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fuchsiagrasshopper · 5 years ago

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Falling Together Part II

Author’s Note: So glad I’ve dove head first into this fandom, you guys are so welcoming and enthusiastic! There will be 2 more parts before this comes to its natural end. Also if you want to be tagged, or I missed you, please let me know.

Part 1

Pairing: Ivar x Reader Word count: 3213

Warnings: None "Are you still feeling sorry for yourself?" Hvitserk prodded, breaking the silence in the warm afternoon.

Ivar had agreed to go fishing with his brother to clear his head, but between the lack of bites and Hvitserk's questions, there was little peace to be had. He had tossed away his line, and had sprawled out on the dock, falling back into his dark thoughts. Since your argument, you had made your presence scarce. You always managed to be gone before he woke at dawn, and you no longer took meals in the Great Hall. If he managed to catch a glimpse of you in a day it was something worth bragging about.

Hvitserk let out a huff as he threw his line down. "I'm sure you're not the first man to accuse his wife of being a whore."

Ivar glared at his brother, tempted to push him into the water. "I was only going by what you told me."

"Hey, I told you to fuck her, not to accuse her of laying with any man who gives her trinkets," Hvitserk said between chuckles. "Speaking of which, I saw the boy Einarr the other day. You'd better watch yourself, or you could have a real rival eight years from now."

Hvitserk knew just what to say to make him feel like the foolish boy who crawled around Kattegat again. The boy, who just wanted to keep up with his brothers. He was a King now, but sometimes he still felt like he was chasing after their greatness. Letting out a grunt of frustration, he threw his dagger at Hvitserk's foot, just shy of sticking through the toe of his boot.

Hvitserk leapt back, and shot him an incredulous look. "I hope you don't show that same temper to your wife. She's a delicate Christian flower, not a fishmonger's daughter."

Ivar froze as he felt his back stiffen, and Hvitserk appeared to realize his mistake. "I would never harm her."

"I know that, Ivar," Hvitserk murmured, brushing his hand through his hair. "I...shit. I'm sorry for that."

The sincerity was there, and Ivar believed him, but his mind had traveled far back into a different life. He could still feel the strength of his grip, hear her struggling gasps, and see the love go out of her eyes when he took the breath out from her body. Love was a misery, and it only seemed to bring him grief. His mother and father, Freydis and Baldr, even Sigurd. Perhaps he had done you a kindness by mistake.

He had been the one that had refused all attempts at bonding between you, so it seemed ridiculous that he had chosen this instance to resent the distance. It was your talk of a marriage not needing love that had gotten to him. After Freydis, he was certain he wouldn't fall in love again, but that didn't mean his heart didn't crave it. Marriage should not be a loveless thing, not after he'd seen what it did to his mother. He wasn't in love with you, but he did not want your hatred either.

"What should I do?" Ivar asked aloud, desperate enough that he looked to Hvitserk for the answer.

"Get her a gift, and apologize."

Ivar frowned. "What kind of gift?"

"Ask her yourself," said Hvitserk, looking over his shoulder. "She's coming this way."

You were indeed coming down the path to the wharf, a guard on either side. Ivar thought you would be wearing a scowl, but you were as poised as Frigg, with no trace of animosity to be found. You indicated for your guards to remain back as you approached the brothers. Hvitserk chose that moment to reach down and pull the stuck knife from the wood. You had caught the act, even growing a smile at it.

"What did you do to warrant a dagger to the foot, Hvitserk?" You teased.

"I'm not the best advisor," He reasoned. "That's probably why it's not my job."

You chuckled freely, all while Ivar kept his gaze away to the water. "Indeed. May I borrow my husband for a moment?"

Ivar gazed up at his brother for help, who shrugged as a reply. "Of course. Guess I'll go find myself some trouble."

"Take them with you. They look far too bored without my company," You said of your guards before taking a seat on the dock beside Ivar. Once Hvitserk was far enough away, you spoke again. "When I was a young girl, I used to run down to the water instead of practicing my needlework. A languid sunrise was all the beauty I needed, and I would watch the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of a ship coming into the havens."

Ivar listened to your leisured words, recalling a time when he would also go down to the shores of Kattegat. Sometimes he imagined it would be his father returning from exile on one of the ships that made port, but as he grew older, it crossed his mind less until he abandoned the wish entirely. His father had good reason to stay away, and Ivar sometimes wondered if it would have been better had he never returned.

"What do you want, wife?" He was tired and the reminiscing about things better left forgotten put him into a sour state.

"I've come to the conclusion that we cannot remain parted like this forever, and as I told you before, the people talk," You said, smiling at him. Ivar had forgotten what it felt like to have a woman's eyes on him that way, and it commanded his whole attention. "I listened, and decided what would be best is for the people to see their King and Queen together."

"Is that the only reason?" He tested.

"No." You paused to adjust your skirts, and you shifted closer, sitting in a manner that should have been unbecoming of a Queen, but was endearing in its frankness. "I feel there are things that I don't know about you, but I believe your regret to be sincere."

"It was."

You stared at him with something akin to concern. "You were married once before me, weren't you?"

Ivar narrowed his eyes, hating the vast change of the conversation, and how you had sprung him into a trap, like a rabbit to a snare. "Yes."

"I see," You said, and after pausing a moment, you did not say more on the matter.

