#sorry the crippling doubt suddenly hit

[skyward-floored]

You guys actually want to see the rest of these whumptober fics right?

[rumblelibrary]

hii!! i saw your requests are open, if you’re not too busy could you write something about Laszlo falling in love with reader (she’s a friend of Sara’s and helping with the case) but he keeps trying to avoid his feelings and remain professional and friendly until then he gets jealous of Marcus (or maybe John whoever you think works best) and starts being mean and pushing her away and then John or Sara are like “really?? can you not see that she likes you?” and he apologizes and it’s all fluffy at the end??

that was a bit long sorry, i hope you’re having a great day💗💗

Worlds Apart [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Laszlo being his usual adorable dumbass

Author’s note: Thank you so much for giving me the chance to write your story, hope you’ll enjoy it 💗💗

The first time your presence graced him was on an infamous rainy day. He didn’t mind rain, but it was the kind of storm that forced kids inside the Institute and some of them really benefitted of the time spent outside. So when you appeared at his doorstep escorted by Cyrus, a little of wetness on your shoulders and your hat, arms tightly grasping a big bunch of paper folders, untouched by the heavy weather clearly at your expenses, you looked like a gift from the above.

“Sara Howard contacted me, My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I work for the Town Hall Archives” you introduced yourself, a polite smile softening him. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Kreizler” you added.

He blinked realising he was staring while your words moved past him without affecting him.

“Please, Sara told me you are going to be vital in the unravelling of this case, call me Laszlo”

He opened his arm on side letting you in as Cyrus walked away closing the door behind himself. A sense of guilt creeping over him, he realised how low his mind went to appreciate your physical side first and your sweet smile next, if men were anything different from the beasts, then why indulge still in such raw details. From that moment on, he decided, he would not do you the same disrespect. Little he knew that once he forbid himself to take grace of the sight of you, he would be overwhelmed by your bright mind. As you exposed those files to him you two started working together, day after day, time after time, a little dance of turning pages, soft smile, excited discoveries. Your smile affecting him in unpredicted ways, your good heart weakening his mask, your calm demure forbidding his raging fits. Anything of you made him better, any part of you was loved and worshipped by him, your position quickly transitioning from helpful hand, to admirable being and now to an ideal. A sense of necessity creeping over him every time you closed the space between the two of you to show him something, every time he stared at you wrapped up some archive ladder to find this or that file. Another thing you earned from him with time, the hardest maybe, was the ability to make him chuckle. You weren’t a goofball but you knew when to break down his thought process to bring him back to a quieter state. He liked you, he was even considering to offer you to leave the Town Hall Archives to work as his secretary at the Institute. The benefits of your presence made his work better and your natural tendency to method blessing his day to day activities with balance. Laszlo didn’t like to admit it, but a sense of possessiveness was also growing on him, he knew what was going on in his mind, or to better say it in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. The case was on, after the case maybe.

Or maybe never.

That’s what he thought when, after an interview at the house of a potential future patient of the institute, he took a stroll on the main road, his eyes darting on the flower shop only to recognise you there. Your figure associated with the colourful gifts of nature made his heart skip a beat, a sense of joy filled him soon to disappear when Marcus Isaacson figure appeared beside you holding three or four different kind of flowers in large bouquets, all of them meaning something love related: attraction, desire, kinship.

Those meanings pestered his thoughts, your soft laugh hitting his ears like an angel choir. Your hand lifting up as Marcus bowed his head toward you, your bare fingers running through his curls pulling out some wild leaf that got tangled among them.

“Silly me” he chanted like a child that has zero guilt about earning something undeserved “Come on Y/N, pick your favourite, I can’t hold them all forever”.

Laszlo’s eyes narrowed on him, hating the urgency in his voice, before drifting on the big bouquets, the carnations attracting his gaze, the meaning: pure love, faithfulness, also motherly love.

“The carnations” you said without a doubt moving your arms among the flower to pick them, the closeness you shared rubbing Laszlo in the wrong way.

A sudden realisation hitting him, rage boiling as he turned on his heels to rush to the Institute. What a fool he was, mistaking your natural kindness for…what? Interest for a cripple? Tenderness for a lonely angry man? His jaw clenched, rage surging through him, on that day the door of his office slammed so hard nobody dared to call for him, not even for dinner. When the next day you came to bring some papers and revise some new information, he was keeping a two meters distance all the time, if not more. Anything you said was welcomed with sounds the usual good morning disappeared.

“Laszlo” you called him after more than one hour spent welcomed by only silence and grunts “Did something happen? Maybe, I could help..”

“What exactly gives the impression I need your help?” He shot back before you could even mutter another sentence or even conclude the one you just begun.

His eyes raising from the papers he was holding, his hand moved to his glasses taking them off “As far as my knowledge goes, you’re here to support the investigation with documents and research, not to interfere with my personal life or a job like mine that requires not only tact but also a severe respect of the patient’s privacy”

You closed your mouth suddenly as he never reacted in such a way toward you. Usually he seemed to like to engage with you, to hear your thoughts and opinions, now his hard glare was dooming over you like the Judgment Day.

“I apologise” you resumed to say, maybe it was a bad day, those bad days John teased him about so many times, but that you never encountered before.

So you moved back to your spot respecting the distance he wanted, he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Nothing more was said.

That evening when you were about to leave you thanked him and wished him a good night, as you always did. Silence again, only one hand to be lifted as he didn’t even turn to talk to you. His reaction gutted you and from that day on to visit him turned into the heaviest hours of the day. There was no room for chat, no room for accommodation. You even brought some sweets one day thinking he might like it and he handed those just as quickly to the kids. You even asked him if you wronged him and he said there was nothing wrong.

After two weeks like this, you sat behind your desk at the Town Hall resigned to live with his silence, you stared at a little note he wrote to you once to thank you of your help with some documents titles underneath.

I admire your dedication to the case. Your help is invaluable L.K.

You read, but that didn’t stand anymore, for some reason.

“What’s that long face for?”

Sara asked leaning against your desk as you slipped that piece of paper underneath your notebook. You already gave Laszlo all the documents requested, you could throw that away, but you didn’t.

“I think I upset Dr Kreizler”

Sara looked at you surprised by the way you resumed calling him by his title, like you were trying to gain distance from him. You looked at her incisive look as you quietly explained to her your fears and doubts, what was going on and how you probably should ask John a way to repair the situation, because you were clueless. After your conversation Sara didn’t think about it twice and after concluding her duties she stormed at Laszlo’s office only to find him engaged in the billionth argument with John.

“What have you told to Y/N?”

She asked, a proper mad mama bear as she stared at him mercilessly, she was aiming for the throat and John looked at him puzzled.

“What have you done Laszlo? Having a fine woman interested on you hits so differently?”

Laszlo was about to answer Sara when he suddenly felt attacked on too many fronts.

“Wait, I beg your pardon? I think you have got into some mistake, John”

John looked at him and then at Sara as she shook her head impatiently and already fed up with Laszlo’s ways.

“She does like you Laszlo, where is your problem about it?” She inquired more “Is she not a doctor enough for your likings? Do you want a duchess or something? Because I don’t understand, if you’re not interested to her at least be human”

By this moment Laszlo was still incredule and a chuckle almost left his lips

“I think you are mistaken Sara, Y/N is in a relationship with Marcus Isaacson, I stumbled upon them already”

“Marcus? I thought he was seeing that Esther girl, Lucius complained about his lack of focus more than once, how did you manage to erase her interest that quick Laszlo?” John said surprised and Sara had to hold onto her iron will not to slap the both of them in their faces.

“You two are worse than any little town blabbermouth” she snapped.

John frowned feeling accused and Laszlo was ready to give her a lecture that could last until the end of times when you walked inside in a rush.

“Excuse me” you said out of breath, mud stained your dress as you clearly run your way to her Institute handing them a file “This just came”.

You gulped down as Sara glared at Laszlo while she guided you to have a glass of water.Laszlo studied the document without even acknowledging your presence, another victim served on a plate.

That evening he went to see the body, the Isaacson’s giving a full display of the wounds and marks on the body to him and John. By the rules of the obituary, you and Sara weren’t welcomed inside as they were.  You sat silently, slowly tracing the stain on your skirt thinking how bad Laszlo’s impression of you must be now that you even showed yourself in such an improper manner, such a gentleman like him witnessing you in such a state. When they came out of the obituary Sara stood up as you remained sat, the warm presence of Laszlo now hunting you like a ghost every time he is around.

“The murderer knows we re close” Laszlo stated as he sighed, ashamed that another life was lost “I think that this victim in particular..”

“Y/N!”

Marcus interrupted him rushing out of the obituary with his bloody apron still on, his less than sanitary clean hand on your shoulder as Laszlo was ready to reduce the both of you to dust for interrupting him.

“Excuse me Doctor” Marcus head shot up to him before looking back down at you “Thank you for helping with the gifts, Esther adored them, we are going out again tonight” he said excitedly to you and a big smile, the first of the day, blossomed on your lips.

“I told you, you should trust me more often” you said and he nodded vehemently “If things go this good, I will come to ask you to help me with the ring” he said completely hyped up, bouncing curls everywhere, as you crossed your fingers for him and he repeated the gesture before disappearing again called by his brother who was fed up with his love talks already.

Sara crossed her arms as John’s stare went up to Laszlo’s face, the sudden realisation of his mistake hit him like a bag of bricks. A mix of shame and happiness filling him up. And now the doubt: did he ruined his chances forever? The next morning you came into his office, you never stopped wishing him good morning and being polite, no matter his attitude.

“Y/N” he called you as you were placing your belongings aside. Your surprised look due to his softened tone was unmissable to him.

“Come here, I wish to talk to you”

You grew nervous as he didn’t say much else, so you walked to him sitting on the couch beside him, the one where you shared so many talks not too long before, even if now it felt like an eternity.

“I want to apologise to you” he blurted out all together, no need to move around the topic even though that only affirmation run over you harder than any other phrase.

You didn’t reply, allowing him to proceed.

“I apologise, because I have been selfish and foolish” he said, the fingers of his left hand touching nervously the armchair “I have been mistreating you only because my pride was hurt, I have acted like a man without means and courage.”

You parted your lips but he interrupted you before you could even begin.

“Please, let me finish, I have felt from the beginning a prominent fondness toward you. Your character and your kindness make you a remarkable person, you have the talent of bringing out the best out of most people, me included. But I have misread your ways and pointed your natural disposition to a form of romantic interest directed on me and our common friend Marcus Isaacson”

He was still excluding the possibility of you being attracted to him.

“I thought there was something behind it and I acted like a child instead of asking you directly, and I am ashamed for that”

You stared at him, a little smile creeping onto your lips.

“I think you misread only half of the situation Laszlo, as always you’re too unkind on yourself” you said gathering all the courage you had “because my interest toward you was honest while my relationship with Marcus is nothing by friendly”

Now it was Laszlo’s turn to be silenced, a new realisation creeping into his bones, a hope becoming a possibility.

“And is that honest interest still alive after my despicable ways?”

Your smile grew pulled by the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Maybe” he interrupted. He didn’t want to wait for your answer, your smile spoke for you “maybe we can further bring this conversation to Delmonico’s, tonight, just the two of us”

Your smile grew bigger, his eyes shining for you.

“It will be my pleasure” you answered only, not knowing a bouquet of carnations was already being delivered at your house to welcome you once you’ll be back.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved​ @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[youbloodymadgenius]

Nothing Left (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @geekandbooknerd 2k Writing Challenge. Congratulations again, Hayley, you deserve each and every one of us 🌻

The gif is a dead giveaway: this piece is an angsty one 😬 Sorry about that but I feel like I can’t write fluff all the time 😉

Prompt in bold

Thanks to @zuxiezendler for beta reading this for me (hope you don't mind Hayley, but since it was for your challenge... 😉)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Leaving Ivar is not an easy task.

Warnings: angst; Ivar's temper; physical assault (no harm done, though); Freydis is beautiful; no happy ending (you've been warned).

Words: 2089

Crutch – right foot – left foot – crutch – right foot – left foot

You can hear him coming. Of course, you can.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He's not yet in your shared bedroom and he's already shouting. Instead of turning around, you grab the little carved wooden wolf he gifted you many years ago and put it in your pouch.

As he stabs the wooden floor with his crutch, you can physically feel his anger. "You thought you could sneak out? Uh?" You know his jaw is clenched, and he's probably shaking with rage.

"This is what you intended to do, admit it!"

You just scoff. No, you didn't intend to sneak out, not in your wildest dreams. Not with White Hair's men everywhere, night and day.

A thump – his fist hitting the table, you'd say – and then a roar.

"ANSWER YOUR KING!!!!!"

Glancing over your shoulder, you give him a tired, defeated smile. You don't want to fight. You never wanted to. "What does it look like to you, Ivar? Do you really think I'm trying to sneak out? Of course, I'm not."

"Rumors are false, that's what you're saying?" He snorts and, taking two more steps into the room, he joins you. "What's that, then?" He gestures angrily toward a wooden trunk, filled to the brim with your belongings, mostly dresses and a few jewels.

"I'm leaving, if that's what rumors say, Ivar, I'm just not sneaking out." You speak softly while closing the trunk.

A wide-eyed look on his face, he can't hide his surprise at your easy admission but he quickly pulls himself together, straightening up and towering over you.

"You can't. I forbid you." Giving you an intimidating look, he grits his teeth.

You barely shake your head. There's so much sadness in your heart. "Of course, I can. I'm not asking for permission, you know? I'm leaving, whether you like it or not."

That's when he explodes, his bottom lip quivering. "I SAID, I FORBID YOU! FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL DO AS YOU'RE TOLD, Y/N! I. AM. YOUR. KING!"

His scream is so loud that you can't help but take a step back. But you don't lower your gaze. You won't. You can't. So, keeping your chin up, you inhale slowly. "And I'm still a free woman, Ivar. I'm leaving today."

You know the man you once loved is not going to make that so easy for you. So, you're not surprised when he grabs your wrist so firmly you can't shake him off. Tossing his crutch on the floor, he places his now free hand on your shoulder. Looking at him, you can tell you've rarely seen him this angry. Never releasing the pressure on your wrist, he throws you against the nearest wall so hard that the back of your skull makes a resounding "clunk".

He leans in close to you, his breath stinking faintly of honeyed mead, and presses the weight of his body against you. "You're not leaving, Y/N." He then moves his hand from your shoulder to your throat and the air is immediately stolen from you as you stare into his now darkened eyes. With your right hand still pinned to the wall, you only have your left to defend yourself. You're slapping him, clawing at him, but you may as well be tickling him with a feather – your scratches and punches have no effect on him whatsoever.

"I could kill you, Y/N. Maybe I should." The threat is clear, obvious, but Ivar loosens his grip just enough for you to breathe. He won't harm you. Not yet anyway.

Clearing your throat, you don't look away. "Maybe you should. It wouldn't be the worst thing for me, you know? One way or another, I wouldn't be here anymore."

Your words sting, you can see it on his face as he steps away, wobbling and dumbstruck.

Slowly leaning forward, you grab his discarded crutch before giving it back to him. "Here." You mutter before taking a seat on the bed. Ivar follows suit, flopping down next to you.

Blinking several times, Ivar is obviously trying to come to terms with what you just said. "So, you'd rather be dead than here? With me?" His voice is shaking and he fidgets with his fingers on his lap.

"Ivar, there's nothing left here for me… Nothing… We just don't understand each other anymore, you know that. I don't understand you anymore, Ivar. Since Wessex, you've changed so much…"

You've tried. You've tried very hard. But this man, this king, is no longer the man you fell in love with.

"It's about Sigurd, isn't it?" Ivar asks sadly, but you immediately shake your head.

"No Ivar, you know it's not. I told you, even though I wish you hadn't killed him, I understand why you did it. And I know you didn't want to."

"It's about my legs, then." His face suddenly hardens but you know him, he always hides his pain behind anger. "I knew it. I knew this day would come. You're tired of the cripple, admit it."

Without thinking, you grab his hand, entwining his fingers with yours. As much as you resent him for what he has become, you can't let him run himself down like this. " It has nothing to do with your legs. Your legs have never bothered me, and they never will. You're stronger than all other men, not in spite of your legs, but because of them. Actually, you're the strongest man I know, and I've always felt proud to walk beside you, or to be your woman. I forbid you to doubt it."

"Why, then?" Ivar is so soft now, seems to be so… broken, you have to remind yourself why you're leaving. You have to remind yourself of the horror.

Closing your eyes, you conjure up frightful images behind your eyelids.

"You killed Margrethe, Ivar. You didn't have to do that."

He tenses beside you, releasing his hand from your grip. "She was talking rubbish all the time, she was spreading rumors about me, you know that!!"

"She was insane, Ivar! She was no danger, neither to you nor to anyone. And as for the rumors, I'm loud enough for people to know that you can pleasure a woman. She was harmless, and you killed her, and that, Ivar, I can't understand. And then, you did worse. You killed Thora." You can't help but wince, the stench of burning flesh still so vivid in your mind, you'd swear it's real.

Fuming, Ivar points an accusing finger at you. "She defaced my image. She was plotting behind my back. She was conspiring, criticizing me. She saw me as a tyrant while I was just trying to rule well. She was a FUCKING DANGER!"

Startled by his shout, you stand up hastily. "You burned her alive, Ivar!! You burned her entire family. Asbjorn, her brother, had not yet seen his tenth spring. And you killed him!" You know he can see the disgust on your face, and the truth is, you don't care. He deserves your disgust. He deserves your contempt. He deserves you falling out of love with him. "Thora was your brother's lover and she was my friend and you burned her alive!!! How could you?" Your hands tangled in your hair, you shake your head, still barely able to process the horror of what he did.

"And what was I supposed to do, huh?" Ivar seems unshaken, and it strengthens your resolve. He doesn't know between good and evil, not anymore. You want to reply that he could have exiled her, or had her thrown in jail, but to what end? What's done is done, and your former lover is a monster now.

"It doesn't matter, Ivar… What matters is that you're like a stranger. I don't know who you are anymore. Since this girl, you've changed." You shrug, blinking back tears.

Ivar rolls his eyes. "So that's what it was all about? I can't believe you're jealous, Y/N. This girl… It's just a... thrall"

Oh gods! There's none so deaf as those that will not hear, right?

"I'm not jealous, Ivar. She was naked on your lap, but I'm not jealous. Or maybe I was, but it doesn't matter anymore. And I don't give a damn about what or who she is. But she was whispering nonsense in your ear, and since then you've changed. I don't recognize you anymore. You're no longer the man I loved, Ivar..." Your words are genuine, your heart full of sorrow.

Still sitting on the bed, Ivar tilts his head. "You... You can't leave me, Y/N. What... What will I do without you?" His quivering voice sends shivers down your spine. But you won't change your mind. This man in front of you, unsure and insecure, is nothing but a ghost of who he once was. The boy you loved is gone. Dead. Killed by his inner demons.

Swallowing, Ivar slowly stands up, and frowns when you step back. "Y/N," he speaks again, reaching out but to no avail as you stubbornly put your hands on your back, "you're the person I don't need to explain myself to – not when it matters. You see everything I am and you don't run away from it. I... I can't do without you."

Your eyes filling with tears, you shake your head. "I can't be this person anymore, Ivar. I've tried, but I can't. I don't know you at all anymore. You've become the monster that people thought you were. You're paranoid, and narcissistic, and self-centered. You're cruel, and mean, and fearsome. I won't lie, sometimes I still see a shadow of the man – the boy – you used to be. But most of the time, what I see in your eyes is something scary and unfamiliar. I have said it before and I will say it again. I don't recognize you anymore, Ivar. I don't know who you are. You've done terrible things, which I cannot and will not forget and forgive. That's why I'm leaving." Pointing to the trunk, you bite the inside of cheek until it bleeds. "I'll send someone to get it later."

Heading out, you don't wait for his answer. There's nothing he can say that is going to change your mind.

Yet, you stop in your tracks when he calls your name, "Y/N!" his voice sounding like a wounded animal. Slowly turning around, you can see a single tear running down his face. "Please..." He begs and it kills you, because Ivar the Boneless doesn’t beg; never begs. For a fleeting moment, your resolve falters. Maybe you can still save your love. Maybe you can bring back the man he was. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe...

And then, a shadow slips between the heavy doors of the great hall and you recognize the thrall. She's undoubtedly beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Flawless.

Without even according you a glance, she walks with a confident stride and as soon as Ivar sees her, you can tell you cease to exist for him. Enthralled, he watches her every step, a sparkle dancing in his eyes.

Tears flow on your cheeks, but it doesn't matter. You were right.

This is the end.

It's like torture but you can't bring yourself to walk away. So, you watch. You see Ivar closing the gap between them, inviting her to sit down, pouring mead into a cup and handing it to her. "How are you? I've been thinking about you." You feel like you're going to throw up as you see the smile on his lips; as you realize how easily he forgot about you.

His next question nearly kills you. "Are you married?"

You can't believe your ears. You can't stay here anymore. You can't breathe.

You don't want to hear her answer. You know what she will say. And at this moment, deep down inside, you know he will marry her. Of course, he will. He will marry her because she will always be willing to whisper in his ear what he wants to hear.

A blond woman, attractive and seemingly submissive – you know better, but Ivar doesn't –swaying her hips... That's all it takes for Ivar to forget you.

You. Can't. Breathe.

You won't die here from a shattered heart, though. Your pride won't allow it. So, stumbling, your head spinning, you walk away, your fist in your mouth to keep you from screaming.

You were right. There's nothing left.

Nothing.

🛡⚔️🛡

@geekandbooknerd @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace

[voiceless-terror]

Recognition

@aspecarchivesweek Day Five: Something New

Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Season One

In which Jon and Martin are more alike than they thought.

Jon, in spite of himself, was starting to get used to Martin living in the Archives.

Offering him shelter had been almost instinctual- after listening to his story, who wouldn’t? Terrorized for almost two weeks and no one, no one noticed. There was also the matter of Jon’s guilt; Martin thought he needed to put himself in danger to be thorough, to please Jon, and now he was homeless. Jon owed him this at the very least. No matter how much Elias disapproved of the situation.

And despite the occasional trouser-less wanderings, his presence was...appreciated. Late nights in the Archives were wearing him down: the statements were getting to him, and the unshakeable feeling of being watched when he knew he was alone was putting him on edge. Now he can blame that feeling on Martin, who he’d caught staring on more than one occasion. Jon was not surprised; he hadn’t been looking or feeling his best, highly unprofessional with his three-day stubble and rumpled clothes. Not a good look.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t enjoy the cup of tea when Martin joined him in his worst bouts of insomnia. He would sit on the tiny couch in his office, nursing his own mug and chattering away in a low tone that Jon was starting to find soothing instead of irritating. At first Jon clammed up, uncomfortable with the sudden intrusion on his late night routine, but he soon found Martin didn’t expect him to respond or contribute, save the occasional grunt of acknowledgement. Sometimes Jon even craved the company, the familiar rhythms of Martin’s voice had become an unconscious comfort. 

Tonight he was looking particularly exhausted, slumped in his seat with deep purple bags under his eyes. It sent an unwelcome pang through Jon’s chest; Martin should be sleeping, not entertaining him because he chose to stay late. He said as much.

“You don’t have to stay up on my part.”

“Hm?” Martin looked up from his lap, eyes finding Jon’s. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I like the company, to be honest. Unless…?”

“I don’t mind,” Jon assured him. Shockingly, he found he meant it. Still, it didn’t ease his guilt. Martin was always here, never leaving the Archives for more than an hour to get food or other necessities. He considered his next words. “That being said, I hope you know you’re allowed to have a life outside of the institute. I won’t judge if you want to have a...late night, or go out. It’s not my business what you do in your free time.”

Martin squinted his eyes as if he didn’t understand the words Jon spoke. Christ, do I really seem that out of touch? He knew he could be severe and well, a bit of an ass at times. The stress of the job got to him more than he cared to admit. But he didn’t want his assistants to think they should follow his example. He was Head Archivist, it fell on his shoulders to get this place in some semblance of order. 

“I’m not really one for nights out, Jon,” Martin gave that familiar, self-deprecating laugh as he leaned back in his chair, an almost defeated-like set to his shoulders. “Well, besides the occasional drink with Tim and Sasha. And even those are sort of...I don’t know. They have their own thing going, and I feel like-”

“A bit of an outsider,” Jon provided before he could activate his ‘word to mouth’ filter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“No,” Martin cut him off. “You’re right. Feels like I’m intruding.”

