#i don't think the pacing suffered terribly or anything but it's even more satisfying when it's so compact

[coquelicoq]

this chapter/episode feels very classic short story...something so satisfying about how it resolves. the A plot and the B plot are solved by the same action because it turns out, unbeknownst to the characters and the audience, that they were directly connected the whole time. and because the storylines are so linked, the resolution of chobi's depression is twofold: he's touched by the effort his friends went to to get him something beautiful, and he's touched by the fact that the thing his friends think is so beautiful is actually a part of him that he had cast off and thought of as unremarkable. it fits together so simply and so elegantly that it seems just as natural as it is surprising. what a pleasing economy of storytelling.

[meetmeatthecoda]

Lately, I've found myself drawn to stories ( and I mean drawn to as in envisioning those stories in my head, thinking them through to the very last detail, not reading, let alone writing them down, because I've long since accepted that they will never turn out quite the same on the paper ) where Red is the one who'd been seriously hurt and, therefore, rendered unconscious for an indefinite amount of time and worried Liz is the one who doesn't leave his side, hoping and praying and pleading that he would wake up. Probably, something that has to do with how unfair it is that we've seen Red keep vigil by hurt!Lizzy's side – playing music for her, holding her hand, reading to her etc. – a number of times and yet, over the course of 8 seasons, never have ever been allowed the pleasure of seeing Liz do the same for him ( not even when he was shot – because she left to retrieve the Fulcrum and couldn't come back until the fight was over – or when he was poisoned – because she'd been waiting to be cleared to see him and he ran away the moment he wasn't actively dying, because that's Red for you all ), even though she loves and cares about him as much as he loves and cares about her.

I mean, just imagine the possibilities!

Liz pacing around the waiting area of Red's mobile hospital while he's in surgery, unable to think about anything else other than how he looked – battered and broken and barely alive – when they've found him and how his head rested in her lap ( she could almost convince herself that he was merely dozing, if he wasn't so deathly pale and still and there wasn't so much blood on his clothes and her clothes and her hands and the backseat of the car ) and his hand was limp in her death grip as they rushed him to his doctors and she whispered words of reassurance and encouragement to him even though she knew he couldn't hear her and how she had to fight the instinct to curl around her lover and snarl at anyone who would come close because she can't let him be hurt further as the medics took him away from her, exchanging observations and orders that didn't sound particularly reassuring. She's also acutely aware of the fact that Red is fighting for his life – there, just a few feet away from her – and, though he's the strongest man she's ever known, he may not win, and so she makes a promise to the empty air in front of her that she will kill him herself if he dares to give up on her and Agnes like that now, when they've just reached the good, right place in their relationship, just confesses their feelings to each other. At some point, Dembe most certainly pulls Liz in for a hug, letting her cry in his shoulder, doing his best to comfort her ( even though there's nothing that can bring her more comfort than Red's hug, when he – alive and whole – wraps his arms protectively around her and holds her close and lets her hide from the whole world in his arms, his chest, his shoulder and neck – wherever she prefers to burrow her face at the time – and the memory itself makes her cry harder, because there's a possibility that he will never hug her like that again ), even though he's just as worried and scared as she is, and Mr Kaplan helps Liz clean up, washing away Red's blood from her hands and producing seemingly out of the thin air fresh clothes for her to change into.

Red, of course, pulls through the surgery, beating all odds, and Liz's heart floods with relief at the good news before sinking when the doctor explains to her and Dembe and Mr Kaplan the extent of Red's injuries and that it's impossible to say when – or even if – he wakes up.

And so the waiting game begins. Liz doesn't leave Red's side, holding his hand, stroking his knuckles with her thumb and never letting go, constantly talking to him and reading to him and even asking Dembe to bring the record player and some records from the Bethesda apartment to play to him, hoping that it would elicit some kind of response from him. Yet, as they days go by, there's not a single, smallest sign that he's aware of anything that's going on around him, that he's still there somewhere and is trying to find his way back to her, to them – he doesn't stir, doesn't so much as flutter his eyelashes, and Liz grows more desperate with each passing day, even though the doctor assures her that Red's slowly but surely improving ( but she can't see it with her own eyes, and if she can't see it, she's less likely to believe it, the more time passes with him just lying there, undisturbed by the loud, chaotic world around him ).

