#and I guess I somehow did it in such a way as to appear boneless

[ihavetoomuchhomeworkforthis]

"That was great [my name], you looked like you had no bones!" ~one of the band directors

[vvideonasties]

clear-cut

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance. 

word count: 2k

pairing: jonmartin

warnings: discussion of canon related trauma, thoughts about body autonomy

While rifling through the kitchen drawers, Jon is unsurprised by the plethora of blades Daisy owns. There’s every kind of knife you could fathom and, thankfully, a few pairs of scissors. Grabbing what appears to be the sharpest pair (though they all look pretty damn sharp), he heads to the bathroom. He clutches the white of the porcelain sink and stares into the mirror impassively. 

He used to actually quite like his long hair. He’d play with it while he was working, twirling the thick locks around his fingers and untangling knots absentmindedly. When he’d get frustrated he’d pull it out of its tie and tug at it. It was a strange way to ground himself. 

Now, though. It’s been used too much for other people’s gain, has been in too many people’s hands for it to truly belong to him. The gravity it provided began to dissipate when Daisy attacked him - she’d grabbed a chunk of it and used it to yank back his head to expose the vulnerable expanse of his neck. As he’d stood there under the mercy of her blade, shaking and pleading, the stinging in his scalp lingered the entire time. It only got worse from there - the awful attempt at tenderness displayed by the Stranger as Nikola brushed aside a few strands to gain access to more flesh, to paste moisturiser onto it with her stiff fingers. The dirt he couldn’t quite scrub out of it after he left the Buried, even when he sat in the tub for hours on end. Even when the water began to run clear, he could still feel the clumps weighing him down, making his head loll to the side with it.

After all that, it wasn’t much to him. He’d wash it, dry it, tie it up. Try not to think of it. 

Jon stares down at the gleaming scissors in the sink determinedly. Cutting it off won’t solve much, if anything at all, but it would make him feel a little more comfortable. It’s one of the only things he can control about himself at the moment. If he doesn’t like the way it looks, then fine. It’ll grow back. 

His hand flexes and clenches into a fist. Tighten, relax, tighten, relax. 

He reaches for the scissors and holds a piece of hair in front of his face, the blades open, hungry, ready to receive. 

Then there comes a short, polite cough. He turns to see Martin standing just outside the bathroom, eyes a little wider than normal. 

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance. 

“I’m cutting my hair,” he clarifies, and Martin seems to relax at that. 

“Okay.” A pause. “Why?”

He puts down the scissors and shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“Just felt like it,” he says, which is kind of true. “Not particularly attached to it anymore.”

Martin hums, taking him at his word. He walks over on socked feet, close enough that Jon can feel the heat radiating from him. There’s a brief moment where his hands pass over the scissors.

“I could help?”

Jon turns to face him completely, brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s just that I have experience? Kind of? I cut my own, and I used to cut my mum’s as well...” Martin’s mouth twists downwards at that, and Jon just frowns harder. “I won’t give you my mum’s style, I promise!” He jokes weakly. It falls flat, and the whole atmosphere feels stilted. 

“Okay. Why not.”

“...Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your whole-”

“It’s fine. I could use some help reaching the back anyway.” As much as he just wants to lop all of it off, he doesn’t want it to look messy. 

Martin seems to brighten, probably at the relief of having something to focus on, and he walks off to grab a chair from the small dining table as Jon hovers awkwardly. He positions it in the living room, close to the small TV they’ve been using sporadically. They’ve been steadily working their way through the small cabinet full of DVDs underneath it. However, Jon isn’t exactly sure how long they’re going to be staying, so they might have to...ration them. The week they’ve been here hasn’t exactly been the most vibrant when it comes to entertainment. Maybe one day they’ll relent and open up the dusty box of Monopoly. That could very well be a major test of their relationship, though. 

At least, Jon thinks this is a relationship. They haven’t talked about it all that much. All that mattered in the beginning was escaping the Lonely, leaving London, then getting settled here. They’re fumbling around blindly in the dark, and all Jon knows is he wants to hold onto Martin as tightly as possible. 

That little train of thought is interrupted by the small clink of Martin taking the scissors off of the sink and grabbing a towel from the rack. He gestures to the chair, inviting Jon to sit, and when he does so he feels the towel being gently wrapped around his shoulders. 

There’s the brief sensation of Jon’s hair being pulled at, only slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay?” Martin whispers. He understands without knowing, somehow, and Jon is glad that he can’t see the way his face is taut with apprehension, tinged with pain. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, trying to emulate Martin’s tone. 

“Can I use your tie?” His voice is still soft, and Jon should feel patronised, but he mostly feels soothed. “Just so it’s easier to cut through.”

Jon wordlessly removes the tie from his wrist and hands it over. He tries to hide the little shiver that passes over him when their fingers brush. Martin begins to hum a tune as he gathers the hair up into one handful (not like they did, he would never, it’s Martin, always so good to him), then creates a loose ponytail that falls to his shoulders. 

“Fine so far?” Jon nods tentatively. “Alright then.” 

There’s the distinct sound of the blades opening, and in one fluid motion Jon feels the weight he’d been carrying leave him. 

“There.” Martin comes into view, holding the thick, dark ponytail aloft, smiling crookedly. 

“Oh,” he croaks. “That’s...a lot.” His hand comes up to brush his the side of his head, then travels down and grasps at thin air where hair was a second ago. The cut seems to stop at his jaw, the small strands remaining ghosting over his skin. 

“It is. Can I keep going?”

Jon, hand still close to his head, makes a noise of assent. Martin takes a second to throw away what’s been cut then returns. He sinks his hands into Jon's scalp, massaging the tension out of it, and Jon makes an unbidden noise of satisfaction that causes his motions to still.

"God, sorry, did I hurt-"

"No! No, it's okay. It felt nice." It felt really nice. 

Martin clicks his tongue and continues for a while longer, fingers digging into Jon’s scalp over and over in a wonderful, rhythmic motion until Jon is practically boneless and falling asleep in the chair. He wonders if there’s a not-weird way to ask for this again outside of a hair cutting context. 

“So how short are we going here? You kind of have a bob right now,” Martin laughs. 

Jon hadn’t really thought about that. He just wanted it off, away, binned and out of his face. He shrugs. “I don’t know, short? Whatever you think will suit me.”

“Any hairstyle would suit you,” Martin points out, like it’s nothing. Jon smiles. “But I’ll do my best.” 

A few moments of Martin muttering to himself and circling around the chair is followed by the coolness of the dual blades against the curve of Jon’s ear, the shhk of them pressing together giving him goosebumps. He clearly has done this many times before, given the confident way he navigates the scissors. Jon certainly couldn’t have done this alone, at least not without making a fool out of himself. Martin brushes some hair away from the nape of his neck. His hands are very warm. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with short hair.”

Jon turns to him, puzzled. “Really?”

The thing with Jon is, when he cares about someone a lot, he tends to insert them in all of his memories, assuming that they’ve always been around (he also has the memory of a goldfish, but he’s sure that’s a whole other thing). Martin has become such an integral part of his life, standing neatly by his side like it’s nothing. Like he was meant to be there and always has. 

“It has been quite a few years now, I suppose. Last I remember it was this short I was still in research.” When he goes to touch his head again he notes that he can feel for his ears without having to move a mountain of hair aside.

“Better late than never, I guess! I’m gonna move to the front now.”

Martin has to position himself at an awkward angle to use the scissors properly, his back practically curved into a C shape. His gaze is focused and intense, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Hair falls on Jon’s face as he snips, making him wrinkle his nose and grimace.

“Sorry. You can wash it off soon.”

Jon nods minutely. Then he sneezes. Martin just smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, then continues. 

He remembers why he rarely went to get a professional haircut now. That strange intimacy that comes with someone being so close to you - a stranger - it always disturbed him. The idle chatter that made him grit his teeth, how they’d act like they knew him. Then he didn’t have the time or energy to cut it himself after...everything. 

Now he’s looking at Martin, though. It’s odd, yes. Intimate? Definitely. He doesn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open. But he’s always found it very hard to turn his gaze away from Martin regardless.

His eyes are a lovely shade of deep blue, and he has far too many scars alongside the smattering of freckles on his face. He looks tired. Very much so. There’s crows feet at the corners of his eyes and lines on his forehead. He notes absently that he actually has a thick beard, too. Of course he noticed it beforehand - he’s felt it scratching the back of his neck when he wakes in the morning with Martin’s arms around him - but it’s worth pointing out. It makes him look much older, especially since the grey in it seems to be overtaking the red. 

Martin stands up straight and runs his hands through Jon’s hair a few times before standing back, head tilted to the side. 

“I think we’re done. It’s not amazing, but.”

Jon is already shrugging off the towel and heading to the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly nervous. 

He certainly looks different. Unfortunately, though he searched high and low for them, Daisy doesn’t own any clippers. Martin did the best he could with what he had - he’s kept it a bit longer towards the front, some strands grazing his forehead, but the rest is cropped closely to his scalp. Jon tentatively touches it and leans forward. He tries to grasp a chunk of it, see if it’s long enough to pull. He fails. 

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Jon says firmly. “It’s just what I needed.” He walks back over to Martin and wraps his arms around him instinctively, sighing with contentment when he responds in kind. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Martin’s t-shirt. 

“Of course.” Martin is stroking the back of his neck gently. “You look very handsome.”

Jon’s face burns at the compliment, and he chooses to hide it further rather than reply. They stand there for a while, hair scattered around the floor like autumn leaves, and it feels like a new beginning. 

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 6: "touch starved"

It was a strange thing to think about, that Poseidon could barely recognize his own brother. In a way, Aidoneus had been his only company for years in the dark, but this person—tall, sharp-featured, wrapped in white bandages staining iridescent gold with ichor—was a stranger. The only thing that Poseidon recognized was the coloring. He remembered, hazily, being envious of his father’s deep blue skin, flecked with stars. He had looked like a king. Like the king of time and everything that bowed to it.

Aidoneus didn’t look like a king, Poseidon thought privately as he hesitated in the half-open door of the small shelter that Metis had transformed into an infirmary. His blue skin was a softer shade than Kronos’, and his stars were an illusion, nothing but flecks of ichor dried into glittering flakes of gold in his long hair and on his exposed skin. Aidoneus just looked—tired, and hurt, and shockingly small despite his feet hanging off the mat beneath his back.

“Um,” Poseidon said, awkward. “Aidoneus?”

The one visible eye flickered open, and then squinted shut again, a painful-looking twitch running down the arm nearest to Poseidon. Poseidon hastily shut the door behind him. It was after sunset, but before full dark—he had been so delirious with glee over his first day of freedom that he nearly blinded himself for good, and Metis had started limiting him to wandering around near dawn and dusk, to acclimate himself to the light. Aidoneus, she had told him quietly when he asked to visit, couldn’t even bear that much light, not yet.

“Sorry,” Poseison said hastily. “Sorry. I’m, um. I’m Poseidon? I guess we haven’t really—met.”

Aidoneus blinked at him, a flicker of interest ghosting across the weary planes of his face. Poseidon tried his best to grin down at him, and hoped it looked right. He’d been trying to relearn the trick of—people, and Metis and Hera and Hestia were kind enough to let him blunder and fuck up and fix it, and Zeus was a whole other force of nature. Poseidon had figured out quickly enough that it didn’t really matter how uncomfortable he was with talking to people, when it came to Zeus. He could just stand back and let his younger brother carry the conversation, and Zeus would take any remotely positive engagement as his due, and ignore anything else. Poseidon knew that Metis worried about Zeus overtaxing him, but it was perversely relaxing.

He was nervous about talking to Aidoneus. He felt like he needed to get it right, with Aidoneus.

Aidoneus’ lips trembled for a moment as Poseidon hovered uneasily just inside the door, and then he swallowed and raised a hand—slowly, so stiffly that Poseidon’s own bones hurt just watching. Aidoneus touched his own face, just under his exposed eye, and his lips pressed together on a letter that he couldn’t quite form. He managed a faint hum, like he was trying to force his voice into cooperating, and tapped his cheek again, more forcefully.

“Oh! I mean,” Poseidon said, scratching a little sheepishly at his own cheek, beneath the bandages hiding his eye. “I guess we technically met then, yeah, but there wasn’t a lot of time for small talk, you know? You were in pretty bad shape, you probably remember, and I was in shock, or something, and you were also, you know, bleeding out, so maybe you don’t actually remember. I’m not an expert or anything but I figured it was a ‘if he lives, we can hang out under non-mandatory circumstances where we can both talk and see things’ kind of deal, at the time.”

Poseidon shut his mouth with a sharp click on the words, realizing that Aidoneus was watching him with a steady gaze. “Sorry,” Poseidon said again. A cool flush was rising on his cheeks, and he could feel his fins threatening to make an appearance under that dark red stare. “You probably don’t want to think about it. Um—I talk too much. Metis thinks it’s like you not being able to talk, except the other way around. If I say something that pisses you off, maybe just point to the door? And I’ll leave you alone.” He swallowed his next words, and forced himself to think, to take a breath before he spoke. The silence between his words was a living thing, making it hard to breathe. Poseidon hated silence. “Do you want me to leave? You can just nod or shake your head.”

For a moment, he thought that Aidoneus wasn’t going to do anything—that he was just going to sit there and stare Poseidon down until he left out of sheer discomfort. But then, a tiny movevment, careful. A shake of Aidoneus’ head.

Poseidon gestured at the floor next to Aidoneus’ sickbed and asked, “Can I sit?”

A nod, this time.

Poseidon took a deep breath, let it out, and walked around Aidoneus so that he was facing the door, then dropped himself down on the floor. He could see the end of the wounds, on this side, the bandages stopping just above Aidoneus’ left wrist, and without thinking, Poseidon reached out and grabbed his brother’s hand.

Aidoneus went tense, hissed in a breath through his teeth.

“Sorry!” Poseidon released him so quickly he heard the bone at the bend of Aidoneus’ wrist knock against the floor, and he clenched his hands in his lap for fear that he might make it worse. “I didn’t think—I just, I don’t really like the dark? And it’s getting dark out, and I’m not really tired, and I didn’t think.”

That clear red eye was back on him, and Poseidon bit his tongue to shut himself up.

He remembered what it had been like, when Zeus first yanked him into a hug. Poseidon had felt like his skin was on fire from the simple act of being touched, really touchedby another person, someone he could see and feel and talk to. Zeus had thumped him on the back, and then left an arm slung around Poseidon’s shoulder as they watched Metis direct the others through stopping the worst of Aidoneus’ bleeding. They had both still had ichor on their hands, from holding Aidoneus together until they could get him real help, and Poseidon was holding a pad of bandages over half his face, waiting quietly for someone to be free to look at his wound, and somehow the thing that had sent him into a boneless pile on the ground was his brother giving him a hug.

The thing Poseidon had missed the most, in the lonely dark, was being touched. He had lived in fear of Kronos, of course, but Rhea’s hands had been so kind, the rare, precious touch of her forehead against his so warm. He had missed many things about the world, but touch—it was so simple, so essential, so shattering to have it restored after so long. It had probably scared Zeus half to death, when Poseidon simply crumpled out from under his arm and started sobbing.

And Aidoneus had been alone in that darkness, with no one but Kronos for company, for thirteen years.

Just thinking about it made Poseidon feel sick in every fiber of his body.

Poseidon didn’t realize that his eye was closed tightly until he heard, for the first time in his life, his brother’s voice. It was rusty with disuse, a broken stutter with barely enough breath to be audible, but it was a whole word.

“Hhh-h-her-re.”

Poseidon opened his eye, and—

Aidoneus was holding his hand out again. It was trembling from the effort of holding his hand off the floor, but it was there.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, am I?” Poseidon asked, already reaching out. “I don’t want to be mean, but you look really bad.” Aidoneus shook his head, hand dipping as if he was already running out of strength to hold it up.

He flinched again, just a little, when Poseidon took his hand, but this time, Poseidon didn’t let go. It took a moment, but Aidoneus’ fingers slowly relaxed in his.

Aidoneus’ hand didn’t feel summer-wind-hot, like Zeus’ did. Instead, it was cool, only slightly warmer than Poseidon’s own chill. Poseidon told Aidoneus as much, and Aidoneus watched him with that same solemn, steady gaze.

“I guess it makes sense,” Poseidon said. “I never really thought about what wealthwas like as a domain. Like, the ocean is a place, right? But metal is cold, and rocks are cold unless you leave them out in the sun. Hey, once you can stand sunlight, we should see if you hold heat, it would be like one of Metis’ things. An experiment. Has she told you about those?”

A head-shake.

“Oh, she was telling me about one the last time I got my bandages changed. Do you want me to tell you about it? I could shut up if I’m being too loud. Sometimes everything is so loud, but also, I hate it when it’s quiet. Everyone else is on a bunch of errands, and I was supposed to be letting you sleep, but it was really—quiet. I hope you weren’t actually asleep when I came in. I just figured maybe you weren’t, and if you weren’t, I would feel a little less stupid talking to you than I would talking to myself, even if you didn’t talk back, and—”

A light tug on their joined hands interrupted Poseidon mid-thought, and he looked back down at Aidoneus, startled.

“T-t-e-ll m-m—” Aidoneus couldn’t seem to get past the start of the second word, his hand becoming a fist in Poseidon’s grip as his face creased with frustration.

“Tell you—about Metis? She said that the new salve for your wounds was an experiment, I didn’t really pay attention to most of the details but I can try,” Poseidon said gamely. Aidoneus’ features slowly relaxed, and he nodded again. “Okay, so,” Poseidon said, tucking his feet under him so that he was sitting cross-legged, with Aidoneus’ hand in his lap and his other hand free to gesture. “She was saying that she found some plant, she called it comfy—or, um, comfurry, or something like that…”

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XXXI

A/N: Well! A week late, and I'm back on schedule! I have had... a really crazy time this past week, and I am SO sorry for that unannounced break I had to take. I've been staying up Tuesday nights to watch the premiere of Loki when it airs, but after last week's episode I ended up feeling really unwell, so I wasn't able to sleep for a good bit of the night. By the time I COULD have slept, it was no longer worth it, because we were going to have someone coming over with papers we needed to sign. Only expecting that to take about thirty minutes, I decided I'd sleep afterwards. Only, while we're doing that, an ambulance and a fire truck and a few police showed up next door, which caused us to be distracted enough that the signing took an hour. Walk over there to see what had happened and... turns out, my neighbour had passed away. Understandably, that, sort of took any interest in writing very much out of me for the weekend. I eventually made myself update my story Can You Imagine?, which ended up being a really good thing, as it was able to sort of get me back in the swing of writing. So, a week late, here is Chapter 31 of Not Today. I hope you all enjoy <3 Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

Asta couldn’t stop pacing once she and Ivar had returned to their chambers. He’d tried a few times to get her to stop, take a moment and sit down, but each time she did try, she ended up on her feet once more and pacing anxiously. It was obvious what was bothering her- after all, he himself couldn’t stop the image in his mind of Freydis- or, really, of Katia.

Eventually, as she continued to pace, Ivar huffed and leaned back on his hands. “Are you going to stop that tonight?” he asked her irritably. Asta paused finally and turned to look at him.

“Ivar, you saw what I saw,” she said. “I know you did. How are you not… about to lose your mind?”

He chuckled. “I am,” he replied. “And yet, you’re here losing yours enough for both of us. Sit down, perhaps I should call for some wine to make you relax for a moment?” That did nothing to calm her, as he saw her wringing her hands in the way she always did before she began to pace, and he sighed. “Asta, come here.”

Ivar stretched his hand out to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, Asta walked toward him and took it. He pulled her to sit beside him, then took both her hands in his. “We are both in shock,” he said. “What are you thinking about right now, hm?”

“It can’t be her,” she said immediately. “She… Ivar, I carried her. I carried her body, she was gone. I sat with her after I laid her out, long enough that had she lived, I’d have known about it. So how- how can she-?”

“I do not know,” he answered. “But we will figure this out, Asta. You have my word, we will.”

She shook her head, a sort of desperate expression on her face. “How can you know we will?” she asked.

“Because we must,” he replied. “Neither of us will be able to stand it if we do not get these answers, we both know this. But we will. We will.”

Asta nodded a little, and she let Ivar wrap his arm around her and pull her into his side. “I hope you’re right,” she said, her voice soft. “I couldn’t stand it if…”

“I know,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her head. “I know, Asta. I know.”

His words were soothing to the Shieldmaiden, and she gave one more nod before truly settling in against him. He smiled as she did so, and let his fingers drift through her hair slowly. If he could lull her to sleep, he knew that would be the best for both of them. They’d had a strange evening, what with the presentation of the guards’ heads, and then the presentation of Princess Katia. It wasn’t often they would condemn men to death, and see a woman raised from it.

But, then again, he figured none of this really was their fault. They hadn’t meant to get the guards killed, but the fact that they’d let themselves be distracted by Princess Anna was, when he thought about it, their own faults. Perhaps they’d exploited the guards’ weaknesses, but they should have been better trained!

That didn’t mean he was very happy with Prince Igor, young as he was, being exposed to the severed heads. But what could he do? He and Asta were welcome in Kiev so long as they remained on Oleg’s good side, he knew that. Freeing Dir had been quite a risk, one they’d both been more than willing to take, but a risk nonetheless. If Oleg ever heard what they’d done, Ivar knew they would be in worse shape than the heads they were served at dinner.

An image flashed in his mind of Asta’s head, laid somewhere on the ground separated from her body, and then the body of Freydis laid out beside her, his late wife’s eyes empty and unseeing. He couldn’t lose Asta, not after he’d lost Freydis, and everyone else he had ever…

He couldn’t lose her and be alone again.

Nor yet could Asta bring herself to truly consider what it might mean to lose Ivar. But, in the face of the guards they’d eluded being murdered, and in the face of seeing her beloved Freydis back from the dead, she found it hard not to consider such things.

But each time she remembered how lifeless Freydis had been, how her skin had begun to pale, how she’d had to close the Queen’s eyes herself, how strange her skin had felt when she’d kissed her goodbye… There was no way in any world that the woman had still lived. But that didn’t now explain the appearance of this… Princess Katia.

Somehow, Asta felt as though she knew the truth, that this woman was not Freydis, and never would be. Perhaps this was a cruel trick of fate, or another lesson she and Ivar had yet to learn, presented through the Princess, but Asta knew she wasn’t Freydis, not really. No matter how much they would want her to be.

That said, as they laid down that night to sleep, she couldn’t help but wonder what Ivar himself was believing about the woman. If she had to guess… Well, the beliefs of the Viking people tended to lend more to such strange, unexplained events. Whereas Asta believed a man could be raised from the dead, if her Lord was willing, she didn’t believe it really happened anymore. But Ivar? Who could say what he believed about such a thing? Perhaps he believed his gods had returned Freydis from Valhalla, where Asta was sure she should have gone, sacrificing herself as she had, for some reason they could not yet guess.

Still, Asta managed to eventually make herself fall asleep, comforted by the simple fact that she knew Ivar would not let this go until they had some kind of answer. And then…

Then, perhaps they could rest.

The next day, Asta and Ivar chose to get some fresh air, indulging theirselves in a bit of relaxation outside the Palace, for once. They were taking a moment to rest, for Ivar’s sake, when they saw the very woman who had them both so puzzled walking through the crowd, attended by a few handmaidens. Briefly, Asta thought back to the ones she’d once had in Wessex, and she wondered vaguely what might have become of them.

The Princess caught their eyes, and she gave them a small smile. Ivar was stunned once more by the Princess’s likeness to Freydis, but Asta had come to a decision as she’d laid in the dark next to the man she falsely claimed as a husband. As much as Katia looked like Freydis, she would not let that distract her from finding out the truth. She deserved to know, as much as Ivar did, how this was possible, and so she intended to do exactly that.

Though, she didn’t expect that the Katia would dismiss her handmaidens, take a moment, and then wait in such a way that it was clear she wished to be approached. Asta shared a brief look with Ivar, silently asking if he wanted to do as the Princess intended, and when he nodded, she nodded back, and walked out to greet her.

Katia’s attention had been captured by a man appearing to breathe fire, enthralling the crowds around him, but she turned away when she heard Ivar’s greeting of, “Princess.” He gave a short bow, and waited on Katia to turn before he continued. “We’ve been waiting for the opportunity to talk to you privately,” he told her. “Surely, you understand why we need to talk to you.”

She didn’t speak, but watched Ivar expectantly, waiting for him to further explain himself. He did so.

“Oleg is playing games with us.”

“And why do you say so, Ivar the Boneless?” she questioned, finally turning to give the pair of Vikings her full attention.

“You are Freydis,” he replied.

“Freydis? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we,” Ivar said. “But it is true. And you and I… were once married.”

Asta had no good explanation for why she felt a strange twinge in her chest, something unpleasant as she looked between Ivar and this new woman. He hadn’t ever been married to her, she knew, and the idea that Ivar believed he had been was disconcerting to her on a number of fronts- not all of which were really known to the Shieldmaiden.

“Were we really?” Katia asked. “And… what happened to us?”

Ivar fell silent, looked away from her gaze. Asta’s eyes narrowed a bit.

What did this Princess know? Ivar had told Oleg of Freydis’s fate, she knew that, but had Oleg told Katia? Is that why she’d asked such a question that would seem innocent, and yet have such deeper meaning to Ivar?

When he didn’t answer, Katia gave them a small smile, and started to walk away. It wasn’t until that moment that Ivar let out a breath, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. Asta put a hand on his shoulder as an attempt at reassurance, and then she was chasing down the Princess Katia. She wouldn’t let her play with Ivar, not in this way. Not with Freydis.

“Princess!” Asta called out, causing Katia to stop and turn to her now. The Princess smiled at her, and again turned all her attention to her. “What do you know of my husband’s first wife?”

Katia blinked a few times, as if having not expected this. “Is that this… Freydis, he speaks of?” she questioned, tilting her head just a bit. Asta nodded. “I think… he must believe I look like her, and has confused me with her. But what happened… I cannot imagine, for him to react to seeing me as he has.”

“She died,” Asta replied, swallowing hard as the words left her mouth. “In the final Siege of Kattegat. He loved her dearly, as did I, and we still mourn her loss.”

Katia smiled at her softly, and nodded to indicate she understood. “I can understand why you both must have loved her,” she said. “If she was… half as beautiful as you, then she must have been a beautiful woman in her heart, as well.” Confusion flickered across Asta’s face as Katia reached up to brush some of her hair behind her shoulder, and let her hand come down to rest on her arm. “And your husband is lucky to have you now, Asta the Prophet. Keep a careful eye on him. This city… who knows what dangers it may hide?”

She gave a brief nod of her head, and melted into the crowd just like that.

The Shieldmaiden couldn’t help the way she lifted a hand to brush through her hair, where Katia’s hand had just been. What angle was she playing at? Was this supposed to be an unnerving sort of thing, to make Asta question what was reality and what was fiction?

Whatever that had been, it didn’t leave Asta’s mind through the entire day, not as she returned to Ivar, took his hand, and suggested they return to their own chambers for some rest before dinner would be served that night, not even as they sat at dinner, once more in the company of Oleg, Igor, and the mysterious Katia.

Then again, sat across the table from the woman, how could Asta forget their interactions in the market that morning? Especially as Katia continued to glance at her from across the table, only to smile gently at her and turn away each time she was caught. This Rus excursion she and Ivar were on only seemed to grow weirder and weirder, and more and more baffling, to her. At this point, all she really wanted was for things to be normal again. She wanted to be with Ivar, and with Freydis, back at home in Kattegat. That was all.

When the two finally returned to their chambers that night, dinner having gone smoothly, Asta immediately decided to get this concern off her chest. “Katia is playing with us as well,” she said, earning Ivar’s attention as he had been removing his leg braces for sleep.

