#beyond ‘I’d scratch your back if asked. can you please return the favor sometime so I don’t feel used.’

[void-tiger]

Actually…? No. Tell me the odds. I need the likelihood of success and got nothing else to lose might as well try even if extremely unlikely. Because I need help sustaining the hope that everything’s gonna be okay and motivation to get there that I just can’t do for myself without burning out almost completely.

[ivarthebadbitch]

Strange things can happen

Chapter 7 summary: Aldreda and Ivar have a cultural exchange. Ivar hatches a plan of his own.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1856

Notes: I 100% made up the “cultural” stuff in this chapter, don’t get mad at me.

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 7: Maybe someday

With the majority of the Mercian rebels either killed, captured, or fled, a treaty skewed heavily in favor of Wessex was swiftly drawn up and signed by the victorious and defeated parties. Aldreda’s father was clearly pleased with the turn of events, and he allowed her, Aethelred, Alfred, and Ivar to witness the signing. Afterwards, he hugged Aldreda and her brothers and even gave Ivar an awkward pat on the shoulder.

As everyone else began packing up camp outside to return home, Aldreda and Ivar lingered to look at the treaty. “So that’s it, then?” Ivar asked. He turned the piece of parchment sideways and frowned. “This chicken scratch is the agreement between Wessex and Mercia? A good rain would wash the ink right out. Or I could tear it in half. And then...no more treaty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t. My father is already upset with you.”

“I just think it is a stupid way to make an agreement. It’s just parchment. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She took the treaty out of his hands in case he changed his mind and decided to tear it up. Or eat it. “So how would your people do it, then?”

“Easy. You make your agreement and swear an oath, and then you perform a sacrifice so that the gods will be witnesses to it and show favor. Usually a goat.” He regarded her thoughtfully and then shook his head. “Well, I see the problem. You Christians don’t do sacrifices. How does your god know when you make an agreement?”

“Maybe He reads it over later,” Aldreda said dryly. “The whole reason to write it down and sign it is to record the details of the agreement so that all parties can be held to account if they break it. What happens if you make an agreement with someone, take an oath, perform a sacrifice, and later on the other person claims that you agreed to something else?”

Ivar shrugged. “Challenge him to single combat for lying. Then you kill him and take his land and his wife as your own.”

“Ah. Of course,” she said. “Well, then, what about us? You and I made an agreement, but we did not perform a sacrifice as your people would do, so your gods don’t recognize it. Nor did we write it down.”

“That is true.” He gave her a thoughtful look, even though she hadn’t been entirely serious. “So what do you want to do about it?”

“Write it down,” she said on impulse, reaching for the quill and ink pot left on the table. She took her small prayer book out of her pocket and flipped to the blank final page. Near the bottom, she wrote in small, neat letters: Ivar and Aldreda have an agreement. She signed her name underneath and handed the quill to Ivar.

He took it hesitantly. “I can’t write,” he said.

She pointed out his name on the page. “Just try to copy this,” she told him.

He studied his name for a moment, frowning, and then he set the quill to the parchment and laboriously drew the letters. They came out crooked and wobbly, but it was undeniably his name, and she felt a sudden surge of pride. “It takes practice, but not so bad, right?” she said as she tucked the book back inside her pocket.

“No,” he said. He sounded a little surprised. “So, we wrote it down like you wanted. Now we should make a sacrifice.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I am not sacrificing a goat. I hope you will understand.”

“It doesn’t have to be a goat.” He pulled out a knife.

Aldreda hesitated, and he rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t look at me like that. What, do you really think I’d kill you? Right here in the middle of your father’s camp? Even if I wanted to, I’m not that stupid. We can use your knife if you want. I know you have one.”

She did have one, but that was beside the point. She watched as he nicked his index finger with a small hiss. Then he held out the knife to her, handle first, and after a moment she accepted it from him and followed suit. He took her hand and pressed their fingers together. It felt strangely intimate. She could feel her face turning red.

“There,” he said. “Now our oath is sealed in blood.”

He wiped his bloody finger on his pants while she pressed down on hers to stop the bleeding. “I thought you were going to tell me to lick your finger or something,” she joked. “Don’t you pagans drink blood?”

He looked up in surprise. “Oh, of course, we can do that too if you want.”