“Their banter can be overwhelming for the, ah, uninitiated.” On the few times he’d gone out with them in research, he’d felt more lonely than included. His awkward attempts at interjecting could make a conversation fall flat and he felt the need to accept every drink they handed in him the hopes of ‘loosening up.’ It never worked. They were never mean about it, no- or at least had the decency not to do it in his presence. 

“Tell me about it.” Martin gave Jon a tiny little smirk that sent his heart stuttering in his chest for no particular reason. “I’m used to it, is all. This isn’t much of a change in routine, worms notwithstanding.”

“You, er, don’t have friends you can meet up with? Or maybe a partner?” Christ, why am I prying? What’s gotten into me? Jon felt curious, the man practically lived with him and yet he barely knew him.

The bark of laughter he got in reply was sudden and more than self-deprecating. “A partner? Are you kidding me?” Martin’s tone threw him off-balance; it was jaded, bitter, not like him at all.

“I didn’t mean to pry-”

“No, it’s- to be frank, I don’t think I’m cut out for all that.” Martin toyed with the mug in his hands, gazing into it like it held the answers he needed. “I’ve uh, tried to go on a few dates, meet people, that sort of thing. But they all expect something at the end and it just never feels right, I can’t explain it. Like there’s something missing. ”

Jon paused; the words and their sentiment were not unfamiliar to him. In fact, they resonated quite deeply, if Martin meant what Jon thought he did.

“It’s always been that way- I get a crush, I get to know them, they want to, y’know, and I-I don’t know what's wrong with me, but I can’t-” He cut himself off, sitting up straighter as if suddenly remembering where he was and who he was talking to. “God, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this-”

“It’s fine.” And it was. Martin looked at his hands and Jon recognized the sadness in the set of his shoulders, the lines etched in his face. He never thought the two of them would have much in common but that- that was a feeling Jon knew all too well. “I think I understand what you’re getting at.”

Martin somehow managed to deflate even further, curling up as if trying to disappear. “Yeah, well- I think it’s time to admit that I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.”

The words hit Jon harder than expected. His fists tightened in his lap; he was sixteen again, wondering why the kiss he stole in a backroom felt more invasive than intimate. He was reading romance novels, understanding the words but not the feelings they were supposed to invoke. He was in college, being called a ‘tease’ or a ‘prude’ when he pulled away at the end of the night. And it was all accompanied by that deep, crushing fear that he’d never be enough. 

No, you’re not that kid anymore. 

And Martin shouldn’t have to be either.

“What’s that look for?”

He was drawn from his thoughts at Martin’s words, looking up from the scratched wood of his desk. “Sorry?”

“You’ve- you’ve got that look on your face, like you’re const- like you’re thinking really hard.”

Jon tried to think of a way to word his query delicately, but ‘delicacy’ had never been his strong suit, according to Georgie. Come to think of it, it was never hers either. “Have you ever considered that maybe- that you’re- you’re of the persuasion, that is-”

Martin shot him a deadpan look, unimpressed. “Yeah, I know I’m gay, Jon.”

“That’s not-” He sighed in frustration, fuming at his inability to communicate. “It’s okay to not feel that way. I never have. It’s normal.”

Martin blinked. “Sorry?”

“Asexuality, that is,” he said, finally managing to get out the words. “I was...in a similar position, I guess you could say. I didn’t feel the way you were ‘supposed’ to feel, like how all the books and TV shows describe it. Zero interest in anything sexual, and I thought...well, I thought something was wrong with me.” Jon felt a lump building in his throat, much to his horror. “But being able to put a name to it, an identity, it just felt right.” Martin’s face was unreadable- had he spoken out of turn? Did he have this all wrong? 

He tried to clarify. “What I’m trying to say is that I know what it’s like, that...feeling you described. But it doesn’t mean you’re not cut out for love. You...you shouldn’t have to feel that way about yourself. You’ll find people who accept you. You’re not doomed to be lonely.” Now you’re just getting sentimental. Jon wasn’t one to dole out advice. He attempted to reign it in, get himself back on solid, familiar ground. “Maybe don’t take me for an example, though. I assure you, my isolation is very much self-imposed.”

Martin didn’t laugh. For a brief, panicky moment Jon thought he might have offended him, assumed the wrong thing, taken him out of context. But Martin met his eyes and Jon saw it- a look of dawning understanding, of comprehension and knowing and as much as Jon wanted to look away he couldn’t, because for the first time in a while he thought he might have said the right thing. 

_____

He watched as Martin puttered about in the break room and took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. Martin hadn’t said much after their conversation, just thanked him in a choked voice and mumbled some excuse about going off to bed. Jon felt a bit conflicted- he now had time to ruminate on the conversation, pick it apart and wonder if he said anything wrong. He didn’t think he had, but his instincts had been proven wrong before.

Still, the thought of helping one person, sparing them from that crippling self-doubt and inadequacy, made any embarrassment or awkwardness well worth it. So here he was, shuffling his feet and holding a stack of paper, stapled and neat and in some cases, annotated. He cleared his throat and Martin turned away from the sink to face him.

“Oh, g-good morning, Jon.” He wiped his hands on a dish towel, throwing it lightly on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

He’d gotten two hours tops on the lumpy couch in his office. I need to invest in another cot. But he nodded anyway, walking forward and thrusting the pile out for Martin to take. Martin looked down at it quizzically but took it all the same, his face softening as he flipped through the pages.

“I, um- I printed out some articles that I thought might be of interest,” Jon rambled, feeling more awkward by the second. Was this too forward of me? “I’ve always found it easier to read on paper instead of the screen. For ah, concentration purposes. This- this isn’t required reading, or anything. Just might be helpful for, uh, figuring things out.”

Martin didn’t look up from the pages in his hand, instead zeroing in on them with a more intense stare. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with sincerity. “Thanks. It uh, it means a lot.”

“Yes,” Jon replied nonsensically, having no response to the emotion in Martin’s words. “You- you don’t need to talk to me about this, if you’d rather not. But I’m available if you’d like to.” He paused. Best to keep this somewhat professional- it was almost nine. “Outside of normal working hours, of course.”

“Of course,” Martin echoed, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he finally met Jon’s eyes. He fought down the urge to smile back, instead muttering an excuse and turning to flee the room. I think I’ve filled my emotional quota for the week. 

They don’t talk about it again, but a few days later a sticky note appears on his desk. Thanks- MB. Underneath the clear script he’d doodled a small flag- black, grey, white, and purple. 

Jon puts it in his right-hand drawer next to an old polaroid of the Admiral, where it stays.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782318

[spencers-renaissance]

Moreid Drabble

Prompt: something angsty with embarrassed!spencer, for @casparwrites

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Spencer knows this isn't going to go well for him the minute Emily opens her mouth.

She'd invited them round to hers for dinner and drinks after work, and although Hotch and Rossi had been invited, they'd both declined the invitation, likely in anticipation of exactly what had happened: wine turning to shots, and pleasant conversation devolving quickly into gossip.

Spencer hadn't minded at all at first. She'd ordered in from a Thai restaurant he happened to love, and sitting round in a comfortable, spacious living room chatting with his best friends is hardly a regrettable situation to find yourself in. So he allowed himself to relax, drinking almost as much as everyone else and joining in with all the conversation around him.

Besides, the red flush on his cheeks from the wine meant he could stare at Derek a little more overtly and not risk having his blush immediately clue everyone into the crippling crush he has on his colleague.

But then Emily suggests playing Never Have I Ever. In Spencer's experience, both drinking games and party games never go well for him, and he has no reason to believe this will be any different.

That's not true, he tells himself sternly as Emily and Penelope start mixing the cocktails. Parties at Caltech and MIT were a world away from a small gathering of five people who love and accept him for exactly who he is. This will be fine. Everything will be absolutely fine.

And for a couple rounds, it is. They laugh at the drunken escapades the game allows them to relive — they all know far too much about one another for the game to really reveal any new information in that regard — and Spencer learns far too much about his coworkers' sex lives.

(He also learns that Derek has slept with a man. Interesting.)

No one's really surprised when Spencer doesn't put his finger down for any of the wild sex-related Never Have I Ever statements that the others come up with, because everyone knows that while they may have had their late teens and early twenties to let loose and party at college, Spencer certainly didn't. Nobody says anything, but he can feel Derek's eyes on him, and he's trying really hard not to blush.

They play happily for quite a while before it happens, and Spencer's settled into a certain kind of comfort, he's been lulled into a false sense of security, because it hits him like a truck when it happens.

"Never have I ever kissed someone," Derek says boldly; loudly, shutting down the quiet chatter and giggles from around the circle until all that's left is the 90s Hits CD they'd put in playing in the background.

The thing is, he's looking right at Spencer. In fact, everybody's looking right at Spencer, and all of a sudden there's blood pounding in his ears and his face is burning a red so fierce he knows there's no way to play this one off, because Derek's suspicion is right, dammit.

He's dizzy with the humiliation, sick with the fact that even this — this family he's found, these friendships he's built — even this isn't safe, and is he ever going to actually be able to feel that safety and allow himself to enjoy it? Will he always be waiting for the other shoe to drop? Is he simply destined for these soul-sucking moments of utter embarrassment and humiliation and anger and sadness to happen wherever he goes? Is he that unlikeable, that unloveable, that everybody, even kind and compassionate people like Derek Morgan, has the urge to humiliate him?

Before he knows what he's doing, he's stumbling to his feet and running down the hall to the bathroom barricading himself inside before he can have a panic attack in front of his friends team. The wine that just moments ago felt pleasant in its gentle buzz in his bloodstream suddenly feels sick and heavy at the bottom of his stomach and he breathes in deeply to calm himself down.

His head is spinning and he's trying not to cry, and all he wants is to disappear because he's gonna have to face them again, there's no way to get out of the house without them seeing, oh God, they're gonna—

Before his thoughts can spiral any deeper, there's a heavy knock at the door, and Derek's deep voice is pleading with him through the painted wood.

"Pretty boy? Can you open the door for me?" he asks, and Spencer can hear the desperation and urgency in his voice. "I'm so sorry, kid, I'm so sorry. Listen, I know you're in there, just let me in, okay? I just wanna apologise."

Spencer takes another couple of deep breaths, trying to still the spinning bathroom in his vision before facing Derek again. Eventually, after a couple of minutes of deep breathing and Derek's intermittent pleas, he manages to bring himself to open the door, revealing his pitiful friend in front of him.

"Pretty boy, listen, I really am so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, and I shouldn't have said what I said," Derek says, gazing imploringly into Spencer's eyes. "I was just curious but I went about it in the wrong way and ended up embarrassing you, and that's the last thing I meant to do, you have to believe me—"

Spencer isn't sure what compels him to do it, but Derek is rambling and Spencer is staring at his mouth and the pretty shapes it makes when he talks, and before he knows it, he's surging forward and pressing his lips against Derek's mid-sentence.

It's so brief and chaste he doesn't give Derek any time to react, because he's quickly pulling away as horror fills him, his blood turning cold. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I can't believe I did that! I don't know—"

He doesn't get any further in his apology, because Derek's leaning back in, slower this time, more deliberately, and kissing him again, taking his jaw in one hand and his waist in the other as Spencer's hands come up to rest on Derek's strong chest. He's being kissed like this is the last time Derek will ever get the chance, like the sun won't rise in the morning and this is the only time their lips will ever be pressed together like this, and it's dizzying, this time in a good way.

When they finally pull apart, Derek looks desperate and serious as his eyes flick between meeting each of Spencer's, and he can't stand him looking or feeling like that any longer, so he says it. He admits the feelings he's had for Derek since he first met him.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

Derek melts in relief as a big smile works its way onto the lips Spencer just kissed. "Thank God, pretty boy, because I reckon I've been waiting even longer."

Somehow, Spencer doubts that, but he smiles anyway and leans in for another kiss because right now all he wants to think about is how the first person to ever kiss him was Derek Morgan, and how he never wants anybody else to ever do the same.

There'll be time for playful bickering in the morning. There'll be time for a lot of things come morning, and Spencer just can't wait to see what it'll hold.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist)

[mrsmalfoymagic]

Card Five

I didn’t take long to find its owner. There seemed to be a force between the two of us to always find each other in a crowd. Like gravity pulling me to him.

And as my eyes made their way towards the fireplace, finally catching glimpse of Remus Lupin hunched into the heat, lost in a book as he always was, I began to blush. 

I put down my own and tried to delicately approach as to not startle him. He had a reputation for being clumsy, and - whilst holding a novel beside an open fire, I didn’t like his chances.

“Uh, Remus.” I announced quietly. He jerked his head up, face filling with crimson as he acknowledged me.

“Y/n. Hi.”

We’d only ever spent any length of time around each other at the library where we’d reside solitarily during our free periods or stupidly late hours. We were never ones for small talk, so outside of class I don’t believe we’d had a single conversation. In fact, I don’t believe I’d ever even heard him speak.

My face replicated the same blood red as his and I squinted awkwardly, holding up his card to inform him of our fates.

“I picked you.”

“Oh. Alright. I suppose we should go.” His accent was strong and educated, but anxious and timid. He stood, brushing down his robes and poising himself straight, shadowing over me and blocking the cloud of warmth crackling behind him.

His manner was polite as he assisted me through our classmates towards the cupboard. I had expected nothing less than chivalry of him. We were library partners, but never confirmed it through spoken – or even written word. The only exchanges placed were little smiles from above our pages, stealing glances between our world-escaping plights. Like perfectly placed bindings in time. Baring ourselves at our peak vulnerabilities to share in each other’s entertainment.

Despite the immensity of its size, we’d somehow know to not stray too far apart in the library; subconsciously finding our settlements a few tables apart, but always managing to achieve a perfect opposing line of vision; allowing the ability to master responses to new books or topics by the speed in which we completed them, the oftenest of locking eyes, or - in Remus’ case - if he’d fall asleep against the spreadeagle spine; something he seemed to do a lot.  

No, I didn’t know him, admittedly, but from these - our shared moments, I had come to recognise enough of his behaviours to learn he was wise above his age, caring and loyal beyond measure.

Yet somewhere, I sensed a fragility. Like a goose-feathered pillow hiding deeply an explosion that didn’t have a specific means of detonation.  

 He lit up the room as we entered. The door which Sirius and James were ardently protecting locked behind us and my cheeks burnt with nervousness. This wasn’t my usual idea of fun, but keeping myself under the radar with my classmates, I consenting to participating. And who better to face the music with than Remus Lupin. Without even knowing the remainder of cards still yet to be drawn, he was the best of all outcomes. I’d already made my silent connections with him. He’d become a peaceful existence in my life. But I wasn’t used to these interactions and felt lost in the realisation of this game’s objectives.

So as much as my inexperienced-self wished, there was no cowering behind books in here.

“Hello.” He grinned, again barely uttering. His cheeks expanded broadly through his expression and I couldn’t help but giggle. He was a charming discovery, to say the least. And despite my trembling fingers clasping behind my back, I felt safe.

“Any closer to finishing that book?” He took a step towards me, “I couldn’t help but notice it was a hardship.”

“Not at all. It’s my Astronomy class. Ironically, I feel I’m learning less the more I read about it.”

Another step closer.

“Perhaps I could help. What part are you studying?”

“Selenography. The moon.”

His smile widened and he was now upon me; directly in my space; his brogues hitting the tips of my own. There was a new glint in his heavy, restful eyes. No doubt his lack of sleep was from staying up all night reading new books.

“I know a thing or two.” His voice was gentle, almost seductive.

What I couldn’t help but note was his odour – crisp pages and the incense of ink. He had ash residue on his robes from the spitting logs, and I could still smell the fire against him. It was addictive and was guaranteed the blame to my momentary out of character response.

“You’re still talking about my class, right?”

I couldn’t believe it - it just came out. I shocked myself realising I was flirting.

He reacted coolly but tilted his head with a squint of curiosity.

“No, I don’t believe I am.” His expression suddenly shared the same self-intrigue as mine. We were both flirting.

Taken aback by his own response, he tried a subtle retreat, but began to stumble over his robes; hobbling backwards to catch himself until eventually, with a small grunt, landed harshly against the door with a shocking bang.

He was intelligent and adorable beyond compare, but heavens, was he uncoordinated.

“Damn it.” He cursed, gripping on the doorframe to support himself upright.

“You two alright in there?” Sirius yelled out on the adjacent side of the door with a few determined knocks.

“Yes.” Remus replied loudly in an irritated mortification and lowered his face into his palms. 

I watched him for a moment, a glint of pity against the reassuring smile I had pinned to my lips in case he looked up. Until suddenly, and unexpectedly, I started to laugh.

It was provoked by shyness and pure embarrassment, I was sure - feeling the knot cripple me into submission and before I knew it, I was wiping the tears out of my eyes and steadying myself against the stone wall.

“Sorry.” I breathed, believing my response was humiliating him further. But, as my hands fell back to my sides, they grazed at the form of Remus, who had now approached me again.

I looked up to find his manner bothered. His eyes blinked harshly as he considered himself.

“May I?” he asked, lifting his hand, and holding it upright towards my cheek. I nodded, keeping my eyes firmly on his fluttering ones.

Using the stub of his index finger, he carefully tucked the falling wave of hair behind my ear. Exhaling in relief, a new smile formed upon his full lips, like he had just performed a task of great difficulty.

“I can’t do justice to the full expression,” He muttered kindly whilst still admiring the tiny details of my facial outline, “But you have an entrancing effect on me.”

His fingers were now lacing around the curls against my shoulder, inspecting the silky texture.

“You aren’t to understand. I would never expect you to.”

After half a minute of combing at my hair and being lost in reverie, he gulped away a forming sorrow before lowering his head on his shoulders.

”I wish it were as simple as telling you.”

I pinched at his chin and lifted his face to find mine once again, showcasing the similar smile I had previously.

“Then show me.” I said softly.

In any other setting I would be out of place with these interactions, but with Remus, it all felt natural.

He considered my words for a moment and the seriousness of my focus against his almond eyes, before finding my hand.

“Are you ready for your first Astronomy lesson?” his lip ticked to a short smile.

I nodded innocently and allowed Remus to direct me out of the closet and begin heading towards the Astronomy tower.

 We walked in silence, making sure to hide in the shadows of the halls and columns whenever we suspected a prefect or professor was heading our way, before at long last we made it to the highest point of the castle. The Astronomy tower was webbed with rails and structures, architectural beams lined the extent of the room. A brass sundial pointed outwards towards the cloudless evening. Golden and intricately detailed telescopes were poised at all four corners of the open bays.

Other than the basic tools to marvel at the heavens, there was little as far as interior to the tower – its masterpiece of course being the view it held - displaying full range of vision to every area of Hogwarts including as distant as elements of the Forbidden Forest.

 Staying adamantly in the darkness of the room, Remus issued me towards the centre directly in front of the magnificent global display, illuminated by the full moon now baring down from the midnight hour and in through the widest, banistered opening which welcomed a deadly, multi-story drop.

“Lesson one.” He started, wandering in the pitch blackness. His voice rippled through the tower, “The moon is separated into three parts. The light, dark… and grey.” He hesitated.

“I’ve been studying the light side. You know, the part we can see through a telescope.” I informed naively.

“Right. And the dark is not all that important. The grey area, however, is what I want to talk about.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“For good reason.” I lost him in the night, but could sense the trouble in his tone, “So before I tell you, are you absolutely sure you want to know?”

I shuffled in my spot, a sense of discomfort overcoming me but nodded; knowing that – despite not seeing him – he had firm eyes on me.

“Then rest assured, whatever the outcome, I won’t hurt you.”

The suddenness of the claim trickled unease against my spine. What was I doing here? What was Remus going to do?

That feeling of safety never seemed to slip away but I knew with any ounce of logic, I should never have followed him here. And, as a group of footsteps and voice came from the entrance, these newcomers felt the same too.

“What are you doing? Have you gone barmy?” Sirius Black yelled out as he fully emerged into the room, tailed closely by the two final Marauders, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. They’d clearly chased us here from the party, knowing the suspicious activities Remus was due to perform.

“Moony, don’t be stupid.” James insulted with a knowing attitude. It was as if they all had a sense of understanding of the situation. All except me.

I could hear the shuffle of feet ahead of me in the closest area of shade and knew Remus was before me.  

“Wait. I just want to try. Trust me.” His arms appeared from the distance and held out in a terrible attempt of reassurance, but he was unconvinced himself.

“In the castle? In front of her?” Sirius directed his attention to where I was stood, a wave of worry across his brow.

“You know what will happen if you take that step.” Peter reminded - his eyes focused on the blinding of the full moon upon the rest of us. I followed his sights, still trying to piece together this encounter.

“I’ll handle it. I’m ready.”

Remus took a single step closer making way towards the lit-up ground. James, unannounced, lifted his wand and licked his top lip anxiously.

“You know I don’t want to hurt you.” He recoiled, his wand ready and pointed, and face contorted in anguish.

“You won’t have to. I promise. Y/n…” he found my hard and intense eyes. I could feel it.

“Remus, what’s going on?” I pleaded; my tremoring hands now unable to settle.

“Y/n, get behind me.” Sirius stood forward, reaching over for my hand, “Now.”

I didn’t take it.

“Let’s all just calm down, alright.” Remus was more impatient, “I think I know what prevents it. I can stop this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, y/n.” James warned, his hand tightened on the wand still firmly fixed on his friend.

“Before you.” Remus resumed, “Before I ever met you, I was dangerous.”

The sound of another shuffle.

“Lupin – “ Sirius cautioned lowly, now standing in front of me to shield me.

“- Let me finish.” His voice was irritable now, feeling the hostility of the room become dense in his breath, “I was terrified of myself. The darkness inside was overwhelming. I began to go the library to distract myself. I thought it a good place to escape. It was safe, away from prying eyes. Away from who I really am; a monster.“

“- Are you sure you want her to know?” Peter questioned. Remus ignored him. And so did I.

“You’re not a monster, Remus. I at least know that about you.”

My voice was begging, filled with panic and honesty. I heard a half-hearted sigh.

“When I saw you, everything changed. I finally felt at ease.”

He took a slow step towards the light and we could at last see him. His eyes were low and his expression solemn. The boys stirred.

“And over time I slowly realised it had nothing to do with where I was at all. I’d found comfort in where you were. So -”

As he was about to take the last move into the direct beam of the moon, Sirius jerked forward.

“Really think about this, Remus. What this will do.”

Remus pursed his lips together defiantly and took a brave inhale through his nostrils, before moving aside, burning himself in the glow.

The boys all flinched and reacted in alarm. For a moment they seemed reassured as nothing happened. Remus’ eyes remained closed and face deep in concentration.

We all stared onwards, my breath heavy and out of sync.

Then out of nowhere, Remus’ body began to seize, an agony crippling him in half. He began to cry out in pain, his voice becoming hoarse from the scream.

Sirius’ stance against me widened as he paced forward, and with a confirming nod to James, began to hunch himself over. I was frozen in disorientation; completely useless to help him because I had no clue what was causing any of this. James had not fired any spells; Sirius had not flung himself at him yet. There was no logical explanation for his reaction - his turmoil. Or even theirs.

“Remus, I’ll have to change.” Sirius looked over his brow at him, bracing himself.

“No!” Remus desperately reached his arm out, preventing him. He fell to his knees, soaring in twitching intensity.

“Y/n, you really ought to go.” Peter said with a quiver in his voice as he approached me.

“She stays.” Remus wheezed, “She needs to know.”

And suddenly I did. Like a jolt of lightening to my system. Him saying that - I knew. I finally knew.

The library. The restless sleep. The grey part of the moon. Somewhere in my subconscious I had read it during my studies. This was it - his detonation.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

“Remus, this is ridiculous. James!” Sirius looked to the wand, but before James could do anything, I had bypassed the chaos and, fuelled by unprecedented compassion, made way towards Remus.

Kneeling before him, I rested my hand against the trembling, vein-popping one gripping at the cold floor. Sirius aimed for us, but Peter held his robe and pulled him back, suspecting my intentions.

“Remus, you don’t have to prove this to me. This isn’t who you are.”

He was looking down, begging for release from the boiling against his skin.

“I can control it, I swear. I just –“

He was letting go, being defeated by the pain of his harsh reality - his disbelief that he was anything other than a violent beast. He thought bringing me would make him see that it wasn’t true - that he could command it. But now, with the magnitude of celestial torment against his back, the strength of his curse running through him as thick as his poisoned blood, he couldn’t stop it. It was overbearing the test he so desperately wished to pass. He wanted to stand in front of the moon, and for once, be human.