“Is she?” he questioned. “Oleg is, I believe, in having brought her here, but…”

“No,” Asta said. “It is Katia as well. I think she knows more than she’s let on, and it worries me. She acted interested in what you were saying, about having been married to her before, and of course she would. What woman wouldn’t listen and pay attention to an attractive Viking claiming to have once been her husband?”

Ivar smirked a little at how she so easily called him attractive, and he wondered if she quite realized she’d said it.

“But good Lord!” Asta explained. “She doesn’t have to act so strange about it. It’s as if she’s taunting me with what you said, speaking about how we both must miss her if she was, what, ‘half as beautiful’ as me? What does that even mean? Freydis was far more beautiful than I am.” She paused, considering. “Well, not that Katia would know that, she’s never met her, but if she would just bloody well look in the mirror she would see it!”

“Do you not think you are beautiful?” Ivar questioned, chuckling just a bit at the rather lively rant she’d just gone on. The Shieldmaiden huffed and turned on him.

“Is that all you took away from that?!” she asked frustratedly. She gave a scoff and muttered out, “Men,” before turning back to continue brushing out her hair. This caused Ivar to burst out laughing in full.

“Asta, come let me take care of your hair,” he said, wanting again to calm her as he so often did when she became worked up- as she so often calmed him when he became worked up. Her answer surprised him.

“I’m quite alright doing it myself, thanks.”

He smiled amusedly, and chuckled. “I know you are,” he said. “But I like doing it for you. It helps me calm down at the end of the day.”

Ivar watched how Asta paused, considering, and then eventually came to the bed with her hairbrush in hand, sitting facing away from him and letting him take the brush from her. Just as he’d known she would do.

The trick was, with Asta, to ask her to do things which would help someone else, when she wouldn’t let herself be helped. There were times when she would become stubborn and insist she could handle herself, insist that she was alright on her own, but there was never a time she would turn down the chance to be of assistance to another person, not when the cause was good. Once Ivar had figured that out, he’d figured out how to nearly always get her to accept his help. Ask her to help her, and when she declined, quickly turn it so it would help him if she accepted. She always caved in, then.

“Why does she make you nervous, hm?” he asked, brushing through her hair in long, soothing motions. “Is it the fact she may be Freydis, brought back to us somehow?”

Asta shook her head a little. “I don’t believe she is Freydis,” she confessed. “I’m not convinced as such, anyway. But whoever she is…” She took a deep breath, batting around the idea of being completely transparent with Ivar, of opening up to him entirely.

“You believe she is Freydis, and I know how much you loved her. I don’t want this Katia, whoever she is, to take advantage of that. It would be all too easy for her to play at being Freydis, this woman we have both loved, for her to convince you it is true, and for you to begin trying to convince me.”

“And you really think I could?” he asked.

“I don’t,” Asta confessed. “And therein lies the problem.” She turned, making him stop brushing her hair as she did so, and taking the brush from his hand. Sitting it to the side, she moved to take his hands in hers, before looking him in the eye. “I don’t care how much we disagree on this, and on her, Ivar, whether we are always on the same page, or never. Only promise me that it won’t ever come between us, and that I won’t lose you to this.”

His eyes widened a bit, as if her quiet plea had been the last thing he’d expected to hear, and he straightened up a bit. Ivar’s grip on her hands tightened as he looked into her worried eyes. It all made perfect sense to him, the last pieces to this puzzle falling into place.

“You won’t lose me to anything, dear Asta,” he promised. “As wonderful as it would be for Freydis to live again, I would not abandon you on a possibility of that being true. I would not abandon you if it were true.”

“That’s not-”

“Quite what you are afraid of, I know,” he said. “And even if you never agree with me on who Katia is, I will not abandon you for it. We have come too far together, and you have become too important to me, for me to leave you now over a disagreement. We are, neither of us, any more than a human, nor are we any less. It is not in our nature to be in perfect agreement at all times, and it would be foolish of me to abandon you, who have been at my side through all manner of things, because you do not hold the same beliefs as me. Hm?”

“It would,” she agreed. “Thank you. I…” A pause. “I care too much for you to let something come between us, especially something which we may never have a direct answer for.”

“As do I,” he replied. “Now come and go to sleep. There is still much to be done, and we must continue our work tomorrow.”

Unlike the night before, Asta felt at peace as she settled in beside him to rest. There was no greater reassurance for her than one given by him, and for him, there was no greater reassurance than to feel her, ever by his side.

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[css1992]

I absolutely love all of your stories and was hoping to give you a prompt! I haven’t seen you write Tony or Peter as superheroes, but I would love a story where the team goes on a mission that goes wrong and they think Peter is dead. A few months pass, and Spider-Man pops up in a different color costume next to a big baddie (Quentin? Rumlow? Whoever it is def has a crush or Peter lmao). If you can’t write the prompt, no worries.❤️

(...)

“Thank you so much for taking my prompt omgggg! To answer your question, Spider-Man pops up as a baddie, and he works with/for another baddie”

You’re too sweet and kind, my dear, thank you so much! I’m so sorry this took so long, something happened in my personal life and I was too heartbroken for love stories for a while there hahaha Everything’s fine now. I hope you’re still out there to read this and I really hope you enjoy it! <3

[*]

This takes place a few years after Civil War.  A few details were changed – Peter was recruited at 18, while attending MIT; Endgame never happened, they defeated Thanos in Titan; Tony and Pepper never got back together after their break-up somewhere between IM3 and CACW.

TW: Mentions of blood, alcoholism, grief and death. I guess that’s it, let me know if you find anything else triggering!

[*]

“It’s him.” Tony stood there paralyzed, staring at the hologram projected from Nat’s phone, heart pounding, ears ringing. “It’s him,” he repeated, running his hands through his hair, trying to get a hold of himself, trying to make sense of what was happening, of what he was seeing. It was too surreal – impossible! – he had to be hallucinating. Right? Maybe dreaming? Had he drunk himself into a stupor again? Had he finally gone mad?

It was a regular day, Tony had been down in the lab for an unknown number of hours when Friday announced Steve, Nat and Bruce were at the door, which was unusual. Usually, they’d visit one at a time, an unspoken agreement not to overwhelm the engineer, but that particular day they all marched into his house saying that he needed to see something. He was too exhausted to tell them to fuck off, so he just poured himself a drink and shrugged, gesturing towards the living room.

Nat proceeded to project a video from her StarkPhone and what he saw took away the ground from beneath his feet. He tried to sit down, but he didn’t make it to the couch, his legs were not responding, he fell on his butt in the middle of the living room. The blood felt like ice in his veins, his throat was closing up, his eyes were burning and his hands were shaking so fucking badly. He was boneless and petrified all of a sudden, as he watched him swing from building to building on his webs, a black and white blur.

Peter.

He felt Steve and Bruce on either side of him, trying to help him up, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the projection. It was him. My Peter, you’re back, you came back to me, you’re okay, you’re alive–

“Tony, it’s not him.” Steve’s voice brought him back to the real world, and he looked around. Natasha and Bruce both stared at him with worry in their eyes, like they agreed with Steve.

“What, are you fucking insane? Of course it’s him!” His voice was firm, angry, even though his hand was shaking when he pointed at the hologram, to the short video that kept replaying on a loop.

“Tony, he robbed a bank. He put civilians at risk. How could you think this is Peter? Are you insane? Don’t you know him? Look, we had to show you this because it’s going to be all over the news soon and whoever this is, they’re trying to tarnish Peter’s memory and we can’t allow it, but this – this isn’t him, Tony. I’m sorry.”

The older man stopped for a second, taking a deep breath. Was he going insane? Was he seeing things, was his mind playing tricks on him again? It wouldn’t be the first time in the last few months. He focused on the images. The bank’s alarm was sounding loudly, as people started running wildly out the front door. Seconds later, someone wearing a cape and a – helmet? Fish bowl? – on their head walked out, then finally him.

Not him, Steve said, but how could it be anyone else, when Tony could clearly see it was Peter gracefully swinging around on the webs. Not him, Steve said, but how could it not be him when Tony recognized every inch of his body? The long neck, the narrow, yet strong shoulders, thin waist, round ass, strong thighs, small feet, long hands and thin, wiry arms. How could it not be him when Tony could recognize the way he moved, the way he leaped and landed effortlessly, the grace with which he swung back and forth?

“It’s him, Steve.” Even as the words left his mouth, his eyes were fixed on the boy in the video. The suit looked a lot like the one Tony made for him, but it was slightly different. Black, instead of blue. White, instead of red. But it was him. Alive and breathing. “It’s Peter, I know it is.”

***

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Even though it called for every Avenger in town, it was just a security measure, Steve told them. They intercepted a terrorist group communicating online, planning a coordinated attack on Stark Tower, the Avengers Compound and Times Square. They were professionals, but only human. They thought they’d be enough: Captain America, Black Widow, Iron Man, Spiderman, Winter Soldier and even the Hulk as a safety net.

In a way, they were sufficient. They were able to avoid the attack and arrest almost every single one of the terrorists that weren’t killed during the mission. But the cost was high – way too fucking high.

Peter.

Tony knew what happened the exact moment when it did. He knew there was no saving him when he opened his lips and tried to call out his name and instead of words, blood came out. Thick, dark blood. He saw the life leaving his eyes when he looked at him one last time, eyelids drooping and then closing. There was no saving him, Tony knew that, and yet he tried. He flew as fast as the suit would allow him, even though he had no idea what he would have done if he had reached him in time. Which he didn’t.

Peter disappeared before his eyes, along with the man who had put a knife through his heart. And not just any knife, not any metal would have been able to pierce the suit. It had to be vibranium. Whoever that man was, he knew that, maybe he had Peter in mind all along. The only thing Tony remembered about him were his wide, blue eyes. Cold and wild. The sadistic smile when he heard Tony’s wail of despair. Tony thought he knew him somehow, but couldn’t be sure.

They just disappeared. One second, they were there, right within his reach, the next, they were gone. He’d lost him. The person he’d sworn to protect at all costs, at the cost of his own damned life, but he was useless the moment Peter needed him the most. Gone. Disappeared before his eyes, Tony couldn’t even bring his body home.

He remembered crumbling to the ground, broken and unbelieving, staring at the empty space where Peter once stood.

“Tony...” Steve crouched down next to him, looking pained and devastated, and the older man broke down.

“I lost the kid, Steve. I lost him.”

He didn’t remember a lot of that day, he’d passed out drunk in his room for the first time in ten years, woke up hours later in the med bay with Steve, Rhodey and Pepper speaking in hushed voices. He didn’t care what they were saying, because the first thought he had when he opened his eyes was that he’d lost the love of his life. His Peter.

***

“Boss, I was able to acquire the footage from the bank’s security cameras.” Friday’s voice brought him back to the present and they all jumped up, all eyes turning to the huge screen facing the couch.

“Good girl, play it,” he answered quickly, taking a seat because he knew he would need it.

It started with a normal day in a bank, people walking around, standing in line, talking to each other, nothing out of the ordinary. Then the guy they’d seen leaving the bank in the other video – Fish-bowl-guy – appeared out of nowhere, levitating above the patrons, slowly floating down.

“My fellow citizens, do not fret, I mean you no harm.” Of course, New Yorkers wouldn’t take his word for it, not after everything they had gone through over the course of the last decade. People started screaming and running, trying to get to the exit, but Peter stood there by the door. When they tried to push through him, he webbed some of them to the walls and the others froze, slowly stepping away from him. “This will all be over soon, I promise.”

Fish-bowl-guy demanded the tellers filled bags with money from their drawers as Peter guarded the exit. He didn’t say anything and it was driving Tony crazy, because he was dying to hear him. Both because he wanted Friday to run the audio through a voice recognition software to prove once and for all that it was him, but also because for six months he hadn’t been able to even look at pictures of Peter, let alone hear his voicemails or watch his silly videos. And he had several of them, the younger man sent him at least a video a day – his daily vlogs, he called them – even if they were just in different rooms.

But Peter didn’t say anything, he just stood by the door as Fish-bowl-guy talked to the patrons.

“I know we seem like the bad guys right now, but I promise you, we’re not. We’re the heroes here, really,” He started, overlooking the tellers as they filled the bags with cash. “We’re here to take the city back from those who took it from us. You know what I’m talking about, right?” The man looked at the patrons as if he was expecting an answer, but no one said a word. “Tony Stark and his little army. He took over his daddy’s empire, now he thinks he can just take anything and claim as his own. He’s done it to this city, even if some people haven’t realized it yet. We’re his hostages. He built himself an army and they control this city, the country, even! They fake threats and then come to ‘save us’, they destroy our homes, they kill our loved ones, they don’t care about collateral damage! Some of us have lost everything, because of Tony fucking Stark and his minions. But it will all be over soon, I promise you. I will set you free.”

He took the twelve bags full of money that the tellers placed on the counter and gestured for Peter to come closer and the young man webbed his way to him, until he was standing by his side. That was the moment people started running out of the bank, the moment they saw from another point of view in the other video. As they watched people leaving, Fish-bowl-guy placed an arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him close in a very friendly way, it made Tony’s blood boil and his heart sink.

“You’re doing great, honey. You’re doing the right thing. Come on, now.” He stroked his shoulder softly then walked outside, followed closely by Peter and then the video was over.

The room was silent for a few seconds after that as they tried to understand what they’d just seen. Tony didn’t want to read too much into it, Peter was clearly not in his right mind if he was robbing a bank, but still – the guy called him honey. He was… comforting him. And Peter let him.

“We have to find him.” Tony quickly ordered Friday to do a thorough search on the web, check surveillance cameras all over New York, police database, anything that could give them a clue on  where they might have escaped to – or where they had come from. The news said they were followed by the police for a few blocks, then they simply disappeared before their eyes. It brought back terrible memories.

“Yes, we do, but not for the reasons you want, Tony.” Bruce frowned, coming to stand next to his friend. “You have to agree this – it’s just not possible. Peter is dead, he would never –“

“Then where’s his body, Bruce? Huh? Can any of you answer me that?” He looked around the room and they all avoided his gaze, as if worried they’d break him if they dared to say what they thought. “He disappeared. Right before my eyes, Bruce. Friday couldn’t connect to Karen, we have no idea what could have happened after that.”

“Tony, his heart was pierced.” It was Natasha’s turn to try. Tony could see it was hard for her too, she had a soft spot for Peter, from the very first time Tony recruited him, when he was still an eighteen year-old kid. “He couldn’t possibly –“

“He was enhanced!” He yelled, annoyed they were all so ready to discard the possibility that the person in the video could be Peter when it very clearly was. “Is! He is enhanced! I was never able to measure just how far his healing factor went, Friday could only estimate with the amount of information we had at the time, but clearly–“

“Tony, listen–“

“No, you listen! You listen to me, okay? That’s my fiance! I’m telling you this, that is the man I love, the man I sworn to protect and then abandoned for six fucking months assuming he was dead, when I didn’t even try to look for him! I just fucking drank my days away when I could be looking for him and now he needs my fucking help! So you can either help me find him, or you can fuck the fuck off, ok?” He was breathless by the time he was done, and they all looked at him like he’d gone insane for good.

“What do you suppose happened?” Steve asked quietly, and Tony frowned. “What do you think could have happened in these past few months that would turn Peter into that?” He pointed at the screen. “If he was alive this whole time, why not look for you?”

“I don’t know, Steve, we’ll have to ask him.” Truth was, Tony was terrified of the answers to those questions. He couldn’t think about it at that moment, he had to find him first. “What happened to Barnes? You of all people –“ He didn’t need to finish the sentence, couldn’t. He sighed and Steve flinched, eyes growing wide as the familiarity of the situation seemed to dawn on him. “Do you think you could’ve mistaken him for someone else? Ever?” Tony’s eyes were burning, but he didn’t shed a tear, he didn’t have time for tears. He needed to find him.

Steve was stunned silent after that, watching Tony with huge, watery eyes.

“Tony, we just don’t want you to get hurt,” Bruce intervened again, approaching him carefully. “We don’t want you to go through the pain of losing him again in case...”

“It’s doesn’t get any worse than this, Bruce,” Tony sighed, because he knew that nothing could hurt more than the thought that he’d failed Peter. That he didn’t try to look for him. That Peter had been held captive by a fucking terrorist organization for six months because he was too drunk to get out of bed and fucking try to look for him. Because he just lost hope and never thought Peter might be out there, waiting for him to come, to save him. “There’s nowhere else to go but up, from where I’m standing.”

Nobody said anything else after that, but later that day he got a message from Steve saying they would find Peter.

***

He was in the hospital for three days after Peter’s death. He was a fifty-year-old man with a shitty heart, after all. He was sedated for most of it, whenever he woke up he was so out of his mind with grief that they put him right back to sleep. When he was finally able to go home, he insisted he was left alone, but to calm Pepper and Rhodey down, he activated Friday’s babysitter protocol. It was Peter’s creation. It would let them know if Tony wasn’t eating well, or if he harmed himself in any way. If he tried to deactivate it, it would notify them immediately.

So he was left alone, at least most of the time. He spent his days in the lab, drinking, working, crying, thinking. The memories came and went unsolicited, specially when Tony was too out of it to control them. Suddenly, he’d be back in the boy’s dorm room in Boston, looking at that ridiculous onesie that he hid in a box of books under his bed, watching him stutter as he tried to explain it was just a cosplay.

“A cosplay of some dude who does stunts on Youtube?” Tony raised a brow, amused, and Peter’s face grew red as he scrunched up his nose and frowned in annoyance.

“He’s not some dude doing stunts, he – he’s helping people!” He argued, taking the “suit” back from Tony’s hands and stuffing it under his tiny bed, before sitting on top of it.

“Sure, if you consider doing back flips for the camera helping people, then Spider-boy is doing great,” Tony shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets nonchalantly, only to watch him grow even more irritated.

“Man! Spider-man! And I don’t just do back flips, I– He...” He stuttered and Tony took pity on him. His expression softened and he sat next to him on the bed, feeling the tension coming in waves from him as he muttered a quiet “fuck” under his breath.

“Peter, I know. I know. Okay?” He clasped a hand on his shoulder and the young man looked at him with huge, round eyes. Scared. Unsure. “I’ve been watching you for years. Your secret is safe with me. I’m not here to expose you.”

“Then why are you here?” He raised a brow and Tony took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts.

“I kinda picked up a fight with Captain America about signing some papers and then he met this friend who was supposed to be dead, like, eighty years ago, but is somehow alive and possibly a mass murderer? Now I need all the help I can get to fix it.” He winced and watched the boy’s face for his reaction, but he just raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a few seconds as Peter looked around the room, then back at Tony.

“So when do we leave?”

That was the thing about Peter. He trusted Tony blindingly, he never asked too many questions before jumping headfirst into whatever the older man proposed him. No matter how crazy, how inconsequential, how inappropriate. So he wasn’t too surprised when the boy said yes when he asked him out.

They had just arrived at the compound after Strange teleported them back from Titan, they hadn’t even showered yet, they were both covered in bruises and blood, but he looked at Peter and couldn’t help but think he could have lost him. They could have died, and he would have died without knowing the answer to the question that had been sitting at the back of his throat for months by then, which was–

“Yes,” Peter nodded, a faint blush taking over his dirty and bruised cheeks, and Tony blinked a few times.

“Don’t you want to think about that for a minute?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, and Peter frowned.

“Um, no? Why?”

“Because you’re twenty and I’m twenty-seven years your senior, kid.” It was terrifying to say that out loud. Peter was twenty. Tony was forty-seven. Twenty-seven years separated them. Tony was full grown man when Peter was swimming around in his father’s testicles.  

“You just asked me out, you can’t call me kid anymore, I’m sure that’s written in some rulebook somewhere.” Even though he was still blushing, he found it in himself to be sassy and annoying. Tony rolled his eyes playfully.

“Fair enough. So, should I call you later?” He pointed over his shoulder, signaling that he was going to his quarters to shower and rest for a few hours. Peter frowned.

“For what?”

“For your answer? About that date?” Peter just looked at him like he’d asked the most stupid question ever.

“I just said yes.” He said, raising an eyebrow, and Tony sighed.

“I thought we agreed you’d think harder about it.”

“Uh, no, you just chickened out for a second there, but my answer is still yes.” He shrugged with a playful smile on his lips and Tony gawked at him.

“I didn’t chic – ugh, you’re such a brat.”

“I’m sure brat is off-limits, too.” He winked, walking away towards his quarters.

Tony worried about their relationship – as did everyone else, specially their close friends and May. Peter was so young and, to make matters worse, he sort of worked for Tony. Ever since Germany, the older man paid him a hefty salary for being a part of the team – he was always on call, after all, and always trained at the compound whenever he was in New York.

But as it turned out, his worry was unnecessary. Although young, Peter was mature beyond his years and acted more like an adult than Tony did most of the time – they sort of met in the middle. As for the power imbalance, it actually felt like Peter was in control more often than not. It was subtle, though, Tony only noticed because Rhodey pointed it out once.

“That kid’s got you wrapped around his little finger.” He laughed into his beer bottle as he watched Peter walking away. Tony blinked, having a sip of the tea the younger man had just brought him. Peter was dead set on getting him on a healthier diet and tea was somehow involved. The young man insisted it would help with his sleeping schedule, so Tony just agreed, even though he thought most teas tasted like dirty water. “If he says jump, you ask how high.” Tony was going to argue, but then stopped himself. He tried to think of the last time he’d said no to Peter, the last time he’d denied him anything, but not a single memory came to mind. “I’m not judging, it’s a good look on you. Whipped boyfriend.”

Tony noticed, then, that he was. Whipped, that is. Peter was always telling him what to do – gently, of course, and always with his best interests at heart. And he listened, because, as it soon became apparent, Peter was usually right about most things. Tony was more practical, he was in charge in the lab, what with decades of experience over him, as well as in the battlefield, for the same reason. But when it came to their personal lives, Peter called the shots. And it was fine. It was good.  He felt loved and cared for like never before and he loved it. He loved Peter.

But he’d lost him.

And he couldn’t help but feeling guilty. It was his fault, had to be. He was in charge out there. He was supposed to look out for him in the field, he was supposed to keep him safe, bring him home alive and well, but he couldn’t even bring his fucking body back. He had nothing left of him but terrifying memories of cold, dead eyes and bloody lips trying to call out his name.

Days and weeks and months went by, but he barely noticed, barely left the tower anymore. He was vaguely aware of people coming and going – Pepper, to check on him from time to time; Rhodey, trying to get him out of the lab; Steve, with constant reports on what the Avengers were doing, as if he cared; Bruce, with excuses about projects he was working on; and Nat, for unclear reasons. They never asked him to suit up, though, not for anything. Not in a Tom Ford three-piece, not in Mark L. They just let him be. Which was good, it felt good to be forgotten up there in the workshop, which used to be their favorite place in the world.

Over those three years they’d been together, Tony had taken Peter everywhere – and he meant everywhere. A boy who had barely left Queens before he met Tony got to see so may different cities, so many different countries, even if just for one night sometimes, just for dinner, before they had to get back to their hectic lives.

But they always went back to their favorite place, Tony’s workshop, filled with so many memories it sometimes felt like it was haunted by their ghosts. Both of them. Because some part of Tony must have died with him and sometimes, when he got distracted, he saw them. Specially on the floor by the couch, that was too tiny for the two of them and Tony kept saying he was going to buy a bigger one, but for some reason he never did and they always ended up on the fluffy rug on the floor.

“You feel amazing,” Tony whispered as his fingers enveloped Peter’s hips, pulling him down lower, and the younger man moaned quietly and smiled as the words left Tony’s lips. He leaned forwards to kiss him as rocked his hips in a slow, lazy pace. “You are perfect, my love.”

“If you keep feeding my praise kink like that, I’m not gonna last two minutes here.” He laughed quietly against the older man’s lips, who sighed when he felt the boy’s muscles tightening around him.

“I won’t complain too much about it.” He tightened his grip on Peter’s hips when he sat back up and started moving up and down in a way he knew would drive the engineer insane. “You’re gonna kill this old man someday, I swear.”

“I really hope not, I kinda like him a little.”

And their ghosts giggled together and disappeared into thin air, like dust in the wind, and only a half-dead Tony remained with a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the rug on the floor.

***

Friday was monitoring the press and the internet for any sign of Peter, but there was none to be found. For the first couple of days, Tony was restless, but hopeful. Peter had been missing for six months, there hadn’t been any sign of him for all of that time, so the fact that he appeared out of the blue that day meant that something had changed. He was sure he would show up again at any second.

As days went by, though, his hope started to dwindle. He grew desperate by the hour thinking that he would have to go another six months without seeing Peter, perhaps even longer – perhaps he’d never see him again. Sometimes he wondered if he was wrong, if that wasn’t even Peter in the video, if maybe he was really dead after all, but whenever he watched the video again he was sure of it. It was him.

So he couldn’t help but think that he had to be locked up somewhere. It brought back terrifying memories of those three months he spent in that cave in Afghanistan and how he never really recovered from that – he still had nightmares about it, twelve years later. Peter had been gone for six months, seventeen days, four hours and thirty-three minutes. And counting.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, the only thing he could think about was Peter, and the cave, and Barnes’s sessions with BARF, and Hydra’s brainwashing methods. He drove himself mad with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Peter – what might be happening right at that second as he waited for answers.

He’d been awake for almost sixty-two hours straight when it happened.

“I think you should see this, boss.” Friday’s voice interrupted the loud music and Tony frowned as he raised his eyes from his latest project – a new suit for Peter, one so sophisticated and impenetrable, not even vibranium could pierce through it. Friday wasn’t supposed to interrupt him unless the world was ending or she had news about Peter, Tony was very specific about that, so, yeah, he was a little freaked out when he heard her voice.

She showed him footage of Stark Tower’s security cameras, Tony’s heart almost stopped when he saw the boy sneaking in through a window, along with Fish-bowl-guy.

“He’s here.” He whispered to himself, unable to move for a second. His first instinct was to run to him, but he couldn’t be irresponsible, there were lots of people in the building, he couldn’t predict what could happen, so he had to take a few precautions. “Friday, where’s Pepper?”

“Miss Potts is not in the building, she’s caught in traffic a few miles away, boss.” Tony nodded to himself, taking a deep breath, then he started moving.

“Evacuate the building immediately, but don’t cause a panic, I don’t want them to know I know they’re here. Call Pepper, tell her to stay away. Where are they headed?” As he barked out orders, he watched Peter climb into the vents.

“They seem to be heading to the mainframe, boss.”

“Revoke Peter’s access to the systems,” Tony rushed to the elevator, the mainframe was situated right below his penthouse, it took up the whole floor and there was no way in or out other than the elevators and the air vents.

“Done, boss.”

Tony’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, filled with mixed feelings. He was going to see Peter for the first time in six months, after he literally rose from the dead – he’d gone to his funeral, for Christ’s sake – but it wouldn’t be a heartwarming reunion. He knew Peter wasn’t himself. Something had happened to him and he wasn’t okay, he was worried about what might happen, but the anxiety to see him again in person after so long was stronger than anything else.

He activated Mark L and when the door to the elevator opened, the room was quiet. It was huge, the light was low and blueish, there were at list seventeen rows of processors from one end of the room to the other, and Tony knew that at the very back, in a corner, there was a computer. He walked down the aisles quietly until he saw them. Peter had his back to him, but there was no mistaking the line of his shoulders, his neck, the way he stood, his quick fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Peter...” It came out as a sigh, but it was loud enough for both of them to hear and turn to him. For the first time, Fish-bowl-guy had his helmet off and Tony could see his face – the same face that took Peter away from him months earlier. “You!” He stalked towards them, but Peter webbed his feet together. Tony could easily break it, but stopped in his tracks, he didn’t want it to escalate to a fight. “What are you doing, Pete?”

“How dare you talk to him, Stark! After everything you’ve done?” Those eyes were so familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Tony frowned, taking a step closer, breaking the webs around his ankles.  

