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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years

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My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body.

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs smut #captain swan #angel!killian #demon!emma #cs ff #cssns 2021 #cs pwp #pwp #angel/demon AU #kayla writes #my writing

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prepare4trouble · 3 years

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

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

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

(Prompts are still open, by the way)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heahmund?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You… like him,” Hvitserk said instead.

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

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

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

“He’s a Christian priest.”

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

Hvitserk frowned. “And what is the difference?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ivar shrugged. “Maybe. But not today.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you are right,” Ivar told him.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ivar frowned. “Whoever said anything about love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#vikings #vikings fanfic #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

Text

Falling Together Part I

Author’s Note: After receiving such kind words from Tall Tale, I had another idea that I ran with. There will be a part two, so if you want to be added to the tag list for this as well as future works to come, please let me know.

Summary: You enter into an arranged marriage with Ivar, a marriage of convenience, but can you both come together to make it more?

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 3137

Warnings: Language, mild angst

"You need to fuck your wife, brother."

Those were the words that came out of Hvitserk's mouth after they had been sitting in silence. How he longed for better advice from Ubbe, but his eldest brother remained back in Kattegat with Torvi. They had parted as equals, peace finally coming to the sons of Ragnar. For Ivar, Kattegat held only pain and misery, so he had taken to the sea with a handful of ships and a map to Ireland, and once again Hvitserk had chosen to remain at his side. He didn't know what inspired such loyalty from his brother, but he was grateful for his company, most days. Today was not one of them.

"Are you listening, Ivar? I said--"

"Yes, I heard you," Ivar interjected before he could repeat himself. "I'm just choosing to ignore your advice."

Hvitserk shrugged as he pulled meat off of a chicken bone with his teeth. "Alright, but you know I'm right. She's going to want someone to warm her bed eventually, and she won't wait around for it to be you."

"Christian women don't like sex," Ivar said with a huff.

"Not the ones I've been with," Hvitserk said, smirking around a mouthful of meat. "They don't like sex with devout Christian men, but we are not such men."

Ivar frowned into his mug of ale as he thought about you. You were his wife in name only, an alliance forged with your father for lands in the first few weeks they had arrived in Ireland. The wedding had been small, in accordance with Viking tradition, not Christian. You weren't as devout as the Saxons of England, but you had insisted on keeping your cross.

There was no love in your marriage. At first you had appeared hopeful if not reluctant to be sharing in this union, but as many moons had passed, you'd begun to realize you were alone in your efforts. Ivar didn't hate you, even if you were a Christian, but he did not want to be in love again, not after Freydis. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she had betrayed him.

"Why the sudden interest in what goes on in my marriage?" Ivar said, setting down his mug as he watched Hvitserk.

"I'm sure King Conall will be starting to wonder about grandchildren soon," said Hvitserk, leaning back in his chair. "And you have a pretty wife. Others have taken notice already, and she might start to consider picking one. Women don't like to be lonely."

Ivar scowled, hating the apprehension his brother's words stirred up. "She is free to take a lover if she wishes." His voice wavered. Even he didn't believe himself.

"You have changed, Ivar, but not enough that I don't believe you wouldn't kill the man she was with."

Hvitserk wasn't wrong. He still lacked self-confidence as far as women were concerned, and he would take it as a personal slight if you humped some lesser warrior in his army. You never voiced any discontent in his presence, and Ivar was sure he would notice any man becoming too enamored with you.

He rose from his throne, a sudden need to get away from the doubts that the turn in conversation had brought up. Hvitserk looked at him with a grin while folding his arms back behind his head.

"Going to take care of your wife?"

"Be silent," Ivar grumbled. "My marriage is a solid alliance. There's nothing that needs fixing."

"If it's as you say, then forget what I said," said Hvitserk, returning his attention to his plate of food.

Ivar growled as he started for his chambers. He hated not getting the last word in, but nothing he could have said would've proven Hvitserk wrong. Truthfully, he knew little about you or how you spent your days. When he was preoccupied with the duties of ruling, you were off amongst the people, though not without a guard. Ivar was surprised that you had taken an active role in being Queen. Freydis never had, nor had his mother. Your father was a great King, and you must have studied under his exemplary tutelage.

His crutch ticked down the corridor with each slow step, the damp causing his legs to stiffen. Ireland was greener than Norway, but the warmth of the sun would disappear for days behind a wall of grey cloud that brought heavy rain. The long torrents left him miserable with agony, something he fought to conceal from his men.

He leaned on the door as he came into his room, the fire low since the last time it had been tended to by a slave. The bed was empty. This had remained the same since the wedding night. There was a smaller room attached to his main chambers, meant to be used for any future children you birthed. Instead it had become your own personal wing, with no one growing wise to the fact that you slept away from your marital bed.

Ivar slept better alone. The space allowed for him to shift about if the pain became unbearable. Tonight was different. He couldn't keep his eyes from the door to your chamber, even as he eased himself down onto the furs. Reaching for his crutch, he rose again, letting out a low hiss as he forced his body forward. Just one peek would be enough to satisfy him.

Ivar doubted you'd bring any man to your room, as it meant you'd have to drag them past his bed first. Hvitserk's comments had burrowed into his head however, and he needed to be sure. He eased his way through the door, and took a step into your space for the first time. It was a smaller room, not meant to be used as sleeping quarters for an adult, but you had made it into something personal. There was no hearth for a fire. You kept warm under a pile of furs, twice as thick as he needed. There you slept in the middle of the small bed, unaware as he watched this private moment of solitude.

You didn't appear to be in despair. A ghost of a smile sat on your lips. It was a look Ivar was familiar with, even if he hadn't been on the receiving side of it for some time. At first you had tried to smile for him, all attempts to forge a bond with your new husband. He didn't know when you had stopped trying, but now it was a smile you only reserved for others. You never referred to him by name anymore either. It was always 'My King' or 'My Lord', the latter of which he detested.

He breathed a sigh. This was not how he imagined his life would turn when he set out to new lands. There was still the desire to grow his father's legacy, and thus far his Kingship in Ireland was progressing much better than it had in Kattegat. He had been driven by blind ambition and false beliefs that he was anything other than a crippled mortal. The loss was humbling, and even with his new found success he refused to rest on his laurels.

Now that his curiosity was satisfied, he pivoted back towards the door to leave. The thin light coming from the fire in his room illuminated the table beside your bed where you kept your cross. There was something else there as well, a small thing that stopped Ivar in his place. It was a hammer of Thor, whittled from wood and tied to a piece of twine. The craftsmanship was poor, but the meaning of it was something else entirely. Someone had gifted it to you, and you had kept it in a place within reach.

He wanted to inspect it further, maybe even take it back to burn it in his hearth, but he wouldn't risk Thor's wrath, or the chance that you could wake up. Hvitserk's warning about you taking a lover came back with a vengeance and had his stomach feeling like it was filled with rocks. He would have to sleep with this knowledge until he could question you about it, a conversation he did not desire to have. How to broach it would be more difficult still, and combined with the pain in his legs, Ivar found no rest that night.

ooOOoo

Ivar was behaving strangely. Your father had come to visit, which meant there was an unspoken agreement between you and your husband to behave cordially. You had done so many times when the situation called for you both to act as united rulers, but the efforts on your husband's part had never felt this...forced.

During the feast his hand kept pawing for yours beneath the table until you gave up and let him cling to your limp fingers. He was attentive, patient, and even addressed you by name. You concealed your frown as best you could between bites of food. One glance down the table at Hvitserk and you understood that he was perplexed by Ivar's behavior as well. It pleased your father to witness such fondness from your husband towards you, and that had you holding your tongue. You would give your King an earful later.

"Daughter," Your father said, raising his arms to embrace you after you had managed to pry out of Ivar's iron grasp. "You are a smart match together, I am glad you are happy."

"Thank you, father," You whispered into his ear before parting.

"Might I see a grandchild soon?"

You flushed from what looked like embarrassment, but was actually shame. It was a constant hurt inside you, that you had failed to be desirable to your husband.

"Maybe, if we are blessed," You said evenly.

"I'm sure you will be. This is a successful alliance, and I have no doubt your union will be fruitful. We have a son of Ragnar on our side, that is no small thing, but remember you are my daughter, and you will always have a place in my court."

He placed his large hands over your shoulders, as he often did when you were a small child. His cheeks were flushed as red as his beard from drinking, and a merry grin was upon his lips. It had just been you and him for so long, after your mother had passed from sickness a lifetime before. You used to think you could tell your father everything, but now that you were a Queen, your loyalties had shifted to protect your husband and the integrity of your new settlement.

With your practiced smile and a reassuring hand upon his arm, you eased whatever burdens he felt for giving you away to heathens. "I am well father, and my place is here with my people."

"Then I shall depart, and leave you with your husband."

"Hvitserk," You called, and he stood with uncoordinated abruptness. "Please escort my father and his men to the gates."

He seemed to understand your true intentions, shooting you a nod to confirm. You had grown fond of your brother-in-law in a short time, and had come to see him as someone you could rely on. He had no qualms about answering anything you wanted to know. If you had asked, he would have spilled every secret about Ivar as well, but you had refrained from going down that path. You would rather get the truth from the horse's mouth as it were, and now you were about to be alone with him.

Ivar's eyes did not lose the mischief behind them. They were cold blue, like the winters of his home you thought. But the patient smile you had been rewarded with at dinner had vanished, replaced with something shrewd.

"What are you playing at, husband?" You stressed the word as you steeled your stance against him.

"I'm not sure I understand, (Y/N). It is a husband's duty to dote upon his wife as he sees fit," He remarked while his hands gripped tight to the armrests of his throne.

"You can stop pretending now that we are alone. Lord knows I have," You mumbled the last bit, but Ivar had heard. Maybe you had wanted him to.

"Come sit, and talk with me," He said, indicating to your throne next to his.

The seriousness of the request left you with little choice, and you gathered up your skirts while keeping your head high as you made your way beside him. There was a constant cloud of anger that seemed to follow your husband wherever he went, but you didn't think he would hurt you. Sometimes when he would look at you, a wave of sadness would fall over his face, and it was as if he was seeing through you to something else.

"What do you wish to speak of, My Lord?"

Ivar winced, but he recovered by bringing his hand down on top of yours. This again. You kept your hand still as he laced your fingers together, the roughness of his palm stroking against your soft one.

"Are you happy here?" He asked, and the hesitation in the question was tangible.

"Yes. The people are content, and the settlement is thriving."

"That's not what I asked." His tone was curt and to the point. It seemed he wanted to discuss the nature of your marriage, but the timing of it was mysterious to you. "I know the people talk of an heir, as I'm sure your father also mentioned."

"The people will always talk, My Lord. All you have to do is listen and decide what's worth hearing," You said, feeling your fingers start to tingle as his grip held firm. "As for my father, he is as any old King would be. Anticipating a grandchild so that he can pass from this world knowing his blood will live on."

His brow was furrowed into a frown. "When we are alone, call me Ivar."

"Alright...Ivar," You said, sampling the feel of his name on your tongue. You hadn't addressed him as such since your wedding.

"If we had a child, would that make you happy?"

His eyes were downcast as he spoke, which you were glad for, as he didn't see how his words had embarrassed you.

"I never said I was unhappy," You remarked. "And I don't think a child is something we are ready for yet."

"Because we are not in love," He sighed.

"Well, yes and no. I always knew I would marry a stranger with whom I wouldn't be in love. But marriage is a tool to strengthen kingdoms, and spread prosperity to its people. If you have that, you don't need love."

His eyes scrutinized you with something indiscernible, and he let go of your hand. You thought that perhaps your words had hurt him, but you didn't know why. When you had first been brought forth by your father to meet with Ivar, you had thought he was handsome. Perhaps a bit too quick to act in anger, as you had witnessed during the meeting, but you had hoped he was a man you would grow to love. Months later, and you were sleeping in separate beds with your virtue still intact, so it frustrated you to see him be upset by what you had said.