And I understood it now. It all made sense, it always had – our ties together, our purposes for being so close without uttering a single word, being calming presences for each other. Why we were so drawn to one another. The control, the distraction. He couldn’t master it himself.

 Maybe all of this was never his choice to make.

 Maybe it was mine.

 Under my palm, I could sense the stubble of hair bursting from his pores and nails expanding to ferocious claws.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t - you have to go.” He admitted in surrender. I felt the air thicken behind me as the three friends prepared for a battle once this would inevitably get ugly.

I shook my head and grabbed his in my hands, allowing the risk of his free forming claw to attack at any given moment. But I trusted him. As he said, he wouldn’t hurt me. And I knew it.

I stole his eyes, begging into them to see me. His were squinted in terror, budding with tears. His lips trembled in fear and sincerity.

“I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

My throat pulsed with adrenaline filled oxygen and just like that, my lips crashed onto his. It was painful and severe and with purpose. His skin was white hot, but it was fragile all the same, filled with desire and need, and a magnificent vulnerability.

I could feel the twitching against his mouth, the irregular beat of his heart as my arms found their way around his shoulders and to his back to comfort him in an embrace.

Suddenly, his own cupped around me and stole me into his whimpered stature. I gasped, and clenched my eyes shut – for a moment I had thought he had fully transformed and was initiating an attack. But I began to feel warm, gentle hands, with gracious tips and no sharp talons.

He was softening in the hug, returning to his own senses. His skin was cooled and still, his bones stopped vibrating, and the boy I had so deeply considered, so earnestly cared for was back.

 “How in the fu-“ James mouthed, slumping his arms to his sides, and dropping his wand. Sirius looked over to him, finally able to let out a bewildered breath that had left him since the beginning of this confrontation. Peter stared on with a cheery, relieving laugh.

Remus refused to let me go, and I could feel his content as he wrapped me up in his body. I began to smile through his kiss pressed safely against my own. He pulled away, watching me with admiration.

We both stood, Remus still encasing me in his cuddle, and as we both finally found steadiness from the sting of the concrete floor, he noted the moon still highlighted across my face.

Swallowing in anticipation, I awaited his response.

“I knew it.” He exhaled brokenly, still sore and shaking his head subtly in disbelief as he stared intently at me.

“Not clumsy.” I giggled tenderly, brushing the flustered strands of hair away from his clammy temple, “Just a little reckless.”

He pecked at my forehead before lowering his to mine, “Thank you.”

 “Uh, hello?!”

We both stared back at the friends now inspecting the pair of us in befuddlement.

“I told you to trust me.” Remus squinted from the unaccustomed brightness and teased a smirk.

With murmured cursives, they all approached, playfully retrieved Remus, and tackled him under the hue of the full moon, completely free of the fear that had devastated the entirety of their friendship. At last, but not knowing how long or how guaranteed the freedom, they weren’t looking to the night sky to determine their friend’s fate. Or even their own. The conversation could wait, for now they wanted to savour it, and by the looks on all their faces, they certainly were.

 After the ruckus, Remus took my hand and aided me back to the room of requirement where the party had died down, and students were dispersing to their dorms.

“I can finally have a night off from your wolfy shenanigans.” Sirius joked as they all gave quick exchanges of farewells; James tapped me on the back gratefully while Sirius winked his thanks. Peter ruffled up Remus’ hair before the three of them headed back to their own rooms with new skips in their steps.

 As I swivelled to face him, ready to declare my own goodnight after quite possibly the best, craziest and most mentally exhausting night of my life so far, Remus had made way towards the other end of the small area that we had spent the larger portion of our evening; back at the grand fireplace to retrieve the book that had been awaiting his return. The flames were still high, and the room dimly-lit. He glanced over at me with a look of pure welcome.

The reality was, I didn’t want to go to my dorm. Not one bit. I was finally able to be alone with Remus tonight, for its majority had been plagued with self-loathing and misunderstanding. Now, stood against the heat of the room with a look of unimaginable adoration, I couldn’t resist enjoying his company longer.

I came to, inviting myself into his space and ran one hand up against the chest of almost tattered robes while the other caressed against the top of his fingers clutching his book.

He raised his brow with a cheeky expression.

“No more funny business. How about you just… read to me.”

He stole a light approving kiss and ushered me to sit beside him on the large sofa. Wriggling my way below the arm he now had raised for me to rest under, he skimmed the pages and creased spine to find his place in his story.

He gave me one last check, beaming with appreciation, and comforted himself into my embrace.

“The day had finally arrived. After four years in the waiting, the infamous Robert Grimshaw would return home. Whenever the appropriate occasions called, the locals would greed themselves on talk of him - his woeful story, and his inevitable demise. Whispers were regularly made of his return, often retold, and largely falsified…“

I settled in, feeling my heavy eyes lower into a soft slumber against Remus’ low beating heart.

It was turning to be a quiet night and at long last for Remus…

 Peaceful.

[nakhiphop]

how john calvin helped me figure out that i have obessive-compulsive disorder

Drowning. Dying alone. Small holes grouped together. We all have a “worst fear.” Mine? Being forsaken by God.

Among the cornerstones of Christian doctrine is the concept of “salvation,” or the state of being pardoned from the consequences of sin- the direst being separation from God. The equation is simple: the saved enjoy Heaven, the unsaved go to Hell. Though the Bible partly alludes to “Hell” as a place, I personally think the essence of Hell is God’s absence. In other words, Hell is where God isn’t (and conversely, Heaven is where God is).

Since the beginning of my faith journey, I’ve always feared that my faith was phony, or I mistakenly equated an emotional spiritual experience as evidence of salvation (it isn’t). Essentially, I was afraid of being unsaved… or worse, forsaken by God due to all my sinning. The sermons I remember most are based on precautionary Bible stories suggesting that God allows the heart to become hardened by habitual and intentional sin (Exod. 7:3, Rom. 1:28)- a habitual and intentional sinning that I believed I was guilty of.

“How could a real believer continue to look at pornography?” “How can a Christian have such cruel intentions?” “How could a regenerate mind still harbor thoughts of unspeakable depravity?” I’ve examined the evidence at every thinkable angle. And the more I assess and reassess the fruits of my living, I notice deeper corruption with every inspection, fortifying my conclusion: despite my many failed attempts at repentance, I’m no Christian. God has forsaken me. I’m damned.

For those of you unfamiliar with the contemporary Christian worship service format, there is often designated periods of time in which the speaker invites the non-believing attendees in the audience to dedicate their lives to Christ. In some churches, the speaker invites the non-believer to physically stand at the foot of the stage, heightening the symbolic impact and solemnity of the moment (there’s a lot of other reasons why we do this, but that’s for later). This “altar call” signifies the moment(s) of transformation. The moment(s) the soul is reborn. The moment(s) of salvation.

A Billy Graham Crusade, Greg Laurie’s Crusades, like two or three different youth summer camps… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone up to the altar to dedicate my life to Christ.

Throughout my journey, I have discussed with every spiritual mentor my persistent fears of being unsaved. Though each of them had their unique style about them, every response was sewn with a common thread: I need to accept God’s grace. 

“Grace,” you ask? Christian “grace” is receiving from God any good thing that is undeserved, unearned, and unmerited. For example, the salvation I was speaking of earlier is an act of God’s grace; in other words, being “saved” is a gift of God- no particular action that I can (or cannot) do makes me worthy (or unworthy) of God pardoning my sins (Eph. 2). Through gentle counsel, I gradually discovered that my perception of God might be contorted, and I have adopted illegitimate conditions of salvation contingent upon moral performance (or lack thereof). “Legalism,” they call it. And for Christians, that’s baaaaad.

Though this truth made sense in my head, I still doubted my salvation and continued to reevaluate my life, respond to every altar call, repeat every sinner’s prayer, fast, pray... nothing worked. I often heard that a “peace that surpasses all understanding” is a sign of God’s exploits. I frankly don’t even know what peace means- can’t say I ever felt it. Ever. What’s wrong with me?!

In my mid-20’s, I was introduced to the Reformed Theology of the Protestant Reformation and the writings of John Calvin and his contemporaries. Since sentience, I was inculcated with Christian ideas so though discovering nothing “new” about God through the eyes of the Reformers, I believe I began to see aspects of God more correctly. Aspects such as God’s sovereignty, His elect, His predestination- concepts I previously thought little of. However, in exploring this new perspective, the pivotal realization that God’s absolute sovereignty could mean that God ultimately decides who goes to Heaven or Hell, made me uneasy. I have even heard statements to the effect of: “whoever God saves, He will save, no matter what that man does.” This, in Calvin’s terms, is called “irresistible grace.”

To my devastation, this also implies that whoever God doesn’t choose to save cannot be saved (no matter what he does), like Esau who cried bitterly but was unable to repent (Heb 12:17). I believed that this explained my perpetual feelings of being unsaved: perhaps I was just not destined to be saved. No matter what I did. I can’t be saved. It was God’s plan since the beginning to forsake me.

(Sorry in advance) This skewed interpretation really ****ed me up. My mid and late twenties was the darkest night of my soul, spawning crippling seasons of debilitating paranoia, and brooding creative projects (“I don’t need your help I’ll be okay. You’re too late to save me anyway.”). I pleaded for God while simultaneously believing that His face was turned away. In this perceived absence, I felt I was truly in Hell.

In 2020, I had somewhat of a psychiatric breakdown. The simultaneous resurfacing of past paranoias, the unravelling of new heartbreak, and a looming sentiment of doom created a perfect storm of hopelessness. I began to manifest profound physical symptoms like unilateral weakness, clonus and fasciculations, insomnia, and seemingly progressive loss of muscle function. My knowledge as a nursing instructor abetted catastrophic self-diagnoses and obsessive fixations upon my symptoms, convincing me that I was literally dying in August of 2020. Social media fueled my panic, forcing me to abandon my online networks and isolate from the world. But while I was alone, I did nothing but think and re-think. Examine and re-examine. Assess and re-assess. I didn’t sleep much.

*Takes a deep breath* Let’s skip ahead. Not long ago, I decided to seek therapy. In therapy, I discovered something that would change my life.

I strongly fit the criteria for obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

There are different variations (I have specific ones I won’t get into now) but the gist of OCD is the alternation of “obsessions” and “compulsions.” An obsession is a repeated, intrusive thought. A compulsion is performing a certain action in response to the thought. Like many people, when I think of OCD, I think of irrational fears of asymmetry and disorganization, a fear of contamination or uncleanliness, or peculiar habits like checking the stove ten times before leaving the house. Then it hit me…

Wait. That IS me.

But there’s more to it. A compulsion to an obsessive thought doesn’t necessarily mean a physical action. It could be a mental action- in other words, certain thoughts (or “triggers”) invoke certain mental responses. For example, in the “religious” or “moral OCD” subtype, whenever a person commits a morally reprehensible act, their mental response is the crippling fear that they have angered a deity (or questioning their salvation), and their physical response could be persistent, ritualistic behaviors of absolution (like confessing sins to a priest, reciting religious incantations, participating in religious ceremonies [like altar calls]). Then it hit me…

Wait. That IS me.

Suddenly, the agony of being unsaved since a youth, my tireless self-diagnosing and fear of imminent doom, my habit of checking doors, lights, air-conditioners, faucets, and burner controls several times before leaving the house, my meticulous perfectionism and punctuality, my obsession for cleanliness and organization, my strict minimalism, and a slew of other unmentionable problems that causes me to overthink, catastrophize, and agonize… it all makes perfect sense now. I’ve had OCD since I was kid.

With this new discovery, I realize that I am saved. I do believe I am swallowed by God’s grace! But my obsessive-compulsive tendencies have been berating me since the beginning. There’s still a lot I need to figure out. My journey has only begun.

Before I wrap this up, this discovery opens major questions. I would love to hear your opinions:

To what extent (if any) can mental health disorders be categorized as “spiritual warfare?”

Why do some sects of Christianity tend to diminish the plight of mental health disorders?

Why are mental health disorders especially stigmatized among some Asian-American Christians?

Aaaaand that’s how John Calvin exposed my OCD. Now you know the story behind “faith and paranoia.”

nak.

[reinerispretty]

beneath the moon. (sokka x reader) pt15

OH WOW okay so because i felt so bad about not updating this for...two weeks? this chapter is extra long. i’m talkin over 5,000 words long. it is also my apology for not updating in so long teehee!!! 

pt1

pt14

pt16

“Friends get excited to see each other,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t know about you, Aang, but my friends don’t normally kiss me on the cheek when they see me.” Aang laughed as he steered Appa, but Sokka’s expression was less than exuberant. (Y/N) knocked her shoulder against his. “I’m just teasing,” She said lowly, so only Sokka would hear. “I think you guys-“

(Y/N) scrunched her nose in distaste. “This is Lake Laogai?” The place that Joo Dee had mentioned numerous times and Jet had said he had been taken to be brainwashed seemed rather…underwhelming. It was just a lake, albeit an expansive one, with blue green water and a beach surrounding it.  Sokka nudged her side with his elbow. Although she knew he was standing right beside her, the feeling of his touch startled her. She could feel her heartbeat thundering against her chest.

“Come on, Princess. Not everywhere can be a brilliant ice palace.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“I get that, but if they’re going to say that a bunch of people go here for vacation all the time, the least they can do is make it look nice. Did they just think no one would come out here to visit?”

“I think it looks just fine,” Toph said as she strolled past the pair. (Y/N) and Sokka gave her a disapproving look that was completely lost on the young girl.

“All I’m saying is having a few beach chairs wouldn’t kill them. I mean, have you seen the Earth King’s palace! He could definitely spare a few coins.”

“I honestly doubt the Earth King knows this place exists,” Katara said.

“What a chump,” Toph said. She walked to the very edge of the lake and knelt down to the ground, her small hand hovering above the sand. “There’s a whole cave underneath the lake.” With one swift earthbending move, she exposed a platform with a large, round entryway at the end. She moved its cover to the side, and their large group hovered over it and stared into the dark cavern below. Jet went first, since he was leading the group, and Aang followed closely behind. The rest of the group followed one by one until eventually, they were all in the underground cave.

“There should be a cell large enough for Appa up ahead,” Jet whispered. “Follow me!” He led them down the hallway, but (Y/N) found herself breaking away from the group. She stopped in front of a room, peering inside to see countless women being brainwashed. It broke (Y/N’s) heart that she could not help them right now. To rescue those women would be to jeopardize their entire mission and risk captivity.

Katara appeared at her side then, grabbing her by the hand and squeezing her fingers. “We’ll help them,” She whispered, a reassuring Katara smile on her lips, and (Y/N) nodded in agreement. She just wished they didn’t have to pick and choose who they could save.

They reached the room where Appa would have been. (Y/N) could see large shackles on the ground in the dim light, where he probably once was, but then she heard the door being earthbended behind her. Instantly, she and her friends realized they were being surrounded. Dozens of Dai Lee agents dangled from the ceiling, and Long Feng stood at the center of the room with a look of harsh disapproval on his face. (Y/N) knew that the entire time she and her friends had been in Ba Sing Se, he had been trying to intimidate and manipulate them, but she still found herself unafraid of his presence. The agents hanging down from above certainly unsettled her, but Long Feng was like every other tribe elder that had told her what she had done throughout her entire life was wrong. If she had an opportunity, she’d like to toss an ice ball at his face.

“You’ve made yourselves enemies of the state,” Long Feng said, and just as (Y/N) slowly inched her fingers toward the cap of her water satchel on her hip, she was forced back, her wrists clamped against the wall by a Dai Lee agent’s rock glove. She cried out in pain, feeling an uncomfortable sensation in one of her wrists.

“(Y/N)!” She heard Sokka shout, just as Toph released her with one movement and knocked a Dai Lee agent into the wall with another. (Y/N) felt the anger rise within her and with a swift flick of her wrist she started to waterbend, but the crippling pain in her wrist nearly caused her to scream. “Are you okay?” Sokka asked, suddenly at her side. His boomerang was poised in his hands. He took her wrist in his hands, his long fingers wrapping around the already bruising skin. (Y/N) couldn’t find the words to answer him. He stared at her with furrowed brows and bounced on anxious feet, eager to join the fight but remaining with her for a reason (Y/N) couldn’t piece together.

She started to panic. She needed to help her friends, but fighting with waterbending was the sort of thing she had to do with two hands, and Katara didn’t have time to quickly heal her wrist. When she finally pulled her eyes away from Sokka’s, she caught a dark green figure running toward them. She pushed Sokka behind her with her good hand and swiftly lifted her leg up high into the air, her water following its direction, and kicked forward. The stream of water followed exactly what she had intended for it to do, hitting the Dai Lee agent harshly and sending him flying backward into the rock wall.

When (Y/N) turned back to Sokka, his eyes were wide. “That was amazing!” (Y/N) grinned at him. Sokka threw his boomerang at an agent coming from her blind spot and the two spent the remainder of the fight watching each other’s backs.  

The fight against the Dai Lee agents continued, but (Y/N) was quickly getting better at waterbending with her legs. It felt a bit unnatural. Waterbending was about moving the energy through your body, and this transference of energy usually took place within your arms and hands. Very little of the whole body was used in waterbending, but she was still able to help her friends with what she could do, and that was all that mattered to her.

Aang and Jet had followed Long Feng as he fled into another room. It took a while for the remainder of the group to subdue the Dai Lee agents, but by the time they had and reunited, they came upon a grave situation. Jet lay on the floor with Aang by his side. Katara rushed to him and immediately started the healing process, but (Y/N) recognized the scared look on her friend’s face that told her it wasn’t working. (Y/N) looked down at Jet, whose face was soft with acceptance, and felt a tug at her heart. This wasn’t fair. Nothing about this war was fair. Innocent people shouldn’t have to die simply because they want to make the world a better place.

She clenched her hands at her sides, feeling the pain in her wrist but ignoring it. Much to her surprise, Sokka placed his own hand over her fist. (Y/N) refused to look up at him, but she refused to pull away.

They resurfaced as their original group. Jet’s friends, Longshot and Smellerbee, had chosen to stay with him. Although she hadn’t known him long, (Y/N) still shed tears over the loss of Jet’s life. She and her friends had felt too much sorrow for a group of kids. It seemed like it would never end. And the Dai Lee agents standing on the beach nearly confirmed this fact.

“Do you think we can outrun them?” Sokka asked Aang as the agents surrounded them on all sides. There was nowhere for them to run to.

“I don’t think it’ll matter,” Aang said. As he finished his statement, Momo landed on his shoulder, chittering loudly in Aang’s ear. “What is it, Momo?” The lemur monkey soared back into the sky, where a large shadow blocked the light of the sun. Appa dropped to the beach, a hefty groan coming from his chest, as he began blowing the agents away with his own airbending. Toph and Aang used earthbending to send the other Dai Lee agents soaring through the air and into the lake.

“I’ll handle you myself,” Long Feng growled, but Appa was too quick for him. He took Long Feng in his mouth by the leg and flung him into Lake Laogai. (Y/N) and her friends cheered and rushed forward to hug the sky bison.

---

Their group had flown to a small piece of land within the lake to rest. (Y/N) sat on the ground with Katara kneeling beside her as she healed her wrist. Toph laid on the ground beside them, her arms tucked behind her head and her eyes closed, face tilted toward the warmth of the sun. Aang had stuck by Appa the entire time they had been there. (Y/N) figured she wouldn’t have wanted to let Appa out of her sight either, if she were in her shoes.

Katara smiled at (Y/N) as she finished healing her. “Should be good as new in an hour or so.” (Y/N) thanked her friend and rotated her wrist. It was sore more than anything now, but the pain had completely disappeared.

“Listen, Katara, I’m sorry about-“ The pained expression on Katara’s face cut her off. (Y/N) bit her bottom lip so hard until it bled. She was still learning how to comfort people who weren’t Yue.

“It’s okay,” Katara said quietly. “I’ll be okay.” (Y/N) smiled, because Katara was right, as she often tended to be. If there was anyone who could handle any challenge thrown at her, it was Katara.

A shadow stood in front of them, blocking the warmth of the sun from the girls. Toph groaned from her position on the ground. “You’re blocking my light!”

“Look, I think we need to head to the Earth King right away and tell him about our plan. We’re on a roll!” Sokka said.

“I hardly think one good hour is a roll,” Katara said.

“I’d say it was a good forty-five minutes,” (Y/N) added. Sokka rolled his eyes at that.

“Whatever it is, we can build on it. We need the Earth King’s support if we want to invade the Fire Nation in time for the eclipse.” Katara shook her head.

“Sokka, Long Feng controls the city. His conspiracy with the Dai Lee is too powerful. I say we fly away and never turn back.”

“I’m with Sweetness,” Toph said. “I’ve been wanting to get out of here as soon as we step foot in this place.”

(Y/N) frowned. As much as it pained her to agree with Sokka, she said, “But we can’t just let those people suffer at the hands of Long Feng. The quicker we expose him, the quicker this whole Dai Lee business can be over. Those women down there can go back to their normal lives.”

“And since we have Appa back,” Aang said, “There’s nothing holding us back from telling the Earth King about everything. The conspiracy and the war.”

“See!” Sokka said, a bright smile on his face. “Aang and (Y/N) are on my side!”

“I guess if the Earth King knew the truth, things would change…” Katara muttered.

“I don’t like new positive Sokka,” Toph grumbled. As they decided what steps to take next, Sokka noticed ships floating across the lake.

“That’s probably the Dai Lee searching for us.” He turned to Katara. “So?” She narrowed her eyes in determination.

“Let’s fly.”

It was a horrifying flight on the way back to Ba Sing Se. With no saddle, everyone had to hold on to Appa’s fur for dear life. (Y/N’s) wrist was still weak, so her grip kept coming loose as she held on. Sokka reached for her, clasping her hand in his so she had an easier time staying on. (Y/N) felt her face grow warm. This was the second time Sokka had held her hand in a day. She hated that she was reading too much into it despite herself. He’s just trying to be a good friend, she thought. “A good friend,” She repeated quietly, because sometimes hearing the words out loud made them seem more real.

“There it is!” Sokka shouted as they flew over the Inner Ring of Ba Sing Se. “That whole thing’s the palace! The Earth King’s chambers must be in the center!”

“We have to be careful,” Katara said. “Long Feng’s probably already warned the Earth King that we’re coming.”

“What makes you say that?” Sokka asked. “I bet from now on it’s gonna be smooth-“ His sentence was interrupted with a shout as a giant boulder flew past them, narrowly missing him.

“What was that?” Toph asked.

“Rocks!” (Y/N) shouted back.

“More incoming!” Sokka called. A boulder came directly at Aang, but he broke it with one swift move of his hand. He rushed forward and sliced through another boulder with his staff, landing on the ground and creating a harsh seismic wave to knock the rest of the soldiers off of their feet. Appa landed behind him and the rest of their team immediately jumped to the ground.

(Y/N’s) wrist was still sore, but she felt reinvigorated from the break she had with her friends and the success of getting Appa back. She and Katara both formed waterwhips with their hands to knock soldiers out of their way. “Sorry!” Katara called to the guards. “We just need to get through to see the Earth King!”

“Katara!” (Y/N) groaned. “They’re attacking us! You don’t have to apologize to them!”

“I just want them to know I’m not trying to hurt them!” As she said this, (Y/N’s) waterwhip wrapped itself around a soldier, lifting him into the air and slamming him down into the ground. The other guards that had surrounded him scattered in fear. “(Y/N)! They’re on the same side as us!”

“If they’re not holding back, why should I?”

They ran to the stairs of the palace, which Toph and Aang turned into a ramp, causing the remainder of the Earth Kingdom guards to slide down the steps. Aang and Toph then earthbended their group up the ramp to the main entryway of the palace. After a few mishaps, they finally found where they were supposed to go. “Through there!” Sokka shouted, and their group ran through the large, ornately decorated double doors that led into the Earth King’s throne room.

Convincing the Earth King that there was a war happening outside of the walls of his city was no easy task. The Dai Lee had destroyed their cave under Lake Laogai, disrupting their plan of showing King Kuei that evidence. It was only when they finally showed him the Fire Nation drill, still sticking halfway through the outermost wall, that he had started to believe they were telling the truth. He had Long Feng arrested for conspiracy and his office searched and agreed to give his troops to help fight the Fire Nation.

As their group was celebrating this massive victory for their cause, one of the generals entered the king’s quarters. “Your majesty,” said General How. “We searched Long Feng’s office and found something that would be of interest to everybody.” He set a box down on the king’s desk, opening it to reveal dozens of scrolls. “Secret records about everyone in the city, including you kids.” He handed Toph her scroll first, who passed it to Katara to read.