And then there's Agnes... While Liz keeps vigil at Red's bedside, the babysitting duties are split equally between Aram and Samar, Charlene and Cooper, Ressler and Audrey and Dembe and Mr Kaplan. Yet more often than not whoever picks little Agnes up from school and / or her ballet classes brings her over to the safe-house where Liz and Red are. She doesn't seem to be as unnerved by Red's state as her mommy is, climbing on his bed each time she visits ( after giving her mommy the biggest hug, of course ) and leaning in close to him, examining his face thoughtfully before half-asking, half-stating "He's still tired, mommy?". And Liz usually replies with a hoarse "Yes, baby" because she doesn't trust herself not to get choked up if she tries to answer more eloquently. Agnes simply nods then, satisfied with the explanation why he hasn't woken up yet, and settles against Red's side – mindful of his injuries and the spider web of wires and tubes connecting him to all sorts of monitors and machines – and either naps ( especially, on ballet classes days ) or tells her mommy and Red ( she talks to him just like Liz does much too easily – promising him to show him the new moves she's learnt when he wakes up etc. – as if she's already done that before or seen anyone else do that... unbeknownst to Liz, she did both – when Liz herself was in a coma, Agnes both saw Red talk to her mommy and was encouraged by him to talk to her, too, because it may help her mommy sleep easier and maybe she'll get better sooner and finally wake up ) about her day or does her homework or draws ( more often than not, she draws either cards for Red to read when he wakes up or just things she wants him to see ). And when the time comes for her to leave, she always kisses Red on the cheek, wishing him "sweet dreams" and to get better soon, and then gives her mommy, who tries so very hard not to tear up but fails miserably, a hug and a kiss, too, and tells her frequently that she shouldn't cry because Red is just too tired, just like she – Liz – once was, and that he just needs to sleep a bit more.

And when the door behind Agnes closes and Liz is sure her daughter won't see / hear her, she breaks down hard, in big, ugly sobs, because her little girl shouldn't be acting so naturally in this kind of situation and because she wishes so hard that Red just woke up, because she can't do this, any of this, without him.

In the end, once his body has healed itself enough and he regained enough of his strength, Red, of course, does wake up. It's a slow process, and Liz thinks she might either faint or go mad from the overwhelming feelings that are swirling inside of her when Red moves for the first time in what seems to her like forever – squeezing her hand feather-lightly – and when he leans slightly, unconsciously into her touch when she strokes his cheek – out of habit, without even expecting any sort of reaction from him and being pleasantly surprised – and when he opens his eyes for the first time – it's a brief occurrence, with his eyes slipping shut tiredly again after just a few moments, and he's still pretty much out of it, apparently, not even noticing her presence by his side, but for Liz it's a major event – and when he finally, finally looks directly at her – alive and conscious and alert – and calls her "Lizzy". He's still weak and his voice sounds terrible and Liz knows she shouldn't let all of her pent-up feelings – the fear and despair and frustration and love and relief and exhaustion – out on him like that – he's just woken up, after all – but she can't hold back the tears nor the jumbled mess of "thank you"s and "I love you"s and " "I've missed you"s and "I'm so so happy you're back" and "I was so worried" and "Don't ever scare me like that again" that spills from her lips as she leans in to kiss him lightly and give him the gentlest of hugs...

(Since I'm not a ficwriter and, therefore, have no intentions of using this pile of ideas/images/feelings myself, I wouldn't mind at all if you or any other writer drew inspiration from this rambling of mine)

Ahhhhh 😭😭😭 Are you sure you're not a fic writer, anon?? Cause this reads like some quality hurt/comfort to me!! 🥲🥲 Honestly, this is a lovely scenario to imagine & it gives me a slightly bitter sense of satisfaction to think of Liz suffering through just a fraction of the time Red spent by her side while she was in her coma... especially if it's the catalyst for fEeLiNgS to emerge tee hee bc, you're RIGHT, we were woefully deprived of those situations in the show & I'll never not be sad about it tbh. More specifically, things I love the most about this in no particular order: Liz having to "fight the instinct to curl around her lover & snarl" *swoon*, Liz swearing she will kill him herself if he dies LMAO, Dembe hugging her for comfort & Mr. Kaplan helping her get cleaned up 🥺🥺🥺, Liz playing records for Red yasss, AGNES & everyone taking turns babysitting her while she misses her Daddy desperately but deals with the situation with a maturity & grace beyond her years in an effort to help her grieving Mommy through it cool cool mkay mkay, Liz only breaking down once Agnes leaves OWWW, anddddd Liz being a blubbering mess when Red finally wakes up & calls her "Lizzie" & they kiss *whispers* it's fine, i'm fine 🙃 IN CONCLUSION, I love this anon, thank you for sharing this lovely little AU with me!! 🥰 And much, much love to you, of course, my friend!! ❤️

[lantsovnazyalenski]

i don't love you but i always will

okay, so this is operating on the assumption that somewhere between Nikolai's engagement and the day of the wedding, Zoya actually realizes she loves him.... which might be a stretch but here we are

I'm also going to pretend/assume that Ehri is going to agree to the wedding on her own free will... cause yeah

Zoya’s gown was a low-cut sapphire blue, glittering as the light caught on the beads of her skirt. Her hair was styled to one side, loose black curls cascading down her shoulder, held in place by hairpins. She was radiant, if not for the hollowness she felt inside, the dullness of her eyes.