“Ah...no. That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

                                                            ***

A plan began taking shape in Ivar’s mind in earnest as they made their slow and bumpy way back to Wessex. To make his way home to Kattegat, he would need somebody to help smuggle him many miles to the coast and get him on a boat. The only reason anyone in this place would do that would be for a substantial amount of money. So he needed to find someone greedy. Or, even better—someone desperate. And beyond that, he needed a bribe, since his fellow conspirator would not be satisfied with empty promises. He would want to see payment upfront. Something valuable enough to make it worth the risk.

His eyes went to Aldreda’s gold necklace.

“You look thoughtful,” she said in an amused voice, and he almost jumped. Though they had started this trip to Mercia bickering, at some point along the way he could feel something had changed between them. It made him a little uneasy that he was beginning to actually like her company, and that she seemed to like his more and more. But he couldn’t allow that to be a distraction.

“That priest your father sent to teach me,” he said. “Father...Wilfred, I think. Why did Aethelwulf choose him?”

“I suppose because he knows your language,” she said with a shrug.

“Not as some sort of punishment for him, then.”

“Well, now that you say that…” She frowned and then leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though it was just the two of them in the carriage. “There was a scandal a few months back. Father Wilfred and a few other priests were caught gambling using church funds. My grandfather and the bishop decided to be merciful because his skill in Norse and in Frankish is useful, but he had to pay back the funds he had stolen, which I believe was a substantial amount. It is possible that teaching you is also part of his penance.”

Perfect. Ivar forced himself to keep his expression neutral. He couldn’t give her any hint of what he was planning to do. “I would like to continue my lessons with Father Wilfred,” he said. “I want to know more about your religion.”

Aldreda stared at him in surprise, and for a moment, he thought she would see right through his subterfuge. But then she unexpectedly gave him a warm smile. “I will tell my father; he will be pleased to hear it.” She added almost shyly, “And I am pleased to hear it too.”

He blushed and looked away, unable to stop himself. She looked happier than he had ever seen her in the past several weeks since they had married. 

“Oh, but Ivar—” she said—had she called him by his name before now?—“don’t torment the poor priest like you did last time. If you want some parchment to gnaw on, I’m sure we can find some scraps around.”

She was actually teasing him. Somehow, he didn’t mind. He rolled his eyes at her but smiled back. “Fine. I promise.”

Aldreda leaned back in her seat and gave him an almost hesitant look. “Will you tell me about your home?” she asked shyly. “I’ve never been outside of Wessex, except for this trip.”

“Kattegat?” He took a moment to think about what to say. “The city is on the edge of the bay, surrounded by mountains. It was small when I was born, not much more than a fishing village—that was before my father became king. When I was a child, of course, I thought it was the entire world. Now it’s much bigger and merchants come from all over to sell things. You see all kinds of people there, not like here.

“It gets cold in the winters, but in the great hall where my parents sit, it is always warm,” he continued. “Everyone gathers in there for meetings and feasts. In the summer, I would go with my brothers to the hunting cabin in the mountains to fish and hunt deer and rabbits. The forest there is so thick that even during the middle of the day, it always stays cool and dark…”

There was more he could tell her about Kattegat, like the excitement of the horns blowing when ships arrived in the harbor, or how the hills were carpeted with purple wildflowers in spring, or about the secret waterfall where he sometimes went swimming with his brothers. His heart suddenly felt tight in his chest as he remembered all the things he missed from home. He wondered what his family was doing without him and how long it would take before they no longer noticed his absence. It was almost unbearable to think about.

“Sometimes we sacrifice goats, that sort of thing,” he finally finished, just to make her laugh. “We’re heathens, after all.”

“I’d like to see it,” she sighed. “Not the sacrificing goats part, but everything else. Perhaps my grandfather will allow it someday.”

It was wishful thinking and they both knew it. He allowed himself to imagine what that would be like anyway. His brothers would tease them mercilessly and his mother would initially be suspicious since she had never approved of the marriage in the first place, but with time they would be won over. And perhaps Aldreda would like to see the ocean, since there was none at Ecbert’s court in Winchester. She was sure to be surprised by the size of the mountains. 

He shook his head. That was never going to happen. He was going to find a way to get home and that would be the end of it, and it would be better for both of them. She could marry again, this time to someone more suitable. She might be upset about it for a little while, and then she would move on. 

“Maybe someday,” he ended up telling her. “But you should improve your Norse first. Your accent is horrible.”

They didn’t speak much after that, but after a little while, she reached out and took his hand. Then, she hesitantly leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. She sat back, blushing furiously—he was certain his face was as red as hers was—and looked away. 