“It’s a letter from your mom! She’s in the city and wants to see you!” And Toph smiled the brightest smile that (Y/N) had ever seen.

“Long Feng intercepted letters from home? That’s just sad.” The General then passed Aang a letter that had been tied to Appa’s horn when he first came to the city. It was from a guru at the Eastern Air Temple who offered help on learning how to control the Avatar State.

“Is there anything for me?” (Y/N) asked, peering into the box. General How pulled out a thinly rolled scroll with her name written on it in small letters. She unrolled it, with all of her friends except Toph looking over her shoulder to see what it said. (Y/N) rolled her eyes as she finished reading it, tearing the letter to shreds.

“What was it?” Toph asked.

“A marriage proposal,” (Y/N) grumbled, crossing her arms. It was another proposal from Hahn, the very same person that had been engaged to her sister and who (Y/N) had punched in the face. It seemed he was bent on gaining access to the throne of the Northern Water Tribe and would do whatever was necessary to obtain it. Even if it was pestering her with another lousy proposal.

“Are you…Are you gonna accept it?” Aang asked, and (Y/N) scoffed.

“Of course not!”

“Is there anything for us?” Katara asked the General, who solemnly shook his head.

“But there is an intelligence report.” He passed it to Katara, who unrolled the scroll and read it with her head pressed against Sokka’s.

“A small fleet of Water Tribe ships,” Katara read aloud, “Protecting the mouth of Chameleon Bay…Led by Hakoda—It is dad!” The siblings hugged each other in their excitement.

It was decided then, after finding out about the different paths they could each go on, that it would be best if the group split up. Toph would reunite with her mother, Aang would travel to the Eastern Air Temple, Sokka and Katara could go see their dad, and (Y/N) supposed she would remain with the Earth King. Someone had to, after all, and it wasn’t like she had received any urgent letters from her own family. The rumors about the state of her tribe that Jet had told her settled in an uncomfortable pit in her stomach, but she didn’t want to ruin the chance of Sokka and Katara reuniting with their father.

“If I’m going to the Eastern Air Temple,” Aang said, “I can drop you off at Chameleon Bay to see your dad.”

“Someone has to stay here and help the Earth King plan the invasion,” Sokka said with a sigh. “I guess that’s me.”

“No, Sokka, I know how much you wanna see Dad. I’ll stay,” Katara offered.

“I could stay,” (Y/N) countered. “I didn’t get any urgent messages or have any family members to see.”

“But didn’t you say things weren’t going well back in your tribe?” Toph asked.  

“Well, yes, but-“

“We could use the military help from the Northern Tribe,” Sokka said, stroking his chin. “And if the Princess goes back there, we could convince them to help!”

“Then it’s settled!” Katara clasped her hands together. “Aang will drop off Sokka and (Y/N) at Chameleon Bay. There, they can take a ship back to the North and work on gathering more volunteers!”

“Katara, I can really stay, I don’t mind!” Part of (Y/N) was eager to go back home and deal with these throne challengers, but another part of her dreaded the idea of going back. It had been so long, and she had wanted to escape from the Northern Water Tribe for so long.

“No, it’s a great plan!” Katara smiled at her friend, who sighed and glanced at Sokka. His own eyes were cast her way and a soft smile rested on his lips.

A few hours later, they were preparing to say their goodbyes to one another. (Y/N) gripped onto Katara tightly as she hugged her, feeling stupid tears welling at the backs of her eyes. The trip to the Northern Water Tribe would take weeks, so it would probably be months before they saw each other again. Katara pulled away from the hug, her own eyes shiny. “Take good care of my idiot brother, okay?” (Y/N) laughed as she wiped away a stray tear with the heel of her hand.

“Your majesty!” An Earth Kingdom soldier approached their group. “A group of female warriors are here to see you. They’re from Kyoshi.”

(Y/N) heard a thud and then Sokka was on the ground, when just a moment ago he had been on top of Appa’s back. “That’s Suki!”

“You know these warriors?” The king asked.

“Oh yeah. The Kyoshi Warriors are a skilled group of fighters. Trustworthy, too. They’re good friends of ours.” As Sokka finished his sentence, (Y/N) couldn’t help but remember just how good of friends he had been with Suki, that night on the Serpent’s Pass. She inhaled a deep breath and forced a smile to her face. Despite her jealousy, she really liked Suki, and was disappointed that they wouldn’t get to see each other.

“Then we will treat them as honored guests.” The Earth King gave a final bow before marching back into the palace.

“I’m really gonna miss you guys,” Toph said, rubbing the bottoms of her feet against the bare rock. (Y/N) wrapped her in a hug.

“It’s not going to be for long!” She reassured her, and before she knew it, Katara had joined their hug, then Aang, until finally Sokka wrapped his arms around all of them. Then (Y/N), Aang, and Sokka climbed into Appa’s saddle and took off into the sky. Their journey to Chameleon Bay wouldn’t be that long; less than a day at most.

“It’s a bummer we couldn’t see Suki,” Aang said. “You’re probably super disappointed, huh Sokka?” Aang smiled up at Sokka innocently, but both he and (Y/N) knew exactly what he was insinuating. (Y/N) looked at Sokka, curious to see what his answer would be.

“Yeah, you guys were pretty close when we were on the Serpent’s Pass.” She knew she was pressing his buttons, but annoying Sokka distracted her from the annoying jealousy she felt. He rolled his eyes.

“Friends get excited to see each other,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t know about you, Aang, but my friends don’t normally kiss me on the cheek when they see me.” Aang laughed as he steered Appa, but Sokka’s expression was less than exuberant. (Y/N) knocked her shoulder against his. “I’m just teasing,” She said lowly, so only Sokka would hear. “I think you guys-“

“Speaking of excited!” Aang cut her off, having not heard that she was talking. “You haven’t seen your dad in two years! You must be so excited!”

“I know I should be, but I just feel sick to my stomach,” Sokka said, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“I’m sure your dad will be excited enough for the both of you. What’s he like?” (Y/N) rested her chin on her kneecaps to listen to Sokka’s description of his father.

“Well he’s just like me, super intelligent and smart with ruggedly good looks-“

“Intelligent and smart are the same thing.”

“Stop interrupting! Anyway, he was chief back in the Southern Water Tribe, but he kind of passed that role onto Gran Gran when he had to fight the Fire Nation. The last time I saw him he could only stay home for a day, but he spent the whole day playing with Katara and I. He’s a great dad.”

“He sounds really nice.” Sokka smiled at her, resulting in her own smile.

They landed at Chameleon Bay under an hour later. Sokka and (Y/N) said their goodbyes to Aang before walking along the beach to where the men of the Southern Water Tribe were camped. (Y/N) couldn’t help her own nerves. Besides Sokka and Katara, she had never met anyone else from the Southern Water Tribe before. She worried that they would think less of her because she was from the North, where their practices were very backwards.

“Do you think they’ll help me?” She asked suddenly. Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Our two tribes haven’t exactly had the best communication over the years. Why should they help me if my tribe hasn’t helped you all? I mean, we’ve been completely complacent in this war besides what happened a few months ago.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Sokka said. “To convince your tribe that this is a cause worth fighting for! And by doing that, you’d singlehandedly be helping my tribe and the rest of the world.” (Y/N) gulped, not only from the circumstances but from the fact that Sokka had just laced his fingers through hers. “If you’re scared about them not liking you, that’s all you have to say.”

“I’m not scared of that!” (Y/N) snapped. “I don’t care what people think of me.” Sokka snorted.

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He tugged on her hand to lead her forward to camp, but was still holding it as they stepped foot inside.

“Sokka, good to see you,” one of the warriors said, and Sokka gave him a pleasant nod before heading to the war tent. (Y/N) pulled her hand from his as they approached the entrance.

“I’ll wait outside so you guys can have a proper reunion,” She stretched out her hand. Was it possible to still feel someone’s touch after they were done touching you? Sokka hesitated in front of the door flap and (Y/N) rolled her eyes, giving him a hard shove forward. “Go!”

She waited outside the tent for a few minutes, wringing her hands out of nervousness. So maybe Sokka had been just a bit right: she was scared of the people of this tribe not liking her. She was royalty of the Northern Water Tribe, after all. As far as (Y/N) knew, when Sokka and Katara’s tribe had been raided over the years, her tribe hadn’t offered any help. They had locked themselves behind their high ice walls and refused to come out. If (Y/N) ever returned to her tribe to lead it, she wouldn’t be that kind of chief. She had seen how much pain there was in the world and she wanted to do everything in her power to alleviate it.

Sokka left the tent first, with a tall, tanned man following closely behind him. (Y/N) could see the resemblance almost instantly. The man held the same striking blue eyes that Sokka and Katara had and his build was nearly identical to Sokka’s. He looked at her with a soft smile that reached his eyes. “You must be the friend Sokka was telling me about. I’m Hakoda.” (Y/N) bowed.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sokka and Katara have told me so much about you.”

“(Y/N’s) from the Northern Water Tribe,” Sokka said, and she glared at him because she hadn’t exactly been ready to delve into that information just yet. He gave her a bright grin in return.

“Really! That must be a popular name up there, last I heard there was a princess in the North with the same name.”

“That, um, would be me.” (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. Hakoda’s eyes widened.

“Apologies, Princess (Y/N), my son neglected to tell me that you were royalty!” He let out a hefty laugh that all dads had in common.

“It’s really alright, I’m not much of a princess anymore.”

“Are you both hungry? Our camp was just about to eat lunch.” Sokka’s stomach grumbled, answering his father’s question. Hakoda led the both of them to the center of the camp, where logs surrounded the campfire. A pot of stew bubbled atop it as men stood in line to gather their bowls.

“I can get your stew for you,” Sokka said, taking (Y/N’s) bowl from her hands. “Can you find us a seat?” She took a seat at a log to the right of the campfire and placed her bag in the spot beside her to signify that someone would be sitting there. Sokka rejoined her just a few minutes later, speed-walking over to her as he wore a pained expression on his face. “These bowls get really hot!” He said with a hissing voice as he handed her one of the bowls. (Y/N) giggled.

Hakoda stood at the front of the beach, where all eyes could see him. “As many of you know, my son Sokka arrived at our camp today.” The men whooped and hollered for him and (Y/N) smiled at the light blush that dusted Sokka’s cheeks. “He brought along his friend and our sister from the Northern Water Tribe, Princess (Y/N).” There were more cheers, but also whispers and murmurs passing through the camp. Suddenly it felt like every eye was on her as Hakoda took his seat beside on the other side of Sokka. Was she supposed to say something? Yue was always the one that addressed the crowds at any gathering, since she was the oldest.

(Y/N) gave a panicked look to Sokka. He placed his hand on her shoulder and stood, his fingertips just barely grazing her and he spoke to the men of his tribe. “(Y/N) and I came here to not only reunite with you all, but to ask for your help. If we sail a few of your ships to the North, we think that (Y/N) can convince them to contribute members of their own military to the war effort.”

“Sokka,” Hakoda said, his voice low in warning. “The Northern tribe hasn’t fought in the war for almost as long as it’s been happening. Do you really think you kids can do this?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath and stood. As she stared at the crowd of men, she thought of how Yue would act in situations like these. “A few months ago, the Fire Nation attacked the Northern Water Tribe. We were able to fight them off, but only because my older sister sacrificed her life to save all of us. I didn’t have much of a say in anything before I left home. I’m sure you’ve heard of some of our more backwards traditions. But I’ve seen what the war is like, what it has done to people and to our world. It is mine and Sokka’s belief that if we go back and tell them, whether it be through your stories or through mine, we can get my father and his troops to back us in this war.” She paused for a moment, her hands tightening in the fabric of her dress. “My people haven’t been good to yours, but I’m devoted to changing that. If you’ll let me.” She sat back down and took her bowl into her hands only to realize that they were shaking. Sokka took his seat once more.

“You did great!” He cheered. “You sounded so…so…princess-y! How did you do that?”

“Well I’m kind of a princess, if you haven’t noticed.” Sokka rolled his eyes.

“You sounded like a leader.” Hakoda leaned behind his son to smile at (Y/N).

A warrior approached them just a few moments later. “Hakoda, our scouts have spotted Fire Nation ships nearby!” All three of them stood as Hakoda began calling out orders.

“Bato! Get those mines loaded up! The rest of you men, prepare for battle!”

“What should I do, Dad?” Hakoda smiled down at his son.

“Aren’t you listening? I said, ‘The rest of you men, prepare for battle.’” He ran off to gather his armor and weapons. Sokka turned back to (Y/N).

“If I asked you to stay here, would you?”

“Absolutely not! There’s got to be some armor around here that will fit me.” He guided her through the camp to where the men were gathering their armor and weapons. (Y/N) had no training in anything other than waterbending, so she avoided the sharp objects and settled for pulling on the pieces of armor that looked like they would fit. Sokka helped her tie the straps and adjust her waterbending pouch on her hip. The armor was heavier than she expected, but (Y/N) hopefully wouldn’t be doing any physical fighting.

Once everything had been properly placed, she turned to look at Sokka. “Do I look ridiculous?” She asked, a light laugh following her question. Sokka looked her up and down, another blush rising to his cheeks as he shook his head and put on his wolf helmet. He and (Y/N) walked side-by-side onto the war ship where his father was waiting.

“I’m fighting too,” Was all (Y/N) said to Hakoda. He smiled.

“Happy to have you.” As they prepared to cast off from shore, (Y/N) filled her waterbending pouch with seawater as Sokka talked to his father. Then she heard a familiar groan coming from the skies and looked up to see Appa close to landing on the beach.

“Sokka…” (Y/N) said. He looked back and gripped his boomerang tightly.

“That can’t be good.”

---

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[backalley-requests]

The Proposal | Chapter Six

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of alcohol, use of the word cripple

Word Count: 2,989

The sun shined in and illuminated your face. You slept through it until the heat got too much to handle and you were suddenly blindingly aware of your headache. You should’ve drank more water the night before. You hadn’t changed out of your clothes from the night before, but that was the least of your concern.

You did your best to roll over but it didn’t protect you and eventually you had to realize sleeping wasn’t an option. You got up to take a shower before the realization hit you that you just slept in the same bed as your boss. It felt more personal than having kissed him at the party to prove a point. No one forced you two to share the bed, there had been no wandering eyes.

Ivar looked so peaceful in his sleep. You stood by the bed, staring at his face for entirely too long. It was one of the rare opportunities you had to just appreciate how beautiful he was. It didn’t hurt that he had softened up some the night before. Not enough to be considered a soft person, but in comparison to his usual antics he was. He had apologized too. But that was the alcohol talking.

At some point you realized it was all too creepy to stand by the bed and watch Ivar sleep. You wanted to take a shower but another thought crossed your mind: Ivar. He drank more than you had and you didn’t feel particularly good. You shuffled through a medicine cabinet for the next few minutes and grabbed a glass of water.

It was second nature to do things for him anyways. Besides, all he would do is complain if you didn’t. You were doing it for yourself. Mostly… you also had the quiet hope that maybe he’d stay nicer if you helped. You placed the stuff on the counter next to the bed and picked up the cane, you paused at his braces. You didn’t know much about it but you had the feeling he probably shouldn’t have slept in that. The issue was that touching it was a big no go.

You undressed and entered the shower. What you needed was the warm water to distract you from your hangover, but what you ended up doing was thinking. Ivar probably put up a lot more walls and fronts than most people. They struggled to remain up when he was drinking and thinking was hard. Maybe that was cruel on your end to encourage but he seems so much calmer. There’s no way he enjoys being high strung and an asshole. He was always so angry and annoyed.

But now you had a small taste for something else he could be. It was poor taste on your part, but you liked it. It felt different. A part of you wanted to chase after that. Your life would be so much easier if you succeeded. It would make marrying him so much more tolerable.

Your shower was cut short— and by short, it lasted one hour instead of the three hours you could’ve easily spent pruning in there. The sound of Ivar groaning loudly distracting you from your thoughts. “Ivar?”

“I—,” he stopped talking for a moment and you turned off the shower. “I need help.” His voice was pained and you realized everything had hit him at once.

“Coming!” You hadn’t heard him ask for help before and it made you want to drop everything you were doing without any hesitation. It was one thing to demand stuff and another for him to admit he needed things. You dried off and threw a robe on. “I put a bunch of stuff by the bed. I don’t know what you usually take.”

Ivar rolled his torso over, grabbing at things and opening a bottle of painkillers. “Did you put these here?” His breath was labored and his eyes narrowed, but there was no anger behind it, just intent.

You nodded your head. “I woke up with a headache, I figured you’d feel worse.” His face softened up for a moment and he took a gulp of water along with some pills. “They usually take about thirty minutes to kick in—“

“I know how long they take,” his voice was stained but the pain he was in didn’t stop him from snapping at you.

You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back from snapping back. “I’m just trying to make conversation.” You chose your words carefully. You understood, on some level, the type of pain he was going through. You understood the short fuse it came with and the eagerness to find release. “I’m being nice. Don't antagonize me.”

Ivar tried to sit up and undo the braces but struggled. You sat down on the edge of the bed and wordlessly started to undo them when his hand quickly reached down and went over yours. You paused, your eyes quickly finding his. “What are you doing?” He asked. There was a panic behind his voice.

“I’m— you wanted them off, right?” You weren’t going to push a touchy subject but it wasn’t good to keep them in forever.

He stared at you, conflicted. “I don’t want you to— well I—“ the conversation was constantly at a stop and go. Neither of you were good at navigating even normal conversations together, let alone one about this. “Fine.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head.

You undid the braces easily, being gentle about it. You didn’t know his level of pain or which areas were sensitive and if any weren’t. “Does it hurt,” your voice was quiet as you watched him. He didn’t seem capable of looking at you.

“Not anymore than they already did.”

“You just look stressed.” You sat and stared at his face. Ivar didn’t seem capable of movement. Maybe it was just pain.

Ivar took a deep breath and then sighed. “People don't usually react well to it. I guess I just don’t want to know what you look like when you do.”

Your face fell and your mouth parted as you tried to figure out what to say. You guessed that he’d been told everything you wanted to say already. If he heard them a hundred times and still felt this way it wouldn’t change. “You told me you don’t care what other people think. In the bathroom, the day you proposed.”

“You already know I do.”

“You’re not good at hiding it, Ivar. It’s why I told you the office sided with you. I never judged you for stuff like this, it seems pointless. I do judge you when you go around asking like an asshole,” you teased. “So why would I start now?”

Ivar chuckled quietly in response. “I don’t know. I can’t fire you anymore? You had a lot of things you wanted to say about me but never did until now.”

Fair enough, you shrugged. “And it’s always a direct result of you being a jerk. But I care about you regardless in some capacity. If I didn’t I would’ve stayed in the shower.”

“Did you just get out of the shower?”

“I— yes.”

Ivar winced as he sat up in the bed. His back against the headboard. He just noticed you were wearing a robe. “Are you naked under there,” a smirk cracked on his face.

“N—No,” your face was immediately flushed at the mention of it. Your hand went back to the robe. You should’ve just let him struggle.

Ivar raised an eyebrow. “So you shower with your clothes on?” He laughed at the idea of it.

“Fine! I am. But it’s rude to ask a lady if she’s secretly naked,” you were flustered as you laughed. “I got worried! What was I supposed to do, leave you?”

“I would’ve,” he shrugged.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” you gave him a pointed look. There was no way he meant that. Please. The thought echoed in your mind.

But you didn’t get an answer as he glanced down at his slack covered legs. No braces. “How’d you do that so easily? Don't tell me your stalker work extended to stuff like this.”

It never felt relevant to mention why until now, since he asked. “I used to play on my college soccer team until I completely fucked my ACL, and my meniscus, and shattered my left knee. I think the poor girl I collided with got it worse, but I don’t really knkw that. It was a gnarly collision,” you reflected. “But the point is that my left leg was completely broken until graduation. I used to wear a brace like that until it started getting better.”

At the time it sucked but Ivar made you realize you were lucky it was a temporary thing. “I have scars but I doubt they compare much to whatever you’ve got,” you laughed. “So I wasn’t about to start bitching back when you got rude. Cause I get it, it hurts.”

Your leg bounced nervously as you watched him. Ivar didn’t say much, his blue eyes locked on your face. “It’s a little rude of you to heal,” he decided to say. Your face scrunched up in confusion. “We could’ve been crippled buddies, but you had to go be some loser who can walk,” he laughed.

Your body relaxed at his laugh and you found yourself laughing too. “You’re totally right. I’m so sorry, Ivar. I’ll do better next time.”

It was a dumb thing to joke about but it felt nice. “Can I see your scar? I’d like to make fun of it,” he nodded his head to your bouncing leg.

You stopped bouncing it and swallowed. “Well. As you astutely pointed out earlier— I’m naked, Ivar.” Your eyes were wide. There was no real reason to feel nervous about that.

“If that was your way of convincing me it was a bad idea, rest assured it had the opposite effect,” he immediately closed his mouth. You stared at each other for a moment longer until there was a knock at the door.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” you smiled faintly as you got up. His mother entered the room and started to talk to Ivar. You couldn’t hear much of the conversation behind a closed door. Not that you could think much about it either. That cheeky bastard.

—

“I’m an absolute God at Mario Kart. You’re going to have to be a hacker if you want to beat me,” you smiled as kindly as you could manage. But your anger and determination was real.

Ivar was bed ridden, fair enough. You kinda liked the idea of just staying in bed the whole day. The honesty from earlier couldn’t be brought back due to an intruder, Hvitserk. Honestly, you liked him a lot more before learning he thought you were a gold digger. But it made more sense than reality.

Hivtserk was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the foot of the bed. Everyone had a controller in hand as he set up Mario Kart. “I’m still amazed Ivar let you in his bed at all,” he admitted.

“I’m his fiancée. He ought to,” you teased. You glanced at Ivar who rolled his eyes. You remember his earlier comment ‘you can stay on the floor’. “Besides, it’s utterly massive.”

You were quick to select Waluigi and found that Ivar got annoyed at the selection. “Ivar always picks Waluigi,” Hivtserk laughed.

“Aww, is that why he’s pouting?” You could be nasty when it comes to competition. “Learn to share or pick a new character. Because if you’re marrying me then I get Waluigi.” Your face was so serious about the topic.

“How is that fair!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. “You have such youngest-sibling energy! You’re a baby!” You cooed as you reached over, knowing that Ivar had to tolerate it.

But if you could play at that game then he could join. Your hand tried to touch his face and he used it as an excuse to pull you over and kissed you for a brief moment. It was your fault for establishing it was okay by doing it last night, but it didn’t stop your face from heating up as you pulled back. “I thought that’d shut you up.”

You glanced back to the screen, staying quiet for a moment. Why did that make your heart race when you knew he did it for show and prove you two were dating. This was especially true because his brother was here and already didn’t trust you. Hivtserk laughed at your response, “if only Ivar was so easy to silence.”

It threw you off. You got 5th place the first race and kicked yourself for it. “I thought you were supposed to be a God,” Ivar mocked.

Your eyes narrowed, “we have 4 more races. You won’t win another.” It brought back your competitive spirit as you focused on how annoyed you were. Anger was a good driving force and the game was a beautiful distraction.

Four games later and you smirked in self satisfaction at the top of the podium. “I told you, Ivar. You wouldn’t win another.” Hvitserk was just lucky to place considering how often he crashed. “I went easy on you since you already lost your character.”

“Oh shut up. Race me again.”

“I could still win!” Hvitserk insisted.

“You couldn’t even beat the simulation,” you snorted. “How can you beat me, let alone Ivar?”

—

The three of you played games, straying away from conversations. Others occasionally stopped by to try and talk but most left Ivar alone. They knew what he was usually like on his bad days but he was handling it better than usual. They blamed you but you knew better.

“They seem to really care about you,” you noted the moment you were alone with him.

“They’re family,” Ivar rolled his eyes, “they have to care.”

You nodded your head. “Still. You have people who do.” You were used to being alone by now. Seeing people in mass care like that was nice. You had friends but it was hard to hang out, you worked too much.

Ivar glanced at you, “well. They’ll care about you too.”

“For three years,” she snorted, “meanwhile Hvitserk thinks I’m a gold digger.” You weren’t sure why you cared as much as you did. But it felt personal to talk about. It wasn’t fun. Ivar looked away after your comment and ran his fingers through his hair. “We should set some ground rules,” you spoke up after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t expect you to kiss me earlier— I mean it’s fine. I kissed you last night. But I didn’t realize we’d just… do that now,” you bit your bottom lip. “It was smart. It makes us look real.”