“What– Pete –”

“You revoked my access?” Peter asked, exasperated and nervous when the computer announced his access was denied. That voice. That sweet, honey-like voice...

“So it is you.” Tony took yet another step closer, reaching out to him, but Peter got into a fighting stance.

“Why did you have to do that?” To Tony’s surprise, his voice trembled, like he was actually hurt by that. His heart broke in a million pieces. “You used to love me, you said–“ He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “You leave me no choice.”

“Peter, please–“ Before he could say anything else, the younger man leaped at him and almost managed to rip the faceplate off his face as he sat on his shoulders and started pulling it, but Tony was able to grab him and throw him away, but not far enough to hurt him. He stumbled a few feet and got right back up. “Pete, what are you doing, just stop!”

“No! You stop, Tony, please! How could you–“ He came at him again, and Tony flew out of the his way, but was caught by his web around his ankle. Peter swung him and threw him to the floor, but Tony quickly got up. “Please, Tony, you –“

“Don’t talk to him, Pete, he’s gonna try to manipulate you! We have to kill him, there’s no other choice!” Fish-bowl-guy was typing furiously at the keyboard, but Friday was keeping Tony updated. He was good, definitely above average, but he probably wouldn’t be able to hack into his systems. “Once we’re done, we can’t let him live, Peter.”

“What the fuck is he talking about! Kid, it’s me, it’s me, what are you doing?” Tony tried to reach Peter again, but he shot webs at him, trying to tie his arms to his torso, which was useless. The engineer knew Peter was going easy on him, he was almost as strong as Mark L and if the suit he was wearing was anything like the one Tony made for him, it had an instant kill mode. Still, he kept trying to bind him, not hurt him.

“I can’t let you release Extremis to the public! Please, I’m begging you, let me help you, we can–“ Fish-bowl-guy grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him away and shaking him.

“Peter, stop fucking around! He’s dangerous!”

“Don’t fucking touch him!“ Tony had had it with him, he charged his repulsors and was going to aim right at his head, but for a short while, the room went dark, then when the lights came back up, only Peter was there. He had his mask off and, for a moment, Tony was free to breath. For the first time in months, he could fill his lungs up with air because his beautiful face was right there in front of him, within reach. Alive, healthy.

And staring at him with hatred.

“You’re disgusting, Tony. How could you do that to me? You groomed me, you sick fuck, I was just a boy, you molested me!” He started walking towards him and Tony blinked in shock.

“What?”

“You’re a good for nothing piece of shit, you left me for dead months ago, didn’t even come looking for me, I bet you found some younger ass to fuck, didn’t you? You old perv.” Tony took a few steps back, heart beating loudly in his ears. He’d never seen such hate in his eyes in all those years they were together.

“Pete...”

“You came after me because you couldn’t find someone your own age who would put up with your crap, right? The drinking, the nightmares, the fucking panic attacks, I was so fucking done with it! All of it!” He couldn’t believe his ears, Peter – he would never talk to him like that. Right? Or was that how he felt the whole time? “Give me access to EDITH, Tony.” He demanded and Tony frowned. EDITH was an AI that gave its users access to Stark Industries's global satellite network along with an arsenal of missiles and drones. It was only supposed to be used in case of Tony’s death, Peter knew that. “If you want to redeem yourself, you’ll do it, and I might forgive you.”

“Boss, I think you should see something,” Before Tony could answer, Friday activated the suit’s thermal imaging and Tony frowned. Peter was not standing in front of him. In fact, he was nowhere to be found and there was nobody where he stood just seconds ago. First, he panicked, thinking he had disappeared again, but it just took him five seconds to realize what was going on.

“Where is this hologram coming from, Fri?” Friday deactivated the thermal imaging and Tony was shocked by how realistic the Peter staring back at him was. So realistic that only one person in the whole world could have made it: himself.

“There are five drones projecting images in the room, sir.”

“Take them out.”

In seconds, five tiny missiles were launched from his suit and the drones fell to the floor, lifeless, and suddenly the whole room changed. It was still the same setting, but it somehow looked more real then, and of course, Peter had disappeared.

“Tony? Tony, where did you go?! What – what happened?” He heard Peter’s voice on the other end of the room and he rushed to get there.

Peter was curled up in a corner, looking scared and desperate as he looked around him in confusion. The other guy was kneeling next to him, trying to comfort him again.

“Pete, whatever he showed you, whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. He’s using BARF!” He tried to approach the young man, but his eyes were wild as he shook his head. He pushed the other guy away but kept crawling backwards, away from Tony as well.

“Stay away from me, please, don’t come any closer. I-I don’t wanna hurt you, please, Tony, please...” He was still looking around like he didn’t expect to still be there.

“Why do you always have to ruin every-fucking-thing, Stark? Why do you have to stand in the fucking way of every single thing that I do?” Fish-bowl-guy got up and started marching towards him, furious.

“I have no fucking idea who you are, you fucking weirdo.” Tony aimed his repulsors at him and the guy stopped, laughing incredulously.

“You hav – you motherfucker! You think you’re a God, don’t you? Above everything and everyone, literally wrapped in wealth and technology you’re unfit to wield. Like the holographic system I designed. A revolutionary breakthrough with limitless applications, that you turned into a self therapy machine and renamed it BARF! My life’s work, Stark, and you renamed it BARF! I told you it was a mistake, that my technology could change the world and then you fired me. You said I was… unstable. Ring any bells?”

It clicked, then. The crazy, wild eyes, the hand gestures, the insane world domination plans.

“Beck.” No wonder Tony had forgot about him, the guy was brilliant, but completely insane. He helped develop the technology behind BARF, but once he started talking about weaponizing it, Tony decided to let him go. “I didn’t steal it, it belonged to me, it was my idea, I made you head of the project because I thought you could see it through, but your ideas for what it could be used for were clearly unhealthy and a fucking threat to the world. So, yeah, not sorry for firing your ass, I was clearly right. What even is your endgame here, Beck? What do you want?”

“These days, you can be the smartest guy in the room, the most qualified, and no one cares. Unless you’re flying around with a cape or shooting lasers from your hands, no one will even listen. Well, now I’ve got a cape. And lasers. With my technology and with EDITH, I will be the greatest hero on Earth!” He spread his arms and laughed like the madman he was, and Tony frowned.

“Yeah? Where are your lasers now?” The guy looked at him like he had just realized he had nothing. Peter was curled in a corner, too confused to act, his drones lay limp on the floor, and he had no way out of the room. “Better luck next time, asshole.” Tony wanted to kill him, he did, but he controlled himself and just knocked him over the head. He fell heavily to the floor and Tony turned to Peter, who was still looking at him like the whole world had been turned upside down.  “Peter, baby, c’mon, it’s me, it’s Tony,” He tried to approach him, but he shook his head violently.

“S-stand back!” He panted, eyes flicking between Tony and the guy on the floor. “What’s happening, I don’t understand, I don’t… We were… Outside and you…You killed people, how…”

“It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine, I promise, just trust me, I will take care of you, I’ll take care of everything, I –“

“Stay away from me!” Peter got up and run towards the elevator, Tony had no choice other than shoot him with the tranquilizer he used on Bruce when he hulked out at the wrong time. He rushed to catch him before he hit the ground and carefully cradled him in his arms.

Finally, in his arms. Warm and alive, solid and breathing.

“I’m so sorry,  Peter. For everything. I’ll make it up to you.”

***

Tony startled awake when he heard screaming. His heart almost jumped out of his chest and he was on his feet in a matter of seconds the minute he registered it was Peter’s voice. He was distressed, possibly hurt, so he flew to his side, but was quickly pushed away by nurses and doctors that rushed into the room and Tony remembered the last 24 hours, where they were and why.  

“Tony! Tony!” Peter called as he gasped for air, and that was more than enough for the older man to force his away back to him, grabbing his shaking hand.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here, are you okay?” He asked in a rush looking into his wild, scared eyes, and the kid just looked back at him for a few minutes, blinking several times, before he nodded slowly.

“Are you – are you real?” He rubbed his forehead, panting, and Dr. Cho approached him to run a few tests. Peter had been out for a whole day after the Hulk-sized dose of tranquilizer Tony shot him with, even with his fast metabolism.

“I am. Do you feel that?” He brushed his thumbs across his cheeks and Peter closed his eyes, sighing and nodding slowly. Tony took his hands and pressed them to his own face, down his scratchy cheeks that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks, and Peter smiled. “It’s me, I’m here now, it’s over.” Tony explained to him as doctor Cho checked his blood pressure and his pulse, asked him a few questions, then once she was satisfied, she nodded.

“You’re okay, Peter. You just need a lot of rest, ok? Most of your wounds from the fight have already healed, but I’m going to keep you here overnight just to be sure, then you can go right home, ok?” He nodded and she smiled. “Welcome back.”

She left the room and silence took over for a second, but they still looked at each other, as if afraid that if the looked away the other would disappear. Nat had interrogated Beck and figured out his plan. The terrorist attack was an ambush, it was his goal to kidnap Peter all along, he knew he was the only person, besides Tony, who had access to EDITH.

He made them see Peter’s death as he kidnapped him with an illusion of Tony. He was holding Peter in a warehouse in Queens and the sad thing was, he didn’t even need anything to contain him. He kept him there with illusions. Peter thought he was at Stark Tower the whole tome, living with Tony as if nothing had changed.

Well, with a few changes. Beck’s Tony was slowly going mad, called himself Superior Iron man and planned to take over humanity by spreading a virus called Extremis 3.0. When Peter refused to help him, he was turned into a hostage. Peter was “Tony’s hostage” for months before Beck “rescued him” – by keeping him in the same warehouse, with different illusions. He managed to make him believe the Avengers were in on Tony’s plan and they had to stop them. The bank robbery was necessary to weaponize the few drones he was able to build after he left Stark Industries.

“How… How are you feeling, Pete?” He braced himself for the answer, because he knew it would be nothing short of horrible and he knew that whatever happened to him was his fault. The younger man bit his lower lip, frowned, and shook his head slightly.

“Confused. Scared.” He confessed, tearing up, but he kept holding Tony’s hand tightly. “Not sure if any of this is even real. If you are real.”

Tony could see that he meant it when he looked into his eyes. He was terrified. The older man took a deep breath and sat beside him on the bed.

“Do you remember our trip to Brazil?” He placed Peter’s hand on his own face again, kissing its palm. Peter nodded with a small smile. “Remember our last night there, on the hotel suite’s balcony? We had been together for, what, two, three months at the time? Remember what I said to you?” A tear ran down his cheek when he whispered yes. “I’m gonna marry you someday, kid.” Tony whispered back, joining their foreheads.

“And I said you couldn’t call me kid when you were making marriage plans.” Peter laughed wetly between tears, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on Tony’s lips, sighing in relief. “I should have known that could have never been you…” Peter’s hand slid from Tony’s cheek, to his shoulder, down his arm, until it reached the little cuts on his hands, the rough pads of his fingers. Peter took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “How long?”

Peter didn’t have to ask the whole question, Tony heard it, and he squeezed his hand.

“Six months.” He winced when Peter’s eyes grew large as saucers.

“Fuck... Fuck! Tony – I feel so stupid… I should have known, I should have fucking –“

“Hey, hey, don’t, don’t you dare blame yourself, you hear me? He fooled us all, Pete. The reason why I didn’t come looking for you before was because... For six months, I thought you dead.” He cradled his face in his hands and Peter gasped.

“Oh, God, Tony.”

“I saw you die, Pete,” He whispered, lowering his head so Peter didn’t have to see his tears. “I saw you die before my eyes. And I – I believed it, too. I never went after you, kid. I’m so sorry, I could have saved you, but I–“ before he could finish, he felt the boy’s fingers under his chin, lifting his head, and he was met with an equally wet face staring back at him.

“I’m here, now. And so are you. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Pete...”

There were no more comforting words to say other than his name. The name he hadn’t dared to say for so many months. He knew they had a long way to go, he could predict the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the anxiety attacks, the absolute terror of thinking of ever losing him again. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but they were going to do it together, they would heal together and relearn how to recognize each other blindly once again. One step at a time.  

[onfreckledwings]

the taming of wild things.

the second of who knows how many for my “dean winchester deserved better” series. ♥️

In all his years on the road, Dean’s only seen the Milky Way twice. But it was never like this.

Stepping out onto the porch at Harvelle’s, he leans against one of the posts supporting the roof and crosses his arms.

Heaven’s night sky is nothing short of remarkable. Dean can see the entirety of the Milky Way with thousands of tiny diamonds studded across the ink-black canvas. The galaxy has a pinkish-purple hue, and Dean can every so often spot a shooting star.

He doesn’t need to wish on them anymore.

The wind blows gently around him, and it feels like a caress across his skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, and takes a deep, cleansing breath: the air is crisp, pungent with pine, woodsmoke, and a touch of rain in the winds.

Dean tilts his head back so that it’s resting against the post. It’s still buzzing from the wine and the laughter and tears from the ongoing party inside the roadhouse.

He feels a pang of something he can’t quite place in the space between his heart and gut.

He misses Sam.

Something resembling worry or guilt begins to creep into his belly; unfurling behind his ribs and spreading through his limbs, leaving a tremble in its wake.

He wishes his brother could be with him now, just for a moment. Or at least somehow assure him that Dean’s alright. And Dean wants to make sure that Sam is too.

“He is.”

Dean’s eyes snap open and glances over his shoulder towards the voice.

“Hey, Dad.”

John approaches Dean from the doorway and takes a spot next to him, grasping the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze of his hand. He nurses a bottle of beer with the other.

“Sammy’s alright.” John says as he brings the bottle to his lips.

Dean casts his eyes downward, fidgeting with the toe of his boot. He doesn’t question how John knows what’s on his mind. He figures it’s a spiritual plane thing. Or maybe a parental thing.

Dean sighs with a sad smile. “Yeah. I hope so.”

John’s hand slips down to rub soothing lines across the planes of Dean’s shoulders, and he can’t help but revel in it—just a little. It’s the affection he’s always craved from his father.

“You did good, son,” John offers gently. “Real good. Sammy’s in good hands with Eileen.”

Dean lifts his eyes to meet John’s. He purses his lips together with a slight nod. “Thanks.” He doesn’t smile, not really. But Dean can feel his eyes soften.

John places his beer bottle down on one of the patio tables before stepping in front of Dean. His eyes are sad, Dean finds, which causes him to furrow his brow.

“Dean, listen…” John begins, and drops his gaze to his feet before looking up again. Dean’s stomach churns. “I know what kind of father I was to you-”

“Dad, you don’t have t-”

“No, I do,” John urges, voice thick and gruff. “But more than that, you need to hear it.” He reaches to place a hand on the side of Dean’s face and strokes his hairline with his thumb.

“I am so sorry,” John whispers as tears well in his eyes. “I never should have put any of my crap on you after your mother died. You didn’t deserve any of it. All you ever did was put me and your brother first. Always. You raised him, and that wasn’t fair. You took care of us and I didn’t take care of you.”

John takes a shuddering breath. Dean just stares through flooded eyes.

“Dean, I put the entire world on your shoulders when that was my burden to bear.”

John pauses, and reaches up both hands now to frame Dean’s face.

“I am so sorry.”

Dean feels hot tears slipping unchecked down his cheeks. He licks his lips and tries to swallow past the lump in his throat —he can’t — and he lets out a shuddering breath as he stifles a sob.

“I am so proud of you,” John continues, tears of his own falling down his face. He reaches his right hand to place it over Dean’s heart with a pat.

“You are the best man I know,” John breathes, watery. “And I’m so proud to be able to call you my son.”

Something breaks inside of Dean then; waves of catharsis crash through him, like waves against the jagged shore. John pulls Dean into his arms as Dean falls into him, clinging to his back.

He cries. He cries for all the times he should have been allowed to as a child. He cries for all the cuts and scrapes and bruises that were never tended to; he cries for the trauma, the shame, and all the pain and guilt and anguish of inferiority. For the years of self-loathing and self-sacrifice.

He cries for himself and for his father. He can’t stop shaking as sobs wrack his body.

John holds Dean tightly, squeezes, and his next words are like a balm to Dean’s soul:

“I love you so much.”

*

It’s some time later when the proverbial dust has settled.

Dean and John sit on Baby’s hood, sipping fresh beers and watching the light show in the sky above. Dean’s eyes are puffy still, and he feels completely boneless and exhausted. He allows all of his weight to sink against the windshield where he lays, and he closes his eyes to breathe deeply.

He feels healed. Like everything that was ever twisted and broken inside of him has fallen away and been built anew.

“So, tell me about your angel,” John says, eyes unmoving from the stars above.

Dean chokes a little on his beer as his body straightens. He places his bottle down next to him on the Impala’s hood and wipes the dribble of beer off his chin with the back of his sleeve.

He coughs once before answering, cheeks flushed hot. “Whaddya wanna know?”

John chuckles as he meets Dean’s eyes and gently smacks him across his chest with the back of one hand. “Come on, Dean. You slow danced to Journey with the guy. I know he ain’t just some ‘friend’,” John teases with air quotes, wearing the most shit-eating-grin that Dean has ever seen.

Dean ducks his head with a smile, trying to hide the furious blush that creeps into his cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, rucking it up every which way.

“Well uh, yeah...I mean. Y’know. He’s uh. He’s not just a friend,” Dean supplies eloquently while rubbing the back of his neck. He mentally smacks himself upside the head. Smooth, dude. Real smooth.

“No shit.”

They both toss their heads back in laughter, matching laugh lines appearing near their eyes before Dean clears his throat and tries again.

“Cas’n’ I met a long time ago,” Dean starts, reaching for his bottle to fidget with the label. “He uh, pulled me outta Hell after I made that deal for Sam. I stabbed him the first time I met him.”

I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

John snickers. “Well that’s one way to a guy’s heart, I guess.”

“Only way I know,” Dean chides with a shrug as he brings the bottle to his lips. The beer is soothingly cold down his throat.

There’s a beat of companionable silence between them before Dean feels John’s hand clap his shoulder.

“I’m happy for you, son.” he says earnestly.

Dean drops his gaze with a smile, picking at his beer label again. “Thanks, Dad.”

John drinks from his bottle before giving Dean a smirk.

“Kind of a weird dude,” he teases.

Dean snickers and purses his lips. “Ah, a little. He grows on ya.”

Weird...dorky little guy.

A beat. “Only took a lil’ over twelve years,” he chastises himself gently. He feels something sad briefly cross his face before staring into the night sky.

John pats the side of Dean’s arm. “Love’s funny that way sometimes.”

Love.

Dean freezes and swallows dryly. His heart beats a little faster, because they don’t do this. They’ve never had a conversation like this. Especially about another guy.

“That’s what this is, right?” John asks, voice gritty with a smile. There’s not a hint of judgement in his voice. He sounds happy. “You love him?”

Dean looks down into his father’s gaze before licking his lips and glancing away for a millisecond. Almost self-conscious.

“Yeah.” He meets John’s fixed stare. “I do.”

John gives a watery grin. “Good.” And then he looks back up to the stars and takes a swig of his beer.

A puff of laughter escapes Dean’s lips as he does the same.

*

Harvelle’s door creaks open, and Dean grins as he lays sprawled out over the hood of his car, arms stretching out over the now vacant space beside him. He sits up straight and shifts his chin to the right; not enough to fully look over his shoulder, but he doesn’t need to see who is approaching.

He already knows.

“Hey Sunshine.”

Dean hops down off the car and makes the short stride to stand in front of Cas. He leans his hip against the passenger door, elbow resting on the roof. He clasps his hands together.

He gets lost in a sea of blue. Cas eyes bore into his soul.

“Hi,” Castiel says simply, reaching to run a hand down Dean’s shoulder.

Dean thinks they probably look like a couple of lovestruck idiots. Maybe they are.

Cas squints, and his eyes darken as he furrows his brow. “Your eyes,” he comments, and he reaches his hand to cup Dean’s cheek, brushing his thumb over the orbital bone.

Dean leans into Cas’s touch as he closes his eyes briefly, the angel’s hand warm and soft and huge.

“Are you alright?” he asks, lifting his free hand to brush Dean’s disheveled hair away from his forehead.

Dean hums softly and tilts his head to press a kiss into Cas’s palm. He shifts away from the car and leans closer into Cas’s space, resting his hands on the swell of the angel’s hips.

Moss green and cerulean blue.

Dean smiles a content, languid thing. He is so tired. Tired and healed and free.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice thick and a little raw from crying.

Cas raises one eyebrow questioningly. “Dean—”

“Cas,” Dean whispers, reaching one hand to cup the curve of the angel’s jawline. “I’m okay. Me ‘n’ my dad...we were just setting some things straight.”

Cas gives a small nod, and fills the space between them completely as he encircles Dean’s waist, nuzzling into the crook of the hunter’s neck. Dean hums contentedly as he reaches a hand around Cas’s back, the other coming to cup the back of his head. Dean threads his fingers through the thick mess of black hair. His lips trail precariously close to the shell of Castiel’s ear.

“Good,” Cas says, voice layered thick with gravel.

Suddenly, Cas’s lips are trailing down Dean’s neck and he sucks at the pulse point, a maddening combination of teeth and lips before Dean feels the velvet heat of Cas’s tongue soothing over the bite.

“Oh.” Dean’s head starts to roll back but Cas is there, his hand catching the side of Dean’s face to steady him.

Dean opens his eyes (not even realizing he had closed them), and Cas is looking at him hungrily.

Fuck yeah.

Dean frames Cas’s face and dives in, and they’re finally — finally kissing in earnest, hot and deep and wet. It’s the best he’s ever had. Their tongues dance masterfully, lips sucking greedily, and Dean suddenly feels like his knees are gonna give out.

So he gently shoves Castiel against the passenger side door and presses his weight against him, and Dean grins through lips and tongue as Cas anchors him here.

Dean reaches to untuck Cas’s white dress shirt from his slacks, runs his hands underneath the fabric, and he moans when he finally gets to run his hands over the skin of Cas’s abdomen, his hips and the planes of his back. He’s soft and firm in all the right places.

Cas reaches down Dean’s waist and snakes his hands underneath his black tee, caressing the soft pudge of Dean’s belly before the angel’s hands go higher and his thumbs brush over Dean’s nipples.

Jesus. He’s growing hard already, and he shifts to slot against Cas’s pelvis and — yep.

Dean pulls back with a pant and stares into Cas’s blown pupils. “Everything works up here, huh?”

Cas just grins a gummy wide smile as they touch foreheads, panting and squeezing and touching bare skin.

“Jack and I built a house for you,” Cas says breathily, and maybe a little rushed before Dean brushes their lips together again and rolls against Cas’s hips. The angel’s head luls back and Dean runs a hand up the column of his neck.

“Us — you mean for us, right?” and it comes out a little needier than Dean wants, but he can’t be bothered to care in this moment.

“If that’s...what you want,” Cas pants, eyes never leaving Dean’s.

Dean grips the collar of Cas’s shirt and pulls Cas closer, noses brushing. “Yes, dumbass. I want,” he chuckles. And then Dean’s opening his mouth and kissing Cas again.

This is Heaven.

[worldwidemochiguy]

i'll give you anything (just not that)

Summary: (Yandere! Jimin) You want to go outside, but to get what you want, you’ll have to let Jimin have what he wants first. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, dubious consent, face-fucking, blowjobs (fem giving, male receiving)

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

a/n: requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt​ who asked for prompts 9, 11, 12 and 17 with yandere Jimin. This might not be as soft as you would’ve liked lol but I think its more on the softer side rather than like ‘hard’ yandere.

9 - “Just give it a little time! You’ll get used to this, I know you will!”

11 - “Let me see that pretty smile.” 

12 - “Did you miss me? Because I really missed you.”

17 - “I’m the only thing keeping you safe from a filthy, disgusting world.”

You watch the door, waiting for Jimin to come back from the convenience store. You had run out of hot chocolate powder — you had told him it was fine and he didn’t need to go and buy some, but he did it anyway. Jimin is always doing small things like that to show his devotion for you. Ironically, the things you really want are those things he would never allow in a million years. No matter how much you miss the outside world, he won’t let you set a foot outside the house. He even threatened to board up the windows and cut off your connection to the world when he was angry at you, though of course he would later apologise in between fits of tears on the kitchen floor, forcing you to compartmentalise your hurt and comfort him. 

He had been gone for longer than you expected, and you felt an unwelcome feeling of paranoia seeping into your head. Just then, as if summoned by your distress, Jimin appears in your line of sight. 

“Baby!” He greets, an exuberant smile overtaking his face. He sets the paper bag filled with produce on the counter and skips over to you. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks, eyes sparkling as he bounces onto the couch and tugs you onto his lap. “Because I really missed you.” 

You cannot find the energy to respond to him, eyes trained on the new rug on the floor. You had actually preferred the old one, but the blood stains were practically impossible to remove. You feel his arms tighten around you slightly.

“Baby,” He chides, tilting his head into your line of vision, “No pouting, ok? Let me see that pretty smile.” You smile at his request and he kisses you on the nose, placated.

“There’s my baby. Aren’t you pleased I bought you your hot chocolate? We can make it together, and then snuggle up in front of the fire!” 

You nod and then bite your lip, a habit you developed long ago. His eyes flick down to your mouth immediately, and stay there, fixated. Interesting. As an experiment, you dart your tongue out to moisten your lip, deliberately letting it drag across the pillowy surface, leaving your mouth pink and slick. Jimin lets out a quiet groan.

“Baby,” Jimin growled, his pupils blown, swallowing up the already-dark irises. “Such a little tease.” He presses a hand to your lower back, pushing you closer to him until you can feel his harsh exhale brush against your cheek. With his other hand, he traces your jaw firmly, pressing his thumb against your lips and dragging them ever so slightly. 

Jimin draws back his thumb and presses it in between his lips, groaning at the faint taste of you.

“So sweet for me, baby.” He mutters, before pushing his thumb into your mouth again. An indirect kiss. You obediently such it, flicking your tongue against the pad of the finger and he swears quietly. 

“Such a sweet little mouth. Begging to be fucked into.” You almost choke at his words. You have never done… that with him, or with anyone, and frankly you are a little scared. Jimin had broached the idea before, but you always brushed it off. You get the feeling this time will not be so easy.

“Come on, baby.” Jimin cajoles, bringing you even closer to him as his arm curls around you possessively. “Put your pretty little mouth on me. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Anything you want. You want to go outside.

“…anything?” You question in a small voice, and Jimin smirks victoriously. 

“Anything.”

You shuffle yourself off his lap, and Jimin helps to lower you onto a kneeling position on the floor. Above you, Jimin reclines in his seat, smug satisfaction written all over him. His hands are now tucked behind his head, so you guess you will have to tug him out of his pants yourself. 

You fumble with the fly, unsure of how to open it exactly, and Jimin watches you struggle with equal parts amusement and arousal. He loves when you find you are helpless, it gives him a burst of satisfaction when he can see for himself how much you need him. You eventually get his pants off, and his boxers are tugged down with them, allowing his now fully-hard cock to spring free. 

You take a deep breath, fully aware of the fact that you will not be able to do so in a moment. You are not quite sure what to do, so you return to familiar territory, spitting into your palm and wrapping your hand around him. You give him a few sharp tugs, twisting your wrist in the way you know he likes, though it causes your arm to ache viciously. Above you, you hear a sigh.

“Baby, not that I don’t- fuck- enjoy what you’re doing, but I think you know what I want.” You look up at him from beneath your lashes and he swears under his breath. “Fuck, so pretty- just put that pretty mouth on me baby, and you can have anything- everything.” 

You steel yourself with another breath, and then nod. You straighten up on your knees and bring your face closer to his cock, his hands coming down and quickly winding through the strands of your hair, creating a firm hold. You give the weeping head a kittenish lick, and then grimace. The pearly beads of precome taste bitter, and somehow salty. Jimin’s fingers — which have tightened significantly — push you back down to his cock, and you reach up a hand to guide it into your mouth. 