Still, she kept holding on to his hand. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Mamihlapinatapai Or The Season Of Longing

A/n: Here is another fic. Since it's been raining like crazy and I have spent way too much time indoors because of the weather, I decided to write this. The poem featured in this fic is called Lluvia by Jorge Luis Borges. I finally figured out how to put things under the cut so that my followers don't have to scroll through a large post 😅 It's another piece set before Doofus Rick and the reader were dating. Feel free to check out the other fics in my Masterpost.

In this fic the reader isn't the only one longing

___________

Imagine that instead of a blue sky, there was an off white, almost grey sky, and what should've been wispy white clouds were blankets of rumbling thunderstorms without a drop of rain; that was how you thought you might've felt. There was a name to this feeling, but you weren't sure what to call it; as though you were missing something you couldn't place; not sadness or grief, but whatever came in between. No, nothing bad had happened, and there hadn't been any disagreements between you and Rick, but something did occur which fed this alien feeling. It seemed that only a few days ago you were alright, but then you invited him over and he had a chance to look over those books you had mentioned. That day he had returned home from work and came over right after; offering his best of smiles and a piece of candy from his labcoat pocket as soon as he crossed the threshold of your doorway; it was nothing out of the ordinary, but it was charming all the same.

With swiftness, you had led him to your hallway closet so that you could bring down the box of books sitting on the upper shelf; that was where you kept a great portion of your father's old books. Father had been a fan of languages and botany, but ventured into the bizarre mystery from time to time; being a master of neither, you had hidden them away for a later date; mostly because the memories were more disheartening then they space they took up. With all your might, you stood on the tips of your toes in a vain attempt to reach, but your fingers barely brushed the edge of it; you should’ve just used the step ladder. It was Rick's small huff of effort which alerted you to his nearness as he unexpectedly stretched up and grabbed said box when you had a little trouble. Goodnaturedly, he carried it towards the kitchen while you took a moment to calm your girlish heart.

Coaxed away from your thoughts by the dusty cardboard and the delighted guest, you nodded lightly to give him the go-ahead to help himself. His gentle presence made him a joy to study; not in the way he examined things in the world or of the world, but in the way one does when fascinated by a butterfly or a fresh bloom hidden in an otherwise barren bush; he was a miracle. With care he pulled out one book after another, glancing through their pages and making piles for which one's he'd like to borrow. In a way he seemed to belong to this house; as though what wasn't found within pages of novels could be sought, and felt beyond reason; flowing calmly and relished in these favorable moments. Although it wasn't much, and that borrowing books could be of little consequence except to the reader itself, you hated to see him go.

Now thinking of it days later, you found yourself wondering about its significance as well as a plethora of other things as you walked to the store and back. You hadn't needed anything in particular, but you felt slightly better being outdoors; the fresh air allowed you to believe you could think better. The sounds of light traffic and grass being cut somewhere along in the neighborhood felt timeless as you walked around the corner, almost home. The wind blew, rustling your clothes and you narrowly lost the receipt that hung out of your pocket, but that didn’t bother you.

Rain clouds were rolling in from the west and you hoped it wouldn't rain before you reached home. And the closer you got, the more you could see the familiar house of your lovable neighbor. A smile couldn't help but stretch across your face at the thought and you hoped he was home so that you could ask if he'd had a chance to look those books over but that alien feeling bloomed again; the sinking, drowning, heavy feeling. How you wanted to be with him despite what reason thought was logical. The dance of your heart would've loved nothing more than to place a dozen or more kisses upon his smile lines while he stammered into the next week. Oh, your foolish heart had taken on a personification of its own these days; speaking and thinking of itself and it's wants like a second brain; draining you whenever it appeared.

Yet, before you knew it you had reached home and dropped off what you had bought before stepping out again. From your front yard, you could see that he was in the garage and you questioned whether you should go over and attempt to alleviate this feeling; it’d vanish whenever you were with him. You must’ve stood there thinking for a while as to what ought to be done for the pitter-patter of rain broke this trance-like state and you ran back towards your front porch. How silly you have become as of late with this strange crush of yours. Weren’t you past these sort of schoolgirl feelings? Perhaps, but it was more than that.

You sunk into your wicker bench and listened to the sound of the rain as it hit the roof and walkway. The earthy scent of the lawn and the splash of puddles as cars drove by was a welcomed distraction. A nap didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Yet, gentle footsteps and the sound of a closed umbrella woke another sort of feeling within you; that of hope.

“Golly, it - it sure is raining cats and dogs t-today.” he commented.

The words were out of your mouth as soon as you were aware of him; of this creature who walked out of a daydream. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you.”