With your gaze set on the ocean, Ivar was able to take his time regarding you. Hvitserk was right, you were beautiful. You did not resemble the icy nordic women he had been surrounded by, nor were you like any of the English ladies who coward from his men. You were shades of a dark, stormy night, but also the fairness of a pale morning bathed in sunlight. He should be proud to walk alongside you.

When you caught him looking, you mistook what he had been fixated on. You plucked at the bracelet on your wrist as your mouth twisted into a frown.

"If it bothers you, I can get rid of it."

"Your silence bothers me," said Ivar. "You are my wife, I do not want you to be meek."

You burst into giggles, "Is that how you see me?"

"No, I see that you are a warrior who doesn't resort to the sword. This strength you have has earned you the title to be Queen."

"My father's insistence that I marry you made me Queen, but that is kind of you to say," You shifted to face him head on, and Ivar appreciated how you held his stern look. "Why did you agree to marry me? My father's lands are not widespread, you could have easily lorded over us with the warriors you have. It could have saved you the trouble of being tied to a Christian."

"My intentions to raid have not changed, but an alliance in a foreign land is its own valuable treasure. My father had done the same with King Ecbert, but not until he had made an enemy of King Aelle first. I won't make the same mistake," Ivar explained as he watched your loose curls dance in the sea breeze. You did not braid your hair, and it was longer than any woman's in Kattegat. Not to be distracted by your grace, he steeled his gaze, and continued to speak. "As for having you as a wife, I think you know that I find you to be an accomplished Queen, and an acceptable partner."

"Acceptable? Quit with that flattery husband, or I might swoon," You quipped with an eye roll.

"I would enjoy that."

Ivar took pleasure in how you flustered, mouth stuck open and not quite sure how to respond. You were often brash, so he forgot you were still a virgin until your shy side reared. It made his heart speed up to a gallop, a feeling he had almost forgotten.

You were swift to change the direction of the topic back to neutral ground, but the faint pink still dusted your cheeks. "Would you like to walk with me? The people used to enjoy seeing my parents together when they would stroll the city."

Ivar recalled how his parents would interact with the people of Kattegat, though not often together. He understood your reasoning though, and clenching his jaw, he propelled his stiff body up with the aid of his crutch. You were at his side, hands hovering in the air to give him assistance in a moment's notice if he needed. Ivar waved you back, used to doing everything alone. He couldn't explain it, but it was important to him that you did not see him weak.

As you both started up the path, you placed your hand tentatively through Ivar's arm. The gesture startled him, but he managed to keep his footing. After a while of walking, he decided he liked the warmth of your touch. You remained tight to his side, and the people, yours and his, appeared delighted as you strode through the streets.

The people of Kattegat had never looked at him with anything other than disdain, pity, and fear. He preferred this new change, bringing him closer to continuing his father's legacy as a worthy King. Ivar didn't share any more words with you, but instead chose to enjoy your quiet presence beside him. He was going to follow Hvitserk's advice about giving you a gift, if only to see you blush again. First though, he needed to decide what you would like.

ooOOoo

After that day by the water, your relationship with your husband changed. All of your games of avoidance stopped, and had been replaced with Ivar's new habit of teasing you. He seemed to like how perturbed you would get, or how red your face would become. You still had not consummated the marriage, but you had begun to share a bed.

The first time you had stayed in your shared chambers had been the last time you had been in your private wing. You had stayed up late, completing your correspondence when Ivar had returned. He had seemed surprised to find you awake, but had struck up a conversation that led you to sitting down beside him on the bed. Sleep had come, and by morning you'd awoken next to your husband for the first time.

When you had stirred, the morning was still young, and there was a quiet in the air that could only be found at the birth of a new day. You were facing towards Ivar and when you opened your eyes you found him toying with your hair. He gave you a coy smile at being caught, but he was not deterred from his actions, and you let him continue until the responsibilities of leading called him away.

Touching was something new that you had both slowly eased into your relationship. Brief grazes of skin, and gentle caressing was becoming something of a routine between you. Ivar's hands were tough and warm, but he was careful with you, as if something held him back. For all of his abrasive shortcomings, he was rather shy and boyish when it came to anything intimate. You were tempted by your viking husband, and your carnal thoughts were at war with your Christian values. You wanted him to push passed that barrier of gentleness and make you a woman.

There was also the matter of things left unsaid between you. You wanted to ask about his first wife, but each time you came close to speaking up, you would recall the crestfallen look that had twisted his face when you had brought it up to begin with. Hvitserk would know, but that was a line you promised you wouldn't cross. He would tell you one day, so there wasn't much point in dwelling on it.

"(Y/N)," Ivar said, and you jolted up on the bed, not expecting his presence.

"Hello," You greeted, closing your book as you sat upright. "Have you come to join me?"

"Yes," He replied before hesitating. "I have something for you. Can you close your eyes a moment?"

You shot him a suspicious glance. "What is this, Ivar?"

"Trust me."

He disappeared before you could say anything more. You breathed out a laugh 'Trust me' he says. Ivar did not have a face full of integrity, and you wondered how many people had been deceived by the one called Boneless.

You closed your eyes as he requested, and waited for his return. It was not long until he came back to the door, stopping outside as he called to you.

"Are your eyes closed?"

"Yes, husband," You answered, growing impatient.