You lay your tongue flat against the underside of him, whilst being mindful of your teeth. Above you, Jimin is groaning, cussing up a storm as he pushes your head down until your nose is pressed into his trimmed pubic hair. His cock taps the back of your throat and you gag, tears starting to blur your vision. Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, holding you there firmly. 

“Fuck, baby, you look- Fuck. Look so perfect, being fed my cock. Look so pretty with tears rolling down your face. You’re crying for my cock, are you that desperate?” You whine breathlessly, he has been holding you there without a break for a while and you’re starting to become lightheaded. He seems to realise this, and tugs you off of him. You pant noisily, slumped against his thigh while he runs his hands through your hair.

“Are you ok, baby?” Jimin asks, his tone deceptively tender, and you whimper.

“I-” You stutter, your throat hoarse from being fucked into, and Jimin feels a rush of heady arousal, “I’m not sure I can do this.” Jimin can’t believe what he’s hearing. You have just discovered an amazing new talent, and you want to give it up already? Jimin isn’t sure he’ll be able to ever let your mouth off his cock after this, he can’t let you stop now.

“Just give it a little time! You’ll get used to this, I know you will!” He encourages, but you remain boneless, resting against his leg. Though he enjoys your submissive position, he can’t allow it to go on. “Anything you want, baby, remember? I’ll give you anything.”

“It better be a good ‘anything’.” You mutter against his skin, and his smile turns razor sharp.

“What was that, baby?” His fingers tighten to a painful extent, causing tears to spring to your eyes again. “Was that a command? For me?”

“I’m sorry.” You mumble immediately, and he tugs your head up from its resting point.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

He guides your head back onto his cock, and then holds it firm half-way down. At first you think he’s generously allowing you to choose how deep you take him, but you soon realise when he plants his feet on the ground and lifts his hips slightly.

Without so much as a warning, he starts fucking into your throat, pumping his cock into you with harsh, unrelenting thrusts. You have no choice other than to let him use you as he wants, whining around him helplessly as your throat tightens uncomfortably. 

“Baby,” Jimin groans from above you, “Your mouth feels so good, fuck. So hot, and wet, and tight for me. Only for me, right, baby?” All you can do is moan helplessly as he continues to pump into your throat. Your lips are swollen and glossy around his cock, saliva gathering at the corners and dripping onto the floor.

“You’re so desperate for my cock.” Jimin pants harshly, punctuating his statement with a particularly hard thrust, bringing your nose all the way down to his pelvis. “You’re drooling all over the place. My messy little baby.” 

His thrusts start becoming sloppier, more uncontrolled, and you know he’s near the edge. He starts a series of hard, fast thrusts, practically yanking your hair out at the roots with how tight he’s holding you. 

“My baby,” Jimin grunts, “Mine, mine, only mine. No one else has used your throat like I have, and no one ever will. You’re mine.” After his last statement a gush of come shoots down your throat and Jimin holds you there against him until he feels your throat contract around him as you swallow down every last drop of his seed. He pulls you off gently and your head lolls back. He lifts you back onto the couch and lays you horizontally over his lap, fingers lovingly carding through your aching scalp. 

“Well done baby.” Jimin coos, a besotted smile taking over his face. “You did so well for me. Thank you so much. You’re wonderful.”

“J-Jimin…” You slur roughly, your throat feeling like sandpaper. “Y-You said I could have… anything.” 

“And you can, baby.” He nods, determined. “I’ll give you anything.” 

“Can I-” You start, and then break off nervously. He nods at you encouragingly, and you start again. “Can I… go outside?” His brow contorts dangerously and you frantically try to justify yourself. “N-Not for long! And not alone! I just want- I want to go on a walk with you. Outside. It’s been so long since I’ve had fresh air.” 

Jimin hums disapprovingly. 

“Listen baby, if I thought it was safe for you to go outside, of course I would let you go. Do you think I want to make you unhappy? But no, you’re being silly. I keep you in here for a reason-”

“But-” You start, and he brings a finger down on your lips, silencing you.

“Do not interrupt me.” He reprimands you with a stern look, before continuing. “It isn’t safe for you to go outside. I mean, if a toddler asked for a knife, would you give it to them? It might make their little brains happy for a while, but soon enough they’ll end up getting hurt.” 

As he’s talking, Jimin lifts you into his arms and starts walking to the bedroom. Once you’re there, he sets you down on the bed, and you’re still so light-headed, you can barely register it. Jimin walks over to the window and closes the drapes, shutting out the sunlight. 

“You just have to understand, baby,” He tells you as he walks back to the door, leaving you behind. 

“I’m the only thing keeping you safe from a filthy, disgusting world.”

The click of the lock echoes as he shuts the door, and you think that it might as well be the shutting of a prison cell. 

[alicedopey]

Deceived

gif created by @justacripple​

Genre: Angst

Pairings: Ivar x Freydis, Ivar x Reader, Hvitserk x Reader (Friendship)

Words: 1668

A/N: This was written for @dreamwritesimagines​ “Not Today, Writer’s Block” Challenge. I picked “I’ll find someone else to love, don’t worry about me”...with Ivar obsviously.

The Great Hall was calm when you came in – which was odd since a Thing was going on. It was usually noisy, almost too loud but with Ivar on the phone, everything was different. People were scared to talk, scared to act, scared to breathe, scared to live. You would lie if you pretended you were not a tiny bit afraid yourself but it had to be done…for your heart, mostly.

When Ivar dismissed the last two farmers arguing about cows and pigs, you stepped forward in what you hoped was a resolute and determinate way.

“Y / N?” Ivar was shocked to find you there; his superior demeanor has changed to become suddenly agitated.

You took a deep breath. “There is something important I must ask you about.”

Ivar frowned. “You did not have to come here. You know you can talk to me whenever you want.”

“Really?” You asked doubtfully, tilting your head on the side. “I had the feeling you were too busy to give me a moment.”

Ivar ran his tongue over his dry lips. He was embarrassed, you could tell. He had neglected a lot of people since he had become King, even more so after Freydis got with child. But here…he had no choice but to hear you. If peasants had the right to talk, an admired shieldmaiden in his army could not be denied. With a flick of his hand, he urged you to go on.

“I wish to leave your army and Kattegat to go to Ribe.”

Your throat felt dry as if you had talked for hours. A simple sentence, and it could make him explode.

Ivar leaned forwards, elbows on his braced legs. “Why?”

“My family…they live here now. You don’t remember?” Those last few words were pronounced with a little bit more strength. “They left Kattegat after Lagertha took over the throne, out of respect for your mother.”

Ivar scoffed, as if you were insulting him. “Of course, I remember. But surely, they can wait a little longer. I need you here.”

“You don’t need me, King Ivar. You have a powerful army to defend Kattegat, you are King, you have a wife that you can cherish and love, a baby on the way who will make you proud…there is no need for an old friend in this picture.”

Each word made your heart clench, reminding you when he said them to you, when he assured you would be the one next to him, cherished and loved.

I can break a bone but I can never break a promise. Well he broke one, even two since he promised he would bring back your family as soon as he had won Kattegat. But he did not.

“Besides, you above all should know how family is important.”

You knew he could not deny your wish after that…and he knew it too, judging by the way his shoulders had suddenly tensed.

“Very well…if that is your wish, you may leave whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you, King Ivar.” A stiff bow and you were gone.

The victory was bittersweet. It was a relief that he had let you go with no other complaints but your heart hoped for something else, for him to fight for you and prove he loved you as much as you loved him. The harsh reality was that he did not love you, he even probably never had. Nothing was keeping you here.

“You’re sure about this?”

Hivtserk had been asking you the same question for a week now. You never changed your answer.

“Yes, Hvitserk. I’m sure.”

You were finally ready to go; you had managed to pack a few things and enough food for the journey. Some fishermen had agreed to take you on their boat so that you could cross the sea. After that, you would walk for a few days through the woods before reaching Ribe.

“At least, let me come with you. It might be dangerous.”

You scoffed. “Don’t insult me, Ragnarsson. I’m a shieldmaiden, I have weapons. I can handle some wanderers.”

When he was ready to protest again, you approached him and cupped his chubby cheeks between your hands. “The only way I’d let you come was if you promised to stay.”

He put his hands on yours and let out a deep sigh. “You know that’s impossible. I can’t leave him alone in this town. He would probably not let me anyways.”

You closed your eyes, letting your forehead fall against his. “Please, be careful.”

Hvitserk had lost some of his joy along the way. Ivar was treating him like a dog and he had Margrethe killed. Revenge was boiling in the older brother’s heart.

You could not blame him. Ivar was scaring his people, imposing his views and getting rid of the one who did not agree with them. He was the perfect definition of a tyrant. Two things could happen to tyrants; they either ended up alone or killed by their own people. You did not want to be there when it would happen to Ivar, because it would happen.

Hvitserk gently kissed your forehead, bringing you back to reality. It was time to go.

“Do you want me to walk you to the port?”

“No… I wouldn’t want to see you cry.” You added, a smirk appearing on your face.

Hvitserk smiled. It had been a long time since it happened. “You’re the one who will cry and you know it.”

He let go of you and walked to the door. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Hvit.”

Alon in the house here you had grown up, you took some time to watch every corner of the place and finally stepped out of it.

“I guess you are ready to leave.”

You looked up abruptly. Ivar was standing there, leaning on his crutch. Nobody was with him, not even with Whitehair who had become his shadow.

He came. The King came alone to say goodbye…Something fluttered in your belly and you tried your best to ignore it. There was no place for that anymore, no in the current situation.

“I came to say goodbye.” He said awkwardly.

You waited for something else, anything else – an apology, a sign that he still cared somehow. Nothing.

“Goodbye, then.” A sad smile stretched your lips. You looked down and started walking. You did not wish to make eye contact when you would go past him. But when you reached him, a gloved hand touched your arm and you had no chance but to look up.

He seemed conflicted and sad. Why would he be? He was not the one with the broken heart here. “I meant those words, you know…about loving you.”

You tensed and he ran his thumb over your skin as if he had sensed your emotional state. His touch burned.

“But I fell in love with Freydis and I wasn’t prepared for what it made me feel.”

You closed your eyes, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. You definitely did not want to hear her name right now. You gave him another sad smile and let out a shaky breath. “I’ll find someone else to love, don’t worry about me. It seems easy to do apparently.”

He reached for your hand and squeezed it. “You could stay…I would make you my second wife. Freydis would remain Queen of course but you could be my princess.”

If he was thinking his proposition was making you happy, he was deadly wrong. You were sure he was doing this out of pity, not out of love. For the first time, you could feel what he would feel when people were looking at him whenever he was crawling in the mud.

Saddened and furious, you harshly pulled your hand away. “You don’t get it, do you? Unlike your wife, I don’t care about being Queen, I don’t care about Ivar the King or Ivar the God.”

He frowned. It was a very sensitive topic but you were too upset to care. You had to get everything out of your chest.

“The only one I’ve always cared about is the boy I met one day while he was sulking in a corner because nobody wanted to play with him, the boy I would pull around Kattegat in his little wooden chariot, the boy who would get up early in the morning to wake me up and accuse me of being a lazy ass; the young man who would train with his brothers, who would help me train so that I could become a great shieldmaiden by his side, who was not afraid to show his vulnerable side to Floki or his mother, who wanted to prove himself to his father, who fought to find a way to walk, who cried in my arms when his parents died, who swore he would avenge them; the man who regretted killing his brother in a fit of rage, the man who promised me on a hill that I would be his everything, the man who loved me. The only man I’ve ever loved and wanted to get married to is Ivar the Boneless…but I don’t think he’s in there anymore.” You added, pointing to his chest.

You were breathless, tears were rolling down your cheeks. You were well aware that your old friend could kill you right now. You were supposed to leave. Nobody would ever know.

Ivar seemed lost though, completely out of words for once.

Tentatively, you stretched out your hand and caressed his cheek. “Goodbye, Ivar”.

Almost running, you made your way to the port and embarked on the boat with the fishermen. Your tears only ceased when you arrived in Ribe, ready  to face your new life…without him.

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @dreamwritesimagines​ @naaladareia​ @therealcalicali​ @tephi101​ @ivarswickedqueen​ @akamaiden​ @thevikingsheaux​ @mblaqgi​ @captstefanbrandt​ @peaceisadirtyword​

[mikauzoran]

Marichat/Adrienette: The Rejects Club: Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lost Cat

Read it on AO3: The Rejects Club: Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lost Cat

The bell signaling the start of the break rings, and Nino turns in his seat. “Would you lovely ladies be interested in joining the two of us for lunch?”

Adrien tries not to look too hopeful so as to avoid appearing visibly crushed should the girls say no.

“Thanks, Nino, but I have to talk to Alya,” Marinette declines.

“You could talk to Alya while we all get lunch together,” Nino suggests, doing his best for Adrien’s sake.

Marinette sighs with a pained smile. “I have to talk to Alya about him.” She indicates Adrien.

The boy in question’s eyebrows rise.

“Don’t look so innocent, Agreste,” Marinette teases with a wink that flips his stomach. “You know what you did.”

Adrien grins, turning so that he’s kneeling in his seat and pillowing his arms on her desk. “At this point, I’ve done so many things this past week that I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this about my shower gel?”

Marinette rolls her eyes, giving Adrien’s nose a flick.

He practically purrs at the attention.

Marinette smiles with an odd sense of satisfaction and clarifies, “I’m talking about how you and your boyfriend seem to delight in turning my world upside-down lately.”

“Oh, is he my boyfriend now?” Adrien hums. “I don’t think he’s interested in me like that.”

Nino turns to Alya and whispers, “What the hell is going on?”

“Babe, I was hoping you could tell me.” She rubs her chin in wonder as she stares at the spectacle.

“They appear to be talking to each other…fairly normally,” Nino observes as Marinette swipes halfheartedly at Adrien for something he’s said and Adrien cackles in glee.

“I like this,” Adrien trills joyfully. “It kills me that I’ve been missing out on this side of you for years. What changed?”

Marinette shrugs, averting her gaze in hopes that her blush won’t show as much at an angle.

“You broke my heart, and I fell out of love with the person I thought you were, and now I’m falling in love with someone else…even while I discover how precious the real you is.”

“You’re less intimidating now that I know what a dorky loser you are,” she replies in a deadpan instead.

“Me-ouch,” Adrien chuckles, still smiling brilliantly in adoration.

Nino winces on his friend’s behalf: Adrien is irreconcilably smitten. His crush is as obvious as Paris all lit up at night as seen from an airplane.

“Don’t start with the cat puns,” Marinette warns, a dangerous edge to her voice.

“But they’re a-mew-sing,” he pouts, blatantly ignoring her injunction.

She groans. “No. They’re pawful.”

“Would now be an inappropriate time for me to propose to you?” Adrien wonders.

Nino starts in earnest to mentally compile the list of everything he’s going to have to do to help Adrien recover from Marinette breaking his heart. It’s going to be a long and arduous process, especially if Adrien is only one week in and already making wedding plans. Nino can tell from the tone in his friend’s voice that Adrien is only half joking about the proposal.

“Minou,” Marinette sighs in pity. “I’m going to hit you.”

“I’ve decided I like that,” Adrien snickers, hoping she’ll flick his nose or tap his bell again.

“Of course you do, you dork.” Marinette can’t help but laugh through her exasperation.

Adrien gets a flick on the forehead for his trouble.

“Since when is he ‘Minou’?” Alya breaks in, unable to silently watch her two friends (who have obviously been replaced by aliens) any longer.

Marinette shrugs. “Since this morning. I mean, look at him.”

Alya raises an eyebrow.

“He looks just like Chat Noir,” Marinette explains.

Alya frowns harder. “Not really. I mean, I guess the color scheme…and the hair looks kind of like Chat Noir’s, but the bell is really the only thing that screams Chat Noir.”

Marinette shakes her head. “Trust me. He looks exactly like Chat Noir.”

Alya shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head. “Girl, he really doesn’t.”

Marinette blows out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever. I need to talk to you. Let’s go. Bye, Boys.”

Marinette gathers her things and, with a quick scratch behind Adrien’s ear, she and Alya are off.

Adrien turns into a boneless puddle in her wake.

Nino lets out a guttural curse.

Adrien inclines a mildly inquisitive eyebrow but really can’t be bothered to do much else. “Problem?”

“You are my problem,” Nino groans.

“How so?” Adrien hums, the places Marinette touched still tingling.

“She’s going to pulverize you,” Nino informs. “I tell you this because I love you and I don’t want to see you a broken mess on the floor: stop. More than half the population of the planet is female. Pick a different one.”

“Don’t want to,” Adrien decides.

“Then you will suffer,” Nino warns. “I’m not sugar-coating this for you.”

“I think I like it when pretty girls unintentionally cause me to suffer,” Adrien chuckles. “I could definitely go for more nose flicks and her trash-talking me. Is it weird that I like it when she tells me what a loser I am?”

Nino groans again, removing his hat so that it doesn’t get in the way of him banging his head on the desk.

“…Thanks for trying to get the girls to have lunch with us despite it being against your better judgment to let me nurse a crush on Marinette,” Adrien chuckles, giving his best friend a playful elbow.

“You’re welcome,” Nino mutters, resigning himself to the never-ending nonsense and drama that is his life.

 Marinette performs a dramatic re-enactment of that morning’s trip to the principal’s office and its aftermath for Alya.

“Woooow,” Alya guffaws. “So you guys literally stood there hugging for, like, what? Fifteen? Twenty minutes?”

Marinette’s shoulders bunch up to her ears. “I don’t know how long we were standing there talking. It was…I don’t even know what’s happening. I thought I was getting over him, and there was Chat, and I was moving on, but now he obviously likes me—like, really obviously, really likes me—and…I may have fallen in love with him all over again?” She smiles sheepishly up at Alya.

“Oh, Girl,” Alya sighs, returning the smile with begrudging affection. “Here we go again.”

Marinette shakes her head. “It’s different this time. No more idolizing. I’m in love with a ridiculous, sweet, painfully damaged guy…two of them.”

Alya nods. “Threesome?” She waggles her eyebrows.

Marinette smacks her arm. “Stop putting images in my head.”

Alya grins impishly. “Marinette, the idea of a threesome with Chat and Adrien was already in your head. I had nothing to do with it.”

Marinette sticks out her tongue. “I’m picking Chat…probably.” She grimaces. “I don’t know. I’m all mixed up. I said I wouldn’t be making decisions about dating anyone for a month or two, but…I feel like if I do decide to date anyone, it has to be Chat.”

“Has to?” Alya hums, displeased with the wording. “Shouldn’t you be waiting two months and then making that decision? I find that, with love, there are no ‘have to’s or ‘should’s. There’s only what there is. I’m thinking we don’t have to worry and freak out so much because your heart will decide…like a Disney movie or something. If you give it time, anyway.”

Marinette takes a deep breath and then slowly lets it out. She nods. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s…let’s do that. No freaking out or getting myself worked up over things I can’t control. I’m just going to stick to the plan and be friends with the both of them and end up with whomever I end up with…right?”

“Right!” Alya cheers, giving her a big slap on the back of encouragement. “It’ll all work itself out.”

“Right,” Marinette chuckles, feeling oddly better. She tears off a little piece of bread for Tikki and surreptitiously opens up her purse to sneak it in…but then freezes when she notices she’s somehow picked up an extra kwami.

“Gack!” she screams, jumping to her feet.

Alya, accustomed to this behavior, merely raises an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“I-I-I forgot something!” Marinette shrieks, looking down in horror at Plagg. “I’m sorry. I have to go, Alya. See you in class?”

Alya laughs fondly, wondering what it could be this time. “See you, Girl.”

 “Hey, Princess,” Adrien answers Chat’s phone in what he hopes is a collected, non-panicked manner. “Sorry. I would love to talk with you, but now really isn’t the best time. Could I please call you back later? I’m dealing with a bit of a situation.”

“He’s with me,” Marinette gets out before he can hang up on her.

Adrien is silent for a moment as he processes her meaning. “Oh, thank God,” he hisses, doubling over to rest the hand not currently holding the phone on his knee. “You have no idea how freaked I’ve been.”

Marinette feels like she has some idea.

“Please tell him I’m going to kill him—No. Better yet, please tell him he’s eating nothing but cheddar for the next month.”

“Did you hear that, Plagg?” Marinette whispers down to the non-resident kwami in her purse.

“Idle threats,” Plagg snorts. “Nathalie just restocked the minifridge with Camembert, and I can easily phase through, even if he locks it.”

“Plagg, I think it’s time to go back to Chat now,” Marinette coaxes.

“Tell him to come get me,” Plagg demands through a devilish smirk.

“Plagg, he can’t without revealing his identity,” she scolds with a click of her tongue. “You know that.”

“He should have thought of that before he yelled at me,” Plagg simpers, crossing his stubby arms and turning up his nose. “He doesn’t treat me right.”

“Don’t you dare try to garner sympathy from her, Plagg,” Adrien growls over the phone. “Marinette, don’t pay any attention to him.”

“What did he yell at you for?” Marinette can’t help but bite.

“Princess,” Adrien groans.

Plagg makes big, sad kitten eyes at her. “My comic,” he mews. “He yelled at me for my comic and threatened me and threw things at me!”

“Lies,” Adrien hisses. “I haven’t even yelled at you for that yet!”

“Even though I was just expressing myself artistically.” Plagg keeps going despite Adrien’s protests. “Surely you, Princess, as a fellow artist, can understand.” Plagg makes a show of producing the biggest, most crocodile-ly of tears. “I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong. Besides, it was Adrien’s fault.”

“A-Adrien?” Marinette chokes.

“Plagg,” Adrien growls in warning.

“Adrien reads a lot of Japanese comics, and in one of them, Otomen, a mangaka—that’s what they call the author—made a manga out of his friends’ romance, and everyone really enjoyed it. That’s where I got the idea to make a Princess Noir comic,” Plagg explains in half-truths.

“Plagg, this is your last chance,” Adrien cautions. “Please come back.”

“No.” Plagg tosses his head petulantly.

Adrien bites his lip as he sighs heavily. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. We’ll talk about this later. Please come back.”

“No,” Plagg chuckles mischievously.

“…Princess? Where are you?”

“The gym class locker room. It was the only place I could think of that’d be empty for sure during lunch,” Marinette volunteers.

“Okay,” Adrien mutters. “Thanks. Stay there.”

He rings off, leaving her with an unrepentant kwami.

Tikki quickly takes care of her counterpart’s smug demeanor with a solid whap. “Plagg! I can’t believe you’re acting like this! Go back to your chosen now! What if there’s an akuma attack? What if something happens to your chosen? Marinette, Plagg is not as innocent as he’s pretending to be. I know his chosen, and Chat Noir is a good boy. They may have had a fight, but I doubt that Chat Noir acted out of line or cruelly towards Plagg. Let’s not forget that Plagg started all this when he posted that comic online—Plagg, you absolutely knew better.”

Plagg shrugs and comes out of Marinette’s purse holding a little square sticky-note about as big as himself. “Settle down, Sucrette. You’re blowing this completely out of proportion.”

“Don’t call me that.” Tikki simmers quietly in her rage, unable to believe how careless her partner is being this time.

“You love your nickname,” Plagg snickers.

“I hate you right now,” Tikki counters. “You’re shirking your responsibilities. Chat Noir relies on you, and you’re letting him down.”

“The kid is fine. I’d go back if there were any trouble,” Plagg assures. “You’re being too uptight as always, Sucrette.”

“At least one of us has to take things seriously,” Tikki pouts, grabbing a cookie from her stash and chomping into it savagely.

Marinette bites back a comment about stress eating.

“Relax,” Plagg urges, doing a little lap midair around Tikki, still in Marinette’s purse. “I just had to get away for a while. The kid’s been driving me nuts the past week with all his whining about his feelings, so I came to spend some quality time with you and to give the princess a little peace offering.”

“Oh?” Marinette hums, rejoining the conversation. “What would that be, Plagg?”

Plagg clears his throat and floats up to eye level. “To thank you for taking such good care of my kid on top of all the pastries and the delicious chocolate-covered cheese, I present you with a Plagg original sketch. I expect you to put it up in your room where people can see it.”

He holds out the sticky-note.

Marinette frowns, taking the piece of paper, but her eyes fly wide when she sees the drawing.

It’s a sketch of Adrien and Chat Noir—both shirtless.

Adrien takes up the left half of the composition with his back to the observer, offering a lovely view of his athletically slim form. He gazes over his shoulder at the viewer, a decided smolder in his eyes even as his body is angled into Chat’s, his head inclining towards Chat, his left hand resting comfortably on Chat’s hip.

Chat is on the right side of the picture, facing the viewer. He too is athletically trim (partially obscured by Adrien), but, like Adrien, his lithe musculature is obviously apparent. He’s wearing the mask and cat ears along with a leather collar with a bell, much like the one Adrien is actually wearing today. He smirks at the camera, flirtation emanating from his eyes. One leg is placed strategically between Adrien’s while his left hand is situated possessively on Adrien’s hip.

Between their bodies, their right hands are clasped, fingers intertwined. Chat’s black Miraculous creates a bit of a yin-yang effect with Adrien’s silver ring.

Everything about the sketch is suggestive while remaining entirely innocent. Still, Marinette looks in their eyes, and she finds an explicit invitation: “We were just about to play this really fun game. Why don’t you come join us?”

Marinette gulps. “T-Thank you, Plagg. This is…uh…—wow—…really…”

“Sultry,” Plagg supplies with a victorious smirk. “I know. I figured you’d like it. For your information, I mainly specialize in female nudes, but I can do male nudes too, if you ask nicely.”

Marinette lets out an involuntary squeak.

“I could draw them kissing,” Plagg volunteers with an evil sneer.

“Plagg!” Tikki reprimands. “Do not break my chosen!”

“I’m not breaking her,” Plagg snickers. “I’m helping. She’s going to be mating with them in give or take six months. They’re not going to get much done if she blows a fuse every time she sees them naked. I’m helping her get used to it so their mating sessions can be more productive.”

Marinette makes a garbled noise as she chokes on her own saliva.

“Marinette is not mating with anyone until she is married!” Tikki growls, coming out of the purse to give Plagg a shove.

“Sucrette,” Plagg sighs. “I hate to break this to you, but that’s not always the way it works nowadays. Now, your girl is driving my kitten insane. Literally insane. If they—”

“—Excuse you?!” Tikki snorts, shoving Plagg again. “Your kitten is putting my girl through the emotional wringer with his whiplash feelings. Let him go a little insane.”

“You don’t have to deal with him and his melodrama,” Plagg protests. “Switch with me for a while. I’ll take her and her parents’ bakery for a bit, and you can go live at the mansion and give my kitten relationship advice because he needs a metric ton of it, and we both know that I have no idea what the hell I’m doing when it comes to all this romance and feelings junk.”

“Clearly!” Tikki shrieks. “I think I know better than anyone how bad you are at romance!”

“Sucrette, you wound me,” Plagg pouts.

“Good!” Tikki gives Plagg one more shove for good measure. “And I’d be happy to give your kitten relationship advice, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle Marinette’s freak outs any better than you manage his ‘melodrama’, as you call it. I wouldn’t trust you to guide her in my absence.”

“Mortally wound me,” Plagg reiterates, feigning a swoon.

Tikki’s antennae go rigid. “Shh. Someone’s coming.” Tikki grabs Plagg and the sketch out of Marinette’s hand and retreats to the safety of Marinette’s purse.

The locker room door opens hesitantly, and Marinette whips her head around to see what she expects to be Chat Noir unmasked. “M-Minou?” she calls breathlessly, heart fluttering like a bee’s wing.