"Is that why you accept gifts from other men," His tone was harsh, and you thought he hated you then by the dark look in his eyes.

You jumped up from your throne, and rounded on him with fury. This marriage had insulted you long enough. "What are you accusing me of?"

He searched for something just beneath the collar of his tunic, and what he showed you was the hammer pendant of one of his Gods that hung from his neck. "I know you have one. Which man gave it to you? I will not have my reign tarnished by a whore Queen, not again."

Your stomach burned from the insult, and much of what he said you did not understand. His insinuation had stung, and you had little care for finding out about what he meant by 'again'.

You pulled the small bracelet out of the sleeve of your dress. The twine was too short to be a necklace, but you wore it all the same because it was special to you.

"You mean this I presume. How you came to discover it, I can only assume you have entered my chambers without my consent."

"I'm your husband, and King, I don't need your consent," He shot back.

"Then let me tell you about the man who gifted it to me one day while I walked the market. His name is Einarr, a son of one of your warriors. He is eight years old, not even old enough to have an armring yet."

You took a small bit of satisfaction to see him struggle to retort. Whatever argument and claims he had built up against you in his head disappeared after your explanation. He sunk back in his throne, and you were pleased to see he had the humility to look guilty.

"Then why keep it hidden?"

"It's special to me, proof that even as a foreign Queen to your people, I can be respected. We haven't established a relationship to share such things," You exclaimed, everything that you had been holding back spilling out in an instant. It took a deep breath to calm yourself, to bring you back to the matters at hand. "I think we should stop...for now. Our alliance has thrived by us acting separately, and perhaps that is how it should stay."

"I regret the things I've said," Ivar hurried to say, his voice now thin from weariness.

It was a small comfort, and you both knew it. "If there is nothing else, My Lord, I should like to retire?"

There was nothing he could have said in that moment that could have kept you there and not made you resentful, so with a wave of his hand, he dismissed you.

When you were far enough away, you let your shoulders sag, and let out a quiet sigh of defeat. Despite how he had hurt you with his words, neither of you walked away the victor. The hill to surmount in your marriage had just become a mountain, and you weren't certain it could ever be conquered. Judging by the crashing and shouting coming from the Great Hall, Ivar's black mood had returned. Maybe he felt the same. You held the small wooden hammer in your hand all the way back to your chambers, praying to any God that would listen to guide you on your way to mending your marriage before it was too late.

Tag List

@blah-blah-fuckit-shit

@tgrrose

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

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 7)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Ik I’ve been uploading a lot of chapters out of schedule, I’m sorry. The Saturday’s ones are never gonna falter, but I wanna upload a lil bit more and a lil bit more often. And on every two weeks on tuesdays I’ll keep uploading spinoffs, but I might upload an extra chapter during the no-spinoff week if the story is going too slow lol.

Anyways, idk if anyone reads these lol, but I’m gonna ask anyways that you please let me know what you think, and hope you enjoy this chapter/story. Thank you!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927

King Ivar talks in his sleep, who would have thought? His voice rouses you from a restless sleep, thinking for a moment he calls for you but it’s just rumbles as he tosses and turns. You sigh in the darkness, and suddenly it feels like the shadows are heavier than before, more suffocating, more…more real.

You don’t know where you are walking to, but you don’t stop until your bare feet touch the wet and cold sand.

With your knees pressed to your chest you keep your eyes on the waves breaking near the coast, closing your eyes and imagining the lull of the ocean is the same as the one you heard from the temple in Eleusis.

But the sand is rougher under your bare feet, the waves louder and more enraged, the wind is more biting and less forgiving. And you are alone, alone and defeated on a foreign land of cold and death.

So you open your eyes, because this isn’t home, and reach with cold fingers for the gifted knife you kept in your person despite the knowledge if anyone here wanted you dead you would be so.

Keeping your gaze on the horizon, you take a hold of the wind-swept tresses of your hair and cut a lock at the end of it. A mark of mourning and a mark for all the deaths you are responsible for.

Holding on tightly to the strands of grief, you extend a hand, a farewell to the Greeks that are not to return, an offering to this land that has brought you nothing but sorrow and heartache.

When you open your hand, the hair flows in the cold winds away from you, and you allow yourself a small prayer in Greek to Macaria to bless their sacrifice, to Thanatos for safe passage, to Persephone for warmth, to Hades for mercy.

And, in a selfish moment, you pray to every God in the Underworld not to summon you home just yet. For if the Fates allow it so, you will see to it yourself that the blood spilled is paid forth.

Because if the King’s word is to be trusted, sooner or later you will walk out of his land a free woman. You will return to Greece, even if you have to wade through blood to do so.

You close your eyes, and the faint smell of snowdrops fills your nose, reminding you of spring and loneliness, of teardrops and homesickness.

A part of you tries to follow the tug on your heart and listen to what the Gods try to tell you, but you’re left cold and alone when you try reaching for the Pantheon you’ve come to know your whole life.

The sound of gravel ruffling behind you startles you, and you turn around with a gasp and a strong grip on the knife Ivar gifted you, ready to at least leave whoever is coming to hurt you with a scar to remember you by.

But it is Ivar who approaches you, strong arms dragging him forward as he moves over the cold sand. His eyes stay on yours as he moves, reminding you for a moment of a serpent approaching its cornered prey.

Still, even if your mind refuses to accept it, your heart lurches in relief, and you loosen the tension in your body. Still you remain quiet as he finds a place sitting at your side, moving his legs with ease to stretch them in front of him.

You lower your gaze to your hands, and only then notice the wrong hold of the knife made you injure yourself. The faint streaks of blood in your pointer finger and near your thumb bring to the front of your mind the sting that comes with the wound you opened by holding the hiltless knife the wrong way.

After a moment of consideration, you bring your hand to your mouth and lick off the blood, letting the knife fall on your lap.

Stealing a quick side glance to the Viking has you finding his eyes on you with a strange sense of intensity in his gaze, a quiet sort of…something. You shrug it off, and stay quiet, but his irritated question is quick to break the silence.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

You’re startled and annoyed at the entitled tone of his voice, but you still shrug.

“I am a free woman, am I not?”

“So you were trying to escape?”

“You would stop me.” You reply without hesitation.

“And yet you still don’t fear me.”

“If you wanted to kill me you would have already, if you wanted to use me as leverage for court games you will need time to do so,” You swallow the shame, the dread, and continue as your eyes look blindly ahead, “And…and if you wanted to take me, you could have avoided all this and just asked.”

Silence stretches between you, and in a moment of weakness you turn your gaze to find his clear eyes already set upon you, seeking and demanding as they always have been.

“You wanted me.”

The tone of surprise, the slightly parted lips that draw your gaze down to his mouth, the way his eyes search your face; it all makes your foolish heart see him in a new light for a fleeting moment, in the light of the man you met in that moldy cabin that was never yours to begin with.

But you remind yourself of what brought you here, of what he truly saw when he looked at you: a foreign witch to conquer.

So, you remind him that the woman he met, the woman that lingered for moments too long on the lure of his eyes, on the curve of his smile, on his expressive gestures; the woman that thought foolishly she could be anything other than the name and titles bestowed upon her; the woman that started to trust him; that woman was gone the moment he put chains on you.

“I wanted the man I met in Aneridge, I have no idea who you are.”

And with just a few words, any trace of softness, any trace of vulnerability, any trace of that strange boyish glances he used to throw your way when you were just a Priestess and he was just a Viking, are gone.

King Ivar curls his nose in anger, lifting his head a bit as he warns you,

“I’m growing tired of your games, Priestess.”

“Kill me, then.” You bite out, even as your voice wobbles. Because you have heard the stories, you have heard the tendrils of voices not quite human reaching your ears. You know he is as cruel and as dangerous as the whispers say, you know he carries the favor of the Dread Lord, you know he was born to be ruthless, to die and return, to suffer and conquer.

But there’s a part of you that wants to test him, dare him.

Use your strength against me, hurt me, kill me. Make me know what I am to feel for you, make me disgusted, make me fearful. I’m tired of hope.

But Ivar just smiles, a cold and angry smile but a smile nonetheless, and turns his eyes head, choosing silence to reign between you until the sun comes up over those distant waves.

____

You approach the city encased in tall walls, and though awe at its size and life pulls at your heart, you cannot help but feel you are walking blindly into a cage.

There’s so many pale and distrusting eyes set on you, gazes persisting on the things that make you different to them: your dress, your hair, your face, your skin.

And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that even in the way you are brought to port you are separated from the other prisoners, from the Christians the Varangian has brought from across this sea. You sail in the same boat as their King, there’s a distance between you and the rest of the men and women in the ship, you are washed and unbound.

You stay silent, and watch raptly as the King moves away from you as the boat docks, discarding the crutch so he can lift himself up to the pier, and standing up again with help of the crutch and a nearby barrel. He lifts his gaze and immediately finds your own, and a cruel smile starts to spread over his face as he stretches a hand in a mocking gesture to help you up.

“Priestess.”

You take your eyes off his instead, and look down at your dress as you grab your skirts and lift them so you can safely move towards the pier. Standing at the King’s side -because you know he would not hesitate to call you to order, to demand your presence where he deems it so, to tug on the invisible chains around your wrists- you take a moment to look over the lively pier, filled of families reuniting, stands of fishermen selling their captures, slaves carrying baskets of goods around, lives blossoming past the winter that seems to pierce the air of this place.

“So this is to be my new prison?” You ask instead of voicing any other thought, a little delighted in the way you put the King on edge.

He doesn’t hesitate in reaching down and grabbing onto your arm, lifting your wrist between the two of you, his blue eyes challenge yours.

“You’re not a prisoner,” He repeats the lie, and although the mark of your struggle against the chains once set upon you is still there, he seems to want you to believe you are free. “You are my guest, Priestess.”

“Guest.” You repeat, and his eyes narrow, his nose furrows. It is too easy to draw out his rage, to get to see ragged edges and bled truths. And you will always prefer rage, prefer anger and chaos, over the mocking cruelty that’s the mask of the King of Kattegat.

He starts walking and the people move as to open a path for him, and considering your only option is to be left alone surrounded by these intimidating and foreign people, you bite your tongue and follow.

“You should be grateful, Priestess, your life could be so much worse, were you at anyone else’s mercy.”

“I know this is a mercy even if you have none,” You acknowledge, and the King stops walking, looking at you over his shoulder as you calmly walk to his side. You meet his eyes, and clarify, “I will still not thank you.”

He grunts as he turns back around, a movement of his head as he arranges his legs to move with the help of his crutch, and even if his back is to you, you still know he is gritting his teeth, the anger written in the lines of his back, in the huffs of air that leave his lips.

“I know, you still choose to hate me.”

“Ivar,” You call out with more softness than you intended to. After the King hesitates for a moment, enough for you to know he is listening, you reach his side again and in a voice that is almost a whisper you offer, “I will never look upon you with anything other than hate, as long as you are the one with all the power and I’m relegated to following your commands.”

____

You are given time as the King addresses his people to clean yourself up and dress up in some fresh clothing. The dresses that are offered to you, the hair ornaments, the earrings and the bracelets, they all scream of foreignness, of being away from home; so you choose to keep your old and stained red dress.

You are brought to the loud and vibrant main hall at the King’s request, and it is with a gesture he orders you to take a seat on one of the tables by his side, though he remains on his throne. You eye the people around you, laughing, drinking, dancing; the world around you moving on and on as if yours hasn’t flipped upside down.

And the stupid, childish, reckless part of you that has made you commit so many mistakes along the way; that part of you wants to refuse him, wants to stand your ground and deny him of any power over you.

But the ambient presses down on you, like the air when you reach a mountaintop, and the people are too loud and too foreign, and the only thing you’re familiar with in this cold and strange place is the eyes that burn like Greek Fire of the King.

