and small, and that they could hardly be dyeing sheep purple and assaulting people in the street while trapped behind the mist. But it seemed my pared-down answer worked. The crystal glowed red, Sorensen nodded, and the questions continued.
“What do you know about the men with sun masks?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you know any group that uses the sun as its symbol?”
“Corona.”
“The Northuldra too, yes?” Sorensen seemed thrilled that the crystal was doing what he hoped. He rubbed his hands together and then took notes as he continued with his questions.
“Yes, though it seems monumentally stupid that those who bother wearing masks to hide their identity would use a symbol of their nation in the design of their mask.” I winced as I caught the surprised look of the council members, but Sorensen laughed. So much for only giving short, succinct answers.
“Yes, I believe that as well,” he said, still chuckling.
I hazarded a look at Peterssen but he remained expressionless. Conceal don’t feel, indeed. I wondered if he was so good at it that he could prevent a truth-telling crystal from revealing his feelings.
“Do you often travel alone?
“Yes. I meet with farmers to help them with their windmills.”
“Have you ever seen anything suspicious?”
“No.”
“Do you swear allegiance to Arendelle?”
I took a breath, very aware of the crystal, cold against my chest. I thought of my home. My first home. My mother wrapping me in her shawl and Yelana pledging to keep me safe.
But Agnarr was Arendelle. And I loved him.
“Yes, I do.” I looked down, relieved to see the crystal glowing red.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us, Iduna? Anything you think we need to know?”
“No.”
“Is there anything you think the crown prince needs to know?”
My cheeks heated at this, as red as the crystal that was surely about to glow. Agnarr needed to know so much. That I loved him. That I was Northuldra. That I would never cause him harm, and that’s why I had to lie now.
This group of assembled council members was looking at me sympathetically right now, but they were also a reminder of how hated the Northuldra remained. A reminder of how little a chance I had of existing in Agnarr's castle as anyone other than a friend, than a citizen being brought in for questions.
I looked at Agnarr and then down at the crystal, glowing brightly red. More red than it had for any of my other answers.
“Please excuse me,” I said, rising quickly from the chair. Every council member stood up, the sound of several chairs scraping against the hardwood floors deafening as they all rushed to show how courteous they were.
I ran to the door and down the hall, hearing Agnarr behind me, calling my name, but I didn’t turn to look. Even if I escaped his sight, he would know where to find me. Our special place. Our secret room.
The library was dark and Agnarr shut the door behind us quietly, not even a muffled sound escaped from tumblers latching into place.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my hand flying to where the crystal lay just above the neckline of the bodice. “I forgot I was wearing it.” It wasn’t true and the crystal was dull now, accusing me of the lie. I tried to unfasten it but couldn’t with my shaking hands so instead I clasped them together, trying not to wring them with worry. What must Agnarr think of me after that interview?
“What is it, Iduna? What was it you couldn’t say?” His voice was gentle and kind, soft and soothing. I tried to imagine how he might shout if I told him the truth of who I was but just as quickly realized the futility. He would never react in anger. He would understand, and that would be worse. It would put him in danger. I would put him in danger.
“I want you to leave,” I said. “I don’t love you . . . I can’t love you.” I didn’t look down at the crystal, willing his eyes to stay on mine so he wouldn’t look either. Wouldn’t see how dull it remained.
The complete lack of the crystal’s glow proving that I was a liar.
But then I thought of what was true. A truth that crushed me in its cruelty, that would crush him too. “You are a prince. And I am not a princess. We cannot be together. ”
There was a long moment of silence and then Agnarr reached out and touched the crystal. “You really believe that,” he said, his voice a whisper. I saw the red glow reflecting on his fingers as they ran across the surface of the crystal. This close, I could see a small fleck of soap lather left on his collar from shaving, could feel the heat of him and remember what it felt like to be even closer as we so often had been in this very room.
He reached behind my neck and unfastened the clasp and then put it around his own neck, pulling at the collar of his shirt so the crystal lay against his skin. “Well, I don’t. Look, Iduna.” His voice was strong now as he cradled my cheek with his hand and used the other to pull me close. He was so tall now that my eyes were directly across from the crystal as it lay against his collarbone. “I love you. I will find a way for us to be together.”