He nodded his head slowly, “yeah well. I figured that was the goal.” It didn’t feel honest but you didn’t dare press it. Or maybe you were just wanting him to be lying.

“So, do we just dive deep into it? Hand holding, an occasional kiss, that kind of stuff? Just while they’re around,” you were quick to reassure. All of this felt like things that should’ve been addressed a long time ago.

Ivar shrugged and nodded his head again. “If my family is going to be interviewed I want them to believe it.”

“Then stop being a jerk then. To me at least,” you rushed. “Because you’ve been fine today but by now we both know I won’t back down. It just makes us look suspicious to be fighting and arguing all the time.”

To some extent you just liked him better like this. It was fun when his insults were over a dumb video game and not aimed at you not having a family. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “But— I want Waluigi next time.” A dumb trade, and one you didn’t want to make. You hesitated to agree to it and his eyebrow raised with great interest. “Does he matter that much to you?”

“I just hate conceding.”

Ivar snorted. “Maybe you’re more like me than you’d like to admit.”

“No I’m not!” You put your hand over your mouth after you said it.

“And you’re stubborn too,” Ivar tsked, shaking his head in shame at you. “If you were the boss I bet they’d call you a tyrant too.”

“You know about that?” You had assumed he didn’t. It just seemed like a thing he would’ve called out.

“Of course I know,” he rolled his eyes from where he sat on the bed. “I just ignore it. I’m used to people not liking me.”

“I like you,” you said instantly. It was the first time you vocalized the idea but it came natural in the moment. “When you aren’t trying to make me not like you, I like you.”

Ivar’s face got red and he scowled and looked away. “Well don’t.” It lacked the bite he usually had. It was hard to take seriously.

“Because you don’t care, right? Oh wait— you admitted that was a lie this morning. Why lie now?”

Ivar didn’t have anywhere to go after that. “It’s easier. This feeling is temporary. You’ll change your mind. I’d rather not feel worse about it later. You just think you like me.”

Your face softened and you sighed gently. “I’ve had more than enough time to develop a hatred of you. I think I’d know if me liking you as fake. We could be friends if you didn’t try so hard not to be.”

“Friends,” Ivar repeated and nodded his head. “You’re right. That’s what we could be.” His reply seemed off.

“Well then…” you trailed off. “Can we?”

“Can we what,” he asked, tired already.

“Be friends. I want to be your friend.”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowed at your face. “Fine. Maybe— it’s worth a shot at least.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @momowhoo

[prepare4trouble]

Idk if you ship Heahmund/Ivar but if you do, wanna write something with Hvitserk dealing with the fact that his brother is falling hard for a christian menace?

I don't ship them, but I thought I'd give this a go anyway. Unfortunately, it didn't go according to plan, and I ended up writing and re-writing it for over a week until I ended up with one single scene that... isn’t exactly what I intended to write. Still, I have to post it or I'll keep chipping away at it forever

Sorry if it's not what you were hoping for...

(Prompts are still open, by the way)

Seated on a bench in the hall of King Harold’s home, Hvitserk watched out of the corner of his eye as Ivar made his way slowly across the room. His brother leaned more heavily than usual on his crutch, his steps shorter and slower than they had been earlier in the day, and it was clear that he had spent too long on his feet.

Hvitserk knew why. He had been visiting the prisoner again, the Saxon priest that they had, for reasons known only to Ivar, brought back with them from England.

Ivar reached the table and carefully lowered himself onto the bench next to Hvitserk, but leaving some distance between them. He sat with his back to the table, then turned to meet Hvitserk’s eyes as though daring him to say something. Hvitserk declined the offer, and turned his attention instead to the cup of ale that sat on the table in front of him.

Hvitserk didn’t trust the prisoner. The priest had betrayed him once before, when he had left he and Ubbe bruised and bloodied before sending them back to Ivar as a message that there would be no peace between their peoples. It was a move that had precipitated the rift in their family, and even if he chose to believe that it had been fate, Hvitserk couldn’t help but hold the priest responsible.

Holding onto the table for leverage, Ivar leaned forward, grabbed one leg with his free hand, and hoisted it up onto the bench with his foot pointing toward Hvitserk. He began to unfasten the buckles on the leather straps that held the brace in place. “Problem, Hvitserk?” he asked.

“Uh…” Hvitserk picked up his cup of ale and downed it in a single gulp. “What?”

“You looked as though you had something to say,” Ivar told him. His voice was calm and measured. He looked Hvitserk in the eye as practised fingers continued to work on the straps. “Why don’t you just say it instead of grinding your teeth and glaring at me?”

Hvitserk tapped the back of a fingernail on the side of his empty cup, and considered the request. “Okay,” he said. “I will. He’s dangerous, and you shouldn’t trust him.”

Ivar’s fingers stilled on the final buckle of his brace, and his brows knotted into an exaggerated parody of a frown. A hint of an amused smile played on his lips. “Who are you talking about?”

Hvitserk scowled, not in the mood to play games. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“No…” Ivar shook his head thoughtfully as his frown deepened. “No, I do not believe that I do. After all, I know a great many dangerous people.” He paused, then smiled somewhat pointedly. “I am a dangerous person myself.”

“I was talking about the Christian, Ivar.” Hvitserk told him. “As you well know.”

Ivar gave him a dismissive shake of the head and turned his attention back to his leg. He unfastened the final strap, then winced noticeably as he removed the brace. He placed it on the floor next to the bench, near to where he had rested his crutch, for some slave to collect and return to his room later.

“Heahmund?” he asked.

Hvitserk scowled at the sound of the man’s name. “Are there any other Christians around here?”

“How would I know?” Ivar asked with a dismissive shrug. “Probably not, but we are in a new place. King Harold’s kingdom could be rife with Christians for all I know. Anyway, Heahmund is a sly one. He tried to convert me to his faith. Perhaps he has succeeded with somebody more weak minded than myself.”

“He…” Hvitserk found himself smiling at the idea of the Christian attempting to convert Ivar of all people. “Really?”

“Really. It did not exactly go as he had hoped.”

No, he imagined not. Hvitserk shook his head. “But that’s exactly what I mean. He’s dangerous, and not just because he will try to poison our minds against the gods. He would kill you without a moment’s thought if he believed that his god wanted it.”

“I know,” Ivar told him, apparently unconcerned by the idea.

“But still you carry on visiting him like he’s an old friend, talking to him for hours at a time. It’s almost as though you are infatuated with him. Almost like you’re...” he stopped as a realisation hit him.

“Almost like I…?” Ivar said, waving a hand in the air as he prompted him to continue.

Suddenly Hvitserk understood. He knew what was happening between his brother and the Christian. He shook his head, as though he could shake loose the thought, but it was stuck fast. Ivar really was infatuated by the Christian. Perhaps he even loved him.

“Hvitserk?” Ivar said. He waved a hand before his eyes mockingly.

Hvitserk blinked. He couldn’t say that, not with everything that it might imply. Not yet, not when he had no idea how his brother might react.

“You… like him,” Hvitserk said instead.

Ivar chuckled quietly under his breath, then turned his attention back to his legs. He moved his other leg onto the bench and began the slow task of removing the slightly more complicated brace. As he did, he shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Why else would you have brought him here? And why else would you spend so much time talking with him?”

“I brought you back, didn’t I? Ivar said. He winced in pain again as he released one part of the brace and got to work on the next. “He’s a great warrior, he has insight I can use. I find him interesting, that is all.”

“He’s a Christian priest.”

Ivar shook his head. “A bishop, actually.”

Hvitserk frowned. “And what is the difference?”

“I don’t know, but perhaps I could ask him for you, and then we will know. And that is why he is useful; it is important to know as much as we can about our enemies, wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

Hvitserk rubbed a hand wearily across his face and reached for a jug of ale. “He would happily kill you, given half a chance.”

“I know he would,” Ivar told him, “and that is one of the interesting things about him. But don’t worry, brother. He’ll never get that chance, and even if he did, he wouldn’t take it.”

That was not a promise that Ivar could make. Hvitserk frowned, unconvinced.

“It is true,” Ivar assured him. “I haven’t simply been talking to him, I have been slowly winning him over, convincing him that I’m not the monster he thought I was. I think he’s starting to like me, too. Anyway, he knows that I am the only person keeping him alive. If he did manage to kill me, you would have him put to death immediately, and he doesn’t want to die. If he were so eager to join his god, he would have tried to do so already.

There was an undeniable logic to Ivar’s argument, as usual. Hvitserk forced down a stab of irritation. “One of these days, Ivar, you’re going to make an assumption like that and be wrong.”

Ivar shrugged. “Maybe. But not today.”

“You should still be careful. Take somebody in with you when you see him.”

“Having an armed bodyguard present is no way to build trust. I am hoping that he will fight for us, remember? Do you think he would do that if he thought I was afraid of him?

“You told him you would crucify him if he didn’t. Don’t you think that is incentive enough to fight for us?”

“Perhaps,” Ivar shrugged, “But I would prefer it if he wanted to do it. That way he is less likely to betray me to my enemies. Besides,” he reached to his belt and removed a short but dangerous looking knife, I am not so stupid as to go in there unarmed. After all, as you say, he would happily murder me if his god asked him to, and I am just a helpless cripple.”

Hvitserk reached for the jug of ale and refilled his cup, then poured one for Ivar too, and pushed it across the table toward his brother. “You are anything but helpless, Ivar, and you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

Ivar finished removing the second brace and placed it carefully next to the first, then accepted the drink with a nod. He smiled knowingly. “Oh, but that is exactly what you meant, brother.”

And once again, he was right. In a way, that was what he had meant. Ivar would be terrifying to face across the battlefield, coated in in the blood of his enemies, screaming a battle cry from his chariot, but in close, one-on-one combat, especially if he caught him off-guard, Heahmund would have the advantage. Even Ivar would have to admit that, surely.

“And you are right,” Ivar told him.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise. “What?”

Ivar slipped his knife back into its holster, produced a length of strong cloth from a pocket and tied it around his legs below the knees. “I said, you are right. Heahmund is a great warrior. I have no doubt that he would be able to overpower me if he chose to do so. In fact, I have no doubt he could overpower you too. But yet I am safe with him, as I have already explained to you.”

“It’s not only that he could hurt you,” Hvitserk told him. “You might find him…” he hesitated, “You might find him interesting, but I don’t think he feels the same way.”

Ivar laughed quietly. “Are you worried about me, brother?”

Hvitserk set his lips in a thin line. There were only so many ways that it could end, and there was no room for the possibility of happiness. He decided to change the direction of the argument. “Father had a Christian that he found interesting once,” he said. “Do you remember?”

“Athelstan.” Ivar shook his head. “Not really. I was too young when he died to really remember.”

“Well, I remember,” Hvitserk told him. He had been a child too, but he had been old enough to understand what had happened, and to follow what the adults around him were saying. “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to you as happened to father.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “Ragnar was dropped into a pit of snakes by a king that we have since killed.” Ivar shook his head, then took a long gulp of his drink. “It is unlikely to happen again.”

He was playing dumb, of course. Or, perhaps he wasn’t, not completely. Ivar had been little more than an infant when Floki had killed the priest; a coddled and protected child who had had very little contact with his father. By the time he would have been old enough to understand, the people had stopped speaking of Ragnar and his pet Christian. There was a chance that Ivar didn’t know how deep their father’s feelings for the other man had been, or that after his death, Ragnar had never been the same.

Hvitserk sighed. “Yes, Ivar.” he said, returning to the question his brother had asked him a moment earlier. “I am worried about you. No matter what happens, Heahmund will eventually turn against you, and when he does, I think that it will break your heart.”

Ivar shook his head. “It would not be the first break I have had to endure.”

Hvitserk shook his head. “It’s not the same thing, Ivar. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“I disagree,” Ivar told him. “You think my heart didn’t break when Father died? Or Mother? When Floki climbed into a boat and disappeared into the open ocean? I know heartbreak, Hvitserk. I know it every bit as well as you do. Perhaps even more.”

Once again, his little brother was right. Hvitserk sighed and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry, Ivar.”

“Anyway,” Ivar added, dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand. “If Heahmund betrays me, I will simply kill him, or have him killed.

“And you think you could just kill somebody that you love?”

Ivar frowned. “Whoever said anything about love?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes briefly. He hadn’t meant to say that, it had simply slipped out.

“Anyway,” Ivar added. “I am sure that if I could bury an ax in my own brother’s chest, I would have no trouble doing the same to a Christian priest. Whether I 'love' him, or not.”

Uninvited, the image of Sigurd staggering toward Ivar before dropping lifeless to the ground, forced its way into Hvitserk’s mind, and he took another swig of his drink as though he could wash it away. “He’s a bishop,” he reminded him, repeating Ivar’s words back to him.

Ivar smiled, apparently unaffected by the memory of their brother. “So he is.”

“And whatever you feel for him, Ivar, he doesn’t feel the same way about you.” Hvitserk was still thinking of Sigurd; he had already lost one brother, and after everything that had happened, he doubted that he could ever repair things between himself and Ubbe, or Björn either for that matter; they were trying to kill his mother after all. That left Ivar as the only family that he had left. He sighed deeply, trying not to think of everything that he had lost, but suddenly unable to think of anything else. “I don’t want to lose you as well.”

Apparently unmoved by the plea, Ivar finished his drink in a single gulp, put the cup down heavily on the table, pressed his palms into the bench to lift himself, then slid down to the ground. “You won’t,” he said. “I think we are stuck with each other, I am beginning to think the gods want us to stay together.”

With that, using his hands to move across the ground, he made his way to the door far more quickly than he had arrived on his feet.

For a moment, Hvitserk watched him go. “You might not love him yet, Ivar, but you’re halfway there,” he called after him. “Don’t deny it.”

Ivar paused briefly. He turned back to look at his brother with a smirk on his face, then continued on his way. As he reached the door, he turned again. “I deny it,” he said, then quickly pulled himself out of the door and disappeared out of Hvitserk’s sight, leaving behind nothing but his crutch and braces, and the sound of a quiet chuckle floating back into the room.

Hvitserk glared after his brother helplessly, left, as Ivar had no doubt intended, with two equally unappealing options; chasing after him and attempting to finish a conversation that Ivar clearly didn’t want to continue with, or shouting a response after him through the wall, with no idea whether Ivar had heard him.

Instead, Hvitserk finished his drink and poured himself another. For all that he still thought of Ivar as his little brother, he was a grown man, and he was capable of making his own mistakes. Hvitserk just hoped it wouldn’t be as costly a mistake as he feared…

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales: New Gods On The Block! Review or THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES: COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH!

We’re back, and i’m doing away with intros, for now, i’m trying to see if offering people a bit of the review makes them more receptive to reading it and now we’re nearing the end of this hellyear, and the trump presdency, i’m going into this one with a ton of energy, so let’s get quackin!

We open with the Scrooge and Kids on a quest to get a golden helmet he’s been after for years and has been one of his lifelong goals using a carefully crafted plan with all the kids skills needed. Okay i’ll admit that last part is unique to this show: given how interchangable the boys are outside of this continuity,  I assume he’d just throw them at the monster like Pikmin as a distraction while Donald grabbed the helmet and just grow new ones in his vast venture bro style clone mine if they happen to die. Thankfully there’s no Child Death but there is Child Failure as the team comes back sad and defeated and doubting themselves.. Della having a confetti cannon ready to celebrate dosen’t help. Though it does bring me to the subject of Della being out of focus this season. It’s a mixed bag for me: On the one hand I do get it, as she was the main focus of last season, even more than Louie, and now we’ve gotten to know her, she can sit back and play more of a supporting role, especially since Donald , who himself was more of a supporting character the past two seasons, is now getting more screentime and Beakly’s getting fleshed out more. Their trying to balance a rather massive cast, so it’s natural the one whose already got a ton of focus at this point would take a back seat and all around the show’s done a far better job giving everyone screentime this season. Launchpad has been lacking of late but given a Darkwing Duck spinoff is probably in the cards, and he’s had tons of episodes at this point compared to Donald and Beakly, i’m understanding of it. 

On the other.. there’s still a lot of stories to tell with her: We still haven’t had her deal with Scrooge basically erasing her for a decade at all nor Donald hiding her past from the kids.. he had reason and all, but he still made their mother a stranger to them. They had no stories, nothing to really go on for 10 years. That’s gotta have impacted both the kids and gotta hit della hard at some point that her father-uncle and brother both just kinda.. erased her to the kids. Plus we don’t know how she’s been adjusting to have a life OUTSIDE the kids especially since she’s been sitting out so many adventures, likely to let Scrooge have time with them and be a good daughter and mother and what not, but still there’s a LOT of ground to cover they simply haven’t yet. The Donald and Della plot we did get, while glorious, didn’t really add anything to either’s likely strained relationship and it’d be nice to give the two a subplot to work this out. Granted this might all be coming in the Castle McDuck Episode for all I know, but I can’t pin all my hopes and dreams on that one. And this all COULD’VE easily happened off screen.. but it’s something the audience really wants and needs. I’m not sure if we’re getting it and that worries me. But again theirs a large chunk of the season to answer this if this is the last one, and another season possible if it’s not, so i’m willing to wait for it. I’m just getting impatient is all. 

That being said this episode makes up for the Della Deficet as she’s one of the main driving forces of this side of the episode. I’ll get into that more in a second but Della’s been on the rare misfire adventure and knows Scrooge’s stages of grief and that he’ll come out of it with a better plan. Unfortunately for the kids that plan dosen’t include them and Scrooge runs off to assemble a better team leaving the kids utterly devastated. One of the other main driving forces besides depressed children and the greek gods is scrooge being really bad with people, but i’ll get to that. 

Point is the kids understandable emotional devastation and Della trying to mom for all of them at once because Launchpad had to get to his other job and is taking Beakly this weak to teach him and Drake how to raise a child, is interrupted by said Zeus ASSHAT RAPIST OUT OF MYTH! Along with Storkules COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH and Selene, DELLA’S FIRST TIME WITH A WOMAN OUT OF MYTH!  There here because Zeus has lost his powers, as the Gods all collectively decided he was a dick and voted him out of office.. er stripped him of his powers. Sorry an asshole, narcacistic, sociopathic racist getting removed from his position of power happening a few days after the election was called.. the timing just could not have been better. But yeah Zeus is out, roll credits. Join me after them and after the cut for the rest of the review. 

So yeah the Gods are fed up with him, and Selene and Storkules are there to pick a worthy inheritor to his Laurel Wreath, his lighting bolts, and his collection of playboys he keeps alphabatized in his mancave.. also his mancave will also go to the winner. Storkules however, having a one track mind, notices Donald isn’t there and goes to find him. The kids are all eager to try but Selene is there for Della, which they all agree makes sense: I mean she has the disposition and sexual appitite of a green god but without all the rampant sex crimes and murder, and given most of them have clearly copped to the times except Zeus, that’s a plus. Plus she and Selene have already been together before so the fact they can smooch into infinity along with all the fun stuff is a nice bonus. It’s not like Storkules isn’t selecting his candiate soley with his 13 inch penis, so ther’es a precident. But Della, seeing the kids clearly need this more than she does, convinces her once and future girlfriend to let them try out. I really do wish we got more of the two this episode but what we get is great, and Selene reluctantly agrees after Della makes the valid point their STILL more mature than her dad. The fact Zeus punctuates this by getting into a “No you” contest with an 11-12 year old probably helped.  As for where Donald is he’s preparing for a date with Daisy! Horay. I’ve been waiting for Daisy to come back since the last time she was here, and Donald has naturally been considerate: Setting up a bunch of hearts, flowers, some punch that is likely just box wine and sprite, he has a budget and throwing all his garbage in the pool with bricks because he’s still Donald. Romantic, a good dad.. but still a disaster of a person who dosen’t know quite how to live like an adult... which naturally I immensely relate to and hope i’m lucky enough one day to have a lady or fella to hide all my garbage from. I mean i’m probably dying alone, but that’s likely my old buddy crippling depression talking. Oh you old scamp.. please fuck off an die.  But enough chilling looks into my psyche, point is Storkules barges in to ruin it, and eat his carefully made grilled cheese. As though Storkules may be incredible he’s also STORKULES, GOD OF NOT REALLY READING THE ROOM. Daisy comes in, and we find out it’s their second date.. and i’m assuming their first wasn’t that time they ended up in a direct to video sequel to Die Hard that’s still far better than Die Hard 5.. then again a colonoscopy is preferable to that movie so I Dunno. But she’s nice, friendly, if put off by the big sweaty man suddenly in their date. Storkules COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH, does not help matters by, upon hearing that seeing how in love they are, and finding out it’s the second date assumes their getting married and hugs them in THE SWEATY ABS OF STORKULES. Do me next. 

Back at the God Tests, god I love a job-ish thing that lets me say that, Louie is up first, and being Louie has thought up a plan that benifets him wether he wins or looses but one that has serious underlying issues he hasn’t thought of. Naturally it turns out to be a gold touch which, as with Midas, works out about as well as you’d expect.. with Dog Murder and mass murder to follow. Selene undoes it, So Louie gets nothing. And yeah this has been a major issue this season that while I talked about it back in “Let’s Get Dangerous” bares repeating:  Louie feels like he learned NOTHING from the events of last season. He still likes, he still dosen’t think plans through, and he still cheats. In contrast Dewey DID grow from his season.. it’s subtle, he’s still the same loveable trainwreck and pre-teen Hank Venture he’s always been, but he no longer hides secrets or family stuff and is more of a team player. Still an egotsitical one, but it’s there. But Louie.. hasn’t changed at all. He’s still conviving, still thinks only in short term.. it’s only once or twice like with the Impossibin the events of last year really seem to have sunk in. It feels like the writer’s couldn’t figure out how to write a smarter Louie and just gave up. It’s really disheartning especially when most other character development, subtle and otherwise, sticks. 

While Huey sweats over his turn and Della tries to encourage, we cut back to the date which is going okay, Daisy’s trying to roll with it but Storkules, TERRIBLE WINGMAN OUT OF MYTH really isn’t good at talking Donald up or letting them get to know one another. While things breifly get better when Daisy brings up her career and Donald talks it up like the loving soon to be boyfriend he is, Storkules FUCKUP OUT OF MYTH screws things up by saying, when she explains to him she hasn’t made any Toga’s because she works primarily in dresses that she can “work up to them eventually. “ As proof this is the best Daisy she dosen’t dump Donald immidetly despite none of this being his fault and him trying to explain he didn’t invite him, but instead just makes an angry, and understandably so , face and goes to powder her beak.. which is clearly code for “Scream Obscenities into Donald’s Mirror for the next ten minutes”. Which if it already wasn’t abundantly clear they were perfect for each other this would be the clincher. Donald wants Storkules to go and TRIES to tell him, but Storkules just assumes he wants him to make a big romantic gesture for them and goes to “let Cupid’s Arrow” strike her. Donald understandably wants conformation he doesn’t mean that literally. Spoiler alert: He does. 

IT’s Huey’s turn next at playing god and he decides to be God of Intuition, gaining future sight so he can know everything and prevent tragedy. We instead get a damn funny scene where after adjusting to his powers he tries to prevent a breakup.. only to play both parts himself and cause it anyway. Just some great acting from Danny Pudi there. We get some more as Huey slowly melts down from the information, traumatizing a kid and nearly getting beat up with a guy who wants to “Beat up the freak for making everyone uncomfortable” which.. 

Yeah it’s not acceptable for what looks like a grown adult, or even a Teenager if that was an intent, to whale on a CHILD, let alone ANYONE for being “a Freak”. I mean yes Huey did screw up big, not mass murder bit but still.. but he’s still a fucking child. As someone who was prone to breakdowns at that age, and up to present day... I take this personally, especially since I see Huey as high functioning autsitic. So this hits home as i’ve had many people just tell me to get over it instead of trying to help. So yeah fuck this guy, take off that Gizmoduck shirt you do not deserve it. We fans do though, I hope that becomes real merch. 

But yeah Huey failed and Zeus is gloating..mostly because in his already considerably warped brain, he thinks that if they all fail he dosen’t get it. Selene explains basic logic to him: If they fail to find a new god here, they’ll just keep looking. Zeus naturally has a tantrum as Scrooge enters, wondering why the kids care about god powers and Della, being a supportive mom, tries to get him to encourage them. He instead focuses on his team. Again, we’ll get to him trust me. Selene also calls her dad out on the fact he hasn’t done anything good since defeating the titans centuries ago.  Naturally being THE GREATEST SHITHEAD IN ALL OF GREEK MYTHOLOGY Zeus takes the exact wrong lesson from this and calls his brother Hades to whip up a titan for him to fight because that was her point and not that your an irredemible dick tip who their desperate to replace and who was dethroned because no one liked you, not even your horrible presumibly now ex wife. I mean unlike DC Comics Zeus he’s not planning a cou but only because he has no powers. Hades however is well aware his brother has no powers, as the gods have been talking about it and laughing about it because Zeus sucks eggs. Also Hades has a great goth look and personality here as well as muscular arms to hold my bi ass at night. A-Plus character design. I may also have a thing for goths and emos I never realized I had. Just an observation. 