The door clicks shut, and Adrien freezes, cheeks turning rosy as her eyes come to rest upon him. “Um…not exactly? Not at the moment. I mean…” He chews on his lip, hand going up to run through his hair but stopping at his neck when he remembers the hair gel. “Not the Minou you were expecting. I…” He clears his throat. “Marinette, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen this way, but—”

“—Oh,” Marinette chuckles airily, brushing her bang back behind her ear. “Adrien, it’s you.” She smiles, her nerves melting.

Adrien’s heart trembles. It’s him. Yes. Yes, it’s him, and she’s smiling, and this is going so much better than he anticipated. It’s him, and she looks happy that it’s him, relieved that it’s him, accepting of the fact that it really, truly is him behind the mask. He’s going to marry this girl.

“That was smart,” Marinette continues, completely throwing him for a loop.

Adrien’s brow knits into a frown, but his mouth keeps smiling dumbly. “What was?”

“Him sending you,” Marinette answers, adopting a similar expression of a half-confused half smile. “He did send you, didn’t he? Chat sent you?” she clarifies.

There’s an internal implosion localized within Adrien’s chest as his lungs collapse in on themselves and his heart gives up and drops down to go visit his stomach and liver.

Ever the consummate actor, Adrien smiles and laughs. “Right.” He unhurriedly makes his way over to where she sits on one of the benches and stands in front of her, back to the lockers. “Chat couldn’t come himself without revealing his identity, so here I am,” he emphasizes, contemplating a fit.

Would it be completely unseemly for Adrien Agreste to break down and have an honest to goodness fit? He feels like one might be called for.

“She’s not ready,” he tells himself. “She’s not ready. She’s just not ready yet. This is fine. Stick to the plan. Be Chat when you’re Adrien and Adrien when you’re Chat, and she will eventually see you. She’ll see you…and then dump you both.”

“Plagg?” Marinette calls down into her purse, completely oblivious to Adrien’s internal struggle. “Adrien is here for you. Ready to go back to Chat?”

Plagg floats sulkily up out of the bag and goes over to give the underside of Adrien’s jaw an affectionate nuzzle. “Sorry, Kid.”

Adrien’s eyes blow wide in shock at the completely out of character gesture. “Uh…Thanks, Plagg. It’s…It’s okay,” he stammers, not sure what exactly Plagg is trying to make up to him.

Was this an attempt by Plagg to reveal Adrien’s secret identity to Marinette to get the relationship rolling? Does Plagg feel sorry for Adrien now that that scheme has failed miserably? Is Plagg just sorry for running off and nearly causing Adrien to have a full-blown panic attack? Is this for being a jerk and refusing to come back when they’d been talking over the phone?

Adrien isn’t sure what to make of it, but he has a part to play at the moment, and he can talk to Plagg about this later.

“I don’t mind coming to get you, but you should apologize to Chat Noir. He’s seriously been freaking out since he discovered you were missing,” Adrien scolds lightly, putting himself as Adrien at a bit of a remove from his annoyance as Chat Noir.

Plagg gives an apathetic shrug. “Meh. I’ve been gone since homeroom. He’s been fine.”

“What do you mean ‘meh’?” Adrien frowns as Plagg goes back to nestle on Marinette’s shoulder. “What if there had been an akuma attack? You don’t know when those are going to happen, Plagg. It’s not something you can predict. What if Chat needed you?”

Plagg shrugs again. “It wasn’t like I was far away. I would have made it back in time.”

Adrien’s fingers twitch. He crosses his arms, letting them grip his biceps as he leans back against the lockers. “What if you didn’t?”

“I would have,” Plagg assures.

“Le Marchand de Sable,” Adrien reminds accusingly.

Marinette can feel the kwami on her shoulder shudder.

“Plagg, have you ever been trapped in a tiny cage so small and restrictive you can’t move, feeling alone and powerless, unable to escape, calling for help and having no one answer?” Adrien presses, seeing Plagg flinch.

Adrien had been claustrophobic for several months after that particular akuma.

“If you want to wander off, fine, but you need to say something first,” Adrien relents marginally, almost done with the guilt trip. “Chat relies on you…please don’t let him down, okay?”

Plagg looks away and mumbles into the crook of Marinette’s neck. “Tikki said the same thing.”

Adrien cocks an eyebrow. “When did you run into Tikki?”

Marinette’s eyes go wide as she realizes that Adrien Agreste not only is familiar enough with Plagg to admonish him but also knows who Tikki is without even having to think about it.

“Between leaving Chat and arriving in Marinette’s purse,” Plagg semi-fibs. “…Tikki said she hates me.”

Adrien winces, reaching into his mother’s leather jacket pocket for a piece of Camembert inside a plastic baggie. He holds it out to the sulking kwami. “Sorry, Plagg. That’s really rough.”

Plagg is immediately at Adrien’s side, taking a massive chunk out of the cheese.

“She’ll take you back, though,” he tries to assure his friend. “Doesn’t she always? You two have been together for thousands of years now, and it’s never stuck when she’s dumped you before, right?”

Plagg hums thoughtfully through a mouthful of Camembert that he’s actually chewing.

“Maybe tomorrow we can stop by Marinette’s parents’ bakery before school, and you can pick up a couple…what is it she likes? Macarons? Madeleines?” Adrien suggests, rendering Marinette even more speechless than before.

Adrien Agreste keeps cheese to feed Plagg and knows that Tikki has a sweet tooth.

“Cookies are her favourites,” Plagg replies before chucking the remainder of the cheese into his mouth. “But she gets those a lot. Maybe macarons would be a good idea. What does the princess think?” Plagg turns to address Marinette, looping her back into the conversation.

“Uh…macarons would probably be a good idea. Um…maybe the dark chocolate merlot or the pink champagne?”

Tikki had enjoyed both of those flavors when Tom and Sabine made samples for Marinette to try.

“Um…” Marinette bites her lip. “Adrien…”

“Hm?” His eyes are immediately on her; she has his full attention.

“…You seem to know a lot about kwamis, and you and Plagg seem pretty close.” She has to stop to clear her throat. “How long have you known about Chat Noir? I got the impression before that it was a recent discovery, but… Well, I mean, I also got the impression that you two didn’t know each other, but obviously that’s not true, so…” Her bottom lip continues to suffer abuse at the hands of her teeth.

Adrien grins sheepishly. “Uh… Well…since the very beginning?”

She goes owl-eyed. “He told you? At the very beginning?”

Adrien shakes his head. “He didn’t tell me. I was the one who opened the box. Uh. The Miraculous come in little hexagonal boxes…at least Chat’s did. I was the one who opened it, so I’ve known Plagg as long as Chat.”

Marinette nods slowly.

The thoughts cross her mind: Then why aren’t you Chat Noir? Do you resent the fact that Chat was chosen and not you? That he has an escape and you don’t?

“That’s…a long time to keep a secret,” she mutters numbly as she attempts to take it all in. “Clearly you’re very trustworthy.”

Adrien pointedly looks away, trying not to let duplicity show on his face. She wouldn’t trust him if she knew the truth. Yes, he’s told her that Chat and Adrien are the same, but with her not believing him, his interactions with her as Adrien feel underhanded. And that’s not even getting into his father’s secret. Adrien does not consider himself trustworthy, and he fears both Marinette and Ladybug will lose faith in him when it all comes out…when he finally has to tell them.

“Not really. Not through any effort on my part,” Adrien mutters to the floor.

“He’s selling himself short,” Plagg snorts, flying over to nuzzle Adrien once more. “He’s affectionate and loyal, and just look at him. Aesthetically speaking, he’s a perfect human male specimen.”

“Plagg, I’m not a used car,” Adrien grumbles. “You don’t have to market me.”

“I’m trying to explain to her why she should mate with you,” Plagg hisses. “You’re too embarrassed to do yourself justice, so someone has to pick up the slack.”

“Plagg!” Adrien squeaks indignantly.

Plagg turns back to Marinette. “He has excellent genetic material and would be a loving, protective mate. You should pounce now while you have the chance before someone else snatches him up. Don’t you want to have children as beautiful as he is?”

“Plagg, you’re forgetting to tell her about the fine print: everyone in my family is physically superb but mentally ill,” Adrien snaps, keeping his gaze anywhere but on Marinette. “She wouldn’t be interested in me, so lay off. You’re just making everyone uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind,” Marinette gently assures.

His head jerks up, and he stares at her in hopeful confusion.

“Plagg obviously cares about you, and so he wants you to find someone to love you. He gave me a similar sales pitch about Chat,” she chuckles, blushing lightly at the memory. “Apparently Plagg thinks I’m good mate material if he wants me to be the one caring for both you and Chat. It’s probably because of the bakery, honestly. I don’t mind Plagg trying to play matchmaker, so don’t worry about it.”

Adrien fidgets, wanting to ask so many questions.

Marinette speaks again before he can formulate any of them. “And…as your friend, Adrien…don’t think you’re unlovable because of your family situation or mental health. There’s more to you than that, and one day you’re going to find a girl who can see past all that and love you for what matters.”

He tries not to crumple at the implication that he has not yet found this girl, that it will not be Marinette.

“Like…how I still care for Chat,” she adds with a rosy blush that brings back the sun.

He feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. Half a minute passes before he’s able to get out an emotion-filled, “T-Thank you.”

She smiles brightly, all sunflower fields.

“See?” Plagg teases, rubbing up against Adrien’s cheek in a continuation of his unprecedented show of affection. “Aren’t you glad I said something now? She said she’d be capable of loving you, despite your perceived issues, if she weren’t already involved with Chat. Isn’t that nice?”

“Plagg,” Adrien groans as he attempts to keep his blush under control. He knows he’s failing.

“Kitten,” Plagg returns the groan, laughing as he continues to rub like a real cat.

Marinette can’t hold back a chuckle of her own. “You two are so cute together. It’s adorable how fond of you he is, Adrien.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Adrien cautions. “He’s not like this all the time. Most of the time he’s a caustic little jerk. He’s just putting on a show to shore up sympathy for the next time he needs something.”

“I can’t believe that.” Marinette shakes her head. “He obviously loves you, Adrien.”

Adrien clicks his tongue. “Yes, but this display of affection is just a ploy. Have you ever heard that pets start to resemble their masters? Well, I get my manipulative, selfish tendencies from him.”

Plagg scoffs outright. “In the words of Nino, ‘I call bull’. You inherited those tendencies from your father.”

“And you made them worse,” Adrien insists. “My father is never around. You are the one I’m constantly exposed to. My personality flaws are clearly the result of your bad influence.”

“Wow. Avoiding personal responsibility much?” Plagg chuckles, half amused.

Marinette lets herself laugh at the antics. “Like I said before, you two are adorable.”

“She thinks you’re adorable,” Plagg snickers, elbowing Adrien. “He thinks you’re adorable too, Princess.”

Plagg smirks triumphantly as both teens blush.

“Princess, show the kitten the sketch I did for you,” Plagg prompts, quietly chortling.

Marinette’s blush darkens.

Adrien grimaces. “Plagg,” he admonishes. “Have you been harassing Marinette this whole time you’ve been gone?”

“No.” Plagg phases through Marinette’s purse to grab the drawing. “I just made her a sketch.” He holds it up for inspection.

Adrien’s face goes parchment white and then sealing wax red. “Plagg. We’re going to have to talk about sexual harassment since both of us clearly struggle with the concept.”

Plagg takes the sketch back and deposits it with Tikki (who firmly intends to hang it next to Marinette’s computer monitor).

“It’s no different than the sketch of Princess I did for you,” Plagg protests before turning to grin at Marinette. “You’re lying on a chaise, à la fiery temptress.”

Now it’s Marinette’s turn to pale.

“It’s not like that! You’re wearing clothes!” Adrien assures, waving his hands frantically. “It’s nothing lewd…. Not any more lewd than the sketch he did for you, anyway.” He looks away, hoping the angle will help to dim his blush. “You’re wearing your Odile dress.”

Marinette sits up a little straighter. “You…know about my Odile dress? Chat told you?”

Adrien nods. “It’s gorgeous. You’re super talented, Marinette…. I’d love to see you wearing it.”

Marinette smiles shyly, nervously fiddling with her fingers in her lap. “I’d need an occasion to wear it first.”

“How about dinner?” he suggests before he can lose his nerve.

She blinks. “…With…you?”

“And my father and Nathalie,” he hastily adds. “My father actually told me to extend a dinner invitation to you because he’d like to meet you. Well, I mean, I know he’s met you before, and he knows he’s met you. Just… He’s impressed by your work, and he’d like to sit down and talk with you at length. If that’s okay. You don’t have to. I can appreciate that it might feel awkward to go out to dinner at an expensive restaurant with me and my family, knowing that I like you and after all the craziness between us this past week and with Chat Noir and your crush rejecting you on top of everything and—”

Marinette gets up and walks over to place delicate fingers gently over Adrien’s lips. “Stop. You’re doing the nervous rambling thing again.” She smiles, lips and eyes full of kindness.

He knows his own eyes must be full of longing. He’s waited so long for someone to love him. He’s spent the past four years burning with want and need in vain. He longs for it all to work out this time.

“Maybe,” Marinette responds after a minute or so of thought. “As you know, your father is one of my idols, and I would be ecstatic to get the chance to talk with him, but I don’t want to do this if it will get your hopes up and end up hurting you. This would not be a date. This would not be you introducing me to your parents. Would that cause problems for you?”

He absolutely knows it would. The entire time he would be fantasizing about future family dinners with the three kids and the Shiba Inu and Plagg in tow.

“Not at all,” he lies to her face, hoping his expression doesn’t give him away.

She purses her lips and studies him. With a sigh and a nod, she removes her fingers from his lips and pulls away. “Okay. Maybe in a couple weeks once things settle down a little?”

“I’ll have Nathalie check my father’s schedule and let you know.”

Marinette nods her approval. “Okay.”

It takes her a minute to realize how close they are. She essentially has Adrien Agreste backed up against the lockers. Oh, if the Marinette of two weeks ago could only see her, she would absolutely die.

Marinette smiles at the thought.

Adrien takes an audible breath. Clearly, he’s watching her intently, very aware of the space or lack thereof between them and the way she smells and the way her mouth quirks subtlety into a smile.

“Sorry,” Marinette whispers, starting to step back. “I—”

“—No. It’s…” His hand flies out to rest on her elbow, gently gripping her arm. It’s enough to keep her from fleeing but not enough to restrain her if she chooses to pull away. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m the one making everything weird. I shouldn’t have just…”

So many, many things.

“…come out and told you I liked you and everything this morning out of the blue like that. I’m sorry. The only other girl I’ve told that I liked her thought I was joking for months and then ended up turning me down, so I’m not very good at this whole…courting thing, I guess. I’m sorry that I’m making you uncomfortable,” he offers hesitantly like a kicked dog slinking back to their abuser, afraid to be hurt again.

The sheer honesty and vulnerability in Adrien’s voice cracks right through Marinette’s defences.

“Oh, Minou,” she sighs, reaching out to gently scratch behind his ear. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re serious. I’m…really flattered, and I…”

She can’t tell him she likes him too. She can’t raise his hopes. She canNOT be with this boy. Not only does she not know him well enough, she’s also got Chat to think about.

If someone had told Marinette two weeks ago that she would be turning down Adrien Agreste (for Chat Noir of all people), she would have lost it. But this week, it makes perfect sense.

“I’m sorry. I’ve decided that I’m not making any decisions about my love life for now, but I’m afraid that in two months I’m not going to be telling you that I can return your feelings, and I don’t want to string you along that whole time. I will be your friend, Adrien, but I want to be clear that this is probably only ever going to be platonic. Don’t waste too much time or energy on me, okay? I don’t want to hurt you like that other girl,” she summarizes, feeling miserable.

She just can’t be with Adrien. Chat is enough to deal with right now, and she owes it to Adrien to be honest about that.

“I have two months to spare.” Adrien shrugs with a broad grin. “If you say no then, I’ll give up, but is it okay if I keep liking you until then? I’ll try not to let my feelings get in the way of our friendship,” he barters.

Marinette sighs, letting her hand drop and stepping back. “Oh, Adrien. What would you do if I said no?”

He smiles sheepishly.

“It’s not like you can control how you feel anyway, so I guess it’s pointless me telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.” With a shake of her head, she crosses her arms and looks at him.

He’s so handsome…and sweet and talented and just in need of someone to love him like he deserves.

The thought briefly occurs to her: Could I love them both? Would that be okay? Would they mind? Is that selfish of me?

She blushes when she realizes how she’s looking at him. The blush deepens when it dawns on her that he’s noticed the way she’s looking at him too.

So much for not giving him false hope.

Adrien grins cheekily, enjoying the attention.

Marinette groans. “Okay. Yeah. I wasn’t going to say it because I didn’t want to lead you on, but I’ve always been painfully obvious like this. It’s your own fault you never noticed before because I’ve been wearing a neon sign for a long time saying that I like you. I like you,” she repeats petulantly. “I like you, but I can’t date you right now, so stop, okay?”

His grin falters and slowly morphs into a contrite smile. “Okay,” he relents. “Sorry.”

“Me too.” She reaches up and pulls her hair down from its chignon so that she can run her hands through it and pull on it in her frustration.

She turns away and begins to walk towards the door.

He watches her go, heart sinking, but then she stops and faces him once more.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything, you know?” she quietly confesses. “I feel like I have whiplash. The only thing I’m really sure of right now is that I definitely want you and Chat in my life as friends. Adrien, can we work on figuring out how to be friends irrespective of our romantic interest in each other?”

He nods, face brightening as he goes to her side, sticking his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something stupid like trying to hold her hand as they walk together.

“I’d like to try. It’s bothered me for a while that Nino and Alya are both so close to you while it feels like I’m always on the outside. It kind of hurt that you were always so intimidated by me,” he admits, figuring that the best thing he can do is be completely honest with her.

She winces. “I’m really, really sorry about that. I…didn’t see the real you.”

“But you see me now?” he wonders.

“A little. Better than before, at least,” she mumbles, still ashamed of her four-year stretch of idol worship. “Talking to Chat has helped. Talking with you today has helped. I think we’ve talked more today than the rest of the time we’ve known each other put together.”

“That’s…sad,” he decides. “But I’m glad that we’ve finally made a breakthrough. I’m glad I don’t intimidate you anymore.”

She hangs her head and sighs. “Who would have thought that it would only take a world-shattering apocalypse and the week from hell for me to be able to speak in complete sentences with Adrien Agreste?”

“Yeah. That seems a little extreme,” Adrien agrees. “I’m sorry it had to come to that.”

“Well, I was under the impression that you were a god in human form come down to bless all mortals with the opportunity to observe your beauty.” She quickens her pace to avoid having to look at him.

He’s quiet for a minute, and when she does glance back at him, his face reveals how much her words have stunned him. “R-Really?” he chokes.

“Pretty much,” she sulks. “…I think I like you better, or at least more genuinely, now that I know you’re a complete dork, though.”

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously. “Good…. Because those are some ridiculous expectations to hold someone to. I’d only end up disappointing you…. A lot of people are disappointed by the real me.”

She stops and looks him in the eye. “Are you disappointed in yourself?”

He really has to think about it. He decides that the honest answer is, “Sometimes. There are things I want to change, but I think, in general, at my core, I’m pretty all right. I think it’s a matter of conquering my weaknesses and living up to my potential.”

Her entire face blossoms into warmth and approval and pride, and he knows he’s gotten the answer right.

He returns her smile, giving himself a mental head pat.

She claps him on the back and nods. “Yeah. I think you’re pretty all right in general too. Focus on not disappointing yourself, and screw everyone else’s opinion.”

He nods, biting his lip to keep from saying aloud something to the effect of never wanting to disappoint her as either Chat or Adrien.

[bluboothalassophile]

Stitching Things Together

@shewhowillnotbenamed1, I do hope you enjoy the story! =)

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason supposed it was a weird night. It wasn’t his fault for a change; this was completely Dickhead’s fault, and if it wasn’t for Dickhead they wouldn’t be in the ER as a whole.

Idiot siblings and surprise visits, it always lead to a fucking hospital trip. Of fucking course. Jason didn’t even know why he put up with them and the utter bullshit that they inflicted on him. Of course Roy, Kyle, and Eddie thought this to be fucking hilarious, and Jason wanted to punch those brothers too. Of course this would happen.

Point was now they were at a hospital, and he sat alone on his own examination bed, already pulling out the glass of the incident; he knew he’d have to call his CO which wasn’t something he was looking forward to, and then there was the matter of Babs coming for Dickhead and the crew. Not something Jason looked forward to. He didn’t particularly like his sister-in-law, Barbara Gordon was; in his opinion, the worst option for a wife for his idiot brother. Not that Dick cared. Dick was too besotted with Barbara to care. There was a reason Jason had joined the Navy, and it wasn’t to be close to his idiot brothers!

Seriously! How much fucking damage could they do!?

The curtain was thrown back as he had a flashlight gripped in his teeth and he was gently pulling out the glass already.

His eyes flicked up to the intruder because if it was Dick he was so kicking Dick in the nuts and making his big brother sing soprano for a month.

Instead he was greeted by the look of a beautiful, bewitching angel of a woman. Her thick black hair was escaping it’s brain in wisps around her face, her heritage made her face both sharp and proud and somehow ethereal, while her violet eyes were other worldly, the black lashes of her eyes were impossibly thick. He was pretty sure she was all natural, he could see a few blemishes on her ivory skin, a small zit, a bit of uneven blush, and there was a cut on her brow. Her lips were drawn in a tight line and he noted that her upper lip was fuller than her bottom, making her almost appear uneasy, but still… She was an angel, and he was sure his brain had packed it’s bags and walked off with his lungs and heart staring at the petite woman in blue scrubs.

Holy shit, she was gorgeous, he could see that, the woman was thick in his favorite places too, despite her petite frame.

“What the hell are you doing!?” she demanded; he nearly groaned; would’ve too if he didn’t have his flashlight in his mouth. She had a voice for sex and seduction, the sort of soft voice he loved. He was so screwed. He was definitely throwing Dick’s sorry ass from a moving train when he saw him again.

“What’s it look like?” he demanded just as sharply as she had pulling out the flashlight. He glared as fiercely back at the woman, he refused to let her know how well she had instantly gotten under his skin.

“Like you’re pulling out glass with unsanitary tools!” she snapped walking back to him.

“Well, yeah,” he rolled his eyes.  “Besides I can do it.”

She grabbed a stool and slid over to him, before examining his arm. “What did you do?” she asked examining the wound.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he pointed out. He’d patched up way worse than this.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“If you must know my idiot Army Family decided to come visit, and of course being the idiots they, Dickhead specifically, are, they found trouble, I was unwittingly with them.”

“Mmm,” she hummed as she started cleaning his wound. He didn’t even hiss at the sting of sterilizer on his battered flesh. He hadn’t died, and the glass would come out. She was about to get her first piece of glass from his arm when he decided now was as good as any moment to tease her.

“Ow!” he yelped, she jumped and glared at him, but he saw her impulse to hit him, which had him smiling charmingly.

“I haven’t even touched you!”

“Call it practice,” he offered.

“Will you be quiet!?” she hissed. “I don’t need to do more damage and you’re going to need stitches.”

“No I don’t, it’s just a flesh wound, little bird.”

“Little bird?” she questioned as she worked.

“Yeah, you haven’t given me your name and you know mine since you read the chart,” he pointed out. She was focused as she worked, her head tilting a bit, and he stared at the column of her slender neck. Everything about her was elegant, he felt like he was sitting in the presence of a Queen who the rest of the world had yet to acknowledge.

“Raven, Nurse Raven Roth,” she offered.

“Ah, so you are a little bird!” he mused.

She glared at him a bit playfully from beneath her lashes as she continued her thorough work.

“I mean no offense, ravens and crows are some of the smartest birds, and they’re pretty cool.” He offered.

“I take no offense, ravens and crows have good family structures and remember faces of their tormentors,” she said.

“Do you?”

“Remember the faces of my tormentors?” she mused. “Yes, particularly when they are unruly idiots who have an arm full of glass.”

“Oh this is entirely Dickhead’s fault!” he promised.

“And what, pray tell, did he do?”

“He decided to get in an overheated, passionate argument with a Marine during the Army-Navy game, and I got in the middle before those dumbasses did something dumber.” He had been sent into the window of his truck and was pissed about that, but no fights, no misconduct, just idiot brothers, and fucking off. Though Roy, Eddie and Kyle seeing it had annoyed him as the idiots wouldn’t leave it alone now. If it wasn’t one set of brothers it was another.

“That’s dangerous,” she agreed solemnly.

“You’re telling me, Dickhead just couldn’t quit while he was ahead though so I dragged him out of the place, and of course the idiot is a boneless noodle when drunk, we tripped and into the truck window I went while that asshole only got a bump on the head,” he grumbled.

“Being drunk probably helped with that, alcohol relaxes the body,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, well it’s not going to save Dickhead when I get out of here,” he grumbled. The only reason he was even here was because Tim had called an ambulance, and there was no clean escape from there with the fucking octopus that was Dick.

“And Dickhead is your brother?” she guessed.

“Not a team brother, a brother brother, and our General father is going to be annoyed when he finds out about this,” he sighed.

“Ah, well, shit happens,” Raven shrugged as she grabbed the needle and thread. He glared at her, she smirked as she reached over and started sewing him up.

The curtains were thrown open again which had Jason’s head snapping up as Duke appeared.

“You have got to do something about him!” Duke stated.

“What?”

“He found out Barbara is coming as was trying to climb out the window,” Duke said.

“Oh no, I am getting stitched up by this lovely nurse, then she and I are going for coffee, I am not dealing with Dickhead antics!” Jason stated.

Raven shot him a questioning look and he internally begged her to just say yes, because he did not want to deal with Dick, Tim, or Damian. Duke was okay, but he was Air Force and agreed not to align himself with their Army brother’s antics.

“Oh, lucky, and damn you,” Duke said as he hurried off to go get their brothers.

“We are going for coffee?”

“I was going to ask,” he promised. “Besides, you stitched me up, that’s way more intimate than a one night stand so I figured I owed you a cup.”

“I’m going to agree if you get me something to eat because I have not eaten yet and you’ve made plans for my lunch hour,” she sighed.

“Deal.”

“Then I will be happy to go to lunch with you,” she said.

“You do realize it’s really dinner.”

“If you say this is a date I will stab you with my needle,” she warned.

“I would never, I just wanted you aware.”

“Time is a unit measurement and an illusion, also if you get between me and food right now you will be in the ICU,” she warned.

“I just be in love,” he mocked.

“Don’t think so lover boy,” she countered. “And I like tea, not coffee, my grandfathers would both keel over if they thought I drank coffee.”

“I see, well, I can do tea,” he promised. “I’ll even be proper and have the right biscuits with it.”

“No, I want a burger.”

“Now I really just might be in love.”

[thewritewolf]

Four Times (and the Lucky One) Chapter 5: The Lucky One

At the fifth and final attempt, provided for by the Universe itself, Adrien finally gets his lucky break. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Thank you all for reading! Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

My Ko-fi

It took a lot to drag himself out of bed. These last few days had been an absolute slough to get through and not just because of his overbearing workload. Which was unsurprising since early December was always the busiest time of the year for him. The simple fact that he wouldn’t be able to try again with Marinette for six more weeks weighed more heavily on him than the photoshoots, the fencing practices, the Chinese lessons, and all his schoolwork. But he had to persevere, if only so he could reach that point again.

While he was eating breakfast alone in the dining room, Nathalie entered with her tablet in hand. She walked over to him without her eyes ever leaving the screen until she was standing right next to him, at which point she looked down at him impassively.

“Your photoshoot for the afternoon has been cancelled.” She held up a hand to forestall his question. “In addition, Monsieur D’Argencourt has reported that he is ill and will be cancelling classes for at least the next few days.”

He waited patiently for her to say what would be replacing these activities, but instead of explaining further she began to walk back out of the room.

“Wait!” Nathalie turned back around. “Does that mean… I have the day off?”