So you take your seat at his side.

The way his cruel smile widens, regarding you like a dog that performed a good trick makes your blood boil. Your hands curling into fists and your lips pursing without your intent only seem to entertain him further, which makes the silent interaction a vicious circle you cannot seem to break out of.

“Good girl.” He mocks, because of course he does, because you are an open book and he is a cruel and insufferable man. But you refuse -and so does your self-preservation- to run your mouth, and instead play a game, like you were taught to.

“There’s a first time for everything.” You answer around a smile that the King starts to return, but a voice from somewhere further back in the hall brings your conversation to a close.

“The witch seems fiery. I wonder if she is that hard to tame.”

You were meant to hear those words and the laughs that follow, you were meant to feel the threat, the humiliation. You know this, but even knowing it cannot keep the crawl of your skin, the shame clogging your throat.

The Christians called you a Heathen. These Vikings call you a Witch. There may be a difference, but you cannot see it. Both will try to beat you or rape you into submission, both will see foreign as inferior.

Although you may not see the man that said those words, it seems that that King Ivar does. The cold eyes of someone that has killed for less and would again set on the warrior behind you, and even if curiosity begs for you to turn around and see their expression, you hold your place.

A mumble of apology reaches your ears, but it is not meant for you, so you say nothing. The King shows a quick and purposely false smile before raising his voice,

“Leave us.”

A multitude of questions arise, but again a glare from the volatile King silences any real questioning, and the room feels so much larger and cavernous once the men have left.

Ivar turns to you, studying you.

“So, Priestess.”

The tales your father used to gift you with of unarmed prisoners being thrown into a coliseum against lions and wolves and all kinds of predators are brought forth to your mind as you stand alone in that empty and cold hall.

“So, Viking.” You quip back, crossing your arms to hide the nervous tremble of your hands.

He studies you for a moment, finally asking, “What will you use your freedom for?”

“For the gift to choose, without fear you selling or giving me away like a barn animal.” You reply dryly.

“I can still do that.” He is quick to say, dangling threats over your head like it truly entertains him.

“Not without breaking your promise.” You say, not aware of how much relief his word gives you until this moment.

The King narrows his eyes, annoyance clear in his pale gaze, and stands up from his throne.

You hold your ground as he approaches you, but he instead chooses to sit in one of the chairs in the now empty table. Ivar motions with a bloodied hand for you to take a seat as well, the movement a flourish in mock recognition of your noble birth.

You sit, albeit stiffly. Drinking what you assume to be mead from a goblet, the Viking King regards you sideways.

“And what are these choices you will make, now free?”

You answer with the first thought that comes to mind, realizing too late you give away a little of yourself in the process.

“Find out what the Christians have done with Attica’s ashes.”

“Your kingdom?”

“My kingdom.” You sentence, and even after over a year of denying the people that traveled with you the right to call you Anassa, you realize now that you have been, albeit crownless, acting like it for so long.

After a few moments the Viking narrows his eyes, “You will not return there anytime soon.”

If it’s a taunt, if it’s a threat, you can only hear the stubborn possessiveness of a child refusing to let go of a new toy.

“But I will return.” You promise.

“How are you so sure?”

Looking to the hall around you, you ask, “You returned here, didn’t you?”

You could swear the King looks intrigued, impressed even, for a moment before he dismisses you with a gesture of his hand. He believes you, though, of this you are certain.

But he says nothing else, shrugging his shoulders and drinking deeply before engaging in discussion with one of the men at his other side.

You keep your eyes on the King, and although for a moment you are distracted from the braces around his legs, and the way they do not seem to work normally, when your eyes continue a path upwards and reach his shoulders and arms, you realize he does not need his legs to fight like the men that decimated Stithulf’s army.

You continue your path to his face, and study the braids that trail through the top of his head to the back of it, the proud edge of his nose, the shape of his lips, for a moment tainted with mead his tongue licks away.

The sound of tables and chairs being dragged brings your attention away from your…ogling. You lift your gaze to see two men in the middle of the hall shake off their upper armor and in the midst of laughs and cheers from the others, struggle and wrestle for victory in the middle of the hall.

It seems you are no longer the novelty in the room, and you allow yourself to relax in your seat for a moment.

_____

Hi, hope you enjoyed! I use flowers and animals a lot to point towards the Gods, either Norse or Greek, so: snowdrops are, according to where I searched, symbols of Freyja, created from her tears when she was first brought to Asgad from Vanaheim, and in her homesickness when the tears fell to the earth the flowers bloomed as snowdrops.

Also friendly reminder this Tuesday I’m uploading Ivar’s PoV of the Prologue! I would love for you to read it and tell me what you think. If you want to be added to the taglist, of course please let me know.

Thank you, hope to hear from you, and hopefully I’ll see you Tuesday! :)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #vikings imagine #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Secret Love Part 14 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: And we’ve reached the final Iceland chapter. It only took me six parts to write a 10 day vacation. I hope that this will tie a few things together that you’ve been wondering about. Next chapter it’s back to the real world...ready or not.

Warnings: language, smut (semi-unprotected)