You listened to each careful step as Ivar approached the bed, and felt the familiar dip as his weight joined you.

"Hold out your hands," He told you, his voice close.

You wrinkled your nose, but did as he asked. What could he want to give you? You couldn't understand the sudden display of generosity, or his reasoning that called for a gift. Husbands gave presents to their wives of course, but you didn't think you and Ivar had that kind of marriage.

Just as you were tempted to peek, something warm and wiry was dropped into your lap. It wriggled with life, and your eyes shot open to find a wolf hound pup circling around in your arms. A pleasant surprise indeed. You ran your fingers through thick, coarse hair the color of iron, and the hound's tail thumped wildly.

You couldn't fight the elation on your face as you turned to look up to Ivar's. He had been watching for your reaction, and you thought you spotted relief in his eyes.

"What did I do to deserve this?" You asked while your new gift started to squirm in your lap.

"For being patient and forgiving. Our marriage started with us as strangers, but I know now that you are too impressive a Queen to go unappreciated."

The fluttery feeling was back, flooding you with warmth. You no longer fought it back, even welcoming it if you were honest with yourself. When you were alone together, Ivar was different with you. Though you were not in love yet, you had compassion for your husband, and found yourself thinking about him during quiet moments of the day. You didn't think he loved you either, but he had his own way of showing he cared.

"Thank you for bringing him to me," You said softly. With one hand you held the hound to your chest, and with the other you reached for Ivar.

"Forgive me for what I said before. You are too respectable and dutiful to be any of the things I accused you of. I'm not sure why I said them," He said as he accepted your hand.

"I already forgave you for that, Ivar."

Sometimes you could see what was in his heart, and the hurt look on his face reminded you of a lost child. It had to be his first wife. You didn't know how to help him, and it made you want to scream for the truth if it would make him forget. But you also knew if you pushed him on the matter, he would start to pull away again, and you had only just begun to feel like a real wife.

"Ivar," You called for him, bringing him back to you from wherever his thoughts had taken him. His pain was something that you couldn't mend, but maybe you could help him move forward.

You shuffled closer until your leg pressed up against his. He looked uncertain as you placed your free hand upon his face. You were just going to place a kiss on his cheek, but at the last second he turned to catch your lips with his. It was soft and slow, and the perfect first kiss with your husband. Ivar had a tentative grasp of your hip with his arm around your waist, and you leaned into his chest.

A whimper escaped from the pup whom you had forgotten was still in your hold. He was being squished between you and Ivar, and you pulled back with a sigh.

"Sorry boy," You murmured, giving him a scratch on the ears.

Your hand was still braced against your husband, and he had not removed his arm from around you. The chambers grew stuffy, and the boldness from the kiss faded into heady unrest.

"You'll need to give him a name," Ivar spoke up after a while.

He started to remove his braces, and you got up from the bed to grab extra furs for your new hound to sleep on.

"I will," You said as you started to make a place at the end of the bed for the dog to sleep. "We used to have many dogs when I was growing up. My mother used to say naming a pet was as difficult as naming a child, so I'll make sure to take my time to get it right. "

Ivar smirked as he pulled himself under the furs. He was still careful not to reveal his legs, and you wouldn't push the issue. You were still too shy to be naked in his presence as well, especially with how much time had passed since you were supposed to share a bed on your wedding night.

"I like your stories. You grew up with pleasant memories," He said.

Once you got the pup settled, you joined Ivar in bed. "Don't you have fond memories of growing up?"

"With three older brothers, and an absent father? No, my childhood was spent fighting to survive and finding a place to belong. If not for my mother, I would've died young."

You had your head propped up on your arm, and you were facing Ivar as he laid flat on his back. "I wish I could have met her then. Mothers should be merciful towards their children."

Ivar craned his neck to stare at you, a subtle reverence behind his eyes, "(Y/N), can I kiss you again?"

You scurried closer until your noses touched. "Yes," You whispered.

And he did.

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#vikings #vikings ivar #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar fic #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar fluff

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pagesoflauren · 6 years ago

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Siren’s Call (Steve Rogers x reader; Pirate AU) - Ch. 3

Warnings: drinking, violence (sword fighting, mentions of hanging/executions), guns (nobody gets shot at), catcalling

Previous Chapter

You notice that in light of your most recent and ambitious theft, security at some ports has increased. There are more men patrolling the docks and porters make it a point to record every single ship that approaches the islands.

There’s a few safe havens though, like the one you find on Oculto, properly called the Spanish word for “hidden.” It’s off course from most trade routes. Many of the other patrons visiting the island are other pirates or merchants who look to strike a good bargain on the black market.

You manage to negotiate a low price for someone to paint your ship while you and your crew enjoy some time on the land, indulging in some sweets or getting absolutely shitfaced. You’d decided on a dark green color, one that resembles an emerald necklace your father had gifted you when you were a child.

When the painter asks you what you want to name your ship, you tell him you’ll think about it. Many names stick out to you; Circe, Calypso, Hecate, after some of the more fun characters in Greek antiquity. You may had been raised at sea, but your father didn’t skimp on your education. When you had first stolen the ship, you found Achilles was fitting; the ship was very fast, putting distance between you and “Lieutenant Rogers” faster than you could realize.