There was a pause. “Yes. Will that be a problem? If so I can-”

“No! No, that’s… that’s fine. I’m sure I can find something to do on my own. Thank you.”

Nathalie raised an eyebrow but nodded and left.

During his trip to school, the faint embers of hope were slowly being stoked as he scrolled through his social media. He didn’t want to get too optimistic, though - he still needed to get Marinette alone and that had proven his downfall time and time again.

Something caught his eye as he was scrolling. There was an outdoor movie event at the park tonight. He felt confident that she liked movies - she’d mentioned it as Ladybug once or twice, he was sure. If he threw in a dinner, then that would be romantic enough, right? It wasn’t far off from his last semi-successful attempt, but he had to try.

The car came to a stop and Adrien absentmindedly got out. He was here early enough that Nino wasn’t waiting for him - in fact, not many people seemed to be around. For a moment he considered waiting outside for Marinette, but quickly decided that he’d rather sit down in the classroom. In the meantime, he could figure out a plan for talking to Marinette without anyone else around. He stepped into the classroom.

There she was. At her desk. Semi-tired, working on some assignment at the last minute. In shock and disbelief he looked around the room.

Empty.

Completely, blessedly empty.

Except for the two of them.

Not wanting to scare her, he made sure that his footfalls were audible as he stepped towards his desk to set down his bag before crouching down next to her. Despite all his preparations, she was so out of it, and so focused on what she was doing that she was still startled when he spoke.

“Hello, Marinette.” He spoke with the sweetest, most pleasant voice he could manage. The effect was immediate - a faint blush dusted her cheeks, and made her freckles stand out all the more. How could one person be so adorable?

“Oh! H-hey, Adrien. What’s up? How are you?”

Without anything else to hide behind, she was feeling nervous again. Even he tell sense that as she only barely stopped herself from babbling.

“Pretty good. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” He rested his chin on the arm he had set down on her desk, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes.

“R-really? What do you, um, what did you want to t-talk about?” Her hands were in her lap and despite how she tried to hide it, he could see how they were clenched and shaking.

“I was just-” He coughed, finding his tongue to have dried. “My schedule was suddenly clear for today. And I guess- Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner and movies with me...?”

He saw her freeze for a long moment before melting again. “Oh, that sounds cool! I’ll ask Alya and Nino-”

"No, Mari.” He rolled forward on his knees, rising enough that he was eye level with her as he softly grabbed her shoulders. “Just you and me. I want to go on a date. With you, if that's okay. You're really special to me and... just please? This is very literally my fifth attempt. You're a wonderful-Mari?" She went boneless under his hands and he just barely caught her before she went tumbling. “Marinette, are you okay?!”

“Y-yeah. Just… just peachy.” She straightens herself out, but still has a dazed look on her face. A deep blush spread across her entire face and started to touch her neck. “So you… want to go out… on a date… with me…?”

There was no hesitation as Adrien nodded. His stomach fluttered, but he forced himself to be as confident as possible. The hard part, he assumed, was over. “Absolutely. If you’ll have me, of course.” Some uncertainty intruded into his mind. “I mean, you can say no if you want-”

“NO!”

Adrien reeled and made to remove his hands. “I… I see.”

Before he could move them more than a few centimeters, Marinette had quickly placed her hands over his, keeping them in place. Words fired out of her mouth as rapid speeds. “Wait, no, sorry, that came out wrong. I meant, there is no way I’d say no. I’ve just been waiting on this for a while now and I never thought- I always thought I’d have to be the one to make the first move. I’m just so surprised that you asked and please please please don’t be sad I didn’t mean it, I want to go out with you, honestly.”

Adrien took a moment to look to the side and process what she had said.

“So…” he said tentatively, “Is that a… yes?”

She threw her arms around his neck. “Yes.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped his arms around her waist and returned the hug.

-----------------

They spent the rest of the day stealing glances at each other, blushing wildly, and doing poorly in terms of actual classwork. But neither of them could care much about that when they knew what was waiting for them after school was let out.

The last bell freed them and they walked out together. There were no words between them as they went down the stairs, but Adrien knew that there would be plenty of time for talking when they met up later for their date.

Their date… Still hard to believe that he’d finally managed it.

The car was waiting for him and he noticed the subtle changes to the Gorilla’s expression when he saw them together. Adrien wasn’t sure if it was just him imagining it, but he could almost swear that there was a faint smile on his bodyguard’s face.

“So… you haven’t changed your mind, right?” Marinette struggled to meet his eye.

“I definitely haven’t,” Adrien replied confidently. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

“A-awesome! I’ll… I’ll see you later, then. Tonight. Later tonight! For our… for our date. That we are having. Our… romantic, not-platonic, date. Between just us two.” She wrung her hands as she looked at him, looking dazed. “Right?”

Adrien chuckled. “Yes. As romantic a date as I can pull off with such short notice.”

“Great. Awesome. I’ll just… go get ready for it then. Our date.”

Adrien watched her run across the street before getting into the car. It was excruciating to part from her, even if it was only for a couple hours. It was like she said though; they needed to get ready for their date. And it would be a while before the movie night started. Even if they got there early to get the best spot, it was still hours out.

“Well, well,” Plagg began, “Looks like you finally got your date. We could’ve been here plenty sooner if you just- mrph!” He was cut off when Adrien silenced him with a wedge of camembert.

Adrien wanted to bask in this victory for just a little while longer.

-----------------

Marinette looked at herself in the mirror. Her pastel yellow sundress, embroidered with her signature flowers. Her hair let loose. And so very, very nervous.

“Girl, it’s going to be alright!” Alya’s hand rested on her shoulders as she appeared next to her. “This dress is way cute - you’re gonna make the boy wish he’d asked you out sooner.”

Her reflection showed her the nervous smile she gave Alya. “I just- this might be my one chance! What if it was just on a whim and I blow it and he never wants anything to do with me ever again?!”

Alya raised her eyebrow. “M, this is definitely not just a whim. I can promise that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Call it reporter’s intuition.”

“That’s what you say when you know something I don’t.”

“Precisely.” Alya smiled sweetly. “So take it on faith that I know what I’m talking about. Now get your cute little butt downstairs. I can hear Adrien talking with your parents.” Alya held up Marinette’s purse.

Marinette let out a startled squeak as she snagged her purse. She hurried down the stairs, chased by Alya’s laughter. Her confidence grew as she thought over her best friend’s words, but so did her curiosity. What did Alya know that she didn’t?

Those thoughts were put to the side as she entered the living room where Adrien stood prim and proper in front of her parents. The moment she appeared at the doorway, Adrien was turning towards her and her heart skipped a beat. His outfit wasn’t anything that would grace the covers of his father’s magazines, but his baseball tee hugged his body much better than his usual designer t-shirt, as did the dark wash jeans that made his appearance just on the cusp of being formal.

Or, to be more accurate to what she was thinking at the moment: Oh God - he's somehow even HOTTER.

“Hey, Marinette-”

It was gratifying to see the way his eyes widened and he became slack jawed as he looked her over. Ever the gentleman, his gaze immediately snapped back to her face as he schooled his face into a polite smile. Even then, she could see the way his cheeks were blushing furiously. It felt nice for him to finally be in the same boat as her.

“Hello, Adrien,” she smiled up at him and they spent a few good long moments staring into each other’s eyes before her father cleared his throat.

“Well, you two have a nice time, alright? And don’t stay out too late.”

“Of course, Mr. Dupain!”

“Just call me Tom, son,” her dad said with a chuckle. “I get the feeling we’ll be seeing lots more of each other soon.”

“I certainly hope so,” Adrien replied earnestly as he waved and left, Marinette at his side.

They were quiet as they left and entered the car waiting outside. The appearance of two soft looking blankets surprised her for a moment, but she shrugged it off. Maybe it had been for a photoshoot? She kept her hands on her knees and eyes forward. Her confidence was wavering and she didn’t know what to do to lighten her mood. Adrien seemed about as scared as she was, despite this being his idea.

“So… My parents didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?” She risked a glance towards him before quickly returning her eyes forward again. “You know how nosy they can be…”

“No, no!” He quickly reassured her. “They were great, very welcoming.” The silence returned. “They seem nice.”

“Yeah. They are.”

She swallowed heavily as the car parked. Before she could do anything, Adrien had practically leapt out of the car, leaving her blinking at his empty spot. She jumped when her car door opened. Had he really just run around just to open it for her? She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or touched by that, so she settled for a small smile as she slid out of her seat.

The restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, which helped put her mind at ease some. She’d been afraid that he’d go all out trying to impress her, and that her simple sundress wouldn’t be near good enough.

“Table for two, please,” Adrien said and they were quickly guided to their seats, where he was quick to scoot out her chair for her. They ordered food and sat in silence for a couple minutes, Adrien fiddling with his ring and Marinette casting glances around the room.

“I like your dress.” Startled, Marinette looked up at Adrien. “Did you make it yourself?”

“Y-yes!” Marinette smoothed it down, feeling proud and a little self conscious about it. “How did you know?”

“You mean besides the high quality?” He smirked and Marinette’s heart fluttered. “I recognize that flower pattern from that shirt you wear a lot.”

“Th-thank you! And yes, the flower means a lot to me. It’s like a connection to my heritage, you know? I like to put it in my designs, along with my name.” She hesitated. “Is it conceited to have two signatures on a work?”

“Not necessarily. If I made pieces that good, I’d definitely want people to know who made them.” He took a sip of water. “What other projects are you working on? I know you’re always drawing in your sketchbook, so I’m sure you’ve got something in the works.”

“Yes! I’m always working on something. It’s where most of the money I earn helping out at the bakery goes,” she laughed ruefully. “Sometimes its just something for my own closet, but a lot of the time I’m making a gift for someone or working on a commission.”

“Do you get a lot of those?”

“Ever since I did those commissions for Jagged Stone, I’ve had a trickle of projects come my way. Like this one time…”

Marinette got swept up talking about herself throughout dinner. It was a risk when someone got her started with her passions, but she wasn’t entirely to blame. Adrien was a very attentive listener, always asking relevant questions and seemed very interested in everything she had to say about herself. Every time she would think she was done, he’d ask just the right thing to get her locked into another tangent and before long Adrien was paying for the dinner and they were out of the restaurant.

The sun was just about to begin sinking below the horizon, leaving them plenty of time to get to the park. What Marinette had failed to remember was that this was late fall - the daytime might have been comfortably warm, but the night was going to be chilly. And all she had was a sundress.

“Something the matter, Marinette?” Adrien asked as he opened the car door for her.

“Oh! Um, no, I’m fine. Just kicking myself for not dressing warmer is all.”

Adrien chuckled. “I get what you mean. I should’ve brought a jacket so at least one of us could be warm. Thankfully, that’s why I brought these along,” Adrien patted the stack of two blankets between them. A smile graced Marinette’s face. He’d put a lot of planning into something that had been so last minute.

Once they arrived, he had a few words with the Gorilla, who grunted and drove off.

“What was that about?” Marinette asked as he took her hand in his.

“I told him we’d be here for a while and we were close to your place, so I’d just have him meet me there after we’re done.”

“R-right. Okay.” She might have said something else, but chose instead to enjoy the moment and relish the feeling of holding hands with Adrien. Which made it all the more surprising when he suddenly stopped.

“What about here? We can lean against this tree, and we’re just far enough away from the screen that we won’t be surrounded by people.”

“Sounds great!” She squeaked out. They sat down close to each other, but not too close. Adrien passed her one of the blankets, which she gratefully draped over herself. Unfortunately, this was only barely managing to keep out the chill. It only got worse as the sun dipped below the horizon. Marinette started rubbing her arms to get some warmth.

"Whoa, are you cold?" She glanced over to see Adrien’s vibrant green eyes filled with concern.

"No! No, I'm fine,” she replied, trying to put on a brave face.

"Mari.” His tone was flat, and a touch reproachful. “You're shivering."

"This dress is just a little thin is all, but the blanket is great! I'll be fine-” Her eyes widened as he began shifting. “What are you doing?"

"Scooting closer. I will not have my lovely date shivering when I have a perfectly arm. Now please get under it," he lifted his arm with his blanket still on it.

"Adrien you really don't have to-"

"Yeah, because snuggling in the park with a gorgeous, intelligent girl is SUCH a hardship.” He rolled his eyes and shot her an oddly familiar grin. “C'mon. I hear guys are great space heaters anyway."

Hesitantly, as if moving too quickly would make her wake up from this dream, she crawled under Adrien’s blanket and felt his arm wrap around her shoulders. She squeaked when he pulled her a little closer, so that their bodies were flush together. By the time the movie began, she’d relaxed a little and rested her head against his chest.

The cold didn’t bother her for the rest of the night.

---------------------

“I had a wonderful time, Adrien.”

They were standing on the doorstep to her house, the last few moments that they had left for their night together. Neither of them wanted to end it, but there was nothing left for them to do except say goodbye.

“It’s been the best night I’ve had in a long time, Mari.” He looked down at her and hoped that she could see just how much love was in his eyes. He had high hopes - unlike at the start of their date, she wasn’t looking away any more. “I hope we can do this again sometime soon.”

Her breathing hitched. “Does that mean…?”

“That I’d like another date? Of course. Finding a time will be hard, but…” He winked. “I’m more than willing to wait.”

A blush spread across her cheeks. Not the biggest he’d teased from her that night, but beautiful all the same.

“Good night, Marinette.” He took her hand and dipped down to kiss it. When he looked back up, the redness had spread and she’d averted her eyes. A grin split his face. “Something the matter-”

He was interrupted, and his grin wiped clean, when she put her hands on either side of his face, leaned forward on her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It didn’t last long, but he was left wide eyed and dazed on her doorstep as she quickly opened the door.

“GoodnightAdrienIloveyou!” She blurted out as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Quick heartbeats passed before he touched his lips with two fingers and glanced up at her balcony, his heart pounding as he turned back around. He slipped into the backseat of the car and was startled to hear a slow clap from the front seat. From the rearview mirror he could see a faint smile on the Gorilla’s face. Adrien blushed more deeply.

Once he was back home, Adrien fell onto his bed and spread out, grinning at the ceiling like a dope. Plagg floated cross legged beside him.

“Well, well, well. Lover boy finally managed to do it.” He clapped his paws together, a toothy smile on his tiny face. “Congrats, kid. And I mean it. But aren’t you forgetting something?”

Adrien propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head at his kwami.

“You forgot to hint about you being Chat Noir!” Plagg cackled. Adrien let himself fall back against the bed, but his frustration quickly melted away.

After all, there would be plenty more opportunities to come.

[thevintagebluebird]

Unpinned - French Onion Chicken

Welcome back, my lovelies! Since we last met the entire world has turned upside-down. Everything has changed! Holding hands is from the BEFORETIME. Being in other people’s houses is from the BEFORETIME. Restaurants are from the BEFORETIME. I could go on and on about the darkest timeline we find ourselves in, but after losing all sense of self and purpose in this nightmare reality, one thing has become clear: we still gotta eat. On a recent Zoom call with dear friends (the bizarre irony of how we’d never met face to face until a pandemic was not lost on me) I was reminded of this blog. Bless their hearts, they had kind words to say about my ramblings. So I thought WHAT THE HECK, IT’S NOT LIKE I DON’T HAVE THE TIME! (Ha, time and any semblance of meaning are *also* from the BEFORETIME) so here we are. I cooked a thing and now I’ll tell you about it.

French Onion Chicken! From the folks who make those cute facebook cooking videos, Delish! I guess they have a magazine too. I get a little suspicious of any publication that claims the majority of their recipes are ‘TEH BEST EVAR’, but after this dish I could be convinced.

Verdict: Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? - I’ll let you be the judge when you see the photo of my finished product, but I’m going to quietly sit over in the corner nodding furiously in the meantime.

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? - The only pricey ingredient was a block of gruyere, and it was worth every single penny! It took about 45/50 minutes from start to finish but time is a cruel joke anyway so who cares? It was pretty straightforward and easy!

Does it taste good? - YES. MAKE IT.

French Onion Chicken

Ingredients

3 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil, divided

1 large onion, halved and thinly sliced

2 tsp. freshly chopped thyme

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 3/4 lb. boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1" pieces

1/2 tsp. dried oregano

2 tbsp. all-purpose flour

1 1/2 c. low-sodium beef broth

1 c.shredded Gruyère

Freshly chopped parsley, for garnish (optional)

Preparation

In a large skillet over medium heat, heat 2 tablespoons oil. Add onions and season with salt, pepper, and thyme. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally until onions are caramelized and jammy, about 25 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook until fragrant, 1 minute more. Turn off heat and remove onion mixture. Wipe skillet clean.

In a large bowl, season chicken with salt, pepper and oregano, then toss with flour. Heat remaining oil in same skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook until golden on all sides and mostly cooked through, about 8 minutes.

Add beef broth and return caramelized onions to skillet. Bring mixture to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until chicken is cooked through and beef broth reduces slightly, about 10 more minutes.

Add Gruyère and cover skillet with a lid. Cook until cheese is melty, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and garnish with parsley before serving.

Here’s what you need! You’ll notice a small pile of leaves at the front and may wonder why I’ve thrown foliage onto my counter. Long story short: Allan’s lovely Aunt Kathi and Uncle Eli gave us bags of fresh herbs from their garden, and we’ve been making such fancy herby dishes! These are the last fresh sage leaves; I know the recipe calls for thyme but we’ve got sage so now the recipe calls for sage.

 First thing’s first: oil up your trusty cast iron. You’ll notice that it looks like I’ve smeared dark gritty mud along the bottom of mine, and that is because I am a lazy no-good cast iron owner who does not properly season her pan. It’s frankly a disgrace. I will pay someone to fix it for me.

Slice yer onions! Somehow this giant beast didn’t even make me tear up!

At this point the meal could be done and I’d be pretty happy - who doesn’t love a pan of hot onions? They started to smell tasty, which was great ‘cause our apartment has lately had a weird smell of old meat, which is EXTRA concerning because we haven’t cooked any meat at all this week. Why does it smell like meat.

IT APPEARS WE’RE OUT OF THYME. AHAHAHA AREN’T WE ALL? Sorry guys, I’m realizing now that this cooking experiment was also a litmus test of my current five-months-into-lockdown mental state. Clearly I’m fine. Also we had sage so it was all good.

Sage-y onions. The kitchen was smelling very, very good.

I really had to trust the recipe on this one and let the onions cook for the full 20+ minute time even though I was oddly anxious they would burn. I ended up turning the heat down to low when I started to see a lot of crisping. To distract myself, I started chopping the chicken breast into cubes. They were meant to be about 1″ x 1″ x 1″ but most of them came out more like .5″ x 6″ x 2.89″.

My patience paid off! The onions, looking quite “jammy” and caramelized! I kept wondering what “jammy” would look like but I think it’s just a fancy way of saying “sticky and mushy”. Adding my scoop of jar-garlic because even in lockdown I don’t have time to mince fresh garlic.

This bit was a little tricky: it called for two tablespoons of flour to “coat” the chicken but I wasn’t sure how such a tiny amount of flour was going to “coat” jack squat. So here’s the heavily-seasoned chicken on the cutting board, and my tentative first attempt at adding flour.

It just sort of made the pile of raw chicken into a slightly more-beige, stickier pile of raw chicken. I was unconvinced. 

Ok I got them in the pan to start cooking and it looks vaguely like normal chicken? Now my instinct is to cook the shit out of chicken until it’s just little shreds of carbon to avoid salmonella, but I see that the recipe says that to let it finish cooking once we add/boil the liquid, so against my better judgement I just cooked them “medium rare” and moved on. 

It called for a cup of shredded cheese but I just shredded the whole block because honestly when in history has a dish ever been ruined by too much cheese? (Spoiler: never)

Oh wow! It looked so good when I added the stock and onions back in! We used mushroom stock ‘cause we’re trying to minimize our beef consumption and also mushrooms are delicious.

BUT THEN IT TURNED INTO THIS WATERY MESS WHEN I ADDED AND STEAMED THE CHEESE!

This is not staged, this is 100% exactly the face I was making as I saw what my end result was looking like. It was definitely straight-up soup, and no thickening instructions in sight.

So I harkened back to my years of training as Thanksgiving sous-chef with my grandma! Whip out your trusty cornstarch and turn that soupy frown upside down!

Take out your commemorative New Milford mug (whoot whoot hometown pride oh god I miss traveling across state borders) and make a cornstarch slurry. Starts as cement-like glue-chunks, add drops of water and keep scraping until it becomes an opaque liquid. 

So here’s how it looked immediately after adding the ~1.5 tbsp cornstarch slurry and then after a good stir and extra minute on the heat. No more soup! 

And finally plated: atop some brown rice (cooked with homemade chicken stock) and little zucchini pizza bites (made from one of the monster zucchini from my garden). 

Final final verdict: It really did NOT look like the Pintrest photo, but to be fair I did skip the (apparently essential) step of adding fresh parsley - between you and me I’m pretty sure they hit it with a blow torch to get that nice crispy top. BUT! This was actually DELICIOUS. Like, really really good. The chicken was moist, the cheese flavor was sublime, the onions were jammy to the extreme: I’m definitely going to make this again!

[killian-whump]

I found this in my drafts just now...

A little vignette, because I’m reading this book that is giving me ~urges~ to rewrite the S6 finale with Killian in the asylum with Emma...

Emma watched the dark-haired man from her seat at the next table over. He was alone, as was she, both of them having opted not to pair up with other inmates patients and to stick to their own company.

Killian, she believed his name was. He rarely put in an appearance in the commons room, let alone in the dining hall, so his presence had caught Emma’s eye. What he was in for, she didn’t know. Undoubtedly, it was some manner of psychosis, like everyone else - though he looked sane enough to her.

But she knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. She, herself, looked sane... but if her history was anything to go by, she wasn’t. Or, rather, she hadn’t been. She was better now, or so she believed, but Mayor Fiona didn’t seem to believe she was well enough to be out of this place.

Killian seemed to be having an intense staring contest with his dinner, glaring at the slices of bologna he’d peeled out of his sandwich as if they’d personally offended him somehow.

Maybe they had, Emma mused to herself. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d met someone who thought their food was talking to them.

If the bologna had offended him, it seemed his macaroni and cheese was more interested in confounding him. He finally ate one noodle of it, then resumed his staring contest - this time with his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

On a whim, Emma picked up her tray and moved over to his table. “I think you’re safe with the mac and cheese,” she teased. “It’s the Mystery Meat on Thursdays that you really need to watch out for.”

Killian blinked and looked up at her in surprise, having been so engrossed in staring at his meal that he apparently hadn’t even noticed her coming over to sit with him.

“Emma Swan,” Emma said, offering him her hand to shake. Since he had a death grip on his fork with his right hand, she’d offered her left.

He stared at it, and for a moment, Emma wondered if he was going to stab her hand with his fork. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Killian Jones,” he said, not taking her hand.

She waited a moment more, not wanting to be rude and remove her hand if he was just a bit slow. After an awkward moment, she finally pulled it back. “I guess you’re not the hand-shaking type,” she dead-panned.

“Are you mocking me?”

The question caught Emma off-guard, both for its unexpectedness and the naked sincerity on Killian’s face as he asked it. “No,” she said. “I’m not mocking you. Why would you think I was?”

He shrugged, turning his eyes down to stare at his dinner tray once more. “You wouldn’t be the first.” He stabbed some more noodles with his fork and shoved them in his mouth. As he chewed, he brought his left arm up from under the table and laid it beside his tray.

Oh. He didn’t have a left hand to shake hers with. No wonder he’d thought she was mocking him. “I didn’t know,” she said.

“Hmm.” He returned his left arm to its spot in his lap, kept under the table and away from prying eyes.

“How did you lose it?” Emma regretted the words as soon as they popped out of her mouth, fearing that this would definitely shut Killian down the rest of the way and prevent any kind of friendship from ever developing between them. And, for some reason, that thought made her incredibly uneasy.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem perturbed by the question at all. “Crocodile ate it,” he said blithely.

“Seriously?”

Killian shrugged. “I don’t know anymore, to tell you the truth. Maybe I lost it in the Ogre Wars.”

“The Ogre Wars?” Emma asked, lifting an eyebrow. “That’s not a thing.” At least, it wasn’t a thing that anyone else should know about. It was a thing in the book of fairytales she and Henry had once believed in, but... “Are you mocking me now?” she demanded.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

“Then how do you know about the Ogre Wars? Did Fiona put you up to this? To test me or something?”

He blinked, looking genuinely confused now. “Who is Fiona?”

“The Mayor.”

He huffed in slight offense. “As if someone so important would even deign to visit a worthless old sea dog like myself.”

“Then why did you mention the Ogre Wars?” Emma demanded.

“I honestly don’t know, love.”

Emma was surprised to realize that she didn’t discern a lie in his statement. She’d never admit it to anyone out loud, for fear they’d think she was even madder than they already thought she was, but she had a spotless record for spotting lies in other people’s statements. And Killian Jones was undoubtedly speaking the truth when he told her he didn’t know why he’d said what he’d said.

“I rarely know what I’m saying anymore.” He sighed. “I’m mad, you see. Mad as a hatter. Crazy as a loon. That’s what they tell me, so it must be true.”

“What’s your diagnosis?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Diagnosis? Oh, love. They don’t need anything as fancy as that to condemn a man to hell. It appears that being an inconvenience is sufficient enough to earn one such honors.”

“An inconvenience?” Emma questioned. “To who?”

Killian closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “I don’t even know, love. I believe... I used to know, but where there was once knowledge, an answer to your question, perhaps... there’s now nothing. Emptiness. A black hole that grows blacker by the hour.”

Emma smirked. “That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. You’re probably right, Swan. Perhaps I am as mad as they say.”

A pair of nurses approached then, flanked by two burly orderlies. “Mr. Jones!” one of the nurses said sternly. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. How did you get out of your room?”

“Centuries of practice,” Killian said simply.

The nurse shook her head, ignoring his words completely. “And what are you doing here, of all places? You already had dinner in your room.”

“I didn’t come for the food.” He frowned. “I came for... I wanted...” His frown grew as he tried to fill in the blanks of his own sentence. “There was something... missing... I need to find it. It’s important.”

“Well, whatever it is, you’ll have to look for it later, Mr. Jones.” The nurse nodded to the two orderlies, who each grabbed Killian by an arm and hauled him to his feet. “You’re late for your treatment now.”

Killian’s entire face paled. “No,” he said weakly.

“Come now,” the other nurse said, stepping forward as he spoke. “You need your treatments to help you think clearly.”

“No, no, no, no,” Killian said, shaking his head desperately. “They steal my thoughts. They take everything away and make it all black. I have to... There’s something I need to do. I have to... It’s important!”

Emma found herself getting to her feet. For all she knew, Killian Jones was a raving madman, one who clearly needed more help than she could even hope to understand. And yet... She didn’t like this. She didn’t like seeing him this way - scared and confused, desperately looking for help that wasn’t going to come. When one of the orderlies brought out a stun gun, she finally broke her silence. “Hey,” she said firmly. “He was calm just a second ago. There’s no need to hurt him. Just let him settle down.”

Killian’s eyes snapped to Emma’s and widened. “Emma,” he said breathlessly. “Emma, we need to go. We need to get out of here, before the blackness takes you, too. Please. You need to go! Find Henry. Take him with you. Get somewhere safe. Emma, please!”

“That’s enough of that,” the male nurse said, taking the stun gun from the orderly.

“You have to break the cur- AUGH!” The jolt of electricity from the stun gun obliterated the end of Killian’s plea, but Emma had heard enough. Killian slumped between the two orderlies, boneless and whimpering now, as they dragged him from the room for his ‘treatment’.

The male nurse left with Killian and the orderlies, but the female one stuck around. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, Miss Swan,” she said ruefully. “He’s a very troubled man, Mr. Jones.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Emma asked. She wasn’t even sure she needed an answer to that question, but she was curious what the nurse would say.