Word Count: 4,092

~~~~~

You were up with the sun the morning of your 8th day in Iceland...well not technically because the summer sun in Iceland is up about 21 hours of the day...but if you were back home, it certainly would have been considered getting up with the sun.

Downing a quick breakfast, you packed up the car and hit the road again. Today was another day filled with a lot of driving and you did your best to entertain Cale by singing along to music as he drove through vast stretches of farmland. You may not have had the best voice but no one could jump through the diverse playlist Cale had made like you could.

Driving down the highway you could see Icelandic horses roaming through the fields and it made you even more excited for the horseback ride Cale had scheduled for this afternoon. First though, you had a quick stop at Hvítserkur to see the sea stack which was said to be a troll who was turned to stone while trying to destroy a Christian monastery.

There, Cale mimicked the stance you imagined the troll would be standing in and you snapped pictures, trying not to shake the camera while you laughed your ass off. No one else could make you laugh quite the way Cale could and you shook your head at him as you headed back to the car.

“What am I going to do with you?” You mused, climbing into the passenger seat.

“I can think of a few things.” Cale joked. And while his words were teasing, his expression was more serious, leaving you feeling like you were definitely missing something.

Three more hours down along the western coast of Iceland brought you to Grundarfjorour, a small village outside of which you were going to ride. Arriving at the farm you met up with your tour guide and then proceeded out to meet the horses.

“It’s been so long since I’ve gone riding.” You murmured climbing onto a platform as you put on a helmet before settling your foot in the stirrup to mount yourself onto the horse’s back. Though it had been a long time, the feeling was familiar and you ran your hands along your horse’s neck as you waited for Cale and your guide to be ready to go.

Cale seemed to struggle far more than you had despite his height advantage and you shook your head in exasperation.

“C’mon Cale...act like you’ve done this before.” You chirped. He stuck his tongue out at you as he finally settled himself in the saddle and you laughed lightly. “You need some work if you’re ever going to be asked to ride in the parade at Stampede…” You continued, shooting him a wink before turning to your guide as she explained where you were headed.

There was something even more beautiful about the highlands of Iceland while on horseback and you continued up through the mountains, past multiple waterfalls as you followed your guide on a two hour loop of the farm. You’d forgotten just how much you loved horseback riding. At the same time, you’d never had as much fun on a ride as you did with Cale beside you.

At the end of your ride, your guide took a few pictures of the two of you before you climbed off of your horse. Treating the mare to some apple slices for a job well done, you thanked your guide once more before continuing on your way once again.

“I think I kind of forgot about how much you love animals.” Cale mused as his hand settled over yours as he pulled out onto the main road. “From catching frogs to riding horses. There were very few things involving animals that you were ever afraid of.”

“I still don’t like snakes.” You declared and your words drew a laugh from Cale’s throat.

“I remember when you screamed bloody murder when we were playing outside and the tinest little garter snake slithered through the grass. I don’t think I’d ever heard such a shrill sound before.”

“To be fair...that snake was like 2 centimeters from where my hand had just been.” You reminded him.

“Sure…” Cale smirked, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand lightly.

“Don’t be mean to me…” You chastised, a pout forming on your face.

“Don’t pout when I can’t kiss you.” Cale grumbled.

“You can kiss me later.” You assured him, turning your head to look out the window once more. After spending another two hours in the car, you finally pulled into your hotel for the evening, ready to stretch your legs.

A dip in the hotel’s hot pools after dinner eased your aching muscles and provided Cale with the perfect opportunity to kiss you just like he had promised to. With only one more full day left in Iceland it felt like time had sped up and you felt the desperate need to catch and hold onto each and every moment before they just disappeared.

___

Your last full day in Iceland started with a trip to see two more sets of waterfalls: Hraunfossar and Barnafoss. Really it was just sets of waterfalls upon waterfalls and you really couldn’t tell one from the other. Still, you were blown away by the absolute beauty of this country and tucked into Cale’s side you were so grateful he had brought you along on this trip. It had been exhausting at times, but it was an experience that you would never take for granted because it had brought the two of you so much closer together.

Looking down at Cale’s checklist, there was only one more typed item on it. A few small sights were penciled in for tomorrow before your flight but those were just quick stops and not a full excursion. You weren’t sure what to expect from the Surtshellir lava tubes but the desolate landscape around the site suggested that this wasn’t the easiest activity in the world. Taking the headlamp that Cale had brought, you clipped it around your head before following after Cale down to the entrance of the tube.

For only being a mile long, the lava tube was not an easy hike. Big boulders covered the floor creating an uneven walking surface. Going slowly, you took care to make sure that where you were stepping was stable and that you maintained your balance. And at first everything was fine.

Then, after walking a good distance - about an hour in - Cale decided it was time to turn around and head back. With Cale in front of you kind of guiding your path, you continued back in the direction you’d come from for about forty minutes. As you moved to step over a somewhat large stone, your foot slipped and you stumbled, pain shooting up your ankle immediately.

You’d managed not to fall somehow but when you tried to take another step you could barely put any weight on your ankle.

“Cale…” You cried out, voice cracking. Immediately your boyfriend turned around at the sound of your voice and seeing you standing balanced on one foot, he darted back over the rocks until he reached your side.

“What happened?” He questioned, his eyes filled with confusion and concern.

“My foot caught wrong on the rock and I slipped and fuck Cale it hurts.” You were trying to stay calm, trying to bite back the pain, but as you grasped at Cale’s pullover to use him for balance, you felt tears prick at your eyes.

“Shit.” Cale breathed, his arm wrapping around your waist in support. “Can you sit so I can see?” He requested, looking around for somewhere you could perch yourself. Nodding, you let him guide you down, his headlamp catching in your eyes causing you to squeeze them shut tightly.

His touch was soft as he shifted your leg to get a better look at your ankle and you crinkled your nose at the pressure of his fingers along your muscles.

“I know it hurts but can you flex your foot for me?” He inquired and the tears finally fell as you tried to cooperate with everything he was asking of you.

“Shh..sweetheart you’re okay...y/n baby look at me…” Cale practically cooed, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I know it hurts but I’m fairly confident it’s just a sprain.” Dropping the backpack he’d been carrying, Cale squatted in front of you, urging you to just breathe.

“Let’s get you out of here so I can get a better look.” Cale directed, calm as ever.

“I can’t put any weight on it…” You whispered, trying not to panic about being stuck in the middle of a lava tube in Iceland fairly far from any medical access or assistance period.

“You don’t have to put any weight on it.” Cale assured you. “Take this.” He instructed, moving to drape the backpack over your shoulders before he kissed you once on the forehead. “Now let’s get you up on your good foot for just a minute.” By taking everything one direction at a time, Cale was working to keep you calm and focused. Balancing on one leg you waited for Cale to move to your side thinking he was just going to help you stumble along. Instead he moved in front of you, his back facing you.

“Alright...up you go.” He expressed, his hands at his sides waiting for something. It took you a minute to figure out what he was getting at and once you did, your eyes went wide.

“Cale...you cannot carry me out of here.” You mumbled in disbelief.

“Yes I can.” Cale declared, his tone leaving you no real choice but to go along. You figured he’d quickly see how impractical it was but as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist he didn’t seem at all fazed by the additional weight or the lack of use of his hands as he reached behind to support you.

It took twice as long as it should have to exit the cave, but somehow Cale managed to not only get you out, but all the way back up to the car.

“I can’t believe you just did that.” You whispered, voice shaking as he sat you down in the trunk of the car. He was a sweaty mess but it didn’t seem to bother him at all as he dug through his suitcase. You thought he was looking for a fresh shirt at least because he’d soaked through both his t-shirt and pullover but instead he pulled out two long strips of athletic tape.

He was ever so careful as he slipped both your shoe and sock off of your foot, his eyes raking over the injured site.

“It’s a little swollen but doesn’t look too bad.” He observed. “Is it as tender as before?” You winced as he pressed against the muscles of your ankle but the pain wasn’t quite as intense.

“Not quite as bad.” You informed him.

“Alright. Good.” Cale nodded, his tongue between his lips in focus. “I’m gonna tape it up and then we’ll go back to the hotel so you can elevate and ice it. Give it a few hours and see how it goes?”

“Okay.” You agreed. You trusted Cale and since he didn’t seem overly concerned, you were going to do what he suggested and see where that got you. As Cale taped your ankle, doing his best not to cause you pain, you dug through your bag for the bottle of pain relievers before reaching for the water bottle in the backpack you’d just shed.

“That should do it.” Cale murmured just as you swallowed the pills. Looking down, black k-tape stretched in multiple ways around your foot and ankle. Shifting forward, your bad ankle just hanging loosely out of the car, you ran your fingers along Cale’s stomach as you leaned up to kiss him.

“You’re my hero, you know that?” You sighed. “Thank you.” Your stomach was twisting with an overflow of emotions and you took a deep breath trying to calm them. “That was like above and beyond boyfriend duties there.” You whispered, trying to lighten the mood.

“Scared me.” Cale mumbled into the skin of your neck as he leaned forward to drape himself over you a little easier. “You’re a trooper though.” He praised. “Now let’s get you back somewhere comfier.” He quickly moved to open the passenger door before coming back to lift you up, setting you down gently onto the seat. Once you were inside you watched him walk around the back of the car to close the trunk and through the rearview mirror you could see him squat down behind the car, his hands running through his hair.

By the time he finally climbed behind the wheel, you could see the wet marks on his cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier. Clearly he hadn’t wanted you to see him cry so you didn’t say anything about it, simply lifting his hand once he tangled his fingers with yours so that you could kiss it. If you hadn’t already been slapped with the realization that you were in love with him, you were pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to deny it after today.

At the hotel, Cale got checked in and took the bags up before coming to help you, supporting your bad side as you hobbled along inside. In your room, he helped you change into clean clothes before fetching some ice and insisting you relax in bed with your ankle propped up and ice on it. Only then did he go about changing himself and you watched him, tears pooling in your eyes. They weren’t from the pain, honestly you didn’t even notice that much anymore, rather it was from how utterly selfless he had been, once again putting all of your needs above his own.

So when he fell asleep beside you, you didn’t say a word, content to just be, certain he needed the nap after hiking through insane terrain with that much added weight attached to him.

Cale had been asleep for about an hour and a half when you finally slipped from bed to use the bathroom. Your ankle was stiff and ached, but the pain was no longer shooting up your leg and you could put some pressure on your foot. Deciding that you were not going to let a minor sprain ruin your last night alone together you quickly grabbed the other lingerie set you’d brought as well as the little black dress. Giving yourself a quick sponge bath, you dressed in the clean clothes before sneaking out for your makeup bag.

Cale was still sound asleep even after you finished and though you wanted to let him rest, you were hungry and you definitely needed to eat before you took another set of pain relievers.

Sliding onto the edge of the bed, you brushed some hair from his face before leaning down to kiss him lightly.

“Cale...hun...wake up.” You urged. As his blue eyes slowly fluttered open, you smiled at the expression on his face as he took you in looking all dressed up.

“Wha…?” The sound spilled from his throat so suddenly that you couldn’t help but giggle softly.

“Your girlfriend wants some dinner. And ankle injury or not...she plans on enjoying her last night with you in Iceland.” Cale pushed himself to sit up in bed and you shifted to move so that he could get up.

“Holy shit you’re hot.” He mumbled and the butterflies danced in your stomach at his words.

“I know. The k-tape matches so nicely.” You joke. “Now get up, clean up if you want, change, and let’s go get some food.” You demanded teasingly.

“Hmm...my girl is bossy when she’s injured. Interesting.” Cale hummed, moving to do what you had requested of him.

When Cale finally stepped out of the bathroom looking refreshed and super sexy in just some nice jeans and a button-up, you snatched the room key off the desk and slid your feet into sandals.

“Seriously...you look stunning.” He complimented again, his eyes taking an extra beat to run up your body.

“Thank you.” Your skin flooded with heat at his compliment and you slid your fingers up along his back as he held the door open for you. “You look really good too.” You grinned.

Dinner was shared over glasses of wine, the pair of you talking about your favorite things from the trip. This time tomorrow you’d be on a plane home and you didn’t even want to think about crawling into an empty bed for the first time in over a week. Focusing your attention on only the good things made you happy and it felt right to essentially conclude your time in Iceland in a similar fashion to the way it had started.

You were a little bit tipsy by the time you returned to the room...both from the wine and the wonderful dinner with Cale. Draping your arms around his waist, you tucked yourself against his chest, peering up at him.

“I know I’ve said it a couple times...but this has been the most wonderful trip…” You whispered. “I’m a lucky woman.”

“After everything...I think this trip was exactly what we both needed.” Cale stated, downplaying his efforts. Sometimes he was too humble for his own good.

“Will you shut up and accept the praise?” You murmured exasperatedly. “Or at the very least...shut up and help me out of this dress?” It wasn’t that you needed his help...it was that you wanted him to reveal the surprise underneath himself.

“Bossy.” Cale repeated, lifting you up and carrying you across the room to the bed. As he laid you down, his hands slid your dress up over your ass revealing the bright blue lace you were wearing. At the sight of the lattice pattern across your stomach, Cale’s eyes practically bugged out of his head and you watched him swallow hard.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Cale grunted, tugging the rest of the dress off of your body as quickly as he could. “Holy fuck.” Cale’s tongue flicked across his lips, repeatedly wetting them as he stared down at you.

Reaching up, you slid your fingers together to undo the buttons of his shirt one at a time. When you reached the final button and Cale had yet to say anything else, you glanced back up at him to find his eyes glassy with lust.

“Cat got your tongue there Cale?” You giggled, the sound turning to a quick shriek as Cale nipped a mark into your neck before kissing you. “Careful with the marks there hun...unless you want our secret to be out the minute we see your parents.” You whispered. Cale seemingly took your words to heart because he dropped down your body, leaving marks on your breasts and lower belly and even your inner thigh...all places summer clothing would cover.

After a moment he returned to kiss you again and though the kiss started messy and x-rated, by the end, it was soft and languid. Knowing that you getting hurt had put Cale through the wringer emotionally and that he was likely thinking about what happened when you both went home tomorrow, you didn’t question him on the rapid flip of behavior. If he needed to work out those emotions physically, you were more than willing to let him use you to reach those ends.

“Make love to me?” You whispered, fingers dragging gently through his hair. “Want you inside me.”

“Yeah sweetheart...I can do that.” Cale agreed, nodding his head slightly before leaning down to kiss you again.

As his hands drifted up and down your body you noted how careful he was being. He was hesitant about the weight of his body over you, how his fingers drifted along your skin, how his tongue explored your mouth as he kissed you. It made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world...and maybe to him you actually were.

By the time he even brushed his fingers against the lace, your body was tingling and heat was spread from head to toe. As much as you were absolutely aching for more, you didn’t dare rush him, knowing that after all he had given you, you could just bear with him to make sure that he was getting everything he needed in return.

As Cale slowly slipped the lace off of your body, you whispered soft nothings to him, watching as his cheeks flushed at your words. When he started to slip down your body, you assured him that he didn’t have to do that...but your words fell on deaf ears and Cale settled himself between your thighs.

“Just need a taste.” He mumbled, his nose bumping against your clit as he dove into your core. Like all his other movements had been tonight, the flick of his tongue inside you was slow. In a way, it was the sweetest torture because you wanted so much more. At the same time, you basked in the way Cale cared for you, affection swirling through you.

Cale’s little ‘taste’ had you far closer to orgasm than you had expected by the time he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. Sliding off the bed, he shucked his jeans and boxer briefs to the floor before climbing back over you, his dick hard against his belly.

“Need you.” You pleaded, desperate to feel the stretch of your walls around him as he settled inside you.

“Don’t worry...I got you.” Cale murmured, his tip sliding through your slick folds before easing inside slowly. Bottoming out, Cale grunted and you moaned, the sounds echoing through the room.

You’d had slow sex before but this was something else. Despite the lazy pace, Cale’s thrusts were immediately unsteady and he quickly ducked his head into your shoulder like he was trying to ground himself.

Torn between the pleasure growing inside you and your concern for Cale’s behavior you trailed your nails lightly over his back while your mouth peppered kisses against his head.