You wanted to attribute your ship’s name to who you were, a free woman of the sea, a woman who was proud to stand on the deck and give the orders. There was also something potent about your appearance, you noticed. You could use it to manipulate men.

When you decided on a name, you called your first mate.

“R.”

“Yes, Captain?” “Tell the painter I’ve decided on a name for our ship.”

He smirked, “And what have you decided, my lady?” he asked obnoxiously.

“Stop it,” you smiled, giving him a teasing kick that held a lot of force. “It’ll be named The Siren’s Call.”

Steve’s loss of his ship not only cost the navy a significant amount of money, but he found himself idle for two months as arrangements were made for him to use a ship in the reserves, saved for naval battles and dire situations.

One thing he was satisfied with was the name. It was perfect, given that he was looking to use the vessel to redeem himself and build his reputation. He would drop whatever assignment he had to bring you to justice for making a fool out of him twice.

“The Avenger,” Bucky says, beholding the ship at the dock.

“It’s a fitting name,” Steve nods, looking around. He had made sure there were groups of soldiers constantly patrolling the island to make certain there were no pirates anywhere. If any pirates were found, they were immediately imprisoned to be sent to the gallows.

He found himself in a strange position, though. He was eager to see you. But in which circumstances he wanted to see you, he wasn’t entirely sure. There was a part of him that zealously hung onto the idea of making a name for himself, the pirate who brought the captain of the Siren’s Call, as you so named his former ship, to justice. On the other hand, his thoughts of you when he was alone were extremely unbecoming of a respectful man in his Majesty’s Navy. What was it about you? Why was he so fixed on you? And why did it have to be him?

He shook his head to expel his confusion as another man approached him on the docks.

“Captain,” he nodded.

“Wilson,” Steve acknowledged, shaking his hand, “glad to have you on board.”

Though he stepped out of place in his request, he was able to secure another member of his crew whose specific job was to track any leads on you, so to help him know when he was getting closer or further away from you.

But of course, maintaining the safety of merchants and other traders was the top priority.

You had managed to avoid the navy for the better part of the past few weeks. There were some brief passings, but they either deemed you weren’t an important enough cause to give chase to or they had a higher priority.

You and your crew relaxed in another tavern, having made port in a hidden lagoon on the opposite side of the main beaches on the island of Tortuga. It would be your last night before leaving in the morning and making for the sea again. It was about damn time. Normally, you wouldn’t spend more than three, maybe four days on land. Half of it was loving the sway of the ocean as it rocked you to sleep at night. The other half was knowing your crew; they’d stir up trouble at any point.

“I told you to keep your filthy hands off me, you scum!”

There’s the trouble.

One of your men throws another man out the swinging tavern door, followed by men both from your crew and what you assume is another pirate’s crew. Where their captain was, you didn’t know. Nor did you care at this point. It was best to get everyone and leave.

You brought your feet down from the table they were propped up on and downed the rest of your drink, looking at R.

“Sorry, Cap.” “It was bound to happen,” you threw him a pointed look because he was the one who had asked to stay a few extra days. Something about a good-looking tailor who mended his coat.

He looked down sheepishly and you rolled your eyes.

“Hey,” you said, punching his shoulder, “be ready for anything.”

It didn’t matter how angry you got at him at any moment. He was your best friend.

You moved your coat back to give yourself easy access to the hilt of your sword in case there was a need for that.

The conflict had escalated to a brawl between three of your men and four of the other men. You rolled your eyes and took out your pistol from its holster, firing it into the sky.

Wasting gunpowder on stupid, clueless men. Of course.

You rolled your eyes.

“Gentlemen,” you smiled superficially, and your crew knew they were going to get it once they made it back to the ship.

“I apologize on behalf of my men. There’s many a time when they can be dimwitted and have no sense of decorum. Please pardon us, we’ll be on our way.”

“Not before we have a go at you,” one of the men from the other crew shouted. You didn’t see who. R drew his balde before you could draw your own.

“You’ll be a dead man if you try,” he said, stepping in front of you.

Before you could be grateful, another voice called from behind you.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

All heads turned to the source of the voice. It wasn’t familiar to you, but once you locked your eyes with the clear blue ones of “Lieutenant Rogers,” it was clear you needed to make haste to leave.

He didn’t even shout any commands, just drew his sword and ran straight to you.

“Captain!” a man shouted after him. You assumed he was the first mate.

When your crew drew their own swords, the first mate rolled his eyes and commanded the other men to draw as well and follow their captain.

You drew your sword and blocked his lunge at you. There was the constant sound of metal on metal as people cut and slashed at each other.

At one point, Rogers blocked your advance and gripped your wrist, pulling your body to his, only separated by the hilts of your swords locked together.

“Captain Rogers now,” you smirked, “I’m impressed.”

You pushed him away and huffed when he blocked you.

“You’ve certainly moved up in the ranks,” you continued. “As have you, I see,” he replied, brows furrowed. “I had no choice, my father died and left the crew to me.” “And you had to steal my ship?” he asked.

He wasn’t expecting you to laugh.

“I didn’t know it was your ship, Captain,” you smirked, “but I thank you for letting me go.”

“Believe me, I didn’t want to.”

His damn eyes near distracted you from blocking a blow to your arm. You couldn’t leave this fight injured.

“But for the crime of theft, you will be punished,” he gritted, standing tall.

His mistake.