“What isn’t?” She smiled sympathetically, as if her non-answer should be enough to ease Emma’s mind. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be feeling better as soon as he gets his treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“You know I can’t discuss another patient’s treatment with you, Emma. Now finish eating. Your dinner hour’s almost up.” With that, the nurse headed out of the dining hall, following the same path the other staff members had gone with Killian in tow.

Emma slowly sat and looked down at her uneaten meal. Her appetite was gone. She wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite after what she’d just witnessed. She didn’t even understand why it had bothered her so profoundly... she just knew that it had.

“Electroshock.”

Emma looked up at the old man who had spoken from the next table over.

“That one’s always going into the electroshock room. First few times I saw him, he was screaming about curses and swans and black fairies. Now he just screams. They’ll keep at it until they’ve fried the madness out of his brain... along with whatever else is in there. Poor bastard.” The old man smiled sadly. “You’d be best off forgetting about him, dear. You’ll likely never see him again - and if you do, I doubt he’ll remember you at all.”

If the man’s words were intended to make her feel better, they utterly failed. Instead, they filled Emma with a profound sadness.

She didn’t know why, but being forgotten by Killian Jones suddenly felt like the worst possible thing that could ever happen to her.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today IX

A/N:  Apparently I don't know when to stop writing, as this is a whole twelve pages in Microsoft Word. But! We have FINALLY gotten to the stuff we're all here for- that is, Ivar! I played around a little with ending this chapter before she actually comes to see Ivar, but decided not to be too cruel and tease you all with that. As a disclaimer, any Old Norse in this chapter is from a translator on lingojam. I cannot guarantee that it is accurate. So, that in mind, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and the moment we've all been waiting for! Skål!

Summary:  When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

No one in Kattegat was expecting a ship to sail in. The town had been in utter disarray when the English ship came, and as such, no one knew quite what to do with its arrival. There was only one ship, so it wasn't an attack, but that didn’t mean they had any idea what to think of it. Being in the aftermath of the loss of their Seer, the most revered figure in their community- aside from their King himself- only meant they were even less ready for this.

Ivar the Boneless was trying to arrange the investigation of the Ancient One’s sudden and mysterious passing, when the news of the lone ship was brought to him. Having not expected anything, he sent someone to investigate. Fortunately for him, it was someone he did not want around at the moment.

So, when Aethelind arrived in Kattegat, she was greeted by the sight of a lone man on the docks, his arms crossed as he watched the ship reach its destination. He was armed, watching her suspiciously, but it was clear from his expression that he had not expected the passenger on this ship to be a woman- nor a finely dressed one, at that. Her eyes quickly assessed him, the dark blond hair that fell long down his back in a braid, the bit of facial hair- not quite a full beard, but certainly more than either of her brothers, or even Ubbe or Björn had worn.

Still, there was a lightness in his blue eyes that made her think he would be one of the nicer people she would meet in this place, especially as he stepped forward once the boat had docked to offer his hand and help her off. Upon a closer look, something clicked for her. “Hvitserk Ragnarsson?” she questioned, tilting her head slightly.

The look of shock on his face was priceless. Clearly, of all the things he’d been expecting from her, his name had not been one of them. He blinked a few times, then nodded. Hvitserk tried to hide it as he internally shook off the shock, but Aethelind could read it in his eyes, how he was trying to process that. Once he’d seemingly cleared his mind, he asked, “How did you know?”

This brought a small chuckle from the woman, and she answered, “I have my ways.” This did nothing to soothe his mind, and he shook his head a little. “I am Princess Aethelind, of Wessex. My brother has sent me to negotiate with yours.”

Hvitserk decided today was simply meant to be full of surprises. Not only had a ship come unexpectedly from England, but said ship carried the Princess, the girl Ivar had seemed infatuated with (and rightfully so, now Hvitserk was seeing her for himself) when he returned from England himself, and she had used his name without any introduction. He wondered if the gods weren’t somehow messing with him. Letting out a slow breath, the Prince nodded.

“Well, Ivar will certainly want to see you,” he said. “I’ll have-” He paused when he saw the single trunk that accompanied her, surprised at the lack of baggage she had brought with her. “You only have one trunk?”

She gave a small shrug, smiling sheepishly. “I left on rather short notice,” she confessed. “But, with a letter from my brother, King Alfred, which I’m meant to deliver into King Ivar’s hands alone.”

Hvitserk nodded a little. “Then let’s get you up to him,” he said. “Follow me.” He swallowed, and asked in such a way that Aethelind couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or serious, “Or, do you already know where we’re going?” She gave him a playful smile, and he groaned a little.

“I see why Ivar liked you,” he almost grumbled. This earned a small giggle from Aethelind, who shook her head.

They began the walk through the town, with the people in the streets stopping to look at the young woman at their Prince’s side. They could tell just from her appearance that she was a Saxon woman, and a high up one at that. Her hair fell down below her back, dark black waves that were pinned behind her head in a very delicate style. The silky fabrics of her dress, the length of it, also added to the fact she had to be wealthy. She walked at Hvitserk’s side, not trailing behind him, with her head held high, shoulders back, and hands folded neatly in front of herself. If they had to guess, they’d say she was a Princess. And, of course, they’d be right.

When Hvitserk led her up to the Great Hall, she felt her heart pounding. She hadn’t seen Ivar in years, not since they were both far younger than they were now. Before they went in, she stopped Hvitserk. “Has he… changed, overly much?” she asked, looking up at him. Hvitserk was, again, caught off guard. He was getting tired of that. This must have shown on his face, as Aethelind was suddenly adding to her question, “I only spent a few days with him, but I can’t help but feel my brother wouldn’t have warned me so much about him, had he not changed since I last knew him.”

Hvitserk thought back to when Ivar would have been in England, and he grimaced. Ivar hadn’t seen Aethelind since before the death of Ragnar Lothbrok. Chances were, he would have changed quite a bit from how she last knew him. So, he nodded. “The last time you saw Ivar, our father had not been killed just yet. Nor had our mother. And now, without our parents… yes, Ivar is a changed man.”

Aethelind nodded a little, and Hvitserk was surprised to see something akin to compassion on her face. He hadn’t expected the granddaughter of the Kings Aelle and Ecbert to have any compassion for the sons of Ragnar, not after they had killed both her grandfathers. “I lost the man who was a father to me not overly long ago,” she confessed. “King Aethelwulf. I still have my mother, and so I cannot imagine the pain you must feel at having lost yours, but I can offer you my sincerest condolences, and my comfort for your loss.”

Well… if the surprise was going to be a good one, Hvitserk supposed he shouldn’t be so upset with it.

He blinked a few times. “You- you do realize we killed your grandfathers as revenge for the death of our father?” he pointed out to her, and she nodded.

“Of course I do,” she said. “It was kept from me until just recently, before I came to Kattegat, but… Were I able to face the man who killed my father, I would gladly do so, and… I can’t say it would be with forgiveness.” Hvitserk started to speak, but couldn’t quite before she finished by saying, “That is to say, I cannot blame you for your actions, Prince Hvitserk.”

It was official. Hvitserk quite liked this Saxon Princess.

He cracked a small smile, and nodded a little. “You are nothing like I would have expected,” he confessed. “Even from what Ivar told me of you. But, that is not a bad thing.” When she smiled at him, he decided to let curiosity get the better of him, and he questioned, “And, if you do not mind, what… what did happen to your father?”

Not knowing her father’s true identity, he believed he was asking about Aethelwulf. Her wording had been strange, yes, but then she had mentioned her father being killed. That must have been who she meant, for Hvitserk couldn’t think of anyone else.

“He was murdered by a Viking,” she said honestly, drawing Hvitserk’s attention to her with wide eyes. “One called… Is it Loki?”

“Loki is the Trickster God,” Hvitserk said. “I… highly doubt it was he who ended your father's life. Do you mean Floki?”

“Yes!” Aethelind said. “That’s the one.”

Hvitserk let out a slow breath, his eyes wide. “I- I never heard- how could Floki have killed King Aethelwulf? I don’t recall your father passing while Floki was last there.”

Aethelind immediately recognized the misunderstanding, and shook her head. “Wrong father,” she corrected. “Floki killed my true father, the monk Athelstan, here in Kattegat.”

Before Hvitserk could even begin to respond to what had just been revealed to him, the doors to the Great Hall opened as someone exited, and Aethelind took that as her cue to walk inside. He was dumbfounded as he followed her, his eyes wide.

Six winters had barely passed in Hvitserk's life when Athelstan had been murdered. That didn’t mean Hvitserk didn’t remember him at all, though. And now, looking at Aethelind as she walked, following after her, he realized he could almost see the kind monk in her. She had his eyes, Hvitserk thought, and the shape of his brow. The rest of her appearance must have come from her mother. Ivar was probably too young to remember Athelstan, he figured, and he’d grown up too close to Floki to remember the monk fondly anyway.

Part of Hvitserk wondered if that would affect how Ivar would see Aethelind, now. If he learned who her father was, thought back to how Floki felt about that man… He didn’t imagine that would be a very pleasing though to the King of Kattegat.

The walk from the door to the thrones in the Great Hall wasn’t a long one, and the hall itself was full of people trying to speak with their King as he held court. As such, no one really noticed the Saxon Princess trying to work her way through the crowd. In fact, most were paying attention to the man who was pleading with Ivar for something. Hvitserk grimaced slightly, knowing that things weren’t going very well for him. But, he ended up unable to hold back the slight chuckle as Aethelind very politely worked her way through the people- not that a majority of them understood how polite she was being, as she was asking their pardon in the language of the Saxons. So, realizing that, he began relaying that message for her to the people who were growing confused by her words and presence.

Ivar began to answer the man, and Hvitserk could see the way Aethelind perked up. She recognized his voice, all these years later, and her eyes widened. The Princess walked a little faster, and Hvitserk picked up his pace with her, trying to catch up to her by the time she broke through the crowd.

He didn’t quite, coming out right behind her, and he watched silently as his brother’s words died on his lips.

Ivar the Boneless froze, looking down at this woman with wide eyes. His mouth began to form silent words, words that he never gave voice to, and he blinked a few times. He sat forward in his throne, brows creasing slightly, and he lifted a hand. With just a word, a wave of the hand he’d lifted, he dismissed the man who was speaking. The man tried to protest, but then Ivar took his crutch, and got to his feet. As soon as the King stood, the woman in the throne to his left began to straighten up.

She didn’t know anything about this woman who had caught Ivar’s attention so raptly, where she had come from, why he was so suddenly rendered speechless. The meaning of this woman’s unannounced appearance was lost on her, as she watched the two stare at each other. The Queen turned a confused gaze to Hvitserk, who was too busy watching the reunion he only partially understood to meet her eye.

And, for Ivar and Aethelind, time seemed to stop. She stood silent, her stature perfectly poised as a Saxon Princess was expected to be. Ivar slowly made his way to her, the hall having gone silent. The only sound that could be heard was the thud of his crutch, stabbing into the ground as he moved across the room. When he finally reached her, he brought his hand up, and his fingers grazed over her cheek. The Princess’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink under his intense gaze, but she still smiled softly up at him.

“You are real?” he questioned, the words spoken in the Saxon tongue surprising all but Hvitserk in the room. She nodded, her smile only growing at the language she knew. He let out a soft breath, and blinked a few times. “Hello, Princess.”

“Hello, Ivar,” she greeted.

Her words weren’t understood by a majority of those who were in the room, but they could tell it was a greeting, a familiar one. She spoke his name.

Without any other words, he suddenly stood straighter, not taking his hand away from her, and he called out to the people, “Allthingrinn er yfir.  Líðheimar!”

There was a confused and shocked murmur that went through the crowd. For some reason, this woman’s arrival was enough to cause their King to stop the Althing, send his people home. They immediately began to wonder what was going on, why he was so entranced by her. However, they did as he commanded, and before long, Aethelind was left alone with Ivar, Hvitserk, and the woman behind him Ivar she didn’t know.

Ivar’s attention turned back to her, his eyes searching hers for something she couldn’t guess. “You are here,” he eventually said, and she nodded. His eyes looked up to Hvitserk. “Hon er hí?” Hvitserk nodded, chuckling. “Takfreydisr.  Ek munu mæli til hanaloner.”

Hvitserk nodded again, and moved toward the woman, who stood and walked to meet him. “Hverr er hon?” she asked Hvitserk, who chuckled a little as he gestured toward an exit.

“Einn gamall vinr,” Hvitserk answered, and they left the hall.

The sound of the door shutting was heavy, echoed through the room, and Aethelind realized she hadn’t yet really… come to terms with her current circumstances. For a long while, they were both silent, and then Aethelind did something neither of them had really expected. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and let out a quiet laugh.

It took Ivar a moment to register what she’d just done, to process it, before he was wrapping his free arm around her, and smiling slightly despite himself. There was a time he’d have questioned her arrival, thought it was just another way the gods were taunting him, putting something so good in front of him, only to somehow take it from him, betray his trust with it. But he knew the truth now, that not only did he have their favour, but he was one himself. To have Aethelind come to see him, this was just a gift from his family, the proof that he was doing things well and right. The Æsir were pleased.

When the two pulled away from each other, they finally began to actually take a look, their hands grasping at the other’s arm as if they may disappear should they fully let go. He was the first to speak.

“You have grown,” he commented.

This brought forth a chuckle from the Princess, who replied, “As have you. You look well, Ivar.”

He nodded, and smiled. “I am well,” he confirmed. “And you? You seem to be very happy, hm?” Aethelind nodded to confirm this, as if the grin on her face weren’t confirmation enough.

“I am,” she said. “In all my life, I didn’t expect to end up here, reunited with you. But I can say, it brings me great joy to see your face once more, my friend.”

Ivar smiled at her, and then gestured for her to walk with him. He led her over to a table, where he sat, resting his crutch at his side as he watched her take the seat at his right. “You were a constant source of surprise, in my youth,” he said. “And I see you are yet a source of surprise. But not, I think, a source of bad surprises, are you? I am glad to see you.”

“I see you have learned the Saxon tongue since I saw you last,” she commented, and he gave a nod.

“Certain things are necessary, to open more doors than would be open to you without those things,” he replied vaguely. “But, it allows me to speak with you, and so I see yet another door opens that would have been closed to me otherwise. Knowledge… again, does nothing but serve.”

Aethelind nodded her agreement with his wise statement, leaning on the table a bit. “You’re right,” she said. “Lord, I’ve missed you. How many years has it been, do you think?”

Ivar let out a short breath before replying, “Too many. We will have a feast tonight to celebrate your arrival, hm? I imagine you have made… quite a stir, already.”

“It seems to be so,” she answered. “But I am honored you wish to have a feast simply because I have come.”

“Of course we will feast for this,” Ivar said, waving a hand as if it were obvious. “I will tell the people that you are here as our guest, and celebrate your coming. We could use a good thing, with the way things have been lately, and it seems the gods heard our prayers for this.”

“You believe so?” she questioned. Aethelind tilted her head slightly as she heard his words. “How have things been? You seem well, Kattegat seems prosperous, I cannot imagine…”

Ivar sighed, and she fell silent, knowing he was about to begin his explanation. “We have been in turmoil,” he began. “First, we lost my father, Ragnar Lothbrok, who you must remember, hm?” She nodded. “I returned home to find my mother had also been murdered, by a woman called Lagertha.” Aethelind kept her expression schooled into one of compassion, not once betraying she was well aware of his mother’s death at Lagertha’s hand. “She usurped the throne of Kattegat, and my brothers Ubbe and Björn joined her. This left myself and Hvitserk to fight her for the throne, but with the aid of my uncle, Rollo, and King Harald Finehair, we were able to take Kattegat back.”

King Harald. Aethelind knew this name, knew he was the one who was likely attacking Wessex as they spoke. Her heart gave an extra hard thud in her chest, as she wondered how things were going for the Vikings and her brothers, Heahmund as well, back home. She didn’t mention this just yet, instead letting Ivar continue his story.

“And now, on the heels of this occasion, I find it is not without a price. We have lost an important figure, murdered under our noses, likely by a supporter of Lagertha’s,” he said. When Aethelind seemed about to ask who this was, he spoke first, saying, “The Seer was murdered in his own home, and we do not know who has done such a thing. But I can only believe it was someone who wanted to cripple my authority, by taking out the one man who could support my rule, and win those who did not support me to our side.”

He watched how the Princess’s eyes widened, and it seemed to him that she believed his stories entirely. This was a good thing. Ivar didn’t exactly want Aethelind to know that he had killed the Seer. He didn’t know if she may slip up, tell Hvitserk of what had occurred. His brother already suspected, and that was enough for extreme caution on Ivar’s end. So, the official story was what she would be told.

“Ivar…” she said softly. He turned to catch her gaze, gentle and concerned, as Aethelind put her hand on his arm. “I am… so sorry for your losses, and you have my comforts for them.” Even if she knew parts of his story were not true, based off what she knew of Lagertha and the others, she knew that the deaths of King Ragnar and Queen Aslaug had devastated him, and her heart ached for him. He could sense the genuine pain she felt for him, and so he gave her a tight-lipped smile, nodding a little.

“And I thank you for them,” he said. “I try to live up to the legacies they have left, and in time, I will become more famous than my father.”

Aethelind recognized this as her first chance to try and work on Ivar. So, she began her work. “You can be your own person, Ivar,” she said gently, her hand moving around to his back. Of all the things he’d expected, her counsel hadn’t been one of them. Just as he’d said before, she was a source of surprises. But with the sincerity in her eyes and tone, he found himself listening. “Learn from their lessons and their wisdom, yes, but… Don’t lose yourself to who they were. You are not Ragnar Lothbrok, nor yet Queen Aslaug. You are Ivar.” Her free hand tapped his chest lightly, right over his heart, and she gave him a small smile. “Be Ivar.”

He gave a small chuckle, and shrugged. “Perhaps Ivar is the legacy of Ragnar Lothbrok, hm? What then?”

Aethelind gave him a look that said she didn’t believe that. “As his son, you are his legacy,” she conceded. “But you’re still your own person. I may be the legacy of King Ecbert, but I wouldn’t make his choices. I am also the legacy of King Aelle. I really wouldn’t make his choices.” The way she said those words, it was clear she had no love for her maternal grandfather, and this brought forth a small chuckle from Ivar. “I am my mother’s legacy, and my father’s, purely by way of being their descendant. But I am not them, and I won’t hold myself to that standard. You haven’t asked my advice, so… feel free to ignore it.” She paused to let out a breathy chuckle at her words. “But if you feel so inclined, I hope you’ll at least take it into consideration.”

He did ponder her words, she saw as much as she watched him, and he eventually nodded slowly. “I will… do as you request,” he eventually said, and she smiled. “Perhaps I will come to a different conclusion, perhaps I will come to agree, but I will not leave your words to fade from my memory, hm?”

Aethelind chuckled a little, and nodded. “That’s good enough for me,” she said. “Now, I hate to break up this lovely heart-to-heart we’re having, but I do have something for you.”

She began to pull a letter from… somewhere in her dress, Ivar had no clue where it came from- truthfully, he got the idea Saxon clothing would confuse him if he considered it too long. When she handed it to him, Ivar lifted it, looked at it, and immediately recognized the seal of the Bretwalda, the King of all England. He grimaced. “From your father?” he asked.

“My brother,” she corrected. “King Aethelwulf has passed.” Ivar regarded her with as close to a compassionate look as he’d ever regarded anyone, and nodded. “Alfred is King now.”

Ivar’s eyes widened just a touch at this. “Alfred?” he questioned. “You had an older brother, I believed, hm? His name sounded... more like yours.”

“Aethelred, yes,” she confirmed. “But… he declined the throne, and nominated Alfred for it. So Alfred is now Bretwalda, and Aethelred the next in line.”

Ivar nodded as he took in this information, and looked back to the letter. He seemed to be thinking for a few moments as he watched it, then sighed. “I will… look over this tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate your arrival, and your presence here. Business can be handled in the morning.”

Aethelind chuckled a little and nodded. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “And, I’ll look forward to having the night to eat and rest. It’s been a long journey.”

“A long journey?” Ivar asked. “It is a few days. How long-?”

“You and your people are used to sea travel!” she pointed out, laughing. “That’s the first real sea travel I’ve ever experienced, and I am tired.”

He chuckled a little with her, and nodded. “Then come along,” he said. “I will introduce you to Freydis, my wife. She will help you settle in, and help you prepare for the feast tonight, if you would like.”

Aethelind nodded, though surprised to hear he was married, and smiled. “I’d love to meet her,” she said. Ivar smiled happily and nodded, standing.

“You will like Freydis, I think. She reminds me of you.”

He didn’t quite realize just what he’d let slip, that he had married a woman who reminded him of Aethelind. But Aethelind caught it, and her cheeks turned slightly pink at the insinuation.

Ivar led her out into the halls of the longhouse the Great Hall was in, and he led her back toward the chambers he shared with his wife. He found her in there getting ready for dinner, when he knocked and opened the door. “My love?” he called to her, speaking in the language of the Saxons for Aethelind’s sake. He had taught the language to his wife, never sure when it would be beneficial for her to know it. It appeared now was that time.

Freydis perked up when she heard her husband’s voice, and she smiled, standing and walking over to him. He opened the door a little wider, revealing Aethelind. A warm smile spread on the Queen’s face when she saw her now, having had the explanation from Hvitserk. The older Ragnarsson had, specifically, left out how infatuated with her Ivar had seemed when he first returned from Wessex.

“You are the Princess, hm?” she said, offering her hands to Aethelind. The older woman smiled sweetly, and took her hands.

“I am,” she confirmed. “And you must be Ivar’s wife?”

“Yes,” she answered. “My name is Freydis.”

Aethelind nodded, and said, “As he said. You have a lovely name, Your Highness.”

Freydis shook her head a little. “You have been a good friend to my husband, and are familiar with him. There is no need to be so formal with me. A friend of his will be a friend of mine.”

“Well, then let me greet you properly,” Aethelind halfway teased, and then wrapped her arms around Freydis. The Queen laughed lightly, and returned the Princess’s embrace.

When the women separated, Freydis kept her hands on Aethelind’s arms. “You must be tired and hungry, hm? Ivar,” she turned to look at her husband. “What plans do we need to make for our guest?”

“I am ordering a feast to celebrate her arrival, and otherwise, she will need chambers here. She can stay in our longhouse, as our personal guest. Can you arrange that?” Ivar asked, tilting his head a bit, and Freydis nodded.

“Of course,” she said. She turned back to Aethelind, and asked, “My dear, did you bring much in way of baggage? We will send Hvitserk and a few men down to collect it.”

Aethelind smiled a little. “I’ve only brought one trunk,” she said. “I left on a… bit of a short notice, if you will. There wasn’t much time to pack a lot.”

Freydis nodded, immediately seeming to become concerned. “Well, you can tell me about that as we prepare you for a feast tonight, hm? Ivar, go have Hvitserk get that trunk, and she and I will begin preparations.”

Ivar chuckled at how quickly Freydis was taking over, and taking Aethelind under her arm. It made him happy to see the two women- those who still lived- who were so important to him getting along so well. “Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling a little. “You are chasing me out, hm? I will go, do not worry.” Aethelind and Freydis giggled a little, standing together as they watched him start to go. Ivar left the room, leaving the women behind, Freydis giving an affectionate shake of her head.

“Come,” she said to Aethelind. “Let’s start getting you ready, hm?”

Aethelind gave a small nod, looking to the door Ivar had just shut behind himself. In a way, she thought the warnings were right. He wasn’t quite the same person she’d known years ago. And yet, she hadn’t decided entirely if the changes were good or bad. All she knew so far was that Ivar the Boneless was back in her life, and she couldn’t be happier about that.

--

Translations:

Allthingrinn er yfir.  Líðheimar! - The Althing is over. Go home! Hon er hí? - She is here? Takfreydisr.  Ek munu mæli til hanaloner. - Take Freydis. I would speak to her alone. Hverr er hon? - Who is she? Einn gamall vinr. - An old friend.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[youhearstatic]

{10}

After being missing for three days, Barry has been mysteriously de-aged. Now he looks 20 years old and doesn’t remember anyone. Lup, Kravitz, and Taako are trying to figure things out.

Now officially called “Losing Time” and up on AO3 if you’d prefer to read there.

Part One  | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen

Part Ten:

Sildar’s fingers pass through the bounds of Lup’s portal and it’s as if a star goes supernova in the space. Light crashes through both sides of the portal, splintering through the room around Sildar and Lup. She grabs his other hand to pull him back but he’s frozen, completely immovable. His face is etched in pain, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth a torn grimace of agony.

“Push him through!” Kravitz yells from the other side. “Get him on this side NOW!”

Lup changes position, struggling to push him forward instead of pulling him back. “Babe, can you hear me?” she pleads, “Help me.”

He’s still frozen, a statue with one arm disappearing into an explosion of light. Lup’s heart nearly stops as she realizes his skin is shimmering in a familiar way: the way bodies do as their souls are cut free. But he’s alive! Lup thinks with horror, This can’t…

“Go!” she screams at him, “You have to go through!”

She can’t see Kravitz or Taako through the portal for the light erupting around her and Sildar. Another sick twist of fear grips her as she realizes something else; the light is no longer coming from just the place where his fingers breach the portal. Now it’s seeping from his skin, his eyes, his mouth, everywhere on him.

“This isn’t working!” she screams through the portal. “Let go of him!” she yells, “I’m gonna…” she doesn’t finish the thought, just wraps her hand around his and casts Plane Shift to pull them to the Astral Plane.

She is propelled into the demispace between the Material Plane and the Astral and feels his essence wrenching away from her like it’s tied to an anchor that can’t break loose. She uses all her will and determination and every desperate ounce of strength to summon him through with her. For one interminable moment it seems impossible. In that space between planes she screams in a voice that isn’t a voice, “I won’t lose you!” Softly, in a whisper of sound that isn’t sound she hears him respond as if from a great distance, “Lup…”

The hold on him breaks at last and they crash to the ground on the Astral Plane near Kravitz and Taako.

Lup scrambles to his side. He’s lying face down and the light is still pouring out of him. “Kravitz,” she begs, “help me.”

“Talk to him,” Kravitz commands. His scythe appears in his hands and he uses it to tear through thousands of cobweb-like strands that connect to Sildar and stretch out into the boundless space around them. The threads are pulling at him, pulling at the light still bleeding away from him.

“Babe,” Lup demands, “I told you I’m not losing you but you have to hold on to me too. Wherever you are you have to listen to me and come back, right now. I…” Lup’s voice is thick with tears even here on the Astral Plane where tears and air are only instinct. Lup struggles to turn him over and pull him into her lap.

Taako kneels beside his sister and brother-in-law. “Hey!” Taako says in a voice more suited to rebuking an unwelcome interloper in his kitchen than speaking to a friend whose very soul is draining away in front of their eyes. “If you even think of disappearing I’m never gonna forgive you. So unless you want that on your shoulders, you better get your shit together right now.”

“Babe,” Lup says again and again, “Babe, please.” She’s rocking him in her lap, clutching him tightly to her.

Kravitz finishes severing the fibers and joins them at his side. “This is up to you,” he informs Sildar. “You have to fight.”

“Fight,” Lup repeats. “Fight this right now and come back to me,” she demands.

Time moves differently in the Astral Plane. Some moments are years, some years are moments. Both measures of time seem to pass before they are rewarded with a ragged, “Lup…”

Taako sags back with relief and Lup barks out a strangled laugh. “Fuck, you scared me,” she manages to say, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “Fuck.”

“That test failed,” he tells her weakly. The light pooling around him and the shimmer beneath his skin have disappeared but he looks muted somehow - far more pale than usual.

“I’m starting to think you’re not a very good scientist after all,” Taako informs him as he stands and adjusts his hat. “No more science for you today,” he adds.

“Deal,” Sildar responds.