Something was different. Something had been different for a few days. You’d assumed it was nothing...but maybe you’d been wrong. The rotation of Cale’s hips caused you to whine out his name unconsciously and when he lifted his head for just a moment and your eyes met his, it hit you all at once.

He loves you.

He didn’t need to say it for you to know it. The unspoken words, the moments where you felt like you had been missing something, they suddenly all made sense. Immediately tears poured down your cheeks and when Cale realized you were crying he froze.

“Shit...am I hurting you?” He breathed.

“No.” You whispered back, pulling his mouth down to yours so that you could kiss him, pouring everything you had into the action. The realization that he loves you the way that you love him; the fact that you were connected so intimately...it was all too much for your body to handle and you went flying over the edge, your body clinging to him tightly. Your mutual moans were muffled by each other’s mouth and you were coming down from your climax when you felt Cale spill inside you.

When you’d asked Cale to make love to you, you hadn’t been expecting that.

“Holy…” You gasped, your hands shaking as you ran them through your hair.

“Yeah…” Cale mumbled, bracing his hand against your hip as he prepared to slip out of you. “I…” One look in his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking of saying. But honestly, after that, it wasn’t something you needed him to say. You felt it deep in your bones and while of course you wanted to hear it, you had a feeling that the same thing that was holding you back was doing the same for him. There would be a proper time and place to say those words...but right now wasn’t it.

“I know.” You simply replied, cupping his rosy cheeks in your palms. “I know.” Cale kissed you again and it was clear that those words were all you needed to say.

Dress and Lingerie:

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #cale makar nws #nws #lemon #cavalanche #038

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destieltropecollection · 4 years

Photo

Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 6: College AU

Kisses | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: General Word Count: 1227 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, College AU, Fluff Summary: Some Hershey's Kisses, a misunderstanding and a very flustered Dean.

Where the Skies Are Blue | @deservetobesaved

Rating: General Word Count: 1361 Main Tags/Warnings: meet-cute, fluff, mutual pining Summary: Dean is mesmerized by a boy in class, but he doesn't show up again, much to Dean's dismay. (Spoiler Alert: Yes, he sees him again.)

The Dare On Your Lips | @envydean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1540 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - College/University, Truth or Dare, Drinking, Alcohol, Oblivious!Dean, bad flirt!Cas, Dean has the biggest crush, Kissing, Minor Misunderstandings, Fluff Summary: Dean Winchester has had the biggest crush on Castiel, but believes that Castiel isn't interested. Then on one drunken night, Dean is dared to kiss Castiel.

Raspberry Jelly | @envydean

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1729 Main Tags/Warnings: brief Dean/Cassie, No Sex, Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, unexpected bi, College AU, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, accidental (brief) voyeurism, Dean in Panties Summary: After Castiel walks in on Dean wearing a pair of panties and grinding against Cassie Robinson, an awkward (tired-brained) conversation happens that almost ruins their friendship - until it doesn't.

Everything to Me | @suckerfordeansfreckles

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2607 Main Tags/Warnings: jealous Cas, insecure Cas, established relationship, love confession, college AU Summary: Dean pulls back from their kiss eventually, leaving Cas feeling way more than just a little horny, and also honestly very empty. Dean looks gorgeous with those stupid rainbow lights casting colorful streaks on his cheeks in the dark room. He looks gorgeous all the time, actually, and Cas is allowed to tell him now, so he does. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, against the loud music and noise around them, and Dean’s giddy-wide smile makes him even prettier. “So are you,” Dean calls back over the music with a twinkle in his eyes, and then he leans in for another short little kiss. “I’ll grab us some drinks, be back in a minute.” And then he turns around and saunters across the room towards where Charlie turned her cabinet and lunch table into a bar. If Cas wasn’t sure that Dean’s shaking his ass on purpose just by watching him walk away, the wink Dean sends him when he looks back over his shoulder is enough to convince him. For a little while, he just stands there and watches as Dean orders them drinks from the barkeeper Charlie rented for the party. Cas can’t help but consider how he looks, tall, huge muscles, wild dark hair and a blinding smile — just Dean’s type.

Extra Credit | @tobythewise

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2837 Main Tags/Warnings: Professor Castiel, College Student Dean, Bottom Cas, Top Dean, Rimming, Dom/Sub Undertones Summary: After Dean turns in a less than perfect paper, his professor, Mr. Novak, allows him an opportunity for extra credit. Dean REALLY wants that A.

Stargazing Has A Noble History | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3058 Main Tags/Warnings: College AU, college party, casual sex, recreational drug use, frottage, photographer!Cas, business student!Dean, sculptor!Dean Summary: “Dean, shut up. You’re good. Have you seen yourself? You have an eye for dynamic lines and -- look, you’re obviously talented. Why aren’t you taking advantage of that?” The night air is growing cooler but Dean’s face feels like a red hot poker. “That’s what Ellen keeps telling me.” “Ellen? Ellen Harvelle? How do you know Ellen?” “She teaches my sculpting class. I had to take an elective, so.” He shrugs. “And how are you enjoying it?” Dean shakes his head. “I love it."" A first.

I Saw You | @kitmistry

Rating: General Word Count: 5899 Main Tags/Warnings: Secret Admirer, Mutual Pining, Fluff Summary: ISawYou: The newspaper column that has made every student on campus look each other in the eyes. Dean has never paid any attention to the messages posted on the newspaper, but everything changes when Charlie finds one that she insists just has to be about him. Or the one where Dean has a secret admirer.

La Vie A Plus | @thebloggerbloggerfun

Rating: General Word Count: 6260 Main Tags/Warnings: Asexual!Castiel, Artist!Castiel, Pining Summary: Dean Winchester is hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with his best friend and roommate, Castiel. Castiel - with his blue hair, and his tattoos, and his artwork, and his perfect everything. Dean never stood a chance, really. It only sucks because, as far as Dean can tell, Castiel is definitely not interested. But love, much like art, has a way of being unpredictable. Even if you think you know where you're going with it.

Hue Burn | @thebloggerbloggerfun

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 7594 Main Tags/Warnings: Synesthesia, Radio Host!Castiel, Artist!Dean, Summary: Castiel lives in a world of colour and sound, endlessly intertwined like two parts of a whole. As a radio broadcasting student, he runs a small segment on their campus radio program in the evening - and with help from his synaesthesia - tries to make the program more interesting by bringing in a little bit of colour. Castiel views his synaesthesia as both a gift and a curse, but after a chance encounter with a mysterious, stunning, golden-green voice, he's starting to think that it's more of the former.

Dear Virgo | @thebloggerbloggerfun

Rating: General Word Count: 9970 Main Tags/Warnings: Asexual Castiel, Soccer Player Castiel, Journalist Dean, Summary: Dean Winchester is a journalism major planning to coast his last year by mostly just sticking to writing the campus newspaper's daily horoscopes, and he almost succeeds. Enter Castiel Novak, captain of the soccer team, and his next interview appointment. It's obvious from the start that there's something between them, but things don't quite go as Dean first hopes, and he ends up learning a lot more about Castiel than he ever planned on - luckily for him.

Honesty Is All About The Timing | @navajolovesdestiel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 12017 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe Alternate Universe - College/University Childhood Friends Misunderstandings Bisexual Dean Winchester Gay Castiel (Supernatural) Drunk Blow Jobs Slow Burn Happy Ending Summary: Cas Novak and Dean Winchester were inseparable best friends since grade school, but Dean's father moves Dean away when they get to high school. They connect again in college, but neither of them have been exactly honest about their sexual orientation. Not using their words leads to misunderstandings, then problems, then...?

A Study in Motion | @thebloggerbloggerfun

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 24094 Main Tags/Warnings: Photographer!Castiel, Ice Skater!Dean, College AU Summary: Castiel Novak’s one true passion is photography, though he’s still considered just an amateur with dreams of something more. When one of his professors gives the class the assignment of effortlessly capturing the idea of motion in a photograph, Castiel finds himself without a muse until his study partner, one Sam Winchester, volunteers his brother - a professional figure skater with dreams of his own and a past that held him back.

The Stars, They Shine | kradarua (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 52953 Main Tags/Warnings: Theatre, Homophobia, Misappropriated Christianity, Astronomer!Castiel, Accidental Actor!Dean, Gay Panic, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, First Time, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Minor Castiel/Meg Masters, Top Dean/Bottom Castiel Summary: Engineer-in-training Dean Winchester just wants to work on cars. Astronomer Castiel Novak spends his time holed up in the school’s observatory looking at the stars and trying to piece together his dissertation. They’ve never had any reason to cross paths. Not until they get roped into participating in the college theatre group, anyway. When Lisa invites Dean to join her at the mass meeting, he can’t say no to a pretty face. But the joke is on Dean when he accidentally lands the male lead and has to come to terms with memorizing lines and trying not to make a fool of himself on stage. Moreover, despite his best attempts to stay interested in Lisa, there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull he feels around Castiel. Castiel is just here to prove to Charlie that he’s capable of doing something besides research; it should be easy, except he finds himself becoming interested in Dean in a way he really did not expect. Dean is trying to navigate being way outside his skill set; Castiel just wants to hold onto his scholarship without pissing off the religious organization that gave it to him. It’s going to be a long semester, especially if Dean keeps forgetting his goddamn lines. The show must go on!

Evangelist | @valleydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 334403 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - College/UniversityCollege, Drinking, Underage Drinking, Drug Use, Minor Character Death, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Break Up, Rich Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel's Family is Rich (Supernatural), Corporate Espionage, down with capitalism tbh, Near Death Experiences, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), References to Drugs, References to Abuse, References to Depression, Frat Parties, Poker, Roman Catholicism, Homophobia, Fire, Gambling, Drunkenness, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Slow Dancing, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Bartender Dean Winchester, College | University Student Castiel (Supernatural), Student Castiel (Supernatural), Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealous Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, a frankly ridiculous amount of references to abraham lincoln vampire hunter, Secret Relationship, ALSO!! the megstiel is not explicit! Summary: In Lawrence, the Novak family owns more than god. Castiel is expected to graduate with a business degree, become a community leader, meet a nice girl, and one day help run the family business, Evangelist, Inc. Then he meets Dean Winchester, who vehemently opposes everything Evangelist stands for. When Dean’s need for cash to pay the bills leads him down a risky path, both he and Castiel learn there may be more to Evangelist than philanthropy and good will.

#destiel trope collection 2020 #destiel trope collection #destiel #college au #day 6

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nukyster-blog · 3 years

Text

Changing Course Chapter 31) Favorite pet

.-.-.

Things changed again in Castle de Haar; this time in the crippled slave’s favor. For this morning, it was not the Giant stomping into the shed, no, it was Duna the Brunette who was holding up Ivar’s keys.

Ivar’s duties held more of a feminine touch, as yesterday he was brought up one hundred and twenty-four steps into the linen room, where a large collection of tangled bowls of wool awaited him.

His large, calloused hands were not made for the finer arts. That, and being subjected to the gaze of three young women, was a form of torture Ivar had not lived through before.

This mischievous sisterhood of three giggling, eyelash batting women made Ivar nearly wish the Giant would throw him out of the nearest tower. Was it possible to catch a fever from blushing alone? Because his face was on fire from the moment he crawled back onto the pile of blankets.

Being their timid, awkward lapdog did have its perks, however. The food was undoubtedly the best he’d received since his arrival in castle de Haar. Although he did his best to contain himself, he wolfed down the entire content of his plate and finished before either of the three women started. His face must have looked like a stuffed chicken, cheeks still full, while trying to swallow.

The two linen maiden cackled at the way Ivar had to punch himself on the chest to prevent himself from choking on a chunk of bread. The fair-maiden, Mabelia, threw a well-meaning glare at the pair and held out a silver cup of wine for Ivar.

Gulping down the content, Ivar could not help but to feel completely out of place. He was this dirty, vile shadow of filth in the midst of proper, serene creatures, that for reasons unknown wanted him around.

There was something brewing between the three young women, that was evident. Ivar had a sixth sense when it came to others talking about him. After lunch the blonde, Badelog, disappeared and returned with a bowl of hot water and a small, sharp knife.

As Badelog strode up to Ivar, turning the smooth handle in her hands, his face fell and he wondered if she was going to stab it into his back literally, as the three had already done so figuratively.

Luckily for Ivar, his mind still held some control over his body. Instead of slitting his throat, the blonde dabbed his chin and jawline with a cloth drenched with hot water.

Ivar lost all forms of masculinity and embraced the warm touch of Badelog’s hands. Tilting his head upwards like a good little lap dog he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly as the cold touch of her blade pressed against the skin of his cheek. Receiving the first proper shave within a year, Ivar’s shoulders slumped back against the wall and he submitted to the tender care of Badelog.

The three young women narrowly inspected every inch of Ivar’s chin, jawline and lips before fully approving Badelog’s work. With arms crossed, they nodded in agreement and spoke in delighted, fluttery cheers.

Ivar still contemplated jumping from the castle, and he blessed the Gods for the fact that his older brothers were far, far away from de Haar.

The clean shave did feel incredible though; it gave him a feeling of clarity he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

The pampering wasn’t over yet. Duna took hold of a lock of his greasy hair and held it up between her thumb and index finger. She muttered something and both of the other woman nodded in agreement.

A pair of scissors appeared in view and Ivar was just in time to pull his hair from Duna’s fingers.

“No!” He spoke resolutely, “no”, and he tugged his long hair behind his ears.

For some reason, the three young women thought his action was both funny and endearing. Their high pitched gasps made Ivar’s face sear so vibrantly it could warm up the sun.

Focusing on the tips of his toes, Ivar wished the young women would continue their work so he would no longer be the centre of their focus. This small favour was granted, and Ivar managed to breath again. Cautious, he rubbed his fingers over the smooth skin of his jawline. He knew it brought out his boyish features, sending him back a few steps into boyhood.

Ivar never considered himself handsome, nor beautiful. The heads he did manage to turn in Kattegat had always been because of his disability. He was a cripple and he did not expect anyone to look past that hideous default.

So, maybe if he’d taken the trouble to learn a little bit of basic Dietsch, and would have been brave enough to peek up, Ivar would have noticed how the three young women were slightly enchanted by the presence of the cripple of de Haar.

The extraordinary stranger, who’d stood up for the black skinned slave against Ludolf and taken a horrendous flogging for it. No, those three young women hadn’t forgotten his bravery, for all three of them were subjected to the twisted cravings of the young ruler.

It was hard not to be drawn to this hero; with long, tousled, dark brown hair. His eyes, a mesmerizing deep blue like the ocean. With strong hands, rough from working, and with skin kissed by the spring sun.

A handsome hero, a survivor of a death sentence; it would be hard for any woman to ignore those facts or features.

.-.-.

Piglet did not speak a word about Ivar’s refreshed appearance. She did not speak a word at all, but her disapproval was evident. Utstott sided with her, quite literally. The slave and the puffy white raven were united in their disdain toward Ivar siding with the Christians, forming a bond.

Utstott sat on top of Piglet’s bandana, cawing raucously at Ivar when he tried to pet the bird. Utstott hopped from Piglet’s head to her shoulder, receiving a few pieces of veiny beef from the young woman. It was the only meat of that evening’s meal and Piglet gave it to the bird instead of sharing it with Ivar. As she fed the bird her eyes were scorching and smoldering, daring him to say something about it.

Ivar cut his losses and ignored the flaring dark eyes and the beady blue one. He’d eaten like a King in the midst of Duna, Badelog and Mabelia. Surely he’d survive the night with this meager meal.

“They call me teer kind, tar child”, Piglet announced as she picked up their plates, “your two new well-wishers”, she continued when Ivar raised his chin in her direction, “pulled my headscarf off and ran off laughing”, she gave half a shrug and straightened her back, “I’d rather crawl over hot coals then show any man my hair”, she paused and picked up the last plate, “and the wife of Ludolf, she’ll break soon. She won’t last long.”

Ivar couldn’t decide if Piglet’s last words were meant as a threat or a promise. He didn’t respond to her spiteful words. His lack of reaction only flared up Piglet’s resentment and the young woman spat in his direction, positioning herself in the furthest corner of his box to spend the night. Her attitude over Ivar’s improved way of work did strike him below the belt. In her eyes he betrayed her, but in all honesty, he had no control over the orders he received. Sure, today’s labour was hardly enough to call work, but it wasn’t like he wanted to spend an whole day with the three young women. At least, that was what he was whole-heartedly telling himself. That he did not have a choice, that of course, he hated slaving for the Christians. It was easier believing that lie, instead of facing the fact that he deeply wished that tomorrow, he’d have to crawl up those endless stairs again.