“Huh? Are you alright? Did s-something happen?”

“I'm fine,” you answered; all at once conscious of him and your surroundings. “it’s just...I thought about coming over to ask if you checked out any of the books but it started to rain.”

“Th-that's part of the reason I'm here,” he confessed. “I-I had noticed you went out for a-a walk and wanted to make sure you had come home safely.”

“As you can see, I made it back in one piece. Although, I did get my hair wet. Though, that's the least of my problems.”

“Do you mind if I-I-I take a seat?”

Patting the space beside you, you nodded. “Not at all.”

He set his umbrella to the side before he seated himself and turned towards you. His warmth radiated from him and being as tall as he was, the bench might’ve been too low to the ground since his legs seemed to stick out too much, but he made no complaint. From his inner labcoat pocket, he pulled out a small book. “I thought y-y-you might enjoy this.”

“A book?”

Handing it to you, he commented. “I thought y-you might enjoy this collection of poems. I um - I bookmarked my favorites but I'd like t-t-to know what your thoughts about them would be.”

You knew this whimsical creature was well-read in many respects, but you hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of including works of a more abstract nature. “Sure, that sounds lovely. Though, I hope you don't mind me asking. Do you read works like this often? It's not because I find it strange. Honestly, I find it fascinating and wonderful that you would even consider it, but I ask because I thought….well, I thought you only read serious works related to your work.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he explained. “I read whenever I-I-I find the time and it uh - it usually doesn’t matter what the subject may be. In the pursuit of knowledge, one reads everything. For example, th-the terms and conditions for some computer programs or limited warranties at times list amusing reasons why y-you might be able to get a replacement for a damaged product. It keeps things interesting.”

“I see. It certainly makes sense.”

With a smile, he sighed with contentment as he looked towards the street. “Boy, th-this weather reminds me of a certain poem. It's called um - it's called Lluvia. That's the Spanish word for rain.”

“That's right,” you remembered; his last name should’ve been a reminder enough. “you can speak Spanish. I forget sometimes since you only talk to me in English. So, tell me, how does this poem go?”

“Please forgive me since my Spanish is a-a little rusty.”

Taking a deep breath, he recited calmly. “Bruscamente l-la tarde se ha aclarado, porque y-ya cae la lluvia minuciosa. Cae o cayó. La lluvia es una c-cosa qué sin duda sucede en el pasado. Quien la oye caer ha recobrado, el t-tiempo en que la suerte venturosa. Le r-r-reveló una flor llamada rosa y el curioso color del c-colorado. Esta lluvia que ciega los cristales, alegrará en p-p-perdidos arrabales. Las negras uvas de una parra en cierto. Patio que ya no existe. La mojada, t-tarde me trae la voz, la voz deseada, de mi padre que vuelve y que no ha muerto.”

You stared at this man, amazed by his fluency and ability to fascinate you with the simplest things. Yet again, a reason to be marveled by him. “Whoa, I don't know what you said, but it sounded beautiful when you said it.”

Turning towards you, his smile seemed brighter than usual albeit a bit sheepish. "It's n-nothing special."

"But it is, especially since you can think and speak in more than one language. I can't do that."

"I-I can teach you if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. You're busy enough as it is, but I appreciate the thought. You really are so incredibly smart."

"And you…eres maravillosa."

"What?”

His smile faltered a bit, and he thought to himself for a bit on what he was about to say before his smile returned; albeit more gently. “Eres amable y-y dulce. No soy digno de una amiga como tu.”

“Rick,” you started; confused as to why there seemed to be some sort of admission that you weren’t able to understand. “all the poetic talk is lovely, but I don't think it's fair if you reply in a way I can't understand."

"Si pudieras entenderme," he sighed, wringing his hands in the nervous way he did. "me pregunto qué creerías si te expresara cuánto me preocupo por ti."

Raising from the bench, he said to himself. "Si puedo llegar a la luna, algun dia podria...¿Q-que estoy haciendo?"

"Rick?"

“I’m o-okay. I uh - I zoned out there for a second. I’m sorry.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He studied you for a moment longer; a world of words unsaid in his melancholic glances. Was something secretly hurting him like it was hurting you? You could only wonder as thoughts were drowned out by the sound of the rain.

———————————-

It was warm and comfortable with him sitting beside you. His presence always provided a sense of calm that was softer and sweeter than that of the sedatives that eased your anxiety. Why you could fall asleep right here if it weren’t for that fact that you’d be mortified if you allowed it to happen.

“Are you a-a big fan of the rain?” he wondered.