“What the fuck was that, Kravitz? Was that what I think…”

Kravitz meets her eyes and gives her a single, small nod.

“What?” Taako asks.

“His soul,” Lup says, helping her husband slowly stand.

“What?” Sildar asks.

“That light,” she answers softly. “It was your soul.” Lup pulls Sildar’s hand into hers again. His color is returning but he still seems faded. She rubs her hands over his as if warming his fingers will help somehow.

“Krav, I’ve been with you on a job and it was nothing like that,” Taako insists.

“Not for our usual jobs, no,” Kravitz answers. “Not for bounties.”

“So a regular death looks like that?”

“No,” Kravitz answers again. “That was…explosive. That was his soul being torn out while he’s still alive.”

“When that Wonderland lich tried that with Magnus…” Taako argues.

“This wasn’t someone trying to move in. This was… whatever did this must have been tied to the Astral Plane so that when he tried to cross over….” He holds up his hands in two closed fists and then flings them open, fingers spreading to pantomime an explosion. “Like setting off a bomb.”

“Which was probably supposed to happen three days ago,” Lup points out.

Kravitz nods. “The de-aging was probably unintended. Barry… Sildar…” Kravitz frowns. “Barry-of-three-days-ago was likely expected to portal through the Astral Plane as usual after the bounty and be caught unaware. But I’d guess he suspected something was fishy with that bounty and was investigating the situation instead.”

“If he’d gone through then…” Lup says with a shiver.

Words tumble from Taako in a flurry, “But if his soul is torn out while he’s still alive, couldn’t he get it back? Especially if he’s on the Astral Plane? Even if he’s not a lich right now? Is that what just happened?”

“Not exactly. That was messy and, well, I’m not sure he could have made it through the portal… intact. Lup only got him here by spell and even then… If he made it through the portal and if he got clear of the threads trying to tie him to the Sea of Souls and if he’d somehow known how to anchor his soul inside himself again despite losing all his knowledge on the subject…” Kravitz pauses, trying to find the words to explain this unusual situation. “Who knows? He’s off the books, so to speak. He and Istus decide.”

“Except there’s another person trying to make the decision, too,” Lup says.

“Exactly,” Kravitz agrees.

“Well, fuck,” Taako responds impatiently, “with Istus and Bluejeans here, it’s already two to one. We just have to cut this mystery villain out of the equation!”

Sildar has been watching this exchange without comment. After Taako speaks, he looks at the elf and says, “Nerd.”

Taako’s eyes bulge. “Did Sildar Hallwinter just call me, Taako from TV a ‘nerd’? Did that really just happen?”

Lup is half collapsing beside her husband, nearly boneless with an all-encompassing and slightly hysterical laughter. “Oh my gods, babe, that… That was priceless.”

Kravitz is biting back a grin as well.

“Sorry,” Sildar says, not looking especially apologetic. “Lup suggested it earlier, before we came out to talk to you both, and…”

“Okay, it was my suggestion, yes, but that timing!” Lup wipes her eyes again. “I told you you’re a badass,” she adds.

“Well, I’m glad the conversation about your soul was so boring to you…” Taako says. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be honest, I’m a little bit proud, Barold. Er, Sildar. But if the science thing doesn’t work out I still wouldn’t recommend you for the comedy circuit, ya feel?”

Sildar nods.

Kravitz tilts his head as if listening to a voice only he hears. A moment later, Lup’s attention is similarly caught.

Sildar looks back and forth between them but it’s Taako who explains. “I’ve seen that look before. The Raven Queen has summoned them.”

Part Eleven

[beautifulramblingbrains]

The Dog - Chapter 7

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) UbbexOC Rating: This is Mature content with multiple trigger warnings on a range of subjects.

A/N: A big thank you to @murmelinchen as always, she is a star. Thank you so much to those still following the story. I’ve rearranged the tags and removed some that I feel don’t want to be tagged or haven’t interacted with any of the other chapters. I don’t want to be that asshole. Apart from that asshole to my besties who will be tagged regardless... heh <3

First Chapter // 2nd Chapter // 3rd Chapter // 4th Chapter // 5th Chapter // 6th Chapter

Tags:   @pathybo@oddsnendsfanfics@sparklemichele@singingpeople@captstefanbrandt@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@emmysrandomthoughts @ariwolf14 @bcat1291@tomarisela@romanchronicles @colours-of-my-heart

The sweet drink in her hand was addictive, and for the first time, Avery felt uncaring, not anxious as usual. The same slave girl kept returning to refill her cup, to the point Avery began stopping her when she passed for more. The room grew rambunctious, louder, people falling where they stood dead asleep.

Avery's world became singular. An unfocused zoom in and out when she concentrated hard enough. And that's when she felt that it was time to leave. It made her suddenly unwell, not the fun, happy tingling she once had. She fled for the stairs, holding onto the bannister, and taking them one at a time. She would alternate between peering behind her and holding her head as her vision danced. Flashes of faces, eyes, mouths open wide and laughing. The second floor appeared like it warped from left to right. Noises, strange noises, that grew louder when she reached the sleeping quarters. The doors were open, bodies writhing, women naked and lying with men. Shadows of people gathered in the corridor, and she passed, noticing how they stared away from their kisses and whispered towards her.

It had the warmth and appearance of a sinful Hell, but not the identity, because it was a twisted love instead.

She stumbled and eventually found the door she recognised, turning the handle. But she wasn't alone. Candlelight flickered and she stood with her back to the door for a moment, a voyeur to two, her eyes glued to the way the muscles moved on the man's back as he thrust slowly into a slave who was watching her. Lazily the girl reached out, the man unaware, towards Avery.

Too drunk, Avery stumbled to where she had slept previously, landing ungracefully among the throws.

She stared up with the sway of drink in her mind, whispering, "It's not ooh bear," and found she was strangely relieved.

Morning arrived too quick to Avery's dismay. Rays of sunshine broke into the room from the smallest opening of a window. It burned into her face, across her eyes, and it was evil, painfully dosed with reality. She stretched, dozily peering towards bodies occupying the bed, an arm fallen from the side.

"It wasn't a dream," she spoke quietly, checking to see if she really was awake now. From outside voices echoed, clunking, chopping more specifically. It didn't rouse the two still tightly entwined in the slightest, and Avery found it fair to make her leave without disturbing them.

She covered her shoulders and made her way back through the now empty corridor, out onto the second-floor platform where she could see the great hall in a much calmer state. They were obviously feeling the effects of last night too as most ate quietly. She got to the top of the stairs and a slave girl from the tables rushed up to meet her.

"Avery?"

She eyed her with suspicion and nodded. Her throat was so dry she had to clear it. "Erm… Yes."

"I am Indra. Come with me." Indra took her hand and led her back towards the quarters. They entered a room at the furthest end, being welcomed into what seemed like a sauna. The fireplace was stacked to capacity, pots boiling and steaming, and women, some of those dressed like warriors. The slave girls combed their hair, washed their feet and helped dressing them.

Too busy staring at the room, Avery had not noticed that Indra had snuck behind her. Pulling the throw from her shoulders, arms around her to untie her dress, she was respectful but fast, already yanking the heavy fabric off and down to her undershirt.

"Take it off, Avery. We will wash it for you."

She complied and Indra pulled at her clothes until she was bare, standing in a room full of washing women with only her hands for cover. She watched in misery as her clothes, her sole belongings, were slung into the water, knowing how long they would take to dry.

Indra watched her standing in awkwardness, spoke quickly in their tongue to a girl crouching next to her, and dried her hands on her skirt. "You think this is strange?" she asked while approaching.

Avery noticed she had pretty eyes, blue as the sea, hair golden like the light hitting wheat in the summer. Then it struck her, she recognised Indra as the one Ubbe's brother had been staring at. "I won't lie. It is, a little."

Indra walked around her slowly, touching her dark hair that hung to the middle of her back, her arm littered with goosebumps, stopping at a scar along her hip. "You are our Christian girl. You are not what I thought."

"You speak well," said Avery, eyes following her scouring.

"Of course." Indra smiled, slipping her hand into Avery's and coaxing her to a vacant tub. "It is ready."

The water was warm, fragrant, a relief for her foggy mind. She let Indra wash her, closing her eyes to the calming sounds from around the room.

"They speak of you with great words. And I don't doubt that there will be a tale of your pledge with us Vikings."

"I didn't pledge to anybody," Avery snapped. "I was forced. Like you are forced to-"

"Do not let anger steal your tongue. I am not forced and willing to serve under our rightful princes, to take a land to grow a Kingdom. I have my own mind." Indra squeezed the rag and then began cleaning her neck. "I don't speak harshly, I speak the truth only." Indra looked towards the door, smiling at the girl entering with women's clothing and waved her over. "New dresses for our Christian woman," Indra said and nodded at the other girl before she took her leave.

It surprised Avery greatly, almost to the point of suspicion. "You treat me too kindly."

Indra smiled to herself, tilting her head. "I am not the only one." Avery frowned and she giggled softly. "I was asked to help you this morning," she clarified. "I waited for you to rise. His description was very good."

"Ooh bear..." Avery guessed, almost whispering under her breath.

"Ubbe," she corrected quickly, meeting Avery's eyes finally, filled with mirth. "I see why you are so enchanting. Fiery, and sweet. I see it is real too. Is it true you scarred Hendrick, our greatest warrior?"

"And gladly," she said, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Indra giggled again, finding a jug to pour over her head. "There will be tales. Now, let us hurry. The water is growing cold."

A new dress, no matter how plain, held a sentiment to Avery. She remembered a time when she had to make do in literal rags before; torn and muddied until picked up by a Christian garrison. It felt heavenly in the clean robes, skin clear and lotioned with a mint ointment for various bruises she'd obtained along the way offering immediate relief.

Something she'd learnt is that Indra liked to talk - a lot. She somehow became her lingering other half, taking her to the hall to eat, translating conversations and including her. But Avery remained wrapped in upon her own thoughts. She rolled a crumb across the table and interrupted Indra's long drawl to another slave.

"Where's ooh bear?"

The other slave laughed and Indra tapped the girl on the shoulder before facing Avery. "You want to see him?"

"No," she lied. "I just wanted to know if he's… around." In a way she did, he was her sanctuary in this strange world of Vikings. Could she rely on their deal of safety if he wasn't there?

Indra's smile grew wider. "Well, my lady, today is your lucky day." She stood up and Avery frowned in confusion. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Outside, of course." Indra linked her arm and pulled her up. "One thing we like to do after such long journeys and successful plunder is a game of sorts. Many games… Games that still help with battle. It is sometimes violent." Indra hummed. "Ubbe will be there, with our great Sandarr who led us safely across your land to join you." She pushed open one of the double doors out into the courtyard. There wasn't a breeze, barely a chill from the suntrap of the stone and fortified walls.

Avery half expected to see bodies littered, but there was nothing. And it was alive. The clunking was a man working with fire and steam. Groups of people gathered in conversation all around. Indra led her through them all, to the back of the main Keep, a grassed area, where a man-made ring encircled those sparring. To the side were recent opponents drinking, gesturing expressively with loud voices, small playful wounds being wrapped.

The sun stung her eyes as she looked up towards the wall, seeing it patrolled by Vikings now, casting glimpses down towards the jousting. The crowd roared, scaring Avery to a halt. Indra smiled her sacred smile and prompted her forward again.

Avery became anxious. "Indra, tell me what you meant by princes?"

"You heard that?" she said slyly. "My mistake. They are brothers of the King now. But it is a long story. I can still recite it for you if you so wish."

It only continued to confuse her further. "You talk of ooh bear and-"

"Hvitserk? Yes."

Avery almost bit her lip in self-loathing. She had known from the start there was something peculiar about their treatment, how they held themselves in their disheveled society. "Tell me more, a little more."

"Their youngest brother rules Kattegat, our home. He is Ivar, the boneless. He is the one most feared. There were five brothers. One is dead, killed by Ivar himself. The other, Bjorn, is missing. They say he fled to the Mediterranean. But who is 'they'? Such things can't be known."

"The youngest brother to rule is… " Avery tripped and Indra held her closer, continuing their slow walk towards a lean-to. "...Well, it's not how it goes."

"Usually no. It's a new world. The God's favoured Ivar and his army. Ivar spared Ubbe. And here we are today, stronger than ever. Is that what you mean by telling you 'a little'?"

"Spared him?"

"They had their differences, my lady." Indra peered over her shoulder at her, a slight hesitance. "Do not think too badly. It is the past."

"Okay," she agreed, trying to tame her mountain of questions, and opted for a different subject altogether. "Do you fight? Are you a warrior woman?"

Indra burst out laughing. "I am not a shieldmaiden. I am a translator, a slave, a lover."

"To who?"

"Many."

Avery almost choked and paled considerably. "Do they ask you to… you know, openly ask for permission to lie with you?"

"Yes," said Indra. "Do your men not ask?"

"We are usually husband and wife before that." Avery kept her head down, recounting all the things she had learned with Benedict Biscop and as a child growing up in strict Christianity. "It is said that sex before marriage is sinful. That sexual immorality is sinful. Being husband and wife permits you to fulfil your passions in a moral way." She could almost hear him preach, word for word.

They finally stopped walking and Indra giggled with half the effort she had used before, shrugging her shoulders with a touch of pity. "What a funny story."

"It wasn't meant to be a-" Avery tried to rectify but was interrupted by a loud voice speaking to the crowd. A new round was starting in the ring, and as a parting cleared, she saw Ubbe with his brother and a few others. He had a drink in his hand, dirtied. He wore the leathers; straps crossing his chest, fixed around his arms, but not the usual tunic. There was a change to his usually relaxed stature. It was obvious he had been fighting and was animated, spirited from whatever game he'd participated in.

Indra brought them right up to his side, and he turned, a quirk at the side of his mouth when he saw Avery. "You have come to see Viking leisure, stulka?"

"I haven't seen much so far."

He wiped his mouth, watching as Indra let Avery go and slinked away. "No? That is a shame. I feel there is a lot of shame passing between us lately."

There was a rather silent moment that had Avery looking away to a roar from the ring, the sunlight bright but a sharp chill in the air that hit her face. "I have thought no more on it." She twisted her hands into the layers of her dress and finally met his eyes. "Last night I saw a lot of leisure."

"It's tradition to celebrate victories, however small."

"Tell me, do you pray for the people you kill? Are they seen as nothing?"

"We offer to the God's and they choose our path," he said just as sharp.

"And where's Benedict?"

Ubbe chuckled to himself. "You're like a storm coming from the sea, immediately angry when it sees the land. You should learn manners and patience. But as they say, roses have thorns." He went to turn away, and with Avery already kicking herself for being so rude - but torn, not wanting to accept she'd lost in the long haul, she reached out and stopped him.

"Ooh bear, I'm sorry." And she meant it, truly. "Everything is unfamiliar to me at the moment." She took a second to gather her thoughts. The fresh air helped, giving a sense of rawness she probably wouldn't have delved into under normal circumstances.

"With what I've seen, what happened to my village, I find it hard to turn the other cheek and forget it all. Everything is changing so fast, I feel like I can't breathe with a block of guilt stuck in my throat. That I can't think because my choices reject my religion. That I'm here, a Christian woman with the Northmen. I've eaten with them, I've bathed with them, I talk with them… I hate them. But a little less every day." Under her fingertips she felt the slickness from his skin; a sweat dusted with the dirt but didn't care. For the first time, she saw the bare skin of his arms closely; the indentation of defined muscle, veined, scarred.

"Therefore, I hate myself," she finished and let him go, realising how hard her fingers had dug into him and tried to smile. "And for some reason, I don't hate you. Well, at least, it's getting harder to every day." She felt a weight shift from her shoulders.

"I understand, stulka."

The crowd howled again, ending the match, and subtly ending their woes at the same time. Behind Ubbe, Avery could see Hendrick pumping himself up and flexing his arms, short sword in hand, making his way towards them. It must have been her reaction that had Ubbe turn. "Hendrick," he said in greeting.

"What do you say, Ubbe?" He spoke in her language specifically, so she could understand. "You want to go a round with me? Show them all that puppy training they had you do back in Kattegat?" He sneered an impossibly wide smile and caught Avery in his sights. "Well, look who scrubs up to reasonable standards. Quite impressive."

Ubbe bit his bottom lip, letting his head fall back as he eyed him, staying thoughtfully mute.

"Why don't we make it more interesting? I get you down, the Christian woman eats with me tonight at the hall. I think she wants that." He jutted the sword to indicate her and Avery stepped behind Ubbe, very much like she did the first time she met him.

"I will not!" she hissed.

Ubbe stayed silently tense for a few long seconds. "Better get my sword," he said like it was any normal daily activity.

With Ubbe walking away with a confident gait, it left Hendrick to gloat at her. "Soon," he said, pinching a piece of her hair and pulling it, then taking off towards the ring, slapping his chest and warming up.

Indra reappeared and guided her away, walking to join the crowd where they had a better view. "I don't want to watch. I can't take the wait," Avery pleaded.

"One thing you should know, my lady. Hendrick is a mighty warrior, one of our best. But the saying goes 'Never fight Ubbe'."

Both warriors made their way to the middle, clinked their swords together, and Hendrick turned for cheers, raising his arms to be hailed. Ubbe stood calmly, looking over to Hvitserk who bellowed something. And it was at that moment Hendrick stormed towards him with his back turned. Ubbe just caught the sword, and Avery began to wonder if that amount of force was usual. She was sure that they could actually kill each other.

They scuffled for the most part, their actions growing far more meaningful. Ubbe caught Hendrick's arm with the blade and paused, a growl emitting from Hendrick's throat as he swung time and time again, pushing Ubbe to the outer circle. It seemed he knew his space was closing in, and went for the legs, disregarding the sword in his hand and tackled him, picking him up through the air and letting Hendrick thump to the ground.

Hendrick's sword clattered away and he got up. By all means, the match was officially over, but he ran at Ubbe, breathless, roaring as he did, and missed from a simple sidestep. The crowd laughed at Hendrick's mouth full of dirt, and men entered the circle, Hvitserk first, patting Ubbe on the shoulder and giving him a jug of ale which he downed on the spot, letting it spill down his chest as he shouted thickly to Hendrick with his arms out each side of him.

"What did he say?" Avery asked.

Indra was frowning, then a smirk rose on her face. "He said, 'she will not'."

A small sense of happiness fluttered in her stomach that she couldn't understand the meaning of. Here, she was a captive, being rough-housed into a Viking gathering; insulted, hurt, manipulated in so many ways. But yet, it was hard to retain a smile. Somebody fought for her, solely her with no other intentions than to keep her safe from the clutches of another. She couldn't remember when the last time was, if ever, that anyone had fought so valiantly, just for her.

"Do you want to stay a little longer? They will change to a different game now," said Indra over Avery's thoughts.

"Yes. Yes, I do." She felt exhilarated.

It was a far more civilised night. The games from the day having worn out the energetic blood and sending some to their beds early. There was a low hum from voices of those that were left, the Keep's main hall dim and people taking to vacant places calmly. The flames around the room glowed in arrays of orange and yellow, casting shadows along the walls. The great fire crackled softly in the background forming a pleasant temperature.

Avery had been listening to a conversation between Ubbe, Hvitserk, Indra, and a few faces she didn't know, not understanding a word but enjoying the interaction and animated way they talked. She could guess what they were saying, but that was all.

She witnessed Hvitserk finally shuffling closer to Indra the more the night drew on, to the point Indra was almost in his lap and involved in their own private conversation together. Avery's eyes began to droop when suddenly Hvitserk stood with Indra's legs curled around his waist and walked them up the large steps towards the sleeping quarters.

Ubbe chuckled and threw down some bread on the table. "Hump first, talk later."

Avery still had a bewildered expression, scoffing towards the table. She sat the same side as him, almost touching but not quite. He caught a passing girl, spoke quickly, then flicked his head for Avery to follow him. She did, noticing the light catching on the braids in his hair she hadn't noticed, assuming they were made earlier that day.

They entered their room where they had been sleeping, without any unexpected guests this time. Avery went to the furs laid out on the floor while Ubbe stepped up to the bed, disturbed by a slave bringing warm water and setting it down next to him. He pulled out his tunic from his pants and tugged it off, shedding his belt and boots. Avery pretended not to watch, unfastening her laces and kicking off her shoes.

He placed the bucket on a stand by the bed and cupped his hands, bringing them up to his face. As he moved his back rippled, donning the scars and marks, bruises of sorts. It was sensual in the fact that she'd witnessed something so similar the previous night, and it made it more clear in her mind to imagine it was him.

Ubbe used the rag to clean himself. And it took her a long time to pluck up the courage. She told herself it was expected, like the slave girls would, and didn't see any perpetual enticement from it. "Do you need help?"

Ubbe nodded and took a seat on the bed, leaving his legs wide and relaxed. Avery dipped the rag into the water and went to wipe the side of his face before he snatched her wrist. "Are you tricking me?" he asked.

"No." She kept his eyes for reassurance and then dabbed at the dirt covering his face. The tension eased when she wiped down to his chin, through his short beard, where he lifted his head and exposed his neck. Droplets ran down his chest and she caught them, feeling his eyes on her. Running the rag along his collarbone, over his shoulders, she suddenly felt a blaze of fire in her stomach; a memory from the past whizzed past, and she threw the rag in the bucket. "Okay, we are finished now."

Ubbe grabbed her wrist, a little gentler than before. "I feel you shaking. Whatever has happened to you in the past, Avery, will not happen again."

"The future is uncertain. Don't tell me lies to comfort me."

In a rush he stood up, fingers sliding into the back of her hair, forehead against hers. Her breath grew shallow, hands on his chest while they stumbled on the spot together in a wayward embrace. His actions signalled wanting, solace; hers, caution, fear.

Avery's mouth went dry and she swallowed, her voice coming out in the smallest whisper. "Do not pity me."

"Does this look like pity?" His voice was a low rumble in his chest.

She felt his breath on her face, making her hair dance, his thumb soothing. "Then forgiveness, because I am unsure." She stepped back, Ubbe releasing her without much resistance. "Your expectations of our arrangement seem to blind you."

"I don't have any expectations for you. And if I did, you've broken them."

"I am your captive." Avery held her forehead, arm tucked across her chest in frustration, pacing one or two steps back and forth.

Ubbe took a place back on the bed and gestured towards the door. "Then leave."

"I can't just-"

"Then forget the idea of being a captive. While we are on the subject - to be a lot clearer, take this -" From his belt discarded on the floor, he unsheathed a knife. "- and do your worst. Get revenge for all the bad things I have done to you."

The moment he put it in her hand, she let it clatter to the floor. What personal plight rather than striking a deal had he really done? And this deal they had bargained over, what care did she have for it anymore? Benedict sure wasn't on her list of high priorities. She had no one to fight for, to safe keep. And he was incredibly right before, Christian men didn't care. She didn't exist to anybody. Nobody would search for her. And so far, her prayers all remained unanswered.

"Go ahead," he prompted. "I have done a lot of bad things. You should kill me now before I do anything worse to this world. I could kill you? You better rid of me just to be sure." Avery could only stare, her body shaking. "Or, we could just... go to sleep?" He pouted at her, shrugging. "And put this in the past with all the other things. Start over?"

Avery became more serious, crouched down to pick up the knife, holding it out in front of her as she slowly made the little distance between them. She got so close, she was able to hold it to the soft skin of his stomach until the point brushed against him, and he sucked in a quick breath.

"If I ran would you search for me?"

He flickered between her eyes, transfixed, slightly narrowing them before nodding, an emphasis on the words, "I would."

Avery laid the knife on the side next to the bucket, gathered her dress and climbed onto the bed, to the spare side. "Then we shall sleep," she said and covered herself with the furs.

It was a basement, dark in the depths of the old kitchens where they held Benedict. With Ubbe's permission, salted with distaste, he'd allowed Avery to go and see him. Last night had brought back many memories to her mind, and she needed to set some of the conflicted thoughts to rest.

The moment she entered, she found him half sat up against the furthest wall, blinking from the light. He began to crawl, with purpose, just making it to her feet before the ropes snapped and stopped him. He let his fingers curl around the end of her shoe.

Avery tried to keep her composure from the moment he looked up into her eyes. "Avery! Where have you been?" It was more of a demand than a question. And when she didn't reply straight away, he snorted. "Do I need to guess?"

"Father Benedict, my situation is an act upon my own person-"

"Don't even start with trying to rectify the wrong you have done, and are doing. What you should be doing is trying to free me. What use do they have?"

Avery took a deep breath, nodding for Indra to leave them, Ubbe running a hand over his mouth as he paced in the background. The guard outside closed the door for their privacy. "They won't free you. If I asked for it, they would more than likely kill you now. Your welcome is slim - slimming every day."

He grunted and fell back upon his painful feet, panting. "You must free me."

"How? How do you suggest I do that. Even if I could, I couldn't drag you. You can't walk."

"Don't mock me!" he roared, and Avery grimaced, looking at the door. "There will be justice. My fellow churchmen will not save you. Not if I had anything to say about it. I would order your execution; a punishment for all your wrong doings because God can't save you now you have run with the pagans. I would see you nailed, screaming for mercy like you should. You should be begging for mercy from God. And, as you have done, he will not heed you."

"God didn't save me." She crouched, spitting the words between her teeth. "I saved myself. I saved you! Don't talk about my abandonment!"

"Your mind is already poisoned," he said with mirth.

"This isn't about religion. I will not let you guilt me with it either. I came to see how you were, whether there was anything I could do - not that they want me to do anything for you. But you were so eager to damn my entire existence." She glanced at his feet. "I say good day, and advise you to start using your prayers to beg your feet don't rot from the bone. Because they smell like they are."

"God damn you!" Avery flinched back to a stand. "You're only in a better position because you have a cunt between your legs!"

Avery jumped from the door swinging open, and Ubbe stormed in, picking Benedict off the ground by his scruff and holding him against the wall. "I don't know why we waste our time with you."

"Stop!" Avery tried, grabbing his shoulder, but he shrugged her away. "Stop! I won't see him killed."

Benedict whimpered from the weight of standing on his feet. "Heathens," he coughed. "All of you."

Ubbe dropped him in a heap, grabbing Avery as he left, almost swinging her around. Indra followed far behind as they reached outside, where he spun her. "I've done what you've asked and you still see a reason to keep him here? After what he said?"

"I can't damn him like that."

"And we can't release him. Not only will he tell of what's happened. He will more than likely create rumours far worse. What hold does he have on you?"

She pulled her arm away haughtily, out of his grip. "I owe him my life."

"You've returned it. Now there is nothing for him. His feet can't be saved and they speak of amputation. What do you think he'd rather?"

"He's lost sight of hope. That is all."

"And what do you think will happen to him in years to come?"

It was a sudden stab to her chest. "Years?"

Ubbe sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "I was trying to create a time for you to think about. I don't know how long we will travel for."

"So there has been news? About what's happening?"

His posture eased. "We have moved upon East Anglia. The battle is continuing there as we speak. Another marches south. Do you not know the rumours reaching every part of your country?"

"I've always been kept far from it." Avery felt suddenly stupid. "And how would I know anyway apart from what you tell me?"

"As we move, a man decides it is the right moment to take his claim as King. King of England. To unite the lands, a Christian country, while fending off our army. This land lays in ruins." He paused, frowning. "In my eyes, it is a smart move." She didn't understand, about to ask before he continued, "Our war shows that the lands should be united, rather than Earl's and Lord's trying to defend their land individually."

"And Northumbria?"

"Will be ours," he said confidently.

Avery bit her lip, hair flicking against her face from the breeze. "And me?"

"You are mine," he said just as fiercely. "If that is what you decide. But in Viking rules, I have claimed you and shall do what I want with you."

She didn't know whether to be shocked or pleased or fearful, her blood rushing to her cheeks, bashful of his boldness. "Oh."

He sniffed and walked away. Avery's eyes settled on Indra who only smiled at her knowingly before she beckoned her to join her.