Back at the boat Donald and Daisy are enjoying drinks, which again has to be wine.. I mean again box wine, Donald needs a lot of booze after a hard days nearly getting murdered and Costco has great deals on it, but still booze. They cuddle a bit and it’s fucking adorable.. and Storkules WHO JUST KIDDNAPED HIS COUSIN CUPID AND STOLE HIS SHIT naturally ruins this moment by first trying to fire one date rape arrow at them, then takes donald’s rampant headshaking no as a sign to fire all of the arrows... with Daisy ending up in the water and unsettling the garbage. Granted Donald COULD’VE prevented this by explaning things to her.. but i’m betting he didn’t simply because he’s.. tired of this shit. He’s tired of adventure, tired of it intruding on his life and just hoped Storkules was gone and out of sight and didn’t have a chance to prepare for that till it was too late. NOW Daisy storms off.. but unlike say Cabs Daisy, whose a living nightmare, or Comic Daisy, whose not a great person but has her moments depending on the comic, she has VALID REASON. Donald lied to her about garbage and dind’t just take it out like a normal Duck, and didn’t just outright yell at his friend to leave on their date, a friend who just attacked her and already insulted her. IT’s understandable, especailly given a line coming up she’d WANT to leave and leave Donald behind.  Donald however is naturally miserable and it finally gets through Storkules thick skull he messed up and he runs off to cry while Donald miserably floats among the garbage and my heart both relates to that nad breaks seeing it. I mean .. Daisy meant a lot to him: After years of presumibly avoiding dating, or if he did not doing so for long, to focus on the boys, after a year of putting their needs ahead of his and living with his demanding uncle, of being dragged out of a normal if miserable life and into a less miersable but adventerous one he didn’t want, of being stranded in space and on an island wondering if his kids would be okay.. he finally not only has time for himself, and his sister back after years of thinking her dead and thus someone else to take care of the kids needs for a while without feeling any guilt over it or worrying about them, but found someone special. She’s talented, beautiful, charming, and understanding. And most importanlty she LISTENS to him and throughly likes Donald for who he is. And he looses that only PARTLY due to his won incomptence but mostly because someone he already barely allows in his life came in and ruined it. Once again the adventure and everything took something from him and while not nearly as big as loosing his sister, it still fucking hurts to once again have one small bit of something just for himself, one bit of normalcy, one person who loves him for who he is now through and through.. and it’s seemingly gone. It’s why I like this relationship even if this part panes me: Donald can FINALLY be happy... finally have someone who genuinely cares about him.  This also boils down Storkules character and why I don’t ship the two of them: He’s a good god, he’s brave, compasionate, carring, and generally wants the best for donald and does genuinely love him.. but he also dosen’t care really what DONALD wants half the time. He’s the embodiment of Donald’s biggest gripe with his life: No one listens to or repsects him or what he wants. Storkules wants Donald the adventurer, Donald the brave, Donald the undaunted, DONALD THE IDEALIZED VERSION THAT ONLY EXISTS IN HIS HEAD. He dosen’t really get Donald isn’t the same person, and even that person wasn’t into him. Not because he’s a man, like his sister Donald could easily be bi or pan.. but because he’s just SO MUCH and Donald’s family is already SO MUCH.. and that was BEFORE the kids and the launchpad. Donald has made peace with adventuring but it’s still clearly not his faviorite thing while for Storkules adventure and experince is his life. Storkules needs someone like him and Donald needs someone down to earth, someone who can HANDLE the amount of chaos that follows him and the famly, but someone whose .. normal. And Daisy is that. If you ship then fine fine, but I just don’t because they just don’t go together and both deserve a partner they can truly be a partner with, not someone they clearly don’t understand or someone they DREAD visiting. They both deserve better than that. 

Back on the god plot, it’s Webby’s turn as she becomes Goddess of Friendship. And helps the mood at the pier by spreading sunshine.. and then deals with the pier’s greatest menace and my honorary uncle, because he’s really not much worse than some of my actual uncles...

GLOMGOLD, SCOURGE OF CHILDREN’S KIDDIE RIDES. Because of course a seemingly regular habit for Glomgold is hogging a children’s ride he somehow fits into. Of course it is. It’s cheap and he’s not the best human being but I love him anyway. Webby heats it up to scare him then tries to get the kids to hug before having a breakdown at everyone not being happy. This does fit with her personality.. I didn’t think so at first but thinking back her first response in any friendship crisis is to panic and overreact. Her reaction to her best friend telling her she may have to stop sleeping over with her and her sister/webby’s giflriend because of magic danger is an implied death threat. She’s getting BETTER with people, but she still dosen’t have the life experince to fully deal with it and naturally upon seeing things get worse and worse goes on a lighting filled rampage Selene thankfully stops and likely undoes. Though Glomgold is likely on the moon now. He’ll be fine. 

Dewey is last and auditions.. but forgets the god part and fails which fits him perfectly and is a great bit. The kids have all washed out and are depressed about it. While Della is hopeful when talking to Selene, Selene gently explains to her girlfriend she shares with a space alien that the kids just aren’t ready and that maybe the power of a god just isn’t the thing you give to a kid for a self esteem boost. Della MEANS well here, she just wants her kids, Webby very much included, to feel good and get their self esteem back after Scrooge swallowed it whole. But Selene is right that this is just too much power, and given it nearly drove Huey insane  and nearly made Louie and Webby murderers, she has a point. It’s a good thought, but Selene needs an actual replacement for her dad. Sadly though this breaks the kids further after this and they slink off and Selene gets she messed up.. while she was right to reject them, she missed WHY Della was trying so hard. However credit where it’s do unlike her brother, while she dosen’t try to fix her issue, it’s likely out of emotional maturity: she knows just saying nice things to the kids wouldn’t help them or would wring hollow and their mom is better for that. IT’s things like this that are going to make her a good step mom.. yeah i’m shiping Della with both her girlfriends at once. Just because I gave up on her and Launchpad dosen’t mean poly’s off the table, and frankly selene is strong enough to win Penumbra’s favor and Penumbra has the kind of pepper and violence a greek goddess likes in her women. They’d be cute all together. I likes it. 

Less cute is ZEUS, SCHEMING BOWL OF ELEPHANT PISS OUT OF MYTH!, who realizes his greatest gift isn’t his powers: I’ts manipulating his children. 

And since he found a sad STORKULES POOR SAD BOY OUT OF MYTH. , and hears his issue, with Storkules hilarious sitting in his poppa’s lap, he spins it into getting what he wants: Saying since he and his wife, and Storkules mother in this version apparently I dunno, fell in love with battle, summoning Chronos will do just that for Donsy. Granted for most people your dad’s tale about how he met your step mom who tried killiing you a bunch and who he’s cheated on dozens of times would raise a red flag, but STORKULES IS THICK AS A BRICK.. in both senses of the word and calls forth Chronus. 

Daisy meanwhile is driving her car away, but is battling with herself. On one hand she doesn’t want to play mother to a guy who can’t dispose his trash or his weird friends. On the other she admits she can really be herself around Donald. We then get the most telling line though.. “You do not need to fall for another man who needs saving!”

That.. is clearly setup for the future. It MIGHT be Gladstone but it could be anyone. Hell it could be someone entirely new. She also could have a kid like we’ve all wanted. We could get a canon version of Juinor.. not named Donald Juinor because 1) He’s not donald’s son and 2) that name’s been forever tainted and we all know which living bottle of axe body spray to blame. I.. genuinely can’t wait to find out who this is and I expect we will before the season’s up and i’ts nice to see Tress, like last time, get to dig into some emotional complexity with the character instead of just yelling at Donald or talking about bows and stuff. Here she grapples with herself as she does love Donald but the past has burnt her a lot. But as a wise pansexual once said “ But I think it's important for us to remember that sometimes, sometimes it does work out. And even though everything inside us is telling us to protect ourselves, when you've got it, don't let it go. And I am telling you, that you have got it, if you want it. “ Love is hard, love is messy, maybe that among many other things is why i’m alone. But it’s worth it when you take the time.. and upon seeing a giant monster heading for Donald’s house, Daisy realizes he is worth it.. or that frustrated with him right now or not she dosen’t want him to die. Either way she’s a coming and i’m gathering hornets in a box in ancipation of finding out who hurt her so I can mail them to him. I popped an H on there so I know it has hornets. 

Back at the mansion the mood is bleak as heelllllllllll with Louie ordering pizza minus the toppings and Della’s attempt to give the kids hot choclate just getting an ow from Webby. It does make sense: Scrooge and adventuring are their lives.. if he dosen’t need them.. how would they ever do it themselves? Plus their 11 and 13 and at that age kids are very fragile so having their mentor and grandpa reject them like this really hurts, not helped by Scrooge proudly announcing his new team and trying to awkwardly bounce not getting this is his fault, though Della is staring at him with a look that just screams. 

But before Della can stab her Dunkle, we cut to a depressed donald who switches from one natural state, Depression, to another, fearing for his life, as Chronus arrives and Huey rightly wonders how he’s here. The kids all defer to Scrooge while Della continues to just be the best. Seriously for the entire episode her only throught is her kids, and their emotional well being and had this crisis not popped up she probably would’ve stabbed scrooge then yelled him out for hurting her babies. She’s graduated from trying to be a mom but having issues with it due to mentally still being in her 20′s, to genuinely being GREAT at the job. Good on her.  Daisy is naturally horrified to arrive to find Donald being eaten while Storkules is overjoyed. I WOULD say his stupidity’s overplayed this episode.. but he’s never displayed good judgement before why start now? It fits his character and his joy turns to distress when Chronus eats donald.. and has a cage in his tummy. with glass walls. I dunno, it’s a cool design. Daisy is understandably pissed and yells at it for eating her boyfriend, which gets an adorable oh boy oh boy from donald> Again love is rough, but one jackass screwing with you does not equate to every man or woman or person you date being a jackass. Daisy has realized this. Storkules is overjoyed, but soon finds himself and his sister fihgting Chronus and honestly both are damn impressive doing so. Seriously when the justice ducks form.. give htem a call. I mean She has moon beams and he’s a greek god.. plus Drake and Launchpad could use a third.. I mean he fits better there and Drake is already dating one manchild, and is one to a smaller extent, another won’t hurt. Just consider it shippers.. or foursies with Morgana because as this episode shows Storkules is bi as he is mighty. he’s Bighty. But the god squad fails, and gets eaten and Zeus’ time to shine predictably ends with an “I’ve failed immediately”, to no one’s suprise. 

Scrooge starts working on a plan as he and Della, naturally scale the colossus. We then get the scene that’s been boiling all episode: When Scrooge wonders where the kids are, Della calls him out pointing out they’ve been plauged with doubts about him replacing them.. because he literally was replacing them, and when Scrooge is earnestly suprised by that Della points out the obvious: Their children, as I said their fragile and as Della puts it, Scrooge puts a LOT of pressure on them, something she likely knows from experince.  And this is what i’ve been leading up to and putting a pin in all episode: Scrooge himself. It’s something I thought of days ago but this episode hammers in heavily: Scrooge really dosen’t have a ton of personal social skills. Sure he can work a board room pitch, lead a team of adventuerers, and run a vast empire while never forgetting the human element, for a lack of a better term, he’s not lacking in empathy or the ablility to talk to people, but when it comes to reading them it’s just surface level. He’s genuinely been show to struggle with empathy, with feeling someone elses emotions or realizing them till they’ve already been hurt. He spent a good ten years desperatley trying to bring Della back, avoding his pain and guilt instead of talking to Donald and making amends with him. His relationship with Goldie took decades to get anywhere healthy as he just put his walls up and assumed she’d never change when, as we’ve seen now, she always could she just needed a push. And when confronted by the kids he lashed out and then pushed them away instead of mending the wounds he created. Even on a much smaller level, when Lena and Violet ended up along next week he’s utterly lost when Adventure isn’t on the menu and only picks up from being baffled by two normal ish (One’s a parnaomal expert the other is the paranormal) joining him once it’s clear at least one of them fits right in with his intrests. He can deal with people on a problem by problem basis, but he’s just not good at dealing with their emotional needs or opening up.  It’s why this works so well: his oblviousness fits. To him and the way his brain works, the crown is just a problem to solve and he just needs diffrent tools to fix it, not realizing replacing the kids for a mission would bother them or they’d ever think they were replaceable. Until now I hadn’t seen much similarity to Huey but both.. are just not great with PEOPLE. They put them in boxes, try to solve problems that way.. it’s just their specific issues that way are diffrent. Scrooge can anticapte the unknown and how people he’s fighting act.. but can’t anticipate personal hurt and pain well because he bottles all his up. When checking off a problem.. i’ts just something he dosen’t consider and thus his biggest blindspot, the thing he has to overcome time and time again: How his family feels and how he can deal with it.  Here however he deals admirably.. now he KNOWS there’s a problem, and in a genuine show of character development over the past three seasons, he apologizes fully, saying their the best team he could ask for, better than zeus and don’t need his powers and they can get the helm together. Instead of putting up walls.. he’s letting his in and showing humility, which given Scrooge’s ego.. is a tall order. But for those kids, for his strength, it’s no small feet. Of course said speech gets Him and Della eaten, but the kids, now reinegized, ahve time to plan, with Daisy further stalling by roaring at Chronus to stop. Because she’s fucking awesome and Storkules finally gets that. The kids however take the leaves and breifly retake their powers, Dewey’s is for dance naturally, and use them together to take down Chronus, freeing everyone else, defeating the titan and throwing him back into the pits.  Donald and Daisy reunite and get a RELLY sweet moment, blushing and looking lovingly at one another, getting lava on each other, before kissing. STORKULES, DOSEN’T GET THEY DON’T WANT A THIRD PARTNER OF MYTH, of course interrupts and hugs them hostage for the remaider of the episode. I’m assuming Beakly , when she got home, pried htem out and explained them not wanting a third int heir relationship to him, and it’s a weak end to the plot as Storkules learned nothing and one of the weaker parts of this episode. The rest is stronger as the kids and Scrooge plan to make another run at the helmet and Selene wonders off to “use your shower” and then order pizza.. so she basically just asked Della out. And has used her shower before. 

I mean again, she can have two partners. This episode alone has earned that and they seem like they’d mesh. Penny would just have to learn some lessons about sharing and godly vagina’s is all. Nothing wrong with that. And what about Zeus.. no one asked but he gets his wreath back only to fall in the pit, with Hades naturally laughing his ass off.. and likely also taking Zeus’ laurel back. So Zeus is trapped in hell with a goth mocking him. HORAY! HAPPY END.  Final Thoughts; This was a pretty good one. It does have it’s weak spots: Storkules learned nothing, the kids stories endings were easy to see coming and there wasn’t enough Dellene. But really despite that. .it’s still a solid episode mostly because it’s REALLY damn funny. The comedic timing is just pitch perfect and while like most of the plots I could see the rhythm of the donsy plot, the reasons for it were all funny and fresh and the scene with Daisy in her car was a nice bit of character building/clear setup for the future. And showing off Della’s own character developement and history with scrooge, the latter without ever having to mention it, really brought the episode up, as did the guest cast’s game voice acting and timing. This episode is far from perfect, but it’s still a fun episode that felt needed despite not being tied into the main plot: Bringing back some old friends, and having an intresting story to tell. Plus we got more Donsy so there’s that. Overall while not the BEST episode of the series, it was a funny, enjoyable half hour of television and sometimes, that’s enough.  If you liked this review follow me or more, and if there’s an episode of Ducktales from seasons 1 or 2 you’d like me to cover, you can comission it for 5 bucks, 5 bucks an episode, 5 dollars off your order when you comission more than one, via my personal messages. You can also follow me on patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet if you want.  NEXT WEEK: FLASHBACK EPISODE! BABY DONALD AND DELLA! BRADFORD ORIGIN STORY! POSSIBLE HORTENSE AFTER SO LONG! MY BODY IS READY!

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 27 - Good Omens

Day 27: Extreme Weather Fandom/setting: Good Omens, Pompeii ca 79 AD Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Crowley hacked and coughed, face covered with his arm in a pointless attempt to protect himself from the ash. Stones rained down all around him; it was the only sound now that most of the screams had gone silent. Tears dripped down Crowley's face, carving lines through the ash that had already settled on him. What was he even doing here? It was useless... any human still in Pompeii was dead by now, or long past his ability to heal. And he wasn't supposed to be healing anyone, anyway. In fact, Crowley didn't know what his assignment here even was, but the crippling horror he felt at the scene around him wouldn't have allowed for him to function anyway.

"Anybody!" Crowley croaked out, desperation driving his sandaled feet a little further into the city. "Hello! Is- is anyone left...?"

One person. One wretched person to save, that was all he asked, but he couldn't stay here much longer himself, not without succumbing to the volcano and discorporating. At this point, it didn't seem like a terrible idea. A huge rock glanced off his shoulder, knocking Crowley off balance so that he tripped into the rapidly growing layer of hot ash coating the streets. Even if fire wasn't likely to do much damage to a demon (did lava count? He'd never tested this and wasn't eager to) it still hurt. Another stone crashed down beside him, so Crowley growled and drew his wings out into the physical plane, hoping to shield his head.

It wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, the hot, cloying ash immediately starting to stick to his feathers. It weighed him down, cumbersome and unwieldy. Crowley tried to stand back up but this time a falling rock did knock him over the head. The demon toppled the rest of the way to the ground, almost totally immersing himself in a hot casing of the volcanic brume.

With a strangled cry, Crowley forced himself up onto one trembling arm and called again,

"H-hello! Anyone, is anyone left alive?"

Shouting made him cough and choke and there was no reply. It was time to go; he was doing no good- er, well, he never did good, but he wasn't any use here. Shuffling around in the ash, Crowley staggered to his feet and tried to point himself out of the city, away from the cruel fires of Vesuvius. He blinked, shielding his eyes, and glanced around. His heart pounded faster; which way was out? Everything was covered in a thick, dark cloud and he had no idea which direction he was pointed now...

Maybe he should just lay down and discorporate there after all, but it was a terrifying prospect to die there alone in the volcano's wrath.

Panic overcame him, making the demon start to hyperventilate, which—given the debris in the air—only made things worse. Crowley sat heavily back down, about to go into a full-blown panic attack when a sudden light permeated the gaseous cloud around him.

"Hello!" a voice shouted. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" Crowley immediately choked back, forgetting for a second the point had been for him to find someone else to save, not to require rescuing himself. At the moment, he didn't even care, nor did it occur to him that his wings—which he couldn't put away now even if he wanted, thanks to the layer of ash and dust bogging them down—might be a bit of a shock to whoever it was.

But when the light got closer, Crowley nearly sagged with relief to see the someone was the angel Aziraphale. They hadn't crossed paths since that day at Golgotha, but so far all of their meetings had been more or less on friendly terms, or at least neutral ones. So even though now would be the ideal time for Aziraphale to finish him off if he wanted, Crowley didn't think twice before reaching out desperately for the angel.

He saw Aziraphale's eyes widen before he hurried forward to take Crowley's hand and haul him back up to his feet.

"Can you fly?" Aziraphale asked urgently.

Crowley, who could barely move his wings now, shook his head.

Without another word, Aziraphale turned them both in the direction he'd come from, starting to run, still gripping Crowley's hand tightly. As bogged down as Crowley was, he couldn't go quite as fast, gasping raggedly for breath.

"Hurry!" Aziraphale urged over his shoulder. "The flow is about to hit the city!"

Crowley didn't answer, saving his breath for running. He didn't know how long or far they ran, but finally they broke free of the heavy cloud. Ash still drifted down like snowflakes, but Aziraphale didn't stop or let go of his hand until they had outrun even that. Not until they had splashed across a stream and Pompeii was far behind them did the angel slow to a stop, leaning over and panting hard.

Crowley fell to his knees at the stream to greedily gulp the cool water. It mixed with the ash coating his mouth, making him hack and spit out gobs of gunk. Crowley had never felt so miserable.

"Took too long gloating, did you?" Aziraphale wheezed, shooting a glower at the demon.

The implication froze Crowley in his tracks. He stared at Aziraphale, the accusation burning into his heart. "You think- that wasn't me," he gasped. Crowley's frame shuddered as he slowly shook his head and looked back towards the volcano—hidden in the cloud of its own eruption—with pain filled eyes. "There- there were kids in there," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I could get them out, but... They're all dead. All of 'em. I- Just get out of here and leave me then, if that's what you think! Stupid angel! I didn't do this!" He crumpled again. "There were kids..."

Aziraphale didn't leave, kneeling down next to him with an expression of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he said contritely. "That was foolish of me to assume- I'm sorry, dear boy, please forgive me."

Crowley hung his head and nodded wordlessly. The angel had saved his life, after all, even while assuming the whole thing had been Crowley's doing.

"Oh, your wings are in such a state," Aziraphale fussed then, looking over the normally black feathers that were now streaked grey and white from the ash. "Let me get you cleaned up a bit, alright? Penance for my ugly assumption. And because I don't believe you'd have much luck on your own."

Well, he was right about that. Too exhausted to refuse and wanting nothing more than to be clean, Crowley nodded again.

Permission given, Aziraphale miracled a clean cloth out of nowhere and wet it in the stream. Then he sat behind Crowley and started to gently wipe away the layer of grime. While he did that, Crowley tiredly splashed water over his face and neck, rinsing so much ash away between the two of them that the stream ran cloudy where they were sitting. He finished before Aziraphale did; Crowley closed his eyes and sank into the comfort of having his feathers carefully cleaned, all the way from the tip of his primaries to the joint where the wings met his back and then back down over the other one.

His hurt at Aziraphale's accusation melted away along with the debris on his wings. To Crowley's surprise, the angel didn't stop even once he'd gone through several rags and the feathers were pristine again.

"Close your eyes," Aziraphale warned him, miracling a bucket now and trickling the water over Crowley's head to rinse out his long hair. Somehow the water was soapy and warm as the angel massaged it diligently into Crowley's scalp. It nearly put the demon to sleep, his throat closing up a bit at the gentle touch. He couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair. Had anyone ever? He didn't say a word, not trusting himself to speak, as the angel continued his careful ministrations.

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured, tipping one last bucket of warm water through his hair to wash everything away. "Now one last miracle—I doubt anyone on my side will notice, after all there's plenty that needs doing here—and you should feel like a new demon."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's ashy, dirty tunic was suddenly clean and shining white. Apparently the angel forgot that Crowley wore black, but it had been nearly white from the ash so he could be forgiven the mistake. Crowley would fix it later. Maybe. At any rate, it left him fully clean and fresh at last. Aziraphale crouched down beside him, a warm hand on Crowley's shoulder and a worried light in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked softly. "I imagine this has... not been a good day."

"To say the least," Crowley replied, trying for flippant but sounding more downtrodden than anything. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, I guess I should thank you."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same-" Aziraphale cut off, turning an interesting shade of pink as though he'd said something he shouldn't have and wanted to have not said it.

Crowley wanted to tease him for it, but honestly he was too tired, so he nodded instead with all seriousness. "Yeah. Still," he said, shrugging. "Thanks." It was true, of course, he would have saved the angel if necessary. Crowley hated to be in anyone's debt, so maybe they should just make some sort of standing Arrangement, when the other needed help, they'd give it. Then it wasn't a favor, it was just... what they did. He'd mention it to Aziraphale sometime, see what the angel made of it. An Arrangement could come in really handy, the more he thought about it.

But that, he decided, soaking in the feeling of being clean and safe at last, was a thought for another day.

[satanic-assistant]

Jeff and I got ready for bed together, for once. His "happy pets" as I have started calling Smile dog and Grinny cat much to their dismay, hardly ever let me see him without his jacket. Let alone his shirt entirely.

The happy pets were being suspicious; smile was a bit of a darker pink and smiling wider than normal a clear sign he was up to something, and Grinny cat wasn't being as much of a nuisance which made me think he was sick or planning something bad.

Jeff of course didn't notice, busy making"innuendos" that we both knew the happy pets would never let happen.