.-.-.

Ivar’s place as favorite pet was short term. The next morning Duna did come to unshackle his chains, but instead of climbing a hundred and twenty four steps, he was sent into the kitchen. Duna’s expression had been blank as she pressed a knife and bowl into his hands.

Anxious, Ivar started his task of peeling potatoes, occasionally glancing at the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fair-maiden.

In the evening Piglet’s resentful mood lessened for a bit, they played their game and to keep the atmosphere bearable for the rest of the night Ivar did not ask anything about the fair-maiden or the linen maidens. Utstott still bore an attitude towards Ivar, but allowed him to pet it’s growing feathers as a token of peace. The raven had found itself a place during the night on top of Ivar’s box and kept it’s one functioning eye open. For some reason it was quite reassuring to have the bird keeping watch at night, it allowed Ivar to relax and actually catch a good night sleep.

A few days passed and Ivar dreaded the familiar boredom of mindless tasks inside the kitchen. He met the linen maidens occasionally, tried to respectfully smile at them, but didn’t dare to approach them. He wasn’t sure if that might be a sign of crossing boundaries and under the watchful eyes of Big Cunt and Little Cunt, every move was registered. He knew the linen maidens were also one of the lower residences of De Haar, yet he still remained at the bottom, last in rank.

Both the young women seemed hesitant to even acknowledge his presence and ignored him, without the fair maiden’s protection as future ruler, they chose to linger on the safe side. Which meant far away from Ivar; the scapegoat of the Giant.

The absence of the fair maiden made the brute crawl out of his hole, which of course meant Ivar was quickly pulled from the kitchen and placed back aside the well. Cleaning chamber pots.

“Rumor has it,” Piglet spat coldly, sitting on the stone wall of the well she’d brought Ivar a chunk of bread, “that she’s with child.”

She did not need to be specific in her revelation, and both remained silent for a while.

Once more, conflict began to swell inside Ivar’s ribcage. It was a fight between Viking and Slave. His pride and heritage forbid it to feel any sliver of sympathy for the young woman bound to bear a child of a monstrous husband.

Yet the crippled slave still savoured the memory of her lips pressed against his, it didn’t matter that it had only lasted for a mere moment. Her kindness confused him, yet intrigued him immensely. She wanted something of him, hope, above anything. And although the guilt ripped him to pieces, he wanted to be near her. Even if it was as a humiliated lapdog. Because in a way, Mabelia made him feel less damaged. On the contrary, there was an odd sense of worship in her gaze, every time their eyes met. She truly believed that he was de Martelaar, favoured by her God.

Maybe that was another thing that tore him up inside; her high expectation. She must have known why Ivar was being punished with forty lashes. He’d drawn her husband’s blood to protect Piglet and he knew she longed for him to save her virtue too.

And he failed her, dreadfully.

“She won’t last long,” Piglet whispered thoughtlessly, picking at the moss covered wall of the well, “she won’t last long.”

.-.-.

A/N: So what I liked about tv Ivar is that he can be 100% ruthless, barbaric, a tyrant, the worst of the worst. Yet at the same time, place a woman in the same room and he turns into this awkward teenage boy. Humbled by the mere sight of a woman of his interest. Remember the first moment with Freydis? He just victored over York, poured boiling gold into the mouth of a priest. Worst of the worst, evil, demonic. And then watch how he sort of melts for simply being kissed. Sorta -am I worthy?- So yes, that’s a part I kind of wanted to explore a little further in Changing Course. His reaction to kindness, women of his peers, the confliction of liking them versus being a Viking. Versus being Piglet’s companion. I’d love to hear your thoughts about my A/N and about the chapter of course.

Xoxoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff @pieces-by-me @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 @lauraan182 @conaionaru @sarahh-jane @peachyboneless @adhdnightmare If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

#ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless fanfic #ivar's heathen army #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #viking fanfic #ivar oc #alex hogh andersen

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resignedseraph · 3 years

Note

// details of religious abuse and cults + mention of lgbtphobia

I hope this is okay to ask, but how to tell if the church u belonged to was a cult and when it’s ok to call yourself a cult and/or religious abuse survivor..also apostate? what are some subtle aspects of a cult? i was forced to go to (southern Baptist Christian) church sometimes(or be kicked out.. yes as a child) and when I did there were some ... unusual teachings ... by the people there and my family members would try to push those harmful teachings onto me as well and still do. It’s made me feel repulsed and uncomfortable by Christianity and feeling a lot of hatred towards it, It’s made me want to go against All of its teachings. some unusual teachings are like: don’t watch movies like Harry Potter or listen to “inappropriate” music especially with even a single curse word because the devil will get you through them, you need to be Christian and convert your family or else u will go to hell.. if u do not successfully convert your family members then u are responsible and you will all go to hell, lgbtphobia, if u don’t go to church then hell, the devil is always around, trying to push that Christians are most oppressed, threats of the rapture, and so on. Is that just normal? /gen

Okay first off no that’s not normal (or at least it’s not healthy). For southern Baptist churches specifically though, similar beliefs are much more widespread because the denomination as a whole shared similar beliefs.

Second off, this is a little out of order, but bear with me. Personally, I used the BITE model developed by Steven Hassan when trying to figure out whether the cult I grew up in was a cult. It’s not some sort of yes/no guideline, but if a particular group checks a lot of the different types of control on the list (behavior, information, thoughts, and emotions), then I’d say it’s safe to call it a cult. If it checks those type of control but you’re not comfortable calling it a cult, you can always call it a high control group or a cult-like church.

From what you’ve said though, the church does check a lot of the types of control in the BITE model.

Being forced to go to a church/being forced to do certain things or else you’d be kicked out -> behavioral control (plus an example of black/white thinking and consequences). Being told not to watch HP or listen to inappropriate music -> behavioral and information control (after all, music and fiction can be powerful things). Pressure to convert people -> behavioral control (and possibly thought/emotion control, because most likely they wouldn’t be too happy if you didn’t want to convert them). “The devil is always around” -> possibly all four types of control. If it’s similar to the Baptist churches I’ve been a part of, there’s likely more (purity culture, being told to forgive people no matter what, being told not to hate, being told not to seek out other information like with other religions, etc).

Some other common things used by cults that I would encourage you to research include love bombing, and black and white thinking. Theramintrees is actually a great channel for that imo, since the guy who runs the channel is a licensed therapist and religious abuse survivor himself.

There’s also things which personally I consider like... backup almost? Or fuel for more harmful beliefs. Hell of course is a big one, and is particularly easy to use because the threat of it is enough to get people to do things, but you can’t actually prove it exists. Same thing with the devil. Yes, people attribute things to the devil, but they could use the same logic telling you about an evil invisible milk carton, and just expect you to believe it because they’re in a position of authority.

In my opinion at least, no healthy religion or belief system should hinge on broad threats of harm that can be applied to nearly anything someone wants to control. The rapture is a similar belief, since you can’t prove it will happen, but the idea that it might holds so much power that people can use it to their own purposes. Persecution complexes are also really common in Christianity. Rather ironic that one of the religions most used in conjunction with colonization and imperialism is also the one that from the inside they say is the most oppressed. It’s basically just an excuse to try to keep control and power by trying to invent a power dynamic that doesn’t exist. It can also ofc be used to back up other behavior.

As far as religious abuse goes, one important thing to remember is that others trauma being worse or better doesn’t make yours invalid, whatever the extent of it is. The core of religious abuse is using religious framework to encourage and enforce abusive behavior and dynamics. You can totally take some time to do more research and think about stuff, but I definitely wouldn’t be offended or anything if you called yourself a religious abuse/cult survivor. With “apostate,” I’m not quite as well versed in what it does/does not include since the terminology wasn’t used much growing up, but it basically just means someone who after converting, decided to leave of their own free will. There’s probably more but I honestly don’t know much more than that.

Anyway this was really long but I hope this helps!

#ex christian #ex cult #cult survivor #religious abuse #hell tw #devil tw #rapture mention #scrupulosity tw

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Eitr | Chapter 12

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

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

LATER THAT DAY

FORANGAL CASTLE, SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Sigurd gazed down at his hands, staring blankly into the distance as his mind tore itself apart with guilt.

His clothes were still stained with numerous splatters of Gjuki’s blood, and even though Aegenwulf finally decided to spare his life, Sigurd remained trapped in a pit of remorse, suddenly feeling an urgent desire to return home.

...What had he done? What had the Saxons turned him into? Was his mind even his own anymore? What would Eivor think about all this?

Only a handful of weeks had drifted by ever since Sigurd first washed up on Agenbury’s shore, and yet, the man felt as if a lifetime separated him from the past. He hardly recognized himself anymore after everything that had occurred, and considering how things were unfolding so far, part of him wished Edlynne had left him at the river.

He didn’t deserve to be here, or in Valhalla. Backstabbers such as himself belonged in the darkest depths of Helheim, and Sigurd had no idea how he was going to face his brother once all this was over.

He wanted nothing more than to reunite with the fragments that remained of his family, but in light of recent events, Sigurd was now beginning to question his true motives, and how much survival really meant to him.

It would’ve been a dream come true to see Eivor’s face again, that much was true, but what would it matter if Sigurd didn’t even return as the same man? His brother was fighting to bring back the sibling he grew up with back in Fornburg, and yet, Sigurd felt as if he had become a total stranger.

There was barely anything left of the person he once was, and with Algar’s influence constantly digging deeper into the ealdorman’s mind, Sigurd didn’t even want to think about what he’d have to do to survive in the future.

Things were bad enough as it was. Any worse, and all Hell would break loose.

“Sigurd.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, the viking suddenly realized he wasn’t alone in his chambers and spotted Edric standing in front of him, trying to get his attention.

His brow was furrowed deeply in frustration, and judging by the weary look he wore on his face, Sigurd assumed he had just walked away from some sort of argument. Probably with Aegenwulf himself.

Sigurd glanced up at the man, still somewhat lost in shock. “...Edric? What are you doing here?”

The Saxon frowned in sympathy. “I apologize for intruding like this, but there’s something important you need to know. A decision was made after you left the throne room. Before I tell you about it, though... I wanted to see how you were doing first. That trial was just...” Edric sighed in disgust, “...well, you know.”

He took a seat next to the Norseman, bowing his head low in exhaustion.

“God, what an absolute mess. I knew my father had changed, but I never realized just how unhinged he was. What on earth was he thinking? Forcing two men to fight like a pair of animals. Jesus... if the Danes didn’t hate us before, they certainly will now.”

Edric turned to Sigurd, switching to a gentler tone. “I’m so sorry, Sigurd. If I had known what my father intended, I would’ve stepped in sooner. I would’ve tried to speak with him. I would’ve--”

“--You’re not to blame.” The viking replied, his voice cold with anger. “You did everything you could.”

The other man let out a breath. “Maybe. I just wish it would’ve been enough. I mean, I’m glad to see you alive, but... my God. That poor man. What was his name. Gjuki? What the hell did they do to him?”

“I feared he had already been killed,” Sigurd admitted. “But now, I’m starting to think that would’ve been a better fate.”

“No one deserves what he went through,” Edric agreed. “I still can’t believe my father would allow all this. He used to be so kind, and compassionate. He was always a firm man, but he never indulged in such cruelty. What’s happened to him?”

It didn’t take long for Sigurd to provide an answer. “Your father is no more than a pawn for Algar to use. You wish to eradicate the corruption in Wedenscire? You must get rid of him first.”

Edric picked up on his tone. “Why? Have you learned something?”

The viking nodded. “Before Gjuki drew his last breath, he revealed to me what he found in Algar’s crypt. Apparently, the man is part of the Order of the Ancients. His alias among them is The Colossus.”

Edric displayed a puzzled look. “The Order of the Ancients? I’ve never heard of them. Have you?”

“Yes, actually. Though, my knowledge on them is far from abundant. Before my clan was attacked, my brother pursued some of their members who were operating in Lunden. I also know there are many others spread across England and Norway. They worship a god whose name I’ve never heard, and their motives remain a mystery to me. I have no idea why they would be interested in your father, or how Gareth is connected to all this.”

The nobleman slid a hand down his face. “Christ Almighty. What has my family gotten itself into? I’m not familiar with this organization, Sigurd, but I’ll do whatever I can to learn more about them. If they’re as widespread as you say, there must be something we can find. Something that can put Algar down for good.”

“Just... tread carefully.” Sigurd warned. “Gjuki was on the same path as you before Algar captured him. I don’t want you to share his fate. There’s also the fact that he’ll likely be even more protective of his secrets now that someone has infiltrated his crypt.”

“Of course. I’ll be as discreet as possible.”

The viking decided to switch topics. “Well, enough about that. I’d rather not spare another thought on that bacraut after everything that’s happened. You mentioned you had something else you wanted to discuss?”

Edric sighed. “Right. You’re not going to like it. It’s... Bishop Hundwerth.”

Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What has he done now?”

“He insists that you convert to Christianity. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but I’m afraid Lady Moira’s voice overpowered mine. My father’s decided that you’re to be baptized tomorrow morning, and recognized as a man of God.”

“But I already proved my loyalty,” the other man argued, his tone sharp with bitterness. “Wasn’t that the whole point of pitting me against my own friend? Or was that simply for their entertainment?”

Edric shared Sigurd’s annoyance. “That’s not how the bishop sees it. In his eyes, the only thing you proved is that you’re willing to murder one of your own if it means saving yourself. You may have given your word that you won’t betray us again, but for Hundwerth, the word of a pagan holds little merit. He’d rather trust the promise of a Christian.”

The Norseman rose from his bed, pacing around the room. “So it’s not enough that they torture my people and force me to slay them? Now I must also abandon my gods?”

The Saxon bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Sigurd. The unfairness of this situation isn’t lost on me, but I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do. My words seem to fall on deaf ears nowadays.”

“...It’s not your fault. You’ve already done more than enough for me.” Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, gazing out the window. “I suppose there’s no use in fighting it now. I’ve seen the kind of punishment that awaits me if I resist. I do not wish to leave my gods behind, but...” his voice softened with heartache, “...if this is the cost of survival, then... I’ll do it. I need to get back home alive. I need to see my brother again.”

Edric’s head jerked up in confusion. “Your brother? I thought he was dead.”

“So did I, but Gjuki informed me of his survival not too long ago. He was the only thing keeping us in touch. Now that he’s gone, I’m at a loss as to how I’ll contact my brother again should the need arise.”

The young man stood up from the bed and stepped behind Sigurd, resting an affectionate hand on his arm.

“...We will get through this, Sigurd.” He whispered reassuringly. “I know it can be easy to forget, but you’re not alone in these walls. You have Edlynne, Joseph, Raedan... and me. We’re here for you.”

The viking held onto Edric’s hand and turned around to face him, finding a sense of solace in his words.

“Thank you, Edric. These are dire times, but your kindness won’t be forgotten in the days to come.” Sigurd pulled the young man close, pecking a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad I have you at my side.”

Edric smiled in his embrace, resting his head on the man’s chest. “As am I.”

Falling into silence, the two of them simply stood there for a moment and savored each other’s company, attempting to cling onto any shred of comfort they could find. The entire castle had descended into disarray after Aegenwulf’s unpopular decision to spare Sigurd, and with Bishop Hundwerth preparing for the upcoming baptism, it seemed like peace in Forangal was naught but a distant memory.

There was arguing, debating, contempt, scorn -- and seeing as how Gjuki’s head was now displayed on a pike, Edric imagined that the war with the Danes would only erupt.

It was Hell on earth inside Forangal’s walls, but with Sigurd there to protect him from any threats, Edric was able to feel some sense of security. It meant nothing to him that the man was a Dane, or a pagan rather than a Christian. He knew Sigurd to be good at heart, and frankly, despite what he expected, he trusted him more than his own father these days.

He only prayed that the tides of fate would be merciful in the near future. If he were to lose Sigurd to the chaos that was beginning to unravel, Edric didn’t know how he would proceed. That man was the only one willing to help him look into Gareth’s death, and if his instincts were correct, then Algar was at the center of it all.

He would need all the help he could get in order to take that beast down, and if that meant they had to fight for just a little longer, then Edric was willing to endure it. He just didn’t know where to start.