You took the opportunity to slice at his wrist; a flesh wound, maybe enough to scar, you weren’t sure. He dropped his sword and you delivered another cut to his thigh. He fell to his knees.

“Captain!” someone shouted, “retreat!”

You stepped up to him, not much taller than he was, even as he knelt.

“It’s been a pleasure, Captain Rogers.”

This time, you kissed his cheek.

From his position on his knees, he saw you sheath what was his first sword. Then, you turned and you ran, followed by the rest of your crew. You had kept it all these years.

“Captain,” Bucky said, worry lacing his voice, “can you stand?”

He nodded and stood, his left leg buckling from the sting of the injury you had inflicted before he stood tall.

“Let’s get you to the Commodore’s office, they’ll patch you up there.”

“Call for a sketch artist, too,” he growled.

He hated being bested by you in every attempt he made. But, with your face plastered on walls on every port in the Caribbean, it wouldn’t be just him making attempts anymore.

Let me know what you think!

Next Chapter

Tagging: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #mcu fanfiction #avengers x reader

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realityhelixcreates · 6 years ago

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 26: On The Job

Chapters: 26/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Here Have My Favorite Corn Recipe, Seriously It’s Really Good, Oh Yeah A Major Crime Was Committed, Remember That? Summary: No really, it’s a very good recipe, you should all try it out.

“So, what you're telling me,” You said between bites of dried stockfish. “Is that this goddess, your sister, was around for like, three thousand years, and was apparently a favorite of the entire army. You have those little bits of fresco painting to show me. But in the span of like, a few decades, everyone had forgotten her?”

“Or, at least, refused to speak of her, yes.” Loki said, passing a plate of buttered, dark bread your way.

It was just the two of you this time, in a little room beside the kitchens. You could hear the cooks working on the other side of the wall.

“I'm a bit leery to show you the frescoes just yet.' Loki said. “They're extremely unpleasant, and frankly, embarrassing. I brought several bits of the paintings that came afterwards, and those are much nicer. For one thing, I'm in them.”

You smiled indulgently. “That's the important part, right? Just how much stuff did you grab on your way out?”

“Oh, quite a bit.” Loki waved his fork on the air. “Practically everything I passed by, actually. I have quite a bit of room, though I admit, I stretched things a bit. Transporting living things that way is rather difficult.”

“Living things?”

“Leynarodd. The pegasus, a few others. Certain objects I thought would come in handy later, such as Gungnir. A few books, a few artworks. All artifacts now.”

You scooped lingonberry preserves onto a little cup of skyr. “But the point I was making was, there are plenty of your people that are old enough to remember her. So how come nobody ever said anything? Why were there no precautions taken to prevent her return?”

“From what we've been able to put together, Hela did have many supporters, despite her murderous tendencies. She embodied the endpoint of all that Asgard valued, the culmination of the 'noble warrior culture'. When our father decided to change his tactics to more peaceful means, there was, initially, a split in support. The commoners supported Odin; it seems they were a bit weary of being sent off to die in endless wars, no matter how much honor it brought their families. The nobles supported Hela, as they were loathe to let go of even an ounce of their power, no matter the consequences.

Then, apparently, Hela did some things that lost her all support. Brunnhilde says she attempted a coup, and murdered everyone in the palace as she went-hundreds of people, including many of her noble supporters. Heimdall remembers, and has hinted that she did something even worse, but he will not talk about it, no matter what we do.

And that's how most of the older Asgardians are. Those who are old enough to remember will not speak of it. Those who were there went about erasing her name and hiding her from sight, as if it would somehow make her wither away into nothing. We can't force them to talk, not yet. The people are traumatized after all this. Some of them saw their lives destroyed twice by her. We will simply have to wait until someone is ready.”

Loki grabbed a small bunch of grapes, and split them between you.

“As for precautions, well, I don't know exactly why Father failed so badly there. But he always did seem to have a blind spot when it came to his children.” Loki snorted quietly. “Specifically, the left side. The more I think about it the more it makes sense that he reacted so severely to Thor and myself when we displayed a lack of concern for the lives of others. He must have seen her, growing within us. He must have been terrified that we would take the same path, that all of his children would share the same fate...”

He slammed his fist on the table, suddenly angry. You jumped.

“All he had to do was say one thing about it, and all of this could have been avoided! He didn't even have to tell me, if it came down to it. He could have told Thor, and Thor would have told me! That's probably why he didn't. After Hela, he probably couldn't bring himself to trust even in his own children. But all of this, literally everything happened because he just wouldn't tell us what he needed to!”

His moods were still mercurial as ever. You might not ever get used to it, but you'd better try. You reached out and took the hand he had slammed down. He blinked in surprise, all anger draining from his face. He uncurled his fingers just enough for you to dip yours into his palm.

“Forgive me.” He said quietly. “That was unbecoming.”

“This is a part of my job too, isn't it?” You asked. “To help out with this kind of thing?”

“Technically, yes. Council is a part of the job description. I hesitate to foist that burden entirely off onto you however. I am...difficult at times, and you are not without your own traumas.”

“That's true, but you've dealt with them pretty well so far.” You pointed out.

“I have, considering how many of them involve hitting me in the face.” He chuckled at your mumbled apology. “I am not worried about it. And you have nothing to fear either. My fury could burn the very stars, and I would still never raise a hand to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you weren't the type. You seem above that kind of thing.”