It glowed so red against his skin it looked like it was vibrating and I had the sudden horrible thought it would explode, shattering into shards and cutting us both. Wounds we would never heal from.
“Come live at the castle. Please. If you won’t let me love you, at least let me protect you.”
The crystal glowed red against him still. Glowing true.
“Alright,” I said, wishing it wasn’t the only yes I could give him. I would give him all of me, all of my future. But to do so would ruin his. Would ruin Arendelle’s.
So instead, I did the only other thing my heart and my body were longing to do. I reached up to his cheek to feel the smoothness of his clean-shaven jaw, I rubbed at the spot of soap on his collar. And I raised myself up on tiptoe and pulled him down by that collar to press my lips on his, to drink in all of him that I could. His hands went around my waist and he pulled me closer, and then his thumbs were on my cheeks, gently smoothing away the few tears that had fallen. And as we kissed, I pretended.
Pretended to not have a thread around my heart that tightened when I thought about my mother. Pretended that every mention of “the evil Northuldra” didn’t send a stab of panic straight down my spine. Pretended that I could be Agnarr’s, and that he could be mine.
We kissed in the hidden room, and I wished it was the only secret in this castle that could never truly be my home.
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speaking words unspoken
This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!
AO3 link is located in the source :)
Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)
The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.
If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.
Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.
He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.
Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon.
With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.
Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk.
And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.
It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.
So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.
“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—
There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone.
Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.
If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.
He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.
“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”
“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.
“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”
Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.
Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.
Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively.
“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."
Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”
Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."
"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"
"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."
Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.
Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.
“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.”
It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.
Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.
Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.
“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.
They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.
It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.
Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.
It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.
Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.
Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.
A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.
How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.
Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.
As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.
All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”
“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you” and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.
“Is something bothering you, Martin?”
He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.
“What? No. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”
Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”
Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?”
“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.
“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.
“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.”
“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife.
“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.
Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”
“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.
Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”
He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.
“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.
They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”
Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”
Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”
“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”
“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.”
While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction.
Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.
"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.
Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”
Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.
When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.
“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar.
“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”
Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.
Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”
“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily.
The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat.
By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.
“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”
“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.
“Jon?”
Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.
Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”
This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”
What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.
Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?”
With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.
“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.
Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”
“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”
“This. I didn’t want this.”
“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart.
Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.
“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.
He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.
“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.
“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.
That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.
It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.
“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?”
Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.
“Okay. How’s your head?”
He winces. “Hurts.”
Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”
Jon gives a minute shake of his head.
“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.
Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.
“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.
“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.
“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”
“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”
“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.
Jon’s silence says everything.
Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”
Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”
It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes.
“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”
He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.
It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind
“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”
Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”
Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.
“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.
“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”
Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.
“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”
A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.
“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”
Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”
“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”
“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”
Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”
Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.
“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”
“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.
“I have an idea, yes.”
“Good. Now, drink your tea.”
Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.
“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.
Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”
“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”
“Good. I’ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”
Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.
“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.
It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.
It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?
#tma valentines exchange#the magnus archives#jonmartin#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jmart#tma#scottish honeymoon#set between mag 159 and mag 160#idk if there's a unifying scottish honeymoon tag on here#miscommunication#panic#hurt/comfort#sickfic (arguably)#ombre writes#ombre writes fic
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Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 17X10
SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
I loved this episode! It was so so good! I loved seeing Mark and Lexie on the beach encouraging Meredith to return. I knew Lexie was going to be back based on last week’s promo, but I literally screamed out loud twice when Mark appeared on screen! I was shocked! I like what Mark and Lexie said to Meredith about the sand not being real and that the beach was in Meredith’s head and was her happy place and that it wasn’t real. She was in control even if she didn’t feel like it. Seeing her lost loved ones comforts her in her time of need. When living people she loves come to talk to her she sees them because it’s comforting.
I have a theory about who we see and why. Since this episode establishes that the beach is in Meredith’s head and she can go back if she wants to I think DeLuca appearing on the beach and them getting closer and her watching him reunite with his mother was her brain’s interpretation of people coming into her room and telling her that DeLuca had been injured and needed surgery and that he was stable and then telling her that he wasn't and had died from his injuries.