~~~~~~~~~~

TWO DAYS LATER

ELMENHAM, EAST ANGLIA

Galloping towards the longhouse at full speed, Broder frantically stormed his way back to Eivor as rain heavily poured down from the clouds above, shrouding everything in a bleak darkness.

He had been running for his life ever since Algar cornered Gjuki at the crypt, and with the majority of their group now lying dead in the mud, Broder had no intentions of returning to Wedenscire until Eivor himself marched for the gates of Forangal.

He hated the idea of leaving Sigurd behind to deal with his troubles alone, but considering how erratic the ealdorman had become recently, Broder was no longer willing to risk it. Not on his own, at least.

He saw for himself what the Saxons did to Gjuki, and how they treated his corpse. He may have been eager to help Eivor reunite with his brother, but Broder had his own siblings to look out for, and the last thing he wanted was to end up being a mounted head for some Saxon nobleman.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

Yanking on the reins of his horse, Broder came to a screeching halt as the animal’s hooves went dragging through the mud, causing the steed to let out a panicked neigh. His body was aching terribly with fatigue thanks to the long journey, but even then, the viking refused to take a break. His mind had been trapped in a perpetual state of alarm ever since Gjuki’s death, and he was adamant to get the news back to Eivor.

Rushing to the entrance of the longhouse, Broder trudged through the storm and practically bashed the doors open, ignoring the curious stares he received from scattered civilians.

Even though the rain had washed away most of the blood staining his armor, he still remained quite a sight to behold and traipsed through Elmenham’s fields like a walking corpse rising from its grave.

Once inside, Broder spotted Eivor conversing with Oswald and Valdis as the three of them discussed the war, clearly devising some sort of plan. Their voices were nearly inaudible underneath the relentless howls of the wind, but in spite of the interference, their heads still jolted in Broder’s direction upon his obtrusive entrance, causing them to let out a unanimous gasp.

“Brother!” Valdis greeted with relief. “You’ve returned.” Her expression instantly dimmed. “...Are you well? You look awful.”

The man jogged up to them, doing his best not to collapse on the spot.

“Eivor...!” Broder exclaimed, somewhat out of breath. “There you are. I... I...”

“Easy, drengr,” Eivor said in a calming tone. “Slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”

Broder took a moment to get his bearings, finally recovering from the treacherous ride home.

“...Gjuki’s dead, Eivor.”

Valdis’ eyes widened in horror. “What? What do you mean he’s dead? What happened?”

Broder decided to spare them the details. “We were searching a hidden crypt in Wedenscire, not too far away from Forangal. We thought there might’ve been clues inside, and there were, but...”

Eivor urged him on. “But what?”

The other man shook his head in regret. “It was the ealdorman’s housecarl. An argr snake called Algar. He captured Gjuki and slaughtered the rest of our men. I was the only one who managed to escape.”

Oswald caught onto his last words. “Wait, he captured Gjuki? So he didn’t kill him immediately?”

“No,” Broder confirmed. “Algar took him to the dungeons.”

An alarming thought struck Eivor’s mind. “Wait, what about Sigurd? Where is he now? Is he alright?”

A dour look spread across Broder’s face. “He’s alive, but... Gods. It was madness, Eivor. When Algar took Gjuki in, it didn’t take him long to realize that he was working with Sigurd, so the ealdorman held a trial. They were willing to spare your brother’s life in spite of his crimes, but he had to do something in exchange. He had to kill Gjuki.”

Eivor froze at the news.

“...Sigurd... killed him?”

“Yes. He did not wish to, but the Saxons left him no choice. It was either him or Gjuki. He chose to comply in the end.” Broder turned to his sister. “...I tried everything I could to save him, Valdis. I did. But it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

The woman crossed her arms, trying to hide her pain. “I--” she choked up, “--oh, Gjuki...”

Broder hesitated to get the last part of his report out. He hated to constantly be the bearer of bad news, but he knew it was necessary.

“...There is one more thing, Eivor. While we were in the crypt, we learned that Algar was part of the Order. There were a series of letters between him and some of the other members in their organization, but he’s burned them all now.”

Oswald paused. “A member of the Order? In Wedenscire? Are you certain?”

“Indeed. They call him The Colossus.”

Eivor mindlessly clenched his fist in response to the report and brought his attention to the king, unable to conceal the fire raging in his eyes.

“Oswald, we must march on Forangal now. We have enough allies.”

The Saxon hesitated. “You’ve rallied a decent army, Eivor, but I’m still not certain if it’ll be sufficient. Forangal is a hefty fortress armed with many defenses. If we’re not careful, it could result in total obliteration.”

“We don’t have time to forge anymore alliances!” The viking argued. “Sigurd needs us. Now. Those Saxons have already butchered Gjuki, and they have the Order among them. It won’t be much longer until my brother is the one on their chopping block. We need to get him out of there as soon as possible.”

Oswald remained unswayed. “I understand your urgency, Eivor, but we must approach this realistically. Not many people walk away from Forangal with their lives, and for good reason. We only have one chance to do this right. Better to wait a little longer and ensure we’re prepared, rather than march straight to our deaths.”

The king turned to Broder. “You were there, Broder. What’s your opinion on the situation in Wedenscire? Can Sigurd afford to wait?”