“Do I?” He asked, sounding pleased. “Though if a woman were to come at me with a sword, I would not just stand there and get stabbed. We've no shortage of ladies with swords in Asgard, and then there is Freya, of course...”

“Yeah? The book said she was a fertility goddess?”

“Hmph. That book was kinder to her than it was to me, but it was still incorrect. Oh, she and her brother are connected to fertility, of course. Freyr is the fertility of the tilled earth, that is well kept and fruitful. Freya is the fertility of the battlefield. Blood makes the grass grow, and she reaps a crop of the dead.”

“Uh...poetic?”

“I'm saying she is a battle goddess as well. Associations with war and combat are also overwhelmingly common among Aesir. The twins make a particularly effective pair; while Freyr is no pacifist, he also dislikes violence for its own sake. However, so great is his connection to life, that the life-bringers, that is to say, women, can never come to harm in his presence. That works out very well for Freya, who relishes battle as much as any Asgardian, and can lead her armies to battle without the slightest fear when her brother is around. She doesn't show much fear when he isn't around either.”

“But isn't that how Hela was?” You asked.

“Oh no, not at all. Freya loves battle, not slaughter. She does not bring combat to those who are not involved with it, she accepts surrender, she knows mercy. Hela would kill anybody, and once she started, she wouldn't stop until the last drop pf blood was spilled. She didn't spare anyone. She intended to murder every soul in Asgard, and was on her way to doing so when I brought the ship to liberate them.”

“You did that too?” You asked. Why wasn't he still king? “You know, for a guy who attacked my planet, you sure are some hero.”

Loki preened. “I take my responsibilities to Asgard very seriously. Not always in a straightforward or officially sanctioned way, granted, but sometimes a more obfuscated method is necessary. Sometimes, you have to trick people into doing things that are good for them. And sometimes, that makes you seem like a villain. And sometimes, you think you know how to do something that would be good for everyone, but it turns out you were a bit...overzealous in your efforts, and perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all. And that can make you a villain as well.

Well, what I'm trying to say is that, both my brother and I have done decidedly villainous things, for reasons we felt were right. So it stands to reason, that we might both be capable of heroic things as well. And while I have not yet shown your planet anything but that villainous face, it is very likely that I eventually will.”

“Oh. Does that mean you've changed your mind about us? Most people think you kinda hate us.”

“I do not hate you.” He shrugged. “Nor your people. I don't think much of humanity, that's true. It's rather hard to, considering your relative briefness. Your constant moving and changing also makes it difficult to keep up, so why bother? Individuals, perhaps, but humanity as a whole? I'm not really interested. However...” He said, acknowledging your scowl with a tilt of the head. “Asgard is now Midgard. And so, to protect Asgard, I must also stand for Midgard. I will protect your mad planet, and you along with it.”

Heat washed across your cheeks. “That's, uh, quite a declaration.”

The two of you continued eating in silence, both ruminating over what Loki had just said. It ran over and over in your head, keeping your face hot. He would protect you, eh? Your whole world. Sure, he'd said it was for Asgard, but he'd made it sound so personal.

And the more magic you learned, the more you could help. If aliens invaded, you could teleport them into space! If robots attacked, you could...teleport them into space! Hey, it was fine to be a one-trick pony, if that one trick always worked.

“So, uh, what do we do next?” You asked. There were comfortable silences, and there were uncomfortable silences. This was beginning to feel like the latter, and you didn't want him to regret what he had said.

“The most important and prolific duty of royalty.” He stated gravely. “Paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Paperwork.” He repeated. “Endless paperwork. That's what royalty is. Beneath all palaces, luxuries, and power, is a foundation of paperwork. I hope your eyes do not tire easily, because I want you to aid me with it. It will help you to understand the people a bit more.”

It made some kind of sense. Knowing what the people needed, or what they considered important enough to contact their most important people about, could tell you a lot about their values.

A small commotion could be heard rising from the kitchen next door; a great deal of laughter, complaints, and exclamations.

“What's that all about?” You wondered.

“Shall we investigate?”

*****

The entire kitchen staff was gathered around a crate, chattering. A tired porter leaned against a chopping table, demolishing some kind of drink.

“The suppliers must have found something unusual this time.” Loki said. “They are mostly wondering what it is, and how they can prepare it.”

“Lemmie see.” You said. “If it's an Earth food, I might know what it is.”

Loki raised his voice over the din, requesting one of the strange foods be handed over for inspection. A green oblong, tightly wrapped in leaves, was presented to you.

You took a single look and burst out laughing in delight. “That's just corn!” You exclaimed.

“You're certain?” He asked. “I've had corn before, you know. It's tiny and yellow.”

“I'm not playing a prank or anything, look.” You stripped back the husks, causing several of the kitchen staff to move back in surprise at the sudden, rubbery sound. You proudly showed everyone the milky white and yellow kernels underneath.

“This grows all around where I live. Miles and miles of it. This is some particularly good stuff. Cook it right, and you will have something fantastic!”

The cook asked something. Loki answered with what you had just said, and the cook asked something else.

“She wants to know how you suggest it be prepared.” Loki said, not bothering to mask his own curiosity.