She needed closure on a tumultuous relationship so her COVID wrecked brain gave it to her in the form of a peaceful COVID fever dream during a difficult team. She sees and hears Hayes because she’s falling for him the same way that he’s falling for her and because he’s talking about her kids who she loves. She wants to go back but she’s doesn’t know how. She sees Richard and Bailey and hears their concerns and how worried they are about her because Richard is like a father to her and Bailey is a maternal figure in her life.
She wants to go back and as George says to her if she doesn’t it will break Richard. She sees Derek because he’s the love of her life and he represents death and passing over which is a real possibility and option. His presence comforts her in a way that no one else’s can. She sees George because what he did and how he died changed her life and they never got to have that closure in life. She never got to tell him that, but in her fever dream she does. She gets that closure and gets to re-examine why she did what she did. Why she goes all out for everyone like he did.
Seeing Mark and Lexie gives her closure too. Lexie provides that joy and that sunny optimism Meredith used to hate but eventually grew to love and missed so much when she died. Mark provides laughter and gives her the matter of fact tough love that she needs to hear in her time of need. Everyone plays a part and brings us joy and closure in the process. I loved Mark’s lines about how sometimes he yells in everyone’s ears to try and get them to listen and see reason. How sometimes people listen to him and think it’s their own idea and sometimes they don’t. How Callie and Arizona’s divorce made him shout.
It made me think of all the times when Lexie and Mark and other characters probably shouted at the living characters for their stupidity. Meredith deciding to waste her time dating DeLuca? Lexie and Derek definitely yelled in her ears for that. Every stupid fight, divorce, break up, date, and bad decision the characters have made since Derek, Mark, Lexie, and George died? They’ve definitely screamed their ears off at them. We now know that George tries to shake the grief out of his mother and Mark and Lexie make a habit of yelling in the ears of their loved ones making horrible decisions. I love it!
There’s something so hilarious and reassuring about the dead who have left us yelling and shaking us from beyond the grave and us taking that as a sign or our own idea and moving forward and making better decisions. I loved seeing Meredith talk about Bailey’s birthday party with Lexie and how what he really wanted for his birthday was for all of them to laugh. That establishes that Bailey’s birthday is in March or April. Which again makes that gelato DeLuca comment from Episode 8 literally impossible because he couldn’t have brought Bailey gelato for his actual or half birthday when he and Meredith only dated for a few months and he only met her kids officially a few weeks before they broke up.
Hayes’ storyline with his sister-in-law Irene was everything! We learned more about her, got to see what her relationship with Hayes is like, and learned more about how his boys are handling everything. He got his own storyline and development. I love it! His tour of the hospital on the way to the OR was hilarious! “And that is a supply closet!” LOL! I loved how supportive Irene was of him moving on. She really wanted to meet Meredith this great General Surgeon he keeps talking about all the time to his boys to the point that she knows all about her and knows that Hayes is definitely smitten. I loved her line when Hayes told her she couldn’t meet Meredith because she was on a ventilator and she looked at him and said, “Again?”
The fact that she knows he likes her because of the way he smiles every time he talks about her to the point that the boys have picked up on it and told her? My heart! Irene really came through for us in this episode! Bless her! Hayes was so distraught this episode. I like that they really showed his process and how upset he was that Meredith was still on a vent and that Irene was sick. His pain when he talked to Jo about how he couldn’t bear to tell his boys that they had lost another person that they love whose been taking care of them was heart wrenching.
Irene is a total badass. The information we’ve gotten about her shows what a fiercely loyal and supportive person she is. Cormac and Abigail meet at the Surgical Innovation Conference in LA when Abigail is a starving artist and Cormac is early on in his medical career. His conversations with Meredith show that he’s unfamiliar with American medical terms and colloquialisms and he talks about growing up in Ireland and how every day is Pro Bono Surgery Day there. We know that after his wife died he took his boys and moved to Zurich, Switzerland where he worked for two years before moving to the U.S.A. to take the job in Seattle.
We also know that Irene was Abigail’s POA when she was sick and that prior to the pandemic she was back living in LA. All of which implies that sometime after Abigail and Cormac met she decided to move to Ireland to be with him and they got married and she gave birth to Liam and Austin while Hayes was a practising surgeon in Ireland. But that when Abigail got sick Irene gave up her life in LA to move to Ireland for several years to be her sister’s POA and support her nephews and brother-in-law.