Fortunately, no one would pay attention to her eyes as long as they were staring at her plunging neckline. Practical as ever.

And maybe she wanted to outdress the bride. Just a little bit.

It was almost disappointing when Nikolai didn’t seem to notice. She knew he had other things on his mind, pacing the floor when she entered his chambers, a deep frown on his face – yet, she’d hoped to garner some sort of reaction. It was like begging for scraps that would never satisfy her, and she felt angry at herself all over again. She was above begging.

But he asked her here. And when he looked at her, his eyes just a little wild, every reminder to repress and deny that she spent so long internalizing flew out the window. She was a stupid lonely girl again, preparing to watch the man she loved marry someone else.

“Zoya,” he breathed, her name a hopeless sigh on his lips. He didn’t seem to notice her attire, only that she was here. “I don’t want to do this.”

There it was. She knew he had his reservations about a political marriage, idealistic Nikolai and his desire to marry for love, but she thought he had accepted his duty when he proposed to marry the Shu princess himself. He’d mentioned nothing of it since, donning a graciously resigned approach, a self-sacrificing king, and Zoya wondered if he truly made his peace. He made sure to be kind to his bride, taking her on walks in the palace gardens, eating with her in his chambers in the morning; a fact Zoya tried to begrudgingly accept. Nikolai didn’t want to be enemies with his wife, and she didn’t wish him an unhappy marriage. But seeing Nikolai slowly replace her in his life stung.

She hadn’t realized how much she relied on their small routines until she lost them.

Now she realized his acceptance was all an act. A king was always acting – but no part of Nikolai truly made peace with this.

And what was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to appease him? Tell him he could do it, that he had to? Tell him Ravka needed it? Nikolai already knew that. That was not what he wanted to hear from her.

She didn’t know what he wanted, in truth. He knew she would not coddle him, would not sugarcoat it for him. What then? Did he want her to give him a stern speech? Did he want her to smack him upside the head and yell at him that he could not, will not call off the wedding a mere hour before it began?

She was so, so tired of telling him he had to marry. So tired of ignoring the painful twist of her heart, denying the quickening of her pulse. It was not fair that the stability of Ravka meant never having one of the few things she wanted for herself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed, steel in her voice. Anger was familiar. Easier than entertaining thoughts that made her chest hurt. It was hard enough to watch this happen, did she really have to convince him to go through with it too? “You know you have to.”

“I have to marry a woman I don’t want, don’t love, doesn’t love me, is that what I have to do?”

“For your people and your country? Yes, you do.”

It was like he didn’t hear her. Nikolai stepped forward, gripping her arm, Zoya’s breath catching at the unexpected proximity. The anguish in his eyes hurt her more than she cared to admit; she didn’t want this for him, and not only because she loved him. She hated to see his misery.

“I need a reason,” he said, his gaze boring into hers, searching for something. The excuse he needed, perhaps. “I need – Tell me not to marry her. Tell me you don’t want me to.”

Of course, she didn’t. But it didn’t matter what she wanted. Or who she wanted. How could she put herself above Ravka, above the Grisha who needed her? Was she supposed to just take what she wanted like the Darkling? With no consideration to anything or anyone? Was that what she was supposed to do?

The ancient beast stirred inside her.

Take what you want. You’re more than capable.

Zoya shook herself out of it and pushed the dragon back inside the cage she put him in. No. She would not give in.

“You need a queen,” she said simply, neither accepting nor refusing his request.

And why would he care anyway? Was he so desperate for a reason, an excuse? If he thought she would give him an out, he was sorely mistaken – she wouldn’t validate his delusions.

“I already have one.”

She sucked in a breath and moved away on instinct. Nikolai’s hand fell from her arm limply, its absence burning.

He doesn’t mean it. He just wants to get out of this. He doesn’t mean it like that.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nikolai,” she snapped again, sharper than before. “This isn’t a game. You’re a king, act like it.”

She knew she wounded him, but it was for the best. He drew back, nodding a couple of times, like telling himself she was right. His posture was all wrong, defeated and slouching. So uncharacteristically unsure. She may have wished to knock his ego down a couple of times during their partnership but now she hated it, wished for his easy confidence and nonchalant arrogance back. Nothing would be the same after this, would it?

“Of course,” he murmured, painfully resigned. “I understand.”

She thought she should say something but soft, reassuring words weren’t part of her vocabulary, even if it hurt to see him like this. They got stuck in her throat and cut her up inside. A bleeding mess of a girl stood in her place.

Nikolai turned away to fiddle with his jacket in the mirror, a gentle but obvious dismissal, and Zoya took her cue. She walked away with a terrible feeling in her gut that she was missing something.