This question had come after a half-hour of companionable silence. “Hmm, it’s not the rain so much as the memories that accompany it.”

“Do y-you want to talk about it?”

“Only if you don’t mind hearing it.”

“I-I don’t mind.” He reassured you.

“Well,” you started. “my dad enjoyed rainy days since he said the plants almost seemed to smile when rainwater hit their leaves.”

“Th-that’s a nice thought.“

“Yeah, I thought so too. When it rains like this, and I’m watching it fall,” you softened; feeling lighter because you had someone to share your thoughts with. “it feels like I’m looking through a curtain. It’s not completely see-through, but the shapes I can see appear softer and more mysterious like how you must’ve appeared when you showed up. Too bad I wasn’t paying attention.”

Oh, you did not just say that out loud. “Or something like that.” You added.

If he had noticed you had tripped over your words then he gave no indication of it. “Gosh, I-I never thought of it that way b-before. I usually see it as part of the pr-precipitation cycle and it smells nice, doesn't it?”

“It does. I wouldn’t mind bottling up this scent, but then it might lose what makes it special.”

Yet, if you could bottle up his scent, it would’ve been nice to keep nearby just in case you wanted a little piece of him.

“That um - that reminds me,” he brightened. “I had baked some mandarin scones before walking over tonight, and I-I-I thought you’d like t-t-t-t-to try them but I didn’t want to risk them getting wet. I-I thought we could share some over tea tomorrow if that’s alright with you.”

Tea time with Rick was like what others did over rounds of drinks; it was to unwind and talk about the day; minus the drunkenness and the unforeseen embarrassment. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“Gee, I um - I was supposed to, but there was a shift change. Actually, I have a shift t-t-tonight in a-about an hour, but I had wanted to make sure you were alright before I left.”

“Why?”

“Because I-I thought you were going t-to walk over.”

So he had thought the same thing. “Oh, well like I said earlier I had planned to or thought to, but the weather put a damper on things.”

“Yeah.”

“Though, isn’t it funny that we both had the same thought?”

He smiled at that. “It's because gr-great minds think alike.”

What right did he have to be this adorable you thought. All you could do was smile up at him and fight the urge to run your fingers through what appeared to be soft hair; as odd as you had initially thought his haircut was when you met him, you couldn’t imagine him any other way. Still, drawn to his bright, kind eyes, you wondered if you were being attracted by some invisible force to test the limits of this friendship, and yet you knew well enough that now wasn’t the time. Following a slow blink of his, you mentioned without looking away. “Now that we have gotten to see each other, it's probably time to let you go. I wouldn’t want you to be late for work.”

“Y-you’re right.” he straightened; jumping up on his feet with much more agility then seemed possible for someone so mature. “Until next time.”

There he was leaving again when you didn’t want him to. Still, you had no right or claim to him. At least, not yet. “See you tomorrow.”

Grabbing his umbrella, he motioned to open it but paused, and slowly, but surely turned back; his smile almost boyish. “Gosh, I-I will see you tomorrow, right?”

Clutching the book of poems to your breast, you giggled. “Whichever way it may be, we will. I promise.”

Fin

[better-not-said]

AN: Anybody else get so irritated with everything that they just want to rip their skin off?  Just me?  Okay.  I need someone to make me a peanut butter sandwich.  It’s short but enjoy.

It’s one of those days where she feels irritated. She feels so beyond bothered that nothing around her is right.  The incessant noise of the washing machine makes her want to rip her half-clean clothes to shreds.  Her hair tickling at her neck makes her want to take her boyfriend’s razor and shave it off. The complete lack of palatable food in the refrigerator gives her the urge to stomp her feet and cry like a three-year-old having a tantrum.  When she sits down to try and read her book, the throw pillows end up across the room in a fit of rage for a lack of comfort.  Her clothes resting upon her make her want to scratch her nails across the skin until she can’t feel anything anymore.  She feels like The Princess and the Pea, as though the slightest inconvenience will send her spiraling.

When her boyfriend returns home, he finds her in the room where his piano sits, surrounded by guitars and a comfy couch. This room has always been her favorite because she claims it ‘has the best light.’  Shawn doesn’t find her sitting in front of the window, basking in the orange glow of the sunset.  Instead, she’s lying on the floor, her head underneath the piano, her bare feet just barely touching the rug in the center of the room.  She at least had the decency to put a couch pillow beneath her head.

“Don’t touch me,” she murmurs, feeling Shawn’s footsteps come closer.  She didn’t have to tell him.  He knows her, knows that she gets like this sometimes, utterly irritated beyond belief. Shawn goes through the motions and takes a seat on the piano bench, his fingers resting on the keys.  He kicks his boots off and worries for a moment that his smelly feet might bother her so he gives her a few seconds of silence to protest.  She doesn’t make a sound and Shawn can hear her steady breathing, so he begins to play. It takes a lot of focus for him not to hum along and to just let his fingers drift over the keys because he just knows that the humming will feel like there is a buzzing beneath her skin. He plays for a while, eventually drifting into silence before he leans down and looks beneath the piano.  She’s still awake, staring at the wooden slats above her head.

“You wanna go to the store?” Shawn offers.

With a hum of agreement, she slides out from underneath the piano and heaves herself off the floor, leaving the room.  Shawn grabs his keys on their way out the door and within fifteen minutes, they’re stepping through the automatic sliding doors of the supermarket.  He leads the way, walking slowly as she follows, eyes searching for something that appeals to her.  Shawn snakes through the aisles, as patient as can be.  In the baking aisle, instead of reaching for food, she reaches for his hand, holding it tightly in her own.  He can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of his mouth as his girlfriend wraps her other hand around his bicep, settling in close to him as they scour the grocery store.  It isn’t until the frozen food section that she picks something out; a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream to be exact.  

“Will you carry this, please?” she asks and Shawn shoves his keys in his back pocket before reaching for the container of ice cream. He doesn’t protest, not even when they walk to the far end of the store after going through every aisle and he can’t feel his hand anymore.  She turns away from the refrigerated cheese and faces the shelves of bread, a flutter of want crossing her mind.  She quickly navigates the brands and picks out the loaf she desires before tugging Shawn to the end of the aisle where jellies and butter spreads of all kinds are located.  A simple jar of Skippy does the trick and they’re at the cash registers in the next minute.

By the time they’re home, Shawn can tell she’s beginning to feel better, especially when she asks him to make her a peanut butter sandwich, favoring someone else’s technique over her own.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “You’re the best at it.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Shawn grins as he gets to work.  He knows how she likes her simple sandwich; crust on, peanut butter spread right to the edge, not too thick, and cut directly in half.  She watches him work, tying and retying her bun three times till it feels just right.  At last, he sets her sandwich and a glass of ice water in front of her.  She hums her appreciation and he starts making his own while she eats.  Once it’s made, he carries the full sandwich in his hand, munching on his way to the en-suite bathroom where he starts running a bath.

“Started a bath for you,” he tells her when he reenters the kitchen, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She gets a whiff of peanut butter and smiles thoughtfully, finishing off her water. “Thank you.” After that, she disappears.  Shawn finishes his sandwich and happily loads the dishwasher before settling down with his guitar, giving his girlfriend some time to herself.  It’s not long, though, till his stomach is rumbling again and he fishes out the mint chocolate chip ice cream, grabbing a couple spoons before making his way to the bathroom.

His girlfriend rests in a pool of blue water, the scent of lavender hanging in the humid air.  Shawn sets the pint of ice cream on the edge of the tub and folds his legs beneath him, sinking onto the bathmat.  Her eyes open at the sound of her boyfriend beside her and she smiles, happy to be feeling better than she had been earlier today.

“Brought you your ice cream,” he says quietly, pulling off the lid.  Shawn can feel her eyes on him as he digs his spoon into the minty treat.

“I love you,” she murmurs, watching him savor the ice cream. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He doesn’t know how to respond.  Shawn chews on the chocolate chips before smiling and telling her that he loves her, too.

[eliniei]

Not As It Seems Part VIII - Emet-Selch/WoL

Summary:   After calling it an early night, the Warrior of Light heads back to her room to relax but is unexpectedly transported to another world to escort Emet-Selch to a ball.

Word Count: 2089

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

Part I: here Part II: here Part III: here Part IV: here Part V: here Part VI: here Part VII: here

As always, if you have any requests you’d like to see show up in this series or any other Emet/WoL one-shot you’d like to see me write, please let me know!

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When I got back to my room after calling in an early evening, I figured I still had quite a bit of time before Emet-Selch showed up, so I decided to take a moment and finally relax and revel in the quiet. I enjoyed his company, of course, but sometimes being alone was a need instead of a want. 

And I must say, the hot water of my bath felt amazing on my aching muscles. 

I had just stepped out of my bathtub, though, when the Ascian burst into the room with the force of a tidal wave. I nearly jumped out of my skin, his sudden entrance almost making me slip on the slick tile floor. I grabbed on to the side of the wooden tub to steady myself.

“What the hells-!”

He paused for a moment, realizing that I was not clothed, a puddle of water slowly forming under my feet. Immediately, he averted his eyes as I quickly reached for a towel to cover my body, my face growing hot. I was surprised he bothered.

“Have you finished, yet, hero? I feel like I have been waiting an eternity.” 

Ah, there it was. The drama, the attitude.

“You could’ve knocked on the door, you know. You do know how to knock, don’t you?” I put my hands on my hips. 

“Of course I know how to knock. I simply did not feel like it.”

“Yes, that seems to be a pattern, doesn’t it? You can look again, I’m covered.”

He turned back to me, visibly relieved. I raised an eyebrow and opened my mouth, but it was as if he had read the question on my lips.

“Think what you will, but I am still a gentleman.” He shrugged, then moved towards me. “We’re going out.”

“What? But-”

Before I could spit out my words, he lifted his hand and snapped. My towel was replaced with a long, glittering, purple gown that hugged my waist tightly, laced up in the back with a ribbon, my shoulders bare and sparkled with a shimmering dust. White, flimsy gloves made of silk slid over my arms, stopping above my elbows, and a pair of absolutely ridiculous heeled shoes on my feet. My dripping hair was instantly dry, swept up and pinned to my head.

I blinked, in total shock, frozen in place for a moment. 

“Much better,” he said, his amber gaze looking me up and down.

“What-”

Another snap of his fingers and his usual robes changed, as well- a black suit with a purple vest that matched the color of the dress he’d just thrown me into. His jacket hugged his waist, snugly and the tails hung long behind him. My eyes widened even further, seeing him in these strange clothes. Loathe as I was to admit, they fit him extremely well. He smirked when he saw my face.

“Like what you see, my dear hero?” I stuttered a few words, unsure how to respond, before I regained control of my mind.

“Will you please tell me-”

He held up his finger, halting me again, then flattened his hand, palm up. A mask materialized, and he pushed it towards me. 

“Put this on,” he ordered. When I didn’t react, he finally paused and watched me for a few moments as I stared at it. “Well?”

“Where are we going?” I asked, finally able to get a word in. I gently lifting the mask from his hand and examined it closer, resigning myself to his whims. “This is beautiful.” 

“We’re going to a celebration,” he told me, ignoring my other remark. “I believe the inhabitants of this particular shard call it a Masquerade.”

“Shard?” I asked, looking up at him, quickly. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I heard the hum of his portal opening. “Wait-!” Before I could protest anymore, he shoved me through.

When I fell through the other side, tripping on the carpet, he gripped my arm to steady me. I could hear music and chatter in the room beyond where we landed, but at the present, we were alone in a hallway.

“Be a bit more careful, won’t you, hero?” He let go of my arm in favor of straightening his jacket, the snapped again. His own mask- his Ascian mask- appeared in his hand. He bent down close to me and I found myself pressed against the wall, his face close enough I could feel the warmth of his breath. When he spoke, his voice was low, intimate. “This Shard is without magic, so do try not to draw attention to yourself.” He lifted his mask to his face and nodded for me to do the same, then held his hand out to me.

“Without magic?” I asked, confused, and slid my gloved fingers into his. He gripped them gently, but firmly. “That’s-but-how do they do anything?” He stated leading me towards the main hall- where I assumed this masquerade was taking place. 

“Just like you cook with your hands, so too do these people, although they make everything from scratch.”

The thought struck me as incredibly odd, but I suppose when you’d grown up in a world filled with all sorts of magic, it was hard to imagine life without it. 

We stopped outside a tall double door, where two attendants waited at either side. They leaned forward and opened each side for us in unison. 

The music filtered in- quick and bright, mostly comprised of some sort of string instrument. My eyes widened at the size of the room, the volume of people dancing about and the colors they were clad in. High above in the vaulted ceiling hung a large, crystal chandelier, sparkling, reflecting everything in the room. The breath left me. 

“At a loss for words?” Emet-Selch inquired beside me. He tucked my hand into his arm and led me inside. As a waiter passed us, he dropped my arm and smoothly picked up two thin glasses. He held on out to me, but I looked at it, mildly suspicious.

“What is it?”

“Champagne. Alcohol.”

I pursed my lips, but lifted it from his hand. Once we had both taken a drink, he set his flute down on a nearby table and held his hand out to me again. 

“Dance with me.” I bristled a little at his demand.