The man furrowed his brow in uncertainty. “I... I don’t know, my lord. It’s difficult to say. He’s managed to survive thus far, but his captives have become unpredictable recently. Relentless. They’ve even forced Sigurd to convert to Christianity.”

That took Oswald by surprise. “What? When did this happen?”

“Just after Gjuki died. I overheard the nobles in the castle speaking of a baptism before I left. One of them was against the conversion, but the rest decided to go through with it.”

Eivor’s expression flattened with frustration. “You see? We must go now. Before they try anything else. I’m done cowering in the shadows.”

“But what if--”

“--Eivor’s right.” Valdis jumped in. “Those people are animals, Oswald. You’ve seen for yourself what they did to the Raven Clan; what they did to Randvi. If there’s any chance we can save Sigurd from the same fate, we need to take it. We’ve idled for long enough.”

Oswald was at a loss for words. “...I really don’t know how this is going to work, you all. We have enough forces to put up a decent fight, but... assaulting Forangal Castle? That’s a completely different story.”

Broder offered his own thoughts. “Do not be so quick to dismiss the unlikely, my lord. It happens more often than you think. Those are Gjuki’s words. Not mine.”

“Have faith in our strength, husband.” Valdis continued. “We are warriors. Drengir. Children of Odin. We were born and bred for this sort of thing. We will not fall so easily to these Saxons. Let us go.”

Oswald fell silent at his friends’ arguments and sighed in defeat, conflicted on what to do next.

On one hand, he sympathized with Eivor’s eagerness to storm Forangal’s gates, but on the other, he honestly didn’t know if their soldiers could survive such an endeavor. Their army was just large enough that the plan could’ve succeeded with the help of a miracle, but despite his youth, Oswald was world-weary enough to know that battles typically didn’t favor the disadvantaged.

Anything could’ve gone wrong during this assault. Aegenwulf could’ve had more forces than they anticipated, an ambush could’ve stopped them along the way, or -- worst case scenario -- Sigurd could’ve already been dead. There was an abundance of unknowns lurking around the corner, and with so many risks obscuring the path ahead, Oswald wasn’t sure if war was the answer. At least, not for now.

Still, he feared what could’ve happened to Sigurd if they waited too long. Based on Broder’s report, it sounded like the man was going through hell at the moment. If there was any opportunity for them to rescue him from Aegenwulf’s clutches, Oswald felt complied to seize it.

Eivor did the same for him when he was taken prisoner at Burgh Castle, so it only seemed right to return the favor.

“...Alright, you three.” Oswald finally agreed. “We’ll march on Forangal Castle as soon as we are able. Eivor, summon your allies. Tell them to meet us here. When they’ve arrived, we’ll begin making our way to Wedenscire. In the meantime, the rest of us will focus on the assault. My troops are yours to command as well.”

The viking gave him a firm nod. “Thank you, Oswald. I won’t fail you.”

“I have confidence in your abilities. I just hope that it’ll be enough. As for the rest of you...”

Oswald linked his hands together behind his back. “Get some rest. And prepare as much as you can. We don’t know what sort of resistance we’ll face in Wedenscire, but I think it’s safe to assume that our forces will be stretched thin. Do everything in your ability to ensure you are ready for this assault, and keep your guard up. We have evidence that the Order of the Ancients is involved now, so Lord only knows what Algar will have up his sleeve.”

Broder stepped in. “I’ll join the assault too.”

“No,” Oswald refused. “you need to rest. You’ve been through enough.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty, Gjuki is dead because of my incompetence. Out of honor, I cannot simply sit by and watch while your people risk their lives for a mistake I made. I’m still here because of that man. This is the least I can do for him.”

The king decided to grant him permission. “...Very well, then. I expect to see you at Forangal. As for you two, spread word of the assault to our soldiers. I want them to be prepared as well.”

Eivor nodded. “As you wish.”

“Good. Then let’s get to work. Sigurd’s life depends on our efficiency, and there’s no telling what will happen once Aegenwulf realizes who’s behind the assault. From what I understand, the man is growing more and more unstable by the day. Brace yourselves for anything... and may your gods watch over you all.”

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #male oc #sigurd x male oc #ac valhalla fanfic #eitr

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adenei · 3 years

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Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride - Chapter 1

Readn on: AO3 || FFN

Mozart found his calling at age five, composing his first minuet. Picasso discovered his talent for painting when he was nine. Tiger Woods swung his first club well before his second birthday. Me? I was eight when I discovered my purpose in life.

I was at the Hillsong Church in London for my cousin Tessa’s wedding. It was the first big outing for Dad and I after Mum passed away, and he wasn’t doing very well. I needed to use the bathroom before the ceremony began, so I excused myself to do so. As I was washing my hands, I heard a scream, and the bride came running out of her suite.

“Shit!” she said as she turned to look at the three inch tear on the back of her wedding dress. When she saw me, she apologized for her language. “Sorry, Hermione!”

“It’s okay, we have cable,” I said quickly.

“What am I going to do?” she said woefully to herself.

As I was drying my hands, I looked back in the mirror and noticed the bow that was tied around my head. I had an idea.

I took the ribbon from my hair, and weaved it into my cousin’s wedding dress to hide the rip. I knew I needed to get back to my seat because Tessa was getting ready to walk down the aisle, but she stopped me as I headed for the door.

“Hermione, wait! Will you hold my train as I walk down the aisle?” Tessa asked me.

And that was the moment. That was when I fell in love with weddings. I knew that I had helped someone on the most important day of their life, and I couldn’t wait for my own special day.

~o~

“Oh my goodness you’re stunning!” said one of the bridal salon stylists.

“Absolutely beautiful!” a second complimented.

I was smiling from ear to ear as I modeled a spectacular wedding dress made of taffeta with a sweetheart neckline. It really does fit me spectacularly well, I thought before my phone rang.

“Katie! Hi!” I answered. “Yes, the dress fits perfectly! You’re going to look so beautiful—yes, I know! Such a lucky coincidence that we’re exactly the same size!” I paused to listen to the rest of her directions. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. They just finished hemming. Remember, this is your day. You don’t need to worry about a thing!”

I hung up and looked at the stylists, who seemed satisfied. They helped me out of Katie’s gown so I could change into my bridesmaid dress instead. It wasn’t terrible, considering the other bridesmaid dresses I’d worn in the past, but maybe someday the brides might pick something other than taffeta for the bridesmaid dresses. At least the lilac color was nice.

Remember how I said I fell in love with weddings? Well, I realized I had a knack for making someone’s wedding day special after I graduated from University. A study group partner had a bridesmaid back out and asked me to fill in at the last minute. Of course I said yes, since I didn’t know how to say no, and she gushed that I saved her day.

I would hardly call it ‘saving the day,’ but it did get me thinking. With no active love life of my own and very few hobbies outside of my job at an up and coming publishing company, I decided to put myself for hire. Wilkins Weddings was a one woman show, but my best friend and coworker Lavender Brown helped out on occasion. She was actually the one who came up with my witty slogan. Turn your ‘woes’ into ‘wows’ with this all in one wedding planner and bridesmaid for hire.

It was a decent side business, and tonight would mark wedding numbers twenty-five and twenty-six. I did say I had a hard time saying no, didn’t I? Ordinarily I would have declined the second offer, but this one wasn’t hiring. Parvati was my roommate and good friend at University, and I couldn’t say no! Her wedding was a bit rushed, but the venues were fairly close together with staggering ceremony times. I knew I could make it work.

Satisfied with my hair and makeup, I left the bridal salon’s dressing room and took the wedding dress off the rack on my way out the door. I had five minutes before I needed to meet Lavender, then we’d head to Katie’s venue. Despite being nearly late myself, I still beat Lav to the intersection we agreed on.

“I’m here, I’m here!” I heard her unmistakable voice call.

“It’s about time! I was beginning to worry,” I told her, a frown crossing my face.

“Yeah, yeah. Remember I’m doing you a favor with this one,” Lavender reminded me.

“I wouldn’t call it a favor since I am reimbursing you for your time,” I retorted. She shot me a look. “Thank you for doing this, by the way.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do anyways. Why do you have all that stuff?” she asked me.

“Oh, nevermind that. Here, take this bag. It has tylenol, safety pins, anything you’ll need in a pinch.” I noticed Lavender’s hair. It looked like it was thrown up haphazardly into a messy bun. “Lav, did you even try to do your hair?”

“What? The bitch said up, so it’s up!” she chirped with an attitude*.

I rolled my eyes at her crassness. “I’ll fix it when we get inside.”

It wasn’t that Lavender couldn’t do her own hair and makeup. She absolutely could. Half the time, she was the one doing my hair and makeup for all these weddings! I just knew that if she wasn’t invested in something, then she couldn’t be arsed about it.

It didn’t take long to get to the venue. Once inside, I handed the dress off to the maid of honor and fixed Lavender’s hair. Pictures needed to start in five minutes in order to keep the ceremony on time. Things had to run smoothly if I was going to pull this off.

As if they could hear my thoughts, the doors to the bridal suite opened and Katie appeared. She was a beautiful bride! The photographer quickly lined us up for pictures, and in between shots Katie nudged me.

“Aren’t the dresses great?” she asked. “The best part about it is you can shorten them and wear it again!” she said through nervous laughter.

I nodded and smiled. Rule number one was to always agree with the bride. It was funny how that saying had become a staple among all brides. I wondered if it was just something they said to make their bridesmaids feel better about spending all that money on a dress they’d only wear once. Because let’s be honest: no one ever actually shortens the dress and wears it again. I can attest to that.

The ceremony started shortly after we posed for pictures. I was trying to be conspicuous, but I knew I was obsessively checking my watch. The presider of the ceremony was probably the slowest speaker I’d ever witnessed. Finally, the ceremony ended and the bride and groom were whisked away to get their own photos done. I knew I wouldn’t be needed for at least an hour and a half when the reception was due to start, so I quietly slipped away and grabbed my bag.

I made my way outside and hailed a taxi. Luckily it didn’t take long for one to pull over. I climbed inside and pulled my hair out of it’s updo as I addressed the driver.

“30 Portman Square, please, and I’ll give you £300 flat for the whole evening on one condition.”

“Yeah, sure!” the driver said excitedly.

“You don’t look in the rear view at all. I’ll deduct £15 every time you do,” I told him seriously.

He looked surprised. “That’s easy. Deal!” The driver pulled onto the street and I began to undress. I needed to change into my other bridesmaid’s dress before we arrived at our destination. “What are you doing?!” he asked as I pulled my current dress down.

“Hey! We had a deal. You just lost yourself fifteen. No looking!”

He shook his head. “Fine,” he said as he shifted his eyes to the road.

When we finally pulled up to the address, I opened the door and paused before getting out. “I’ll be right back!” I took my bag and headed into the venue.

“Oh, good! You’re here! Do you have any of those extra thingies? I forgot mine,” one of the bridesmaids said as she rushed over to me.

I reached into my bag and pulled out an extra bindi for her to put on as Parvati came out from an adjacent room. “You’re here!” she cried excitedly.

“Of course I am! I wouldn’t miss this for the world, you know that!”

“I know, I know. Wedding jitters I guess! Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” I answered.

The ceremony was a heartwarming blend of Hindu and Christian cultures as I watched from my spot next to the bride. I only had to check my watch a couple of times as the ceremony moved a bit quicker. I stayed for a few pictures before Parvati’s cocktail hour began and then slipped outside. My taxi driver, whose name I learned was Seamus, was standing outside, leisurely waiting.

“What are you doing?!” I cried. “We have to go! Move it!” I knew I was probably being pushy, but I didn’t have any time to spare. I caught him staring again on the way back, and quickly covering myself, I scolded him again. “You’re down to 270 now. Do you really want to keep this up? It’s great for me, but not for you.”

“Alright, alright!” Seamus said as his eyes focused back on