Abigail ultimately died and following that Cormac took Liam and Austin and moved to Zurich at which point Irene moved back to LA where she was living during Season 16 when they went to visit her during the Conference Episode. When the COVID-19 Pandemic hit the U.S. Irene then insisted on moving to Seattle to care for Liam and Austin while Cormac worked at Grey Sloan. Cormac and Irene drive each other crazy and agree on nothing and her own sister called her crazy before she died and yet she picked up and moved her whole life across the Atlantic and then to a different state for them. That’s love. That’s badass. You keep doing you Irene!
The scenes with Jo and Catherine in the OR cracked me up! "Child, who throws away a kidney? Lord." Haha! I loved Jo’s reaction when Catherine brought up switching careers. At first, I was confused as to why Jo lied, but then my friend Amy who I watch with pointed out that maybe Jo doesn’t want her boss to know she’s considering switching specialties just yet. I’d honestly like to see Jo switch from General to Urology. As Catherine says there are few women in the field and there are a lot of general surgeons on this show.
Jo switching from one surgical specialty to another to find joy and challenge herself makes sense to me. Her switching from general surgery to OBGYN does not. I thought she was going to adopt that baby Luna but then she told Jackson and Link that she doesn’t want to have children now or maybe ever and their scene this episode was pretty short. I thought when she was considering switching to OBGYN that either Carina or Hayes would train her.
But they’ve moved Carina over to Station 19 so completely that her brother died on Grey’s Anatomy and we only saw her briefly at the end of Episode 8 when she attended her brother’s memorial. Prior to this episode I would have described Jo and Hayes as friends, but they were pretty adversarial this episode and at this point they seem to be two people that like each other well enough and who respect each other’s surgical skills and that’s it. So, based on this week’s episode Hayes definitely isn’t going to step up and train Jo in his specialty. They’re not close enough and he’s got enough on the go.
I loved the scene where Jo and Jackson were in bed together and Jo started talking about how scary his Mom was and he was like why are you talking about my Mom when we’re naked together? It reminded me of how April thought his Mom was the coolest and walked on water and would talk about it when they were together. Made me laugh! I love seeing Maggie innovate and find a way to help those poor patients and double the hospital’s ventilator capacity!
Seeing Richard dance it out at the news and then again when him and Owen successfully took Meredith off the vent and she began breathing on her own was glorious! Such joy! Winston’s proposal and Maggie’s acceptance of it surprised me! I like them together and want them to get their happy ending, but this feels a bit sudden likely brought on by all the stress they are experiencing.
I mean Amelia and Link have a child together and are also co-parenting Leo and Allison with Teddy and Owen and are raising a boatload of children during the pandemic and they’re not married or engaged. It was nice that Teddy and Owen finally stopped fighting after half a season of nonsense! That was nice. I loved how Amelia stepped up and supported Teddy and told her what she needed to hear. Yeah therapy sucks sometimes. It can be uncomfortable. So are mammograms.
We still get them! You have to put in the work to get better otherwise it doesn’t happen. I like that they are showing us the process of Teddy getting better while making sure that the kids are looked after. Teddy is doing a bit better, but she’s still not well enough to be looking after Leo and Allison by herself without supervision and since Amelia is at home anyways she might as well help.
Plus, it’s probably good for Leo and Allison to play with Zola, Bailey, and Ellis. They’ve only seen Owen and his Mom for two months. I liked the moment where Teddy said that Ellis looked like Amelia and that they really are sisters. She’s Meredith’s daughter, but she’s clearly picked up some of Amelia’s mannerisms because Amelia’s helping to raise her. Which does happen. Also, she’s Derek’s daughter too and since Amelia and Derek are siblings and share a resemblance it makes sense that she might also share traits with Ellis. I like that we are learning more about Bailey and Ellis this season.
Seeing the joy on everyone’s faces, including Zola’s, when Owen came in and told everyone that they took Meredith off the vent and that she was breathing on her was palpable. Such a great moment! I loved the moment where Tom was holding a rosary praying for Meredith and Owen finally stopped being a jerk for five seconds to comfort him and tell him about his own experience with survivor’s guilt after coming back from Iraq after his entire platoon was killed.