Getting in the bed was awkward to say the least, but we managed it with me hugging him from behind while smile was in his arms and Grinny was covering his feet, like a fuzzy rug.

It normally takes Jeff awhile to sleep but I put my hand in his hair and suddenly, gentle snores.

"you are so touch starved I swear, gum bug."

Making horrible but somehow cute pet names for each other was an inside joke, but got really mean about it sometimes especially when he was mad. He made me cry at least once and then his sadist would show, laughing at me and calling me even worse names. He never apologized for it, but I forgave him it was a joke anyway. Besides Jane walked in and threw things at Jeff and called him "twinkle toes" and he didn't let that go.

Eventually I got to sleep too. I was hoping for a nice dream, but then I heard an all too familiar voice.

"heeey there, ahem "gum bug" how're you, in my dream?"

When we heard Smile dog budge in

"the sarcasm is crippling, Jeff. Anyway Grin and I won't get in the way of you two's disgusting human acts."

And with that Smile was gone. I looked up at Jeff, who was staring at me with what can only be described as, embarrassment and obsession.

"what are you looking at-...."

I tried to snap him back to a conversation

My voice trailed away as I look down and see a very "suggestive" outfit. I look back at Jeff with the look reserved for Grinny when she tries to swipe a crispy chicken nugget from Sally.

He looks like he's fighting a very hard battle with himself, somewhere along the lines of; should I take what's been given to me, against staying in this relationship.

I tried to snap him back to a conversation.

"w- who does he think he is. We both know he isn't and can't be "fixed". So what does he mean "disgusting human acts"?!"

Jeff didn't answer, looking at me like "take what has been given" was winning. He never answered me which was very chilling to say the least.

I'm maybe slightly uncomfortable right now, I'm not really saving myself for anything or anyone, but Jeff is the kind of person you'd want experience with before trying anything out. For once he said something before me, surprising me.

"ahemmm anyyywayyyy maaaybeee we should try to wake up, though I doubt either of them would let that happen."

I kind of wanted to know what the huge change of pace was for so I asked

"W- what was that? The change of pace! One day I can't look at you without a jacket, next we have to bang!?"

Maybe I was getting hysterical but I was justified. Plus I didn't get an answer just a recognizing

"hmmmmm"

I'm getting hot and shakey now, it's a weird but exciting experience even if nothing happens.

"instead of doing anything I know I can't do, how about we just talk???"

I know he'll laugh at it but I know I can't do anything he wants.

"I guessss but you have to be in my lap, and I'm touching you. Not my fault we're here, but I'm going to take advantage of it."

I agreed and the night was eventful and slow thanks to smile's dream manipulation. We both laughed, I told him about how the twinkle toes thing made me feel, he still didn't apologize so I got annoyed at him.

"okay then Twink-le toes, see how it feels when I ignore you."

Tilting my nose up away from his face with a little puff of breath.

He grabs my face with two hands, not really helping his point, and drags my head to look at him. He was cute in some kind of e-boy or emo way, the thought making me giggle

"what're you laughin about Hug Bug~?"

I could only reply honestly through laughs.

"You look like a emo, or an e-boy, I can only see you with the-"

"I can see the-"

Bursting out into laughs again my throat almost hurting

"I can see the stupid little chains but they're coming out of your s- swe- sw-weater pocket-"

Crumpling up to hold my stomach I look at his face, he looks dramatically unamused, at least. I think he does it can hard to tell with out his eyelids and eyebrows sometimes. Nonetheless his face reads "I'm not humoring this shit, but it is kind of funny." Not being able to tell only makes me laugh even more. By the time I calm down my throat is sore and my stomach feels liquefied.

He starts saying something but I don't hear, so I responded with maybe the worst choice I could have picked.

"What did you say stupid e-boy?"

He looks absolutely enraged and I'm half afraid of getting hit, but as always he was just being as dramatic as possible.

"I swear I'm going to make you go to sleep whether you want to or not, Snot Cake."

I decided to try and match his drama.

"Oh my heart, it hurts. My vessel only used for love has been damaged to no end!"

We both continued one upping each other's dramatisms until we were yelling at nothing, I gave in because I knew he never would. I pecked a smooch on his cheek and lay down, my outfit finally changing into my own clothes signaling I was awake.

Jeff still sleeping soundly like a baby. I reached over and tried to pet his hair until Grinny walked up and demand that I feed her, I look at the near by clock it says 12:30 am. I have no idea how Jeff ever went to bed before 1:00 but I have a feeling it was a combination of be hugged for once and the head rubs.

"No Grinny it's nowhere near breakfast."

I was tired and could hear it in my voice

Grinny, being hungry voiced his complaints in BEN's voice.

"I am Hungry, I will wake Jeff up right now! Do you think I won't!? Watch me!"

I'm tired and not in the mood to hear Grinny's bs, responding to him saying.

"Do you want a treat then?"

Just to shut him up.

Both Happy pets shoot up at the word and get on to the floor ready to tail me until occupied with their late night snack.

I try to be quiet though for no real reason, most of the proxies being awake or gone anyway.

BEN was playing on his new nintendo Masky is cleaning up Hoody's room while Hoody watches. Toby is pestering EJ for nothing other than entertainment. Jane, Clockwork and the other grown women were out having a "girl's night out" which they deserve to be honest Liu, well Sully was out aswell but not for socializing, he was doing what most of the proxies did best, kill. LJ doesn't sleep often. The real concerns are Sally sleeping soundly and Slenderman passed out on the couch.

Sally is a child and Slenderman being intimidating, I'm a fairly new proxy and I don't want to piss him off too much.

I get downstairs and in the kitchen, very aware to be even more quiet than before. Getting the respective treat cans for Smile and Grinny, I prepare them and put crunchy treats on top.

About to put the bowls on the floor, Grinny plays another great prank knowing full well I'm trying to be quiet as possible.

"Heeeey We're hungry Ya'know!"

I shoot a begging look at the two of them before putting the bowls down faster and running upstairs.

Getting to the room without confrontation, I keep the door open, knowing Grinny will try to prank me again if I close it.

"hmm morning uhhh- busy bee. Where were you?"

Jeff's sleepy voice makes me fill with some kind of energy I can't explain. Swooning nonetheless I answer.

"Giving your asshole animals late night snacks."

I say in a voice more irritated than I meant to sound.

"ohh don't care, but okay."

He says with a smirk and a shrug. I pick up a pillow and smack him with it, making him jump and grab me by the waist, pulling me into his lap.

"Don't get so buzzy, Honey cake~"

I turn around and try to hit him with my hand only successful once on his thick skull.

"the damn cat threatened and then pranked me!"

I get huffy and try to melt out his grasp, again failing in that endeavor, again attempting to hit him.

"Come on slug bug, don't treat me like that."

The only thing that gets me to calm down is his voice. I push him into our previous spots on the bed only missing the happy pets. He doesn't fall asleep right away this time, but I do finally getting rest without two furry assholes pestering my dreams.

Scene sorry if it's hard to read, this is my first fanfic anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 4

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

Author’s note: Sorry for the longer wait for this chapter guys. I hit a bit of a writer’s block >.< Hope you like it though!

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE

Trudging along behind Algar’s vast strides, Sigurd dragged himself through the castle as he followed the housecarl to the throne room, admittedly struggling to keep up with his brisk pace.

His body was screaming at him to sit down and have a rest somewhere with all the wounds that still littered his flesh, but considering the amount of eyes that were lingering on him at the moment, Sigurd didn’t dare let himself collapse.

All around him, Saxons of every kind stopped dead in their tracks to stare at their peculiar guest as they murmured to each other in nervousness, speculating about what the purpose of his visit could’ve been. Guards and civilians alike followed his every move with a sense of fear sharpening their eyes, and if Sigurd didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Algar led him down this path on purpose.

There were a dozen different ways to reach the throne room -- many of which were far more discreet -- but given how Sigurd was one breath away from being a walking corpse, it was hardly any surprise that Algar decided to go with the most blatant.

After all, what better chance would he have to humiliate his prisoner? It was a well-known fact that the housecarl shared his ealdorman’s hatred for Danes, and seeing as how Sigurd was practically clothed in nothing except for bandages at the moment, it was the perfect opportunity for Algar to parade him around like a dog on a leash.

Sigurd just hoped he wasn’t being led into a death trap. He could see that this whole ordeal gave the housecarl a malevolent sense of joy, and considering the fact that nearly everyone in the castle hated his kind, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out to be his demise.

“...How does it feel, Norse?” Algar taunted, not even bothering to slow down.

Sigurd gripped his waist, refusing to let the pain hinder him. “Two arrows were fired into my chest and I was thrown into the river -- all after being battered by soldiers. You tell me.”

The housecarl chuckled. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about that.”

Algar gestured at the spectating crowds around them, keeping his voice low so that only Sigurd could hear him.

“I meant, how does it feel, now that all these people have seen you for what you are? A sick, hobbling wretch of a man presented to the world in his God-given form? They’ve heard stories about the Danes, you see. Horrifying tales that speak of the barbaric deeds your people have committed. They fear you. And that fear gives you strength.”

Sigurd pressed a hand against the wall, doing his best to stay upright as the housecarl continued to speak.

“But now... you’re alone. You’ve no clan to protect you, and no shield to hide behind. Your longships lay abandoned on the shores of foreign lands, and these poor souls can finally see you for your true self. A coward.”

The viking ignored Algar’s taunts, not wishing to indulge the man.

“Is that so? And tell me, Saxon, do you goad all your prisoners like this? Or is it just me?”

Algar threw him a glare. “No. When it comes to most Danes in your position, I normally just put a sword through their skull. But for whatever reason, Lord Aegenwulf has taken an interest in you, and so, I shall stay my blade for the moment. But know this -- should you try anything that might endanger the safety of our ealdorman, or the safety of his children, you will wish that we left you in that river to drown.”

Sigurd sped up slightly, walking side-by-side with Algar. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Good. Then follow me, and stay in your place.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

THE THRONE ROOM

Limping towards the doors of the throne room, Sigurd silently trailed behind Algar whilst the gargantuan man headed into the great hall ahead of him, announcing their arrival to the ealdorman.

The viking could feel a tight grip of anxiety growing in his chest as he approached the entrance, and upon stepping into the ominous atmosphere of the main hall, he suddenly felt as if the stone walls were closing in on him like a cage.

It felt more akin to a dungeon than a place of nobility in here. The very foundation of the castle seemed to hold onto its occupants with a suffocating clutch, and as Algar delved further into the lion’s den, Sigurd spotted the ealdorman himself sitting at the end of the hall.

At the moment, Lord Aegenwulf was currently slouching in his throne as if the burdens of his position physically weighed him down, and the grim expression on his face did little to help.

His eyes reflected the sullen climate of the throne room like a shattered mirror, and just based on the manner in which his gaze snapped onto Algar, the viking assumed that the man was not pleased about this unexpected turn of events.

“Lord Aegenwulf,” Algar called, kneeling respectfully before him. “I bring the Norse you wished to see.”

The ealdorman exchanged a quick glance with one of the men standing at his side -- most-likely another lord, based on his attire -- and beckoned the housecarl with a simple flick of the hand.

“Show him to me.” He commanded.

Algar instantly rose to his feet and stormed over to Sigurd, grabbing the Norse by the back of the neck before hurling him to the floor.

A pained hiss escaped Sigurd’s lips upon hitting the ground, and without even looking down at his body, the man already knew he had reopened one of his wounds.

“Here he is, my lord.” Algar presented.

Glancing upwards from his position, Sigurd observed Aegenwulf with a newfound interest as the ealdorman did the same, both of them silently examining the other.

Aegenwulf was a lean, middle-aged man with a head of grey hair that sat just above his shoulders, and had a long goatee adorning his chin. His expression was crippled with a prominent touch of remorse, and in the darkness that clung onto his piercing glare, Sigurd could detect an intense hatred burning within him like a fire that was just beginning to ignite.

As for the subjects surrounding him, Sigurd also spotted a younger-looking man standing beside Aegenwulf’s throne, quietly watching the scene unfold. The young man had a head of brown hair that was shaved in a way similar to that of Joseph’s, and judging by the striking resemblance between him and the ealdorman, Sigurd assumed he must’ve been his son.

“So...” Aegenwulf began, watching the viking with the eyes of a hawk, “you are the man whom my children rescued. I’ve heard much about you since your... fortuitous arrival. You’ve caused quite a stir in Forangal with your presence.” He paused for a moment. “...What is your name, Norse?”

Sigurd mindlessly kept his gaze on the ealdorman’s son, unable to deny that he was somewhat captivated by the man.

“...Sigurd.”

Aegenwulf fidgeted with the ornament on the throne’s armrest, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Sigurd...” he repeated. “And tell me, Sigurd, of which clan do you hail?”

The Norse fell silent, hesitant to answer the question. He did not know whether or not the ealdorman was aware of his true identity, but considering what Edlynne told him earlier about the death of her brother, he decided it would be best to keep his clan a secret for the time being.

“I... don’t have a clan.” He settled with. Aegenwulf eyed him skeptically.

“A lone Norse wandering a hostile kingdom without a clan? Odd. How long have you been alone?”

“For many years now, my lord. It’s what I’ve always done.”

Aegenwulf traced the side of his temple with a finger, barely shifting his expression. “...I see. And what brought you to Wedenscire? What business have you in these lands?”

“I did not come here by choice. I was ambushed by soldiers and thrown into the river. The water’s current carried me to Agenbury. There, a man found me washed up on the shore, and then your children brought me to this castle.”

The ealdorman processed the viking’s claims and leaned forward in his seat, holding Sigurd in suspense as he pondered his next words.

“Well, Sigurd... regardless of who you are, or whatever your intentions may be, I must admit that I am intrigued by you. You appear to be no different from your pagan brethren, and yet... it is clear to me that there is something unique about you. After all, it is rare for a Norse to offer candor to a Saxon.”

Sigurd perked his head up in curiosity. “Candor? How could you know--”

“--Your story matches the one my son told me.” Aegenwulf explained, gesturing to the young man. “We spoke long before you arrived. Edric was the one who brought you to our healer.”

Sigurd glanced at the young man, wary about where this was going.

“You saved me?”

Edric’s tone remained firm. “At my siblings’ request, yes. But do not mistake my mercy for friendship. I’m not in the habit of saving stray Danes.”

“I see.”

The viking turned back to Aegenwulf, eager to get this over with.

“And you, my lord? Do you share his views? Have you summoned me here for a simple conversation, or do you intend to execute me?”

Aegenwulf leaned back in his throne, his demeanor calm as always.

“Neither. I was going to send you to the headsman’s axe initially, but after much thought and consideration... my son has persuaded me that, perhaps, you would be more useful to me alive than dead.”

Algar shifted a brow at that. “Ealdorman?”

“Hush, Algar,” the older man urged, picking up on his housecarl’s disapproval. “This decision was not easily made, but I believe it is the wisest course of action, given the alternative outcomes.”

Aegenwulf brought his attention back to Sigurd, explaining his plan.

“Listen to me carefully, Sigurd the Lone Wolf. I have brought you here for one reason, and one reason alone. From this day forth, you are not to be regarded as an enemy in this hall, but instead, as an asset. You will be indentured to me.”

The ealdorman pointed a finger at the viking, giving him a single command.

“You will be responsible for protecting my children. You will act as their personal bodyguard, and defend them with your life. Your job will be to eliminate any threats that should endanger them -- including your own people. No matter the cost.”

Sigurd found himself at a loss for words. Was Aegenwulf being serious? Or was this simply a test of some sort? Surely, he would not place this much faith in a stranger, let alone a Norse. After all, he had just lost one of his own children to their people.

“...Me?” He questioned, baffled by the situation. “Why me? Why not choose somebody else?”

“Because you are the one my son saved,” Aegenwulf answered. “A tremendous amount of effort has gone into keeping you afloat these past two days, and there’s also the fact that our healer, Linette, used a decent portion of her resources to nurse you back to health.”

He tilted his head at Sigurd.

“I believe it is only fair that you repay them for their compassion, wouldn’t you agree? You may not be able to pay them back in silver, but I have heard of the tenacity of Norse warriors. It would be a waste to throw your battle prowess away.”

Algar stepped forward, incredulous about the decision. “My lord, I must protest! This man is a Norse; a viking! He is a man of the enemy, and cannot be trusted. It would be foolish to place your children’s lives in the hands of this pagan!”

Aegenwulf gave him a cautionary glare. “Are you implying that I am foolish, housecarl?”

“N-No, of course not, ealdorman. But I do not think it would be wise to entrust this man with the safety of our people! He is--”

“--Well, fortunately, it’s not your decision to make.” Aegenwulf interrupted. “My children claim that this man can be trusted, so let him prove it. He knows the consequences that will arise should he fail, and I am confident that he will do everything he can to ensure that that doesn’t happen...” He glanced at Sigurd. “...Right?”

Sigurd nodded hesitantly, still taken aback by this path he had suddenly been thrown on. “O-Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

Aegenwulf looked at his son, instructing the young man to come forth.

“Edric, take Sigurd to the armory. It will be a while before he’s able to recover, but I want his equipment to be prepared in the meantime.”

“...Yes, father.” Edric replied in a cross tone. “As you wish.”

The young man stepped away from his position at the throne and descended the small stairs that led up to it, beckoning Sigurd to follow him with a simple jerk of the head.

“Come along then, Norse. And don’t fall behind.”

Watching Edric storm off, Sigurd slowly stood up from the floor and rose back to his feet, careful not to reopen any other wounds. Meanwhile, Aegenwulf remained seated in his throne, uttering one last phrase before dismissing the viking.

“Remember, Sigurd, we are all watching you. I may have spared your life for today, but if I so much as suspect that you have betrayed my trust, I will bring unto you a retribution so fierce that it will shake you even in death.”

Sigurd nodded assuredly at Aegenwulf. “...I understand, my lord.”

“Very well. Then be off with you. My son awaits you in the armory, and I expect you to take up your duties as soon as you are able. Until then, may you walk with God.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE ARMORY

Following Edric down the lengthy corridor, Sigurd found himself feeling much more relieved now that he was out of Algar’s reach and away from the throne room’s premises, leaving him with a brief sense of peace.

The ealdorman’s son didn’t appear to be any more thrilled than the housecarl to have a new Norse roaming around their halls, but at the very least, he didn’t show any intentions of driving a blade through his heart either.

Though, Sigurd had to admit, he was curious about the young man’s true motivations. It was quite obvious that he held no love for the Danes or their people, and even though he claimed to have saved Sigurd at the behest of his siblings, the viking still had to wonder if that was truly the case.

After all, was it really enough to convince someone to risk their safety purely based on their family’s wishes alone? Regardless of how much Edric may have loved Joseph and Edlynne, the truth of the matter was -- they were at war.

There was no love to be found between Saxons and Danes -- especially in this shire -- and despite the honorable demeanor Sigurd may have carried, the young man really had no reason to trust him. He was still a complete stranger in the man’s eyes, and so the fact that Edric went out of his way to convince his father to spare Sigurd only made the viking more confused.

“So...” Edric suddenly said, pulling the other man from his thoughts, “you’re Sigurd. You were in quite a state the last time I saw you. Part of me was convinced you wouldn’t wake up.”

Sigurd caught onto his tone. “Disappointed that I did?”

“Let’s just say that Danes aren’t exactly reputable around here. They’ve brought much pain to our lands, and so far, I have no reason to believe you won’t do the same.”

The viking couldn’t help but throw back a humorous retort. “Well, good thing I’m a Norse, then.”

Edric sighed in annoyance. “Norse, Dane -- it makes no difference. You’re all pagans in my eyes. My father may have entrusted you with my life, but that does not mean I’m willing to hand it over.”

“You know, for someone who went through the trouble of rescuing me, you don’t seem too enthusiastic to have me around.”

“And why should I be? My siblings may pray for your recovery, but that is only because they are naive to the horrors of this war. They have not seen the cruelty of your people, nor what they did to our brother.”

Sigurd switched to a more serious tone. “...Yes, Edlynne told me about Gareth.”

Edric glanced at him. “Did she? I suppose I’m not surprised. She seems to be drawn to you. But what she says is true. Gareth was killed about a month ago. Near Grantebridge. It happened during an assault. The Danes just... cut him down like some sort of animal. We received word about it a week later.”

The viking’s expression sank with empathy. “Do you know who’s responsible for his death?”

The man glowered in anger. “We do, actually. According to Algar’s scouts, it was the Raven Clan who brought his life to an end.”

Sigurd shook his head in disbelief. “...Are you certain? I have crossed paths with the Raven Clan before, and I can assure you, they are not the type to display such unnecessary cruelty. They have always been men and women of honor.”

Edric scoffed. “Your people and mine have very different definitions of honor, Sigurd. We consider mercy and justice to be honorable traits. Your people would sacrifice a defenseless man to one of their gods all in the name of war.”

The ealdorman’s son decided to drop the subject and ended the conversation with a huff, making haste to their destination.

“But enough of that. We’ve reached the armory. You can find gear for yourself in here.”

Swinging open the iron-braced door, Edric stepped aside and allowed Sigurd to go in first, revealing a room full of valuable equipment.

All around him, there were racks decorated with a wide variety of swords, shields, axes, flails -- and in the center of the room, there stood an impressive array of armored models, glimmering in the light like a shining mirror.

“Have a look around,” Edric said, leaning against a wall. “I doubt any of this armor will actually fit a man of your stature, but when you find something you like, we’ll take it to our blacksmith and have him adjust it for you. Be mindful, though. Some of it is heavier than it looks.”

Walking up to one of the armor displays, Sigurd took a moment to examine its durability and leaned closer to the outfit, meticulously observing its components.

The first layer was made up of a suit of chainmail that draped over the entire body and had a light gambeson to pad it underneath, similar to the one Edric wore. It was protected by a sturdy shell of plate armor that covered all the limbs, and had a full helm sitting atop its shoulders.

A fashionable cape bearing the sigil of Aegenwulf’s house hung from the pauldrons, and upon further inspection, Sigurd noticed that extra care had been put into making sure there were very few weak points for a blade to sneak in.

It was very impressive in its design, but despite its resistant nature and ability to block out any attacks, Sigurd couldn’t help but note how unbearably dense it was.

The multiple layers of armor made it almost impossible for its wearer to move around freely, and just based on how much it seemed to strain the model that it currently rested on, Sigurd assumed it would’ve been more of a burden than a benefit.

“Do you have anything lighter than this?” He asked Edric, gesturing to the suit.

The young man shook his head. “That is the light armor. You want something heavy, you should take a look at what Algar is wearing.”

Sigurd tapped his knuckles against the armor’s chest, emitting a metallic clang. “This is the light armor? How can anyone fight while wearing this? It’s far too restrictive.”

Edric walked next to Sigurd, observing the display with him.

“Well, it’s made out of metal. Of course it’s going to be heavy. I’m not sure what your warriors wear, but this is what our soldiers have always used.”

The viking crossed his arms, throwing yet another humorous reply at him. “Hmm. Well, as thick as your armor is, I’m afraid it hinders you. Much like your own skull.”

The Saxon grew irritated. “Look, just pick something, alright? If you are to be my guardian, I’d sleep far better at night knowing you were properly equipped for the job. You can’t bloody well fight in your loins.”

Sigurd grinned. “...Is that a challenge?”

Edric sighed deeply. “Lord grant me patience. I’m going to regret this.”

The Norse let out a soft chuckle, amused at the nobleman’s vexed mood. Before he could carry on with his search though, a sudden thought appeared in his mind, providing him with a possible compromise.

“What about my old armor? Do you still have it?”

“You mean the one you were wearing when we fetched you out the river? I believe so, but most of it has been ruined. The only parts of it you could salvage would probably be the tunic and the cloak.”

Sigurd was satisfied with that. “Then it will be enough. I can use the the tunic instead of the gambeson. It will be less protection, but I’ll be able to move faster.”

Edric shrugged in defeat. “Very well. Whatever works for you. Just make sure you’re able to fight at your best. I can defend myself well enough, but it’s my siblings that I fear for.”

The viking began removing the armor from the display. “Have no fear, my lord. Joseph and Edlynne went to great lengths to save me. I won’t allow any harm to come to them.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Edric strode over to the armory’s entrance, saying one last thing before taking his leave.

“I’ll find Linette and ask her where she’s keeping your old gear. In the meantime, you focus on bringing that armor to our blacksmith. He’ll make sure it fits you to the bone, and can possibly even find you a new weapon to wield. Just be quick about it.”

Sigurd nodded. “Understood. Oh, and one more thing, my lord?”