“Oh boy. Okay, so you take off these outer husks, okay? Put them in the compost, feed them to the animals, whatever. These inner husks you just pull down, but don't tear off. Now you get the silk off, these little strings, you see? That part can get messy. You can compost those too.”

The entire group watched you closely, as Loki translated your instructions, but you were so used to doing this that you could get the silk off in just a few passes.

“Now that you've got the corn clean, and there's no worms or fungus, you can just rub a little butter all over the kernels. Then you pull these husks back up around the corn to hold the moisture in. Cook this just like it is on really high heat, for about half an hour. Once that's done, pull the rest of the husks off, rub on more butter, sprinkle over a bit of salt and pepper, and it's done! It's really, really good that way, and you can cut off the kernels after that, or just eat it right off the cob, if your teeth are good.”

Some of the staff began stripping husks, while the cook thanked you for the information.

“Now, this is sweet corn, and it's only available for a month or so, probably less here in Iceland. Otherwise, you can sometimes find frozen cobs, and canned or frozen kernels. There's also harder, dryer corn, some for popping, and some for grinding into cornmeal. You can make different things from that.”

“I'm looking forward to dinner now.” Loki said, as you headed back to his rooms. “If your taste in corn is anything like your taste in baking, I've much to anticipate.”

“You're very sweet. I got good at that because it was a precious resource during the, uh...Well, the dent corn would keep, but the sweet corn wouldn't. So we ate it in big batches, and we all got pretty good at cooking it. The butter was pretty rare though. Only a few local cows made it through.”

“I see...Does it bother you to eat it?” Loki asked.

“Oh no, not at all. It was one of the only good times in that whole year. Properly cooked corn is amazing, and it was one of the few times I wasn't hungry.”

Loki patted your shoulder gently. “You won't have to worry about that again.”

You felt full.

******

“So why is it that the request for more concrete gets priority over the request for more tile grout?” You asked.

“Tiling is for decoration or waterproofing, and usually only in certain rooms of a building. Concrete has wider applications, and on the tighter budget and time frame we're currently working in, we need to get as much done as possible. So the tile grout will have to wait until winter.”

“What do we do in winter, anyway? I assume the snow is too high for construction.”

“The snow does get very high. Most of the construction workers either work on the interiors of buildings, or they practice their other skills. Winter will be the time when the painters go back to work, the jewelers and smiths go back to full time, the textilers can get a great deal done. Once the construction is done, all those people will go back to their regular jobs. That will be several years though. You and I will be able to pass the hours with study, and of course, ever more paper work.”

He stacked the materials requests neatly in their 'approved' or 'rejected' piles, all of the edges perfectly even.

“Now we have...Ugh, another one of these.” He snorted, annoyed.

“What? What's the deal?”

“The Vinnalings request that I meet with their daughter. I wonder if they mean the widow, or the one who is still practically a child?” Loki said sourly, laying the paper down on the rejected pile. “I'm sure they are both perfectly nice, but I'm not interested in playing favorites among the noble families right now. I'm certainly not interested in being wed to some noble I don't even really know.”

“Is that what it's about?”

“Yes.” His sigh was closer to a groan. “It is irritating. I long ago tired of parents who use their children for political maneuvering. I suppose I won't be able to avoid it forever, but I'm avoiding it for now. And even when I feel ready, I certainly won't be marrying someone who is still in mourning for her husband, nor someone who is still a literal child! Maybe I can't expect love, but I can at least demand someone I can get along with.”

“That's...really sad.” You said, slightly distressed. He sounded so resigned to it. Fear of a loveless, arranged marriage must have been hanging over his head for centuries.

“That's royalty. Part of it. We all dream of a love match, but we know that's tremendously rare. Knowing that it's one more thing my father got to have, that I will not is just so...Well, I've accepted it, I just expected that it would happen to Thor first. I don't know how many of these he gets, but I know they come across my desk far too often.”

“Then ignore them. You're building a kingdom right now, and I think it would be obvious you don't have time for this.” You suggested.

“Oh? Is that official advice?” Loki teased.

“Yup. Look, not to pass judgment on a culture I know very little about, but you guys are way too advanced for something as barbaric as forced marriages. Most of this 'primitive' planet did away with that many years ago.”

Loki quirked a dark, perfect eyebrow. “That is very judgmental. However, I agree with you. And so does Thor, and so did my father. He began phasing such things out a short time before he married my mother, which was probably the driving force behind it. I continued his work during the time I was king, and Thor has expressed his intention to do the same. Thor...also has his reasons. Well, the tradition has only really continued among the noble families.”

“I've never known anyone who was in a miserable relationship, who could also work as effectively as they could when they were in a happy one, or even alone. You have to be as effective as you possibly can be, right? And, you know, if you keep putting it off in favor of building up the city, maybe you and the king can get more laws prohibiting it in place, and neither of you will have to worry about it.”

Loki chuckled. “It's very cute when you try to be conniving. You're so blunt about it. Like an eager child.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed. “I'm trying here!”

“I know you are, and your concern for my future happiness is appreciated. It will likely be many more years before this city is anywhere near done, with all the hurdles we must leap. Look at this one; a request for more supplies for the horses. What do you think?”

“Do it.” You said quickly. “Buildings don't need to eat, and they won't die under bad conditions either.”

“Agreed.” Loki said. “Good to know we are in accordance on that as well.”

“What kind of hurdles are you talking about anyway? Enough housing for everybody, right?”