I’d like to see them explore Tom’s relationship with faith more. Something else I loved? The texts from Cristina! Loved it! Owen was like I can read her charts myself and Cristina was like I don’t care take a picture! I love that we’ve seen Cristina through text messages the last two seasons. I really miss her. Also is anyone updating Alex? I feel like they are, but I would love to see them mention or show it on screen. Same with Callie and Arizona. I felt like Hayes was the obvious choice for keeping Cristina up to date but seeing as he has a lot going on this episode my guess is that she texted him and he didn’t respond because he was too busy worrying about Irene so she texted Owen and asked for an update.
Did anyone else feel like it was hypocritical for Owen to be so mad at Teddy for still being in love with Allison and not telling him about their relationship when he’s apparently been texting Cristina about Meredith’s condition and talking to Amelia regularly this whole time? He clearly still has feelings for both of them and they are still very much alive and in communication with him and he’s mad that Teddy didn’t tell him about a dead lover? Jerk.
I loved seeing Levi step up and step into his own as a doctor. He’s no longer the bumbling fool of seasons past. He’s got his crap together and he’s going to do what needs to be done to keep his patient alive and healthy. His song about hump day cracked me up! Link was so happy to be operating this episode LOL! His comment about the poop diaper explosion was something else. Seeing Richard’s anger and frustration and seeing him explain how he was feeling to Link felt raw and really expressed how we’re all feeling like now. The fact that being low on ventilators is a real problem that hospitals have been facing ever since the pandemic started is enraging! I hate that this is real.
I hate that real hospitals with real patients have to make these kinds of calls. Health care providers are real superheroes. I could never make a decision like that. How do you decide who lives and who dies? How do you decide who needs a ventilator most and live with the consequences for you and the patient? I couldn’t do it. I love that Meredith appears to be waking up in next week’s promo. My bet is that she’s going to reunite with Derek one last time and then wake up. I’m interested to see Richard fill her in on what’s being going on and to see Amelia and Link talk about the possibility of getting married at some point. Also, can we take a moment to appreciate shirtless Link? Hot!
Until next time!
#grey's anatomy#meredith grey#cormac hayes#MerHayes#owen hunt#teddy altman#tom koracick#amelia shepherd#atticus lincoln#zola grey shepherd#richard webber#maggie pierce#winston ndugu#magston#cristina yang#mertina#twisted sisters#derek bailey shepherd#ellis shepherd#mark sloan#lexie grey#slexie#Irene Davis#jo wilson#jackson avery#catherine fox#jovery#dance it out#abigail hayes#grey
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Case Closed
note: Chris talked law on Prime Time again last night, so I felt inspired to write a second part of my Lawyer!Chris fic (you can read the first part HERE) sorry for eventual typos
enjoy :)
words: 2900
warnings: swearing, smut (dirty talk, oral, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it irl, please))
“Your honor, the jury finds the defendant guilty of all charges.”
Oh. OH.
This was absolutely glorious. You couldn’t dance in court, of course, but on the inside, you were definitely having a victory parade.
A triumphant grin split your face as your gaze wandered across the courtroom over to the defense desk.
Chris Cuomo, the defense lawyer, looked absolutely crestfallen. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and he couldn’t even utter a word. Serves him right, smug bastard, you thought.
You had made an excellent case, a new witness and some very compromising documents were able to convince the jury of the defendants guilt despite all of Cuomo’s efforts to keep his incredibly whealty client out of jail.
The judge announced the sentence, and now Chris just slammed his fist on the table. This was getting better and better, but you told yourself to keep your smugness at bay, no need to stoop as low as your opponent and gloat.But there was something else you definitely needed to do, something you couldn’t let Christopher Charles Cuomo get away with.
After the defendant was taken away and you had packed up all your papers, you slowly made your way over to his desk.
“So, I was wondering if you are going to keep that horrendous tie on for dinner tonight? Because I plan on wearing a dress and I would hate for us to clash color-wise, you know.” You said, barely able to remain serious.
The look he gave you was so murderous, it sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was out of fear or arousal. You were still a bit sore from your encounter in the parking lot yesterday, and you really hoped on repeating it. Riling him up was just foreplay to you.
“If you’re really suggesting that I will take you out for dinner after that dirty game you played today, you are even crazier than in originally thought.” he hissed. The vein on his temple was back, pulsating as if it was threatening you.
“Dirty game?” you almost shouted, then pulled yourself together so you wouldn’t draw the attention of the people still lingering in the courtroom.
“Your client was guilty as hell, even you with your twisted sense of morality should see that. And you lecturing me about playing games, pot calling the kettle black.” You whispered furiously, unable to keep your unfazed façade on any longer.
“About dinner, you invited me yesterday, so you’re either not a man of your word or a coward. Maybe even both.”
You hit home with that, you could see that on the way Cuomo’s fists clenched around the papers he was holding, scrunching them up. Men were so predictable, you thought, call them a coward and they will do every stupid thing in the book to prove you wrong.
But you wanted dinner and, most of all, dessert, so playing into his insecurities was fair game this once.
“There’s a new Italian place on 5th avenue, across from the Public Library. I know the owner, I’ll get us a table. Be there at eight.” He muttered and was gone in a hurry.
Of course he knew the owner.
“I look forward to it.” you called after him, fake cheeriness in your voice.
+++
As agreed, you stood in front of the restaurant at eight. You wore your favorite dress, it was bright red and showed just the right amount of both legs and cleavage. You thought that you looked stunning, and you knew Cuomo would appreciate the look as well.
The roar of an engine pulled you out of your thoughts, and you spun around to where a familiar black SUV was pulling up. You rolled your eyes, if you didn’t know it better you’d think Cuomo was compensating with that car.
It stopped and he emerged on the driver’s side. And Lord help you, he looked fantastic. He wore a tight-fitting black suit and a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, showing a peak of tanned skin beneath. You wanted to climb him like a tree in the middle of 5th avenue. The confident, almost arrogant way in which he carried himself was infuriating and incredibly hot at the same time. Why was he so attractive while being such an asshole?
Your thoughts about his appearance were clearly written all over your face, because when he addressed you, he sounded even more smug than usual.
“Hi, Y/L/N, enjoying the view? I have to admit, you really clean up nice, I’m impressed.”
“Shut it, Cuomo.” You said, unable to suppress a smile. “You don’t look too horrible yourself.”
“Come on, I look great and we both know it.” he chuckled. And of course, he was right, but his ego was already big enough, no need to feed it any more.
“You look alright, I guess, but don’t to get ahead of yourself.” You said, “And now you better take me inside so I can have the amount of wine I need to make your company tolerable.”
+++
The food was absolutely delicious, and the wine the waiter recommended was so good that the two of you drank a whole bottle. It was Friday anyway, so no need to hold back.
What was really shocking too you was how good the conversation was. After a bit of initial bickering and arguing about which country produced the best red wine, you slowly started getting more comfortable with each other. The atmosphere was eased by the wine and you discovered that Chris wasn’t a completely horrible person.
Yes, he was a smart arse and cocky, and so fucking full of himself, but he was also incredibly clever, had surprisingly progressive views and on top of all he loved dogs!
When he told you that his favorite food were his mother’s spaghetti marinara, you could not suppress a little “aaw”. He looked at you funnily, but you just gave him a smile.
Your were slightly confused. This evening was supposed to be about you eating some fancy food for free and getting on Cuomo’s nerves (and maybe getting laid later).
But now, you were actually enjoying his company, and he didn’t seem hostile towards you, either. He hadn’t even brought up the trial, or how you allegedly played him dirty. Instead, he was actually listening to what you had to say and engaged into meaningful conversation.
You really were surprised, and when he was signing the bill later, you took your time to appreciate his appearance again while taking your newfound knowledge about him into consideration. Maybe he wasn’t the devil in person. Maybe, there was an actual decent human being under that expensive suit.
The two of you decided to go for a little after-dinner walk in the nearby Bryant Park, your favorite in NYC, and, as is turned out, Chris’ as well. Conversation shifted to growing up in New York and how your experiences differed from each other. But, as you found out, Chris actually grew up in a Queens neighborhood not too far from your own home, a fact that surprised you immensely.
“I could’ve sworn you were born on the Upper East Side.” You admitted “You certainly look and act the part.”
“I’m not gonna lie, prep school and Ivy and Law school certainly played a role in this. And of course, the firm I’m working for is high end. You’re expected to conduct yourself in a certain way. It’s a shark tank, you eat, or you get eaten. But I don’t have to tell you that.” His voice was quiet, almost wistful. He sounded like a totally different person.
“If that’s Queens Chris I met tonight, then I like him a lot better than this Cuomo guy from court.” You said, stopping and looking up to meet his blue eyes.
“You’re not the only one, I like him better as well.” He replied, meeting your gaze and reaching out to take your hand. His fingers were warm and rough as they intertwined with yours, holding his hand felt shockingly natural.
There were definitely sparks flying now, you could not deny it. You were drawn to this guy, and not only because of his good looks, but really attracted to the person behind the persona, you desperately wanted to know more about him.
“Tell me.” You whispered. “How did this happen? We were about to kill each other this afternoon and now were standing here, holding hands?”
“You tell me.” He murmured, and then he leaned down to kiss you. It was nothing like you expected, he was tender, gently cupping your jaw with his large hand, his thumb stroking over your cheek. His lips were soft and pliant against yours, a contrast to how hard and broad his body felt when you leaned against him to deepen the kiss.
The hand that was previously holding yours slipped around your waist and pulled you closer. You fisted your hands into the lapel of his suit jacket and what began as an innocent kiss grew increasingly steamy.
You groaned as he nipped at your bottom lip and slid his tongue inside your mouth and reached up to grab the short hair at the nape of his neck. He hissed into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening.
You felt heat starting to pool between your legs and telling from the bulge that was beginning to press against your abdomen, Chris was sharing your sentiments.
“How fast is that ridiculous car of yours?” you panted, a bit breathless from the kiss.
“Very fast.” He replied, a grin on his slightly flustered face.
“How about we take this to your place before we get in trouble for public indecency?”
“You weren’t that concerned about it yesterday.” He chuckled “But I don’t care for the headlines either, so let’s go.”
+++
The door to Chris penthouse (you were right, of course he had a penthouse) slammed shut, and a second later, you were pressed against it by two strong arms. Chris effortlessly pinned your body against the wood with one hand while the other one fumbled with the side zipper of your dress.
The garment dropped to the floor, leaving you with only a matching black set of underwear on. Chris eyes wandered over your body and he swore under his breath before attacking your bare neck with his mouth, kissing and sucking on the skin, probably leaving another bruise.
“You’re really marking me like a fucking caveman, Cuomo.” You gasped, the effect of his lips on your skin evident, you were already slick with need.
“Come on, Y/N, you know you enjoy it.” he whispered, and you only groaned as an answer as he softly bit the junction of your neck and shoulder. You could hear his dark chuckle before his hand started to unclasp your bra, exposing your tits to the cool air of the hallway.
He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, and you couldn’t suppress a whimper at the feeling of his hot mouth against your sensitive skin. Slowly, his large hand wandered between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your panties before pulling this last item of clothing down as well, only your black high heels remaining.
Releasing your hands, Chris slowly dropped down to his knees and grabbed one of your ankles to prob your leg over his shoulder. You let out a sharp hiss as his mouth wandered to your inner tight, leaving a trail of soft kisses before he reached your center. His fingers slowly dipped into your wet folds, spreading your arousal before he started to lightly circle your clit with his tongue. You cried out and threw your head back against the door, one of your hands fisted into his curly hair, pushing him closer between your legs.
“So bossy.” He murmured. “And so fucking wet for me.” Suddenly, he pushed two of his thick fingers into you while harshly sucking on your bud. White, hot pleasure surged through your body as you came on the spot, your knees almost giving up as you bucked against Chris’ face, coating it with your arousal.
“Fuck.” You whispered, slowly coming down from your high. Chris got up, looking very pleased with himself. You grabbed him by his dress shirt, pulling him in for a deep kiss and grinding your naked core against his very prominent erection.
“Bedroom. Now.” He groaned against your lips and kissed you again. Your hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt, tearing it from his body. It joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. You took a moment to admire his now exposed, well-muscled torso. He looked like fucking Greek god, and you wanted to run your hands and tongue over every inch of his tanned, smooth skin. You needed him, now.
“Fuck me right here, I don’t care.” You whispered, palming his erection before starting to work on his zipper.
“Filthy girl. You want me to rail you against the door.” Chris murmured, before pulling his pants down along with his underwear. His cock sprung free, hard and heavy, making your mouth water. With a swift motion, he grabbed your tights, effortlessly lifting you up against the door. The blunt display of strength just made you even wetter, your hands were grabbing his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
“Stop talking and fuck me already, Cuomo.” You groaned, and a second later, he pushed his cock into you, the sudden stretch making you cry out in pleasure. He wasted no time, immediately starting a hard, fast pace.
“Fuck, Y/N.” Chris hissed through clenched teeth. “You are so fucking tight. Taking my cock so perfectly.”
“Shit, Chris, please keep moving, just like that.” You whimpered as he fucked you relentlessly, a stained expression on his face. He never slowed down his thrusts while he was holding you, it was like watching somebody run a marathon. Seeing him handle you like that was mesmerizing, bulging muscles glistening with sweat, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. You were starting to feel slightly dizzy as your head hit the wooden door with each thrust, but you didn’t care.
Chris leaned forward to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, biting into your lower lip and pushing his tongue into your mouth. You let out a guttural cry as he eased his grip on your ass a bit, making you sink down onto his cock even more. The different angle created a totally new sensation, causing both of you to groan as Chris was thrusting into you even deeper now. A powerful, burning feeling was beginning to form in your lower stomach, quickly spreading through your whole body with every hard snap of his hips. Chris name was falling from your lips like a chant now, begging him to keep fucking you, to go harder, deeper.
“Who would’ve thought that you’d beg me to fuck you against my front door.” Chris said in a husky, breathless voice, never slowing down his thrusts. “Little Miss Perfect is not so perfect after all, huh?”
You couldn’t answer, your mind was fuzzy, and the only thing existing was the feeling of Chris, his large hands grabbing your ass, his hot breath on your skin, his cock filling you over and over again.
You were already hanging on the edge of your orgasm, but when he leaned down to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your shoulder, the raw pain and the sheer possessiveness of the gesture were the push you needed to spiral down into your climax.
You came with a shout, your whole body convulsing, squirming against Chris. He moaned as he felt your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing him until he came as well, calling out your name, his cock buried so deep inside you that you were sure you’d be limping tomorrow.
Neither of you moved for a minute, your sweaty foreheads pressed against each other as you tried to catch your breath. After a moment, Chris carefully pulled out and lowered you onto the floor before collapsing next to you with a huff. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his breath was tickling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. You were surprised by that motion, you had expected a cocky comment or a crude joke, but not this.
When he broke the kiss, you could see his trademark smirk spreading over his face as he inspected the hickey he left on your neck, tracing it with his fingers.
“I might really be into leaving marks on you.” He said, “A little reminder of the good time I gave you.”
“You really are just a caveman, aren’t you? Also, it seemed as if you enjoyed yourself as well.” you replied, your hand involuntarily reaching out to play with a lock of hair that clung to his face.
“I did, immensely so. In fact,” he said, voice going serious for a moment. “I’d like to repeat it, sometimes. Maybe even with another dinner, if you would like that.” His face was passive, but there was a softness in his eyes that you haven’t seen before.
“Are you really asking me on a date, Cuomo?” you exclaimed, the fake astonishment masking the giddy excitement you felt about the question. You wanted to go out with this idiot so bad, you could hardly believe it yourself.
“Looks like it, huh.” He murmured, and if you didn’t know it better you would’ve thought he was embarrassed.
“Hey, I’d love to go out with you, Chris.” Your voice was as sincere as you felt.
Chris gave you a brilliant smile, then winked at you.
“You know, I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway.”
#chris cuomo#chris cuomo fanfiction#Chris Cuomo fic#chris cuomo x reader#imagine#cnn#cnn anchors#fanfiction#lawyer au
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