The young man glanced at him. “Yes? What is it?”

He softened his voice. “...Thank you. For convincing your father to spare me.”

Edric turned away from Sigurd, reluctant to open up to the man. “I did not save you out of kindness, Norse. Do not forget that. You are simply an asset to my father. No more, no less.”

The viking smiled in return. “Still, I owe you my life. Even if your motivations were not the most... noble, you have done more than most Saxons would. And I thank you for that.”

Edric pretended to brush off Sigurd’s remarks, but the Norse could tell he was appreciative.

“Well, just make sure you do your part. My father is taking a great risk trusting you like this, and I would not see it be in vain.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THAT NIGHT

SIGURD’S QUARTERS

Standing in the midst of his new quarters, Sigurd rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck as he adjusted to his suit of armor, trying to get a feel for its limitations.

The armor was far heavier than the one he used to wear during his time with the Raven Clan, but unfortunately for the viking, his Saxon friends seemed to value protection over agility, and thus, he had been forced to settle for this shell of metal.

It would take some time for Sigurd to adapt to its hefty design, what with all the plates of iron that now sat on his limbs, but luckily, not all of it was Saxon craftsmanship.

Beneath the layer of chainmail, Sigurd wore the same tunic that he always adorned back when he still had his Dane armor, and instead of keeping the cape that once hung from the pauldrons, he had substituted the accessory with his signature fur cloak, allowing him to walk freely without fear of tangling a cape between his legs.

It wasn’t exactly the type of protection that Sigurd would’ve normally settled for, but considering the alternative options he saw in the armory, he supposed it was the best he was going to get for now.

Strolling over to his bed, Sigurd took a seat on the edge and let himself rest for a moment, finally giving his wounds the chance they needed to heal. It had been a long day of running around all over the castle and tending to his duties, but even with everything that had happened already, the viking still found himself unable to comprehend his new reality.

Just this morning, he had been a prisoner of Aegenwulf and awaited his possible execution in the throne room, wondering if he’d even live long enough to see the sunset.

Everyone in this castle regarded him as nothing more than a lapdog for the ealdorman, and thanks to all the secrecy that surrounded his presence, a plethora of rumors had sparked amongst the pandemonium, causing people to grow even more fearful of him.

But now... here he was, a personal bodyguard for the ealdorman’s children, and sitting in his own chambers. He had been given a chance to start a new life, and possibly, even find out what happened to the rest of his clan.

It was the stuff of sagas, Sigurd thought, to go through what he had endured. Part of him wondered if this was all some dream and if he was still floating in the river, but if this was the path that the Nornir had lain out before him, Sigurd had no intentions of fighting against it.

He truly believed that everyone was tied into a certain fate, after all, and he could not deny that he was curious to see where his led to.

Breaking him out of his thoughts, an unexpected knock suddenly emitted from the door, leading Sigurd to gaze in its direction. 

“One moment.” He said, pushing himself up from the bed.

Walking over to the entrance, Sigurd pulled the door open and immediately felt his heart tighten with worry as he laid eyes on his guest, finding none other than Algar himself standing on the other side.

“Good evening, my lord.” The housecarl greeted with a malicious grin. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Sigurd’s tone flattened with frustration. “What is it you want, Algar? Is there something you need from me? Or have you come to taunt me more?”

Algar shook his head. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I simply came to make sure that your new quarters are to your liking.”

The viking crossed his arms. “So I see. And what’s the real reason?”

The other man laughed. “Distrustful one, aren’t you? Can a man not take care of his friends without arousing suspicion anymore? I only wish to see how well you fare. After all, I’m certain that these chambers must dim in comparison to the quarters you once had.”

Sigurd furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you were a jarl, were you not? Before you came to Wedenscire?”

The Norse fell silent at that, suddenly feeling a sense of alarm. What exactly was going on here?

Algar chuckled at Sigurd’s concerned expression and stepped closer to the man, prowling towards him like a beast.

“...Oh, yes. I know who you are, son of Styrbjorn. I must admit, you took me by surprise when I first saw you in Linette’s infirmary. I was certain my men had finished you off back in Ravensthorpe... but it appears I was not nearly as thorough as I thought.”

Sigurd glared at Algar with the gaze of a lion, clenching his jaw in anger.

“...You?” He whispered vehemently, his eyes widened with shock. “You were the one who destroyed my home...?”

The housecarl nodded casually. “Indeed. Under Aegenwulf’s command. He sought vengeance after the death of his son, you see, and I was more than willing to help. It took me quite a while to track your clan down and devise an assault, but once everything was in place, your village burned like firewood. Even your own brother could not defend his people.”

Sigurd stared at Algar directly in the eye, his gaze practically piercing through the man’s skull.

“What did you do to Eivor?”

Algar smiled widely, revealing a row of yellow-tinted teeth. “...Only what he deserved.”

The housecarl reached into his pouch and pulled out a specific item, presenting it to Sigurd in his palm. The item appeared to be a small blade decorated with golden plating and green jewels, and--

...Wait.

Sigurd froze in horror.

No. It couldn’t be. Was that...?

“Your brother’s most prized possession,” Algar explained. “A concealed blade that we tore from his wrist after he died. The weapon was damaged in our little scuffle, but I decided to keep it nonetheless. ‘Tis a thing of beauty, after all.”

Sigurd suddenly felt a newfound rage kindling inside him and lurched at the housecarl, causing the other man to pin him against the wall.

“Now, now...” Algar taunted, restraining the viking’s wrists in his grasp, “let’s not do anything foolish, shall we?”

Sigurd struggled relentlessly in his hold, completely forgetting about his injuries now. “I’ll gut you, you argr dog...!”

The Saxon smirked. “I wouldn’t recommend that, not after Aegenwulf has placed so much trust in you. You’re quite fortunate, you know? I tried to inform him of your true identity back in the throne room, but it seems his halfwitted son got into his ear before I could.”

“Then why not tell him now?” Sigurd growled. “Why waste your time tormenting me?”

“Because regardless of our disagreements, Aegenwulf is right about one thing. You are clearly much stronger than you look. Most Saxons would consider the Wolf-Kissed to be the best warrior in your clan, and yet, you managed to survive where he could not. You evaded death against all odds, and found a place amongst our nobility, despite being a Norse. You are a warrior in a world of weaklings, and it would be foolish to waste your skills.”

Algar leaned forward, twisting Sigurd’s arm in his grip. “But do not mistake my compliance for absolution. If you step even a toe out of line, you can be certain that Aegenwulf will be informed of who you really are.”

He threw Sigurd to the ground, looming over him like a shadow.

“What happens now depends entirely on you, Sigurd. You can either follow Aegenwulf’s orders like a good little boy and live your life as the Lone Wolf, or pursue this pointless quest for revenge and die as the jarl who failed to protect his people. The decision is yours. Choose wisely.”

Leaving the viking alone with his thoughts, Algar stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him, causing a loud thud to echo throughout the chamber as the torches flickered in the wind.

Meanwhile, Sigurd remained fallen on the floor like a discarded corpse and clenched his fists in agony, completely devastated by the news he just heard.

There was no way Eivor could be dead. Not like this.

Eivor was strong; stronger than any of them. He always carried the favor of the gods ever since he was a child, and achieved the impossible as if it were nothing.

Sigurd refused to believe that a battered, old hound such as Algar himself could defeat him. He must’ve been mistaken.

Sigurd survived the ambush in Ravensthorpe, so why couldn’t he?

Until he saw Eivor’s corpse with his own two eyes, the viking promised himself that he wouldn’t give up on the man, no matter how daunting the path ahead may have seemed. There was more to this than Algar was letting on, and Sigurd intended to dig up the full truth -- even if it would cost him his life.

He would have to play along with Aegenwulf’s plans for now, for the sake of staying alive. But when the time came, Sigurd would overcome this obstacle that the gods had placed in front of him, and reclaim his honor as a drengr worthy of Valhalla’s halls.

It was what Eivor would’ve wanted for him, Sigurd assumed. The Wolf-Kissed was a warrior of legendary renown, and if what Algar said really was the truth, then Sigurd did not wish for his brother to roam the fields of Fólkvangr alone.

It was the only fate acceptable for a bloodline such as his, and he did not intend to let it slip by.

[vikingsagine]

Peaches (Ivar x Reader) One - Shot

Hola! So, thanks for liking the story line to ‘My Loyalty is Yours’ and ‘A Trip Down Memory Lane’, I’m still trying to decide the outcome to that. Like, I have ideas but yeah. ANYWAYS, this is to lighten the mood a bit and I need a lil bit of fluff ya know. yerp. 

Summary: After a certain encounter, Ivar is curious about you and decides to make his presence known.

Warnings: A bit of swearing. And FLUFF...I think...well, just soft. 

There weren’t many things that caught Ivar’s interest. The prince himself found pleasure through the crueler things in life. Things that gave him confidence. Things that made him feel in control and powerful. That is why, the boneless man, spent most of his days taunting and humiliating others. Why he spoke so openly of his opinion in a way that stirred some type of reaction. It gave him a sweet thrill and secured all of his doubts and flaws. Yet one day his curiosity was poked by something completely different, you. 

He was sitting alone, eyes relishing in all the different supplements Bjorn had returned with from sea or rather raiding other lands. Nothing new or grand. A row of slaves. Boxes of gold and silver. Exotic food. Metal and armor. It was all the same as the last and the many more before that. Until a girl, no older than he or even younger tumbled and tripped over his sprawled legs. No man or woman has ever managed to do so because well, he didn’t exactly blend in. He was a crippled prince after all. You fumbled to your feet, cheeks flushed and gaze lowered, praying words of apologies. 

“Are you blind or are you just a fool, perhaps a blind fool?” Ivar snarled, his anger evident behind the blue of his irises. He had never witnessed a girl so foolishly clumsy or rather, dim.

“Oh I do apologize, I wasn’t watching where I was going and-and...I am terribly sorry. Please forgive me. Please. Oh dear, here...I will...I will fix this.” You bent down and attempted to massage his limp legs, hands feeling the thin limbs like sticks made of iron rods.

“Are you mad?” Ivar seethed, slapping your hands away like a pestering insect. “I should have you killed for this.” Never in his life has he ever felt the hands of another man let alone a woman, other than his Mother, on his crippled legs. It was infuriating. It reminded him of his disadvantage.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...Oh by the gods.” You jumped back onto your heels, fingers reaching out to your bag to pull out an orange fruit, a peach. “Here, take this. It’s all I have on me at the moment. It’s my favorite thing because it’s sweet like a Summer evening. Please.” You always knew that peaches were the only things that made you feel better, happier and you thought it would do you good in your current predicament. But boy were you wrong.

“I don’t want your peaches.” He barked, grabbing the fruit and throwing it away. He could feel his blood boil. First, this woman trips over him like he was a piece of trash lying around. Second, she touches his legs like she had a right too. Like he wasn’t already ashamed of them. Then, she offers him a piece of fruit like he’s a poor viking living among rats. “You think a fucking piece of fruit is going to make up for this? What are you, incredibly stupid or a fucking smart ass?” You winced at his tone, his voice growing harsher and harsher. Ivar too engulfed in his wrath, he didn’t notice the people observing the sudden growling. “Do you not know who I am, woman? I am Ivar the boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and if by all means I see your stupid little face here again, I will not hesitate to worsen your miserable life.” Ivar gave you a sugary pungent smirk, burning the soles of his dark glazed blue orbs into yours. “Do you understand?” His tone turned soft, humming in such a sickly way it intimidated you. You nodded quickly and he finally let go.

“I am terribly sorry.” You muttered one more time before you jumped to your feet and evacuated the sudden gleam of spotlight. The complete opposite of a moth to a flame. You didn’t know whether to cry out of frustration or scream out of embarrassment. 

From that day on, he saw you more frequently. Well, he noticed you like a mark that cursed his eyes. Ivar noted your careless figure looming the town of Kattegat whenever he decided to go to the market with his Mother because he had nothing to do. He saw you with your family, owning a small market that appeared once a week, selling sweet fruits and fresh vegetables. His eyes were glued to you like a lost puppy. He noticed small things about you. The innocent smile you shared to strangers as they brought from your store. The way you shyly yet easily conversed with others. Even when you would scowl your younger siblings who ran around and caused more hassle to your day. Your brows would upturn not furrow, your lips would pout not frown. Your eyes would soften, not hardened. There were moments there, where he’d be minding his own business, arguing with his brothers and he'd suddenly catch sight of you talking and feeding the horses. Your lips flapping so mindlessly, actually conversing with the animal as if you believed they understood you. 

Ivar didn’t know why but it frustrated him to no extent. He didn’t understand why he was so curious about such a mundane and normal girl that it drove him to the verge of madness. A girl that he threatened because of her stupid mistakes. And he found that you were in fact a clumsy and awkward mess. It amused him. It was like watching a baby trying to walk. Falling over and over again. Knocking things down. Covered in dirt and apologizing like ‘sorry’ was the only word you knew. 

But today, Ivar decided to end his inner turmoil and finally resolve his pestering curiosity. He had come to the decision of approaching you and taking control of this unknown rage or passion or whatever it was he felt. 

~~~

You snuck into the barn, eyes wide with alert and hands gripping your bag filled with food. With quick feet you slipped into the stall of one of the horses - pure black with socks of white and a specs of white along the mane. Apple, you decided to call her since she loved the sugary taste and crunch. 

“Hello my sweet girl.” You pat the mane of the female horse, it huffed in response. “Sorry I took so long, I think the men have caught on.” The horse nudged its head against your hand. “Eager are we? Here.” You pulled out the awaited fruit and held it out on a flat palm. It immediately engulfed it completely, wet and large lips tickling your fingers and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Now what do we have here?” A voice startled you and you jumped back, tripping over your feet and throwing the bag of sweet fruits up into the air. Ivar laughed at the sight, truly amused by your innocence and lumbering behavior. “You really are a klutz aren’t you?” Ivar smirked, leaning his body against the wall and eyed you with amusement. 

“I was just...it’s not what it seems. Please forgive me. Please don’t tell anyone.” You ignored the fruit that rolled on the hay floor and observed the cripple man. He was the one from the other day. Ivar, son of Ragnar and Queen Aslaug. He was handsome like all the sons of Ragnar. It was odd how every one of his brothers were so...alluring yet individual in their looks. 

“Hmm.” Ivar hummed, picking up the orange fruit that knocked into his foot. “I won’t.” You let out a sigh but did not dare to tear your eyes away from his frame. You recalled your last encounter with the male, his threat. If I see your stupid little face here again, I will not hesitate to worsen your miserable life.

“Thank you.” Ivar picked the pieces of hay from the peach and took a curious bite, wearing a devious smile. His eye burned into yours and it felt endearing and new. No man had ever taken a look at you, not one quite like this.

“You are right.” Ivar said and took you by surprise. His lips glistened from the juice of the sweet delicacy. “It’s sweet like you said. What was it? A summer evening?” Your gaze locked on to the small movement of his tongue and ogled with wide eyes at such a simple action. But it left you a flustered mess, mind wandering to places you knew they shouldn’t. “But I wonder, do you taste the same?” You choked on your saliva, his tempting words hitting differently as a wave of interest sparked from inside. And judging by the devious smirk plastered across his plump pink lips, he enjoyed your reaction. 

“I-I-I...do-do-do...what? I...uh...huh?”

“I am done with you now.” Ivar hummed and threw the delicacy to the side, content with the fulfillment of his words and his encounter with you. It was enough to fill his cup of wonder. “See you very soon, Peaches.”

@soleil-dor​

[lush-lavenders]

❀Chocolate❀

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: You and Steve have a sort of thing. But that’s all it is. That is until at one fateful party, liquid confidence and a little push of emotions take you over.

Request: N/A

Author’s Note: This is the first fic I’m posting, so I hope you like it! And please feel free to send me requests. (I hope it isn’t too bad)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Cursing, Underage Drinking, Blood, Angst

!I don’t own this gif!

You, Y/N Henderson, didn’t go to parties. You much rather sit at home, watching geeky sci-fi movies with your little brother.

This Friday night wasn’t supposed to be any different. That is until your best friend decided for you to change up your plans.

Your arms were crossed as Olivia opened the passenger’s side door. Music from the house blared out over the whole area. It wouldn’t surprise you if someone called the police with a noise complaint.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re not going to sit in my car all night.” She tried to reason, but nothing stuck.

“If I have anything to say in the matter, then yes, I will.” You mumbled, shifting as if you were trying to become one with the seat.

Olivia simply rolled her eyes. “You know he’ll be here, right?”

You seemed to sink into the seat deeper. “That’s the main reason I shouldn’t be here…”

There was no doubt that something was going on between you and a certain Golden boy with great hair. But no one knew what it was that was going on. No one, including you. Steve, in your eyes, always seemed to have things planned out, while you sat there wondering what you were going to do minute to minute.

After some more coaxing, you finally get out of the car and are immediately pulled into a den of drunk and high teenagers.

Olivia pulls you through a crowd of dancing drunks in the living room to a crowd of tipsy girls in the kitchen. You didn’t notice it when she grabbed you a cup and filled it with some liquid as your eyes had been scanning semi-familiar faces. You were looking for a certain familiar face.

You didn’t know how long you were looking, but it was long enough for Olivia to disappear from your side.

You sighed to yourself and started to maneuver your way through the crowd. You didn’t really give what could be in your cup any thought. You knew Olivia probably would be drinking and that you were the one that would have to drive her home. Yay for you.

This was the only real thought that swarmed around your head when you spotted a certain tuft of hair. Then, all thoughts went to him.

He looked good. He always looked good. He wore a simple dark blue polo with a pair of jeans. His hair was slightly a mess, probably from partying. He wore the perfect smile, which infected you with a stupid, bashful smile.

He looked exactly like he does now when this whole ‘thing’ between them started.

**

“Y/N! Popcorn!” Dustin called out from the living room. He wouldn’t dare get up and get it himself.

“Hold your horses!” You called back out, grumbling something to yourself. Steve’s kitchen was big and impossible for you to navigate alone. 

The Party was having their weekly movie night at the teenager’s house and Dustin had invited you for the first time. You thought it would be to spend some more time together. Nope. He just wanted you as a snack server.

You didn’t know why, but even Steve wasn’t helping. And this was his damn house.

You found the popcorn and started to get it ready. You waited for it with crossed arms. A minute or so later it was done and you started now looking for a big enough bowl. Just your luck, the perfect bowl was in a cabinet above the fridge, behind a glass bowl.

You pulled over a bar stool that sat at the island in front of the fridge. You were determined to do this yourself. Too determined.

Standing on the wobbly stool, you reached back and grabbed the bowl, carefully pulling it out. Turns out, you weren’t careful enough.

The glass bowl that was in front was hit lightly once, but that was enough to send it out of the cabinet and onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Shit shit shit.” You mumbled, quickly getting down off the stool.

You could hear some of the Party talking from the other room, wondering what the hell you were doing. Steve came rushing into the kitchen, looking around to try and find out what happened.

There you were, on your hands and knees, cleaning up the pieces of broken glass. “I’m so sorry Steve.” You seemed to sense his presence.

He shook his head, but you didn’t see him. “Uh, no, it’s alright.” He grabbed a trash can and came over to start helping you clean up. “It was probably just some cheap, expensive bowl that my mom got from Europe or something.”

You almost snorted, a small smile tracing your lips as you shake your head. “Yeah, no big deal at all.”

That smile was quickly wiped away and replaced with a look of pain. “Fuck…!” You mumbled, pulling your hand away from the glass and inspecting the cut you just got.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, noticing immediately that your demeanor changed.

You quickly stood up, rushing over to the sink to make sure you didn't bleed all over his floor. "Um, I think so, but I'm not completely sure, to be honest." Your tone of voice was on the edge of blinding pain and crippling embarrassment.

You didn’t hear him get up or move closer to you, but you could suddenly feel a presence right behind you.

You turned to say you were fine but were hit with a wave of dizziness and started to stumble and lose balance.

Steve was quick to catch your arms, helping you steady yourself. “Woah there. Come on, let’s clean that up before you bleed out.”

He held onto you tightly as he led out of the kitchen and to the bathroom next to his bedroom. You were seated on the toilet as he grabbed a first aid kit and squatted down in front of you. This was obviously all a blur to you, only remembering the sound of his voice and the pain coursing through your hand.

Before you knew it, your hand was fully wrapped and you were feeling a little better. 

“Thank you…” You said quietly, meeting a pair of chocolate eyes.

His smile made your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips. “She speaks. Thought I lost you there for a moment.” He jokes, bringing a slight smile to you. But that wasn’t on your mind for long.

You didn’t notice you both slowly leaned in until your lips met. 

The kiss was rushed, yet calm and sweet. He tasted like chocolate, no doubt from the candy Dustin had brought. Chocolate. He tasted just as his eyes looked. Was that a coincidence? It had to be.

**

Any thoughts about chocolate fled your mind as a chocolate haired girl rested her hands on Steve’s chest, his hands finding her swaying hips.

Now, normally you weren’t the drinking type. You never had a reason to. It seemed pointless. But at this moment, it felt like the only option. Why watch the guy you like and thought liked you back dance with a different girl when you could get shit-faced and forget about him?

Within seconds, the red solo cup that was in your hand was completely empty. You downed whatever liquid was in it. It wasn’t the best tasting, but the only thing you cared about was the buzz you were starting to feel.

You listened and nodded your head to the music, ignoring the ringing in the back of your head and the thumping of your heart.

You let your eyes wander, trying to find where Olivia could be. She was the one who dragged you here, she was going to be the one to deal with your drunk ass.

She’s standing behind a couch, cheeks a rosy red as she laughs with some meathead from your English class. 

You make your way over to her, stumbling due to your tipsy state. A familiar hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

“Didn’t know you left that fortress of yours for parties like these.” Steve’s voice almost completely sobered you up.

“Believe me when I say I’m never coming to one of these again…” You mumbled, reluctantly letting yourself face him. 

He was holding an identical red solo cup, but he didn’t seem as fazed by the contents as you were. He knew how to hold his liquor. “Then let’s make your first and last party as enjoyable as possible.”

He was standing in front of you, talking to you as if he wasn’t just dancing with someone else. “Actually, I was just about to head home.” That was a lie. Olivia was your ride home, and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

You wormed yourself out of his hold, not sticking around to listen to his response as you bolted it out the front door and out to the street. You’d rather walk home then act like everything was okay.

It didn’t process that tears were streaming down your face until someone calling out your name broke through the quiet of the night. Why did he have to follow you?

You frantically wiped your tears as he appeared beside you. You tried speeding up, but he was faster and caught your arm in his hand.

“Y/N, did something happen?” He asked, as if he didn’t know that he was the cause of every feeling of pain and love in your mind.

You ripped your arm out of his hold. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Steve.” You didn’t know why, but you were suddenly angry instead of sad. “Don’t act like you don’t know anything.”

He was shocked, and for obvious reasons. “I don’t-”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot you were King Steve. You just kiss whoever the fuck you want and then ignore them. Kiss and tell. Kiss and then go dance with other girls.” You never talked like this. But he had this kind of effect on you.

Everything looked like it was connecting in his head. “Y/N…” He reached out to take your hand.

“Don’t touch me.” You pulled your hand back as fast as you could.

He put his hands up in a defensive way. “You know that’s not like me, Y/N. Me and that girl in there, there’s nothing. Hell, I don’t even know her name.”

You shook your head. “It sure as hell didn’t look like that.”

He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Dammit, Y/N. What do I have to do to get you to believe me?”

You stayed quiet. You just wanted the truth. “How do you feel about me…?” You asked quietly after a long moment.

It was Steve’s turn to be silent. “Fuck, Y/N.” He mumbled after a moment. “You wanna know the truth? I can’t get you out of my head. Even before that damn kiss. I was ignoring you because I didn’t know how to feel. You don’t get how many times I’ve been hurt. I don’t think I could take it if you rejected me too.”

Your anger sizzled as quickly as it came. Now, you just felt bad. Not completely bad, but partly bad. “Steve, why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighed in a bit of frustration. “I just told you why.”

You bit your lip a little. Good point. “You should have come to me…” You said quietly, looking down. “Cause I can’t get you out of my mind either.”

Steve’s footsteps shifted as you felt a hand on your waist and a hand on your cheek, making you look up at him. “I guess I’ve come to you now.”

You crack a small smile, rolling your eyes. “You’re a piece of work Harrington.”

He chuckled and smashed his lips to mine. He tasted like alcohol, which wasn’t the best taste on him. I definitely preferred chocolate over cheap booze.