“Yes, and adapting to the extreme weather of Earth, the unfamiliar flora and fauna. The culture shock from outside, the culture war from inside. Convincing humanity that we have a place here, convincing Asgardians that we must find a place here. The inevitable consequences of humans and Asgardians intermingling. The rebuilding of our technology, our prosperity. Learning the technology of Earth. Preserving our culture without rejecting outside influence. Adapting our culture as to not cause undue conflict. Not isolating ourselves entirely. How to relate to the incredible diversity of humankind.”

“Geez.”

“Those are all big picture items, that will likely take several human generations to achieve. But we will achieve them. We must. Your presence here with speed some of this along, I believe. When the people see your accomplishments, see that you are not the primitive savage that some Asgardians fear humans are, then they will learn to accept. Your coming here was most fortuitous.”

You snorted. “What's fortuitous? You spirited me away!”

“Are you still angry?” He asked.

“...No. I'm okay now. I just hope I can live up to all the faith you've put in me.”

Loki shuffled through a few more papers. “That's the thing about advice. If I feel you are very wrong about something, I can just ignore you.”

“Rude.” You mumbled. Loki smirked, but the expression faltered as he looked over the next paper. “What? What is it? Another date request?”

“The trial will be conducted in two weeks.” Loki said. “Both you and I are to be there to give testimony.”

You shivered. “Oh.” You really, really wanted to get all of that behind you, but you also really didn't want to be in that murderer's presence ever again. Loki placed his hand on your arm.

“Do not fear. He is powerless now. This will be the last time anyone ever has to see him. He will go to prison, and he will be forgotten. You will never have to waste a thought on him after this.”

You knew you would though.

#loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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thetactilepope · 8 years ago

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Cassander/Maxine for those ship questions?

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you

How do much do I ship it?: Never heard of it/ Notp / Dislike / used to ship / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / IS IT CANON YET?

What non-sexual activities do they like to do together?

They’re both extraordinarily busy people, so they tend to spend their time together doing simple things, going on walks through the forest, napping, catching up on the animes Orth and Mako have recommended.

That, and they could both use a shoulder to cry on sometimes, more than one ‘date’ has ended with them just holding each other.

Who does chores around the house?

I’m like 99% sure they’ve got people for that?

But let’s assume the two are in a situation where they’re alone, they’d try and divide the chores evenly.

Who’s the better cook?

Cass is an alright cook, not super creative, but everything they make is edible. Maxine, on the other hand, will either make something absolutely fantastic, or… not.

Who’s the funniest drunk?

I wanna say Cassander, just because they’re usually the person who stops their friends from doing stupid stuff and once they get drunk, they’re roped into the stupid stuff but immediately take it up to eleven.

Aria: Y’know, sometiems, sometiems you just gotta… gotta fight? Gotta fight people.

Cassander: [Decks someone] I… I agree, I a-agree with Aria. Ya’just gotta.

Do they have kids?

*Pained sobbing* I’m not about to shatter my heart further by coming up with fan-kids for them, but I can’t see them having more than one or two, if any?

Do they have any traditions?

They make little promises about what they’ll do next time they see each other, like Cass saying they’ll braid her hair, or Maxine offering to paint their nails, things that won’t be too disappointing if everything gets too busy, but make them happy when they work out.

What do they fight about?

They both resent how people politicize their relationship, though they deal with it in different ways, that sometimes cause friction.

Cassander just… doesn’t engage when people bring it up. And Maxine knows they’re just doing as they were taught, but it still bothers her.

“Would it kill you to fight for me, Cassander? Just tell one reporter to ‘Shut up’, so I know you care.” Of course, she knows they care.

Maxine gets defensive, and Cassander hates to see how people start jumping on her. They wish she could be more discreet.

“You can’t keep lashing out like that. It’s unbecoming. I don’t… I don’t want them to keep giving you hell about us.”

What would they do if they found their paring tag on tumblr? (If they have one)

They don’t? Aside from what i’ve written.

Who cried at the end of Marley and me?

Cassander Timeaus Bernice was ABSOLUTELY in tears. Maxine wasn’t crying as much, but she had seen it before.

Who always wins at Mario kart?

They get really into it and things get intense, ok? The first time Mako walked in on the two of them playing, he did a heel-turn and left because Cassander was practically hissing what the fuck. That’s not something Mako wants to deal with, nope.

Cass, having more piloting experience, would come out ahead, but Maxine learned racing against Mako and Lazer Ted, and those two do not play fair. She knows every trick in the digital book, and paid dearly for each one.

One thing I like about this ship?

They play off each other super well? Like, there weren’t that many scenes with them together but I really got the sense that they were two people who just sorta clicked?

One thing I don’t like about the ship?

I guess that we never really see them fall in love, we just know it happens.

The song I would say fits them?

King by Lauren Aquilina, Giving Up The Gun by Vampire Weekend, and Celeste by Ezra Vine

Another headcanon about the paring? (Free space)

Maxine has the higher core temperature of the two, and most of the time Cass will just sort of lie on top of her as they read and/or do paperwork.

#counter/weight #Cassander timaeus bernice #Maxine Ming #Cassander Timaeus bernice/Maxine Ming #Cassander/Maxine #I might have answers (Ask)#Thank you anon for letting me ramble about these two

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