“I don’t-I don’t know how.” He huffed a laugh and forcibly reached for my hand. 

“Hydaelyn’s great champion can’t dance. Unbelievable.” As he tugged me out on to the floor, amidst other couples, he snapped the fingers of his free hand. I felt a prickle in my skin, as if my limbs were threatening to fall asleep, but it was gone as soon as it had started.

“What did you just do?” I asked in a loud whisper. “You just warned me about using magic, you insufferable hypocrite.”

He positioned me in front of him and put one of my hands on the curve of his shoulder, then moved his down to my waist. The other he kept ahold of, holding them both out to the side.

“Lighten up, my dear hero. I just taught you how to dance. Let go for once in your miserably short existence and enjoy it.” With that, a new song started and so did we, the tingling of his magic tugging at me as we danced, showing me the steps.

Everything in me wanted to be stubborn. He’d forced me away from a night of calm relaxation- something I desperately needed. 

But as I let him twirl me around the floor, feeling the skirt of my dress move about my body, flowing in the rhythm of our movement, I determined he was right. Maybe I didn’t need to relax. Maybe I just needed to live. So, I did as I was bid, leaning into him and letting his magic take control of me. 

The Ascian tensed for a few moments, but I saw a hint of a smile on his lips. 

We continued on, but when we were both out of breath, he led me outside on to an unoccupied balcony. I sat down on a wooden bench that sat against a delicate metal railing that overlooked a large landscape with a manicured lawn and well-curated flowers. I slid the mask off of my face and marveled at the beauty before me as Emet-Selch went to get us something to drink. 

In that moment, it felt as if a rock dropped into my stomach. This was another shard. They had no magic, no defenses. They were clueless. And he...

“Just water, this time, I’m afraid,” he said when he’d returned, holding a glass of clear liquid to me. I set the mask in my lap and accepted it, letting the cold liquid slide down my throat and refreshing my body. He leaned against the rail next to my seat. I looked down at the mask, the smile I’d had for most of the night drooping. 

“What is it now?” he sighed, annoyance tinging the edges of his voice. 

“This world will be rejoined if your plan comes to fruition.” 

“Yes,” he said, simply. 

“How could you give up…” I lost my words, trying not to tear up. I’d spent many nights with him, in his arms and the weight of his actions-what he wanted to do- had been pressing in on me ever since, threatening to suffocate me. Some nights it was easier to hold back the sobs, the anger at how unfair everything had turned out to be. But on nights like this...

“It isn’t about giving up, hero,” he said, turning and leaning on the railing with his arms. “The beauty of our world, our true world, was nothing compared to this. It isn’t about giving up. It’s about making things better again. If something was broken, wouldn’t you fix it?”

I was silent as I looked up at him. He took a deep breath. I would have given anything, in that moment, to not think the thoughts pounding on my skull. He looked down at the mask that still sat in my lap. 

“That mask,” he started. I gently picked it up again. “Back when the world was whole, it belonged to a very dear friend of mine.”

“Why did you give it to me?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” He looked back out towards the lawn, the smile on his face sad. Before long, he pushed himself off the railing and motioned to me, his defensive demeanor changing. “Come.” 

I hesitated for a moment, but set the mask down on the bench and stood up. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me, only to set my backside down on to the cold metal, then wedged himself between my legs. 

“Let us put this morose topic to rest for now.”

I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind as I wrapped my arms loosely around him, telling myself that I’d absolutely be able to contain the light and things would be alright. He pressed his forehead against mine for a moment, then tilted his chin up so his mouth gently captured my pouting lips and breathed in my scent. I relaxed into him, desperately wanting to do nothing more. 

Eventually, we went back to the dance floor.

When the party had started to die down, I sat in a chair at one of the many tables in the ballroom. I kicked off my shoes and slouched heavily against the back of the chair, the sparkling fabric of my gown crinkling as I did. I was exhausted- and once I’d been able to quell my thoughts, I’d done just as the Ascian had suggested and let loose. 

He came over to me, kneeling next to my chair. “Are you ready to go?”

“No,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t want to go back.” 

His eyes softened as he took me in. “I don’t, either.” 

In one quick motion, he lifted me to his chest and disappeared. When we appeared again, we were on the roof. He set me down on the tiles, and sat beside me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I leaned into him, letting my head drop on to his collarbone, and looked up. 

Thousands of stars were out. 

He rested his chin on the top of my head.

“How about we just stay out here tonight?”

“Mm,” I hummed, eyes sweeping over the sky, taking everything in. “That sounds nice.”