The ceremony was grand as anyone would expect it. No detail out of place, no extravagance spared – no matter their financial struggles. It would be unseemly for the young king of Ravka to have anything but a pompous wedding; after all, he would only have one. By now, Zoya didn’t care about the unnecessary excesses of it all. She just wanted it over with. She watched Nikolai standing at the altar, waiting for his bride to be, none of the signs of distress from earlier displayed on his handsome face. A small mercy, at least. He couldn’t very well look miserable in front of hundreds of their guests.

Eyes of both men and women followed Zoya as she stood to the side with Genya and David, but it hadn’t felt as satisfying as she thought it would. She always looked breath-stopping, that was nothing new. It was boring. Why did she think outshining the bride mattered at all; it changed nothing. Perhaps she would have cared more if she didn’t only have eyes for Nikolai. A small wistful and childish part of her thought she would not give a damn if no one ever looked her way twice, as long as Nikolai did.

But these kinds of thoughts belonged to a blushing gentle lady, not a commander loyal to her king. Zoya did her best to dismiss them.

I’m letting you go, she thought, stubborn and willful and determined. His back was to her when Ehri walked down the aisle towards him and placed her hands in his. I’m letting you go.

You’d give him up so readily?

He isn’t mine to keep, she replied then, but maybe he was, a little bit.

Standing beside him, always a soldier at his side. Now she was standing behind him, disconnected. He was close, yet it felt like they were miles apart. I’m letting you go, she repeated once more, squeezed her fists, and tried to believe it. They never could have been anything, it wasn’t – when Nikolai called her his queen, he was desperate. Exaggerating. Anything to get out of this marriage he never wanted.

Perhaps he hadn’t even realized what he was implying.

But if – if he meant it? If he longed for her like she longed for him, if he loved her like she –

Useless thoughts, she reminded herself, but it was hard to watch this. Harder than she thought. No amount of rationalizing had prepared her for this in the end. She should have said yes, should have told him not to marry her. He’d asked her, he’d begged her. Why hadn’t she? Selflessness or fear? Both?

She couldn’t watch this.

And what? she barked at herself, angry at these thoughts. What? You’ll interrupt the ceremony now? Right here in front of everybody? Hundreds of guests gathered from everywhere, and you’ll pour your heart out and beg him to marry you, or at least not marry her? As if, she scoffed.

But wouldn’t that be a story for the ages? the dragon in her snickered.

She ignored it. Just keep your head up and hold your tongue; suffer in silence. It was almost over.

Was it? something dark echoed inside her. The ceremony will be over and then came the celebrations: the music, the dancing, the cake, the toasts, the jokes about the wedding night and the little heirs Ehri will eventually bear. You’ll go back to your chambers and he’ll go back to his bed that he shared with his wife to perform his marital duty. Then you’ll wake up and he’ll eat breakfast with his wife and dine with his wife and go to sleep with his wife, and you’ll see him during meetings and discussions and nothing more. You’ll be nothing, maybe friends, if that. And Ehri will give him children, little golden boys like Nikolai, and you’ll wonder, always pining, for what could have been. It was never going to be over.

Her chest felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. It felt a little like dying, and abruptly, she didn’t think she could do this for the rest of her life. Despise your heart. If only it was that easy.

“Nikolai,” she gasped under her breath, but no one heard her. She spoke up again, louder, and now he turned to look at her as the priest paused in his speech, glancing up from his book. “Nikolai.”

He looked at her cautiously, wondering.

What are you doing?

There was a hush in the church that was deafening, and she felt the stares of everyone on her, waiting, like the calm before a storm. Genya was stiff beside her and David shifted awkwardly on his feet. But Zoya could only see Nikolai, her eyes pleading, apologetic, desperate, a little ruined. His hand fell from Ehri’s and there was a distant gasp and murmurs from the wedding crowd.

Choose me.

She didn’t speak but he never broke their gaze, and she saw his eyes grow wide as he seemed to lean an inch towards her. In that moment, she thought he understood.

Choose me. Love me.

Ehri cleared her throat and the spell was broken. Nikolai snapped his gaze back to his bride and Zoya felt the air leave her lungs in a whoosh as her heart shattered. The room was suddenly buzzing with whispers, every pair of eyes trained on her, making her skin crawl. Stupid little girl, they seemed to say. Did you think he would choose you? She felt ridiculous. Too young, too foolish.

What the hell were you thinking? she berated herself, furious. You know better. You don’t act like this.

Why didn’t you commit to it? wondered the dragon in contrast. You limit yourself too much.

Zoya breathed in and out slowly, attempting to compose herself. Steel your heart, straighten your spine, lift your chin. Eyes cold and emotionless. Ignore the stares of everyone around you. You could do this. The show had to go on.

Then the church doors blew open and everything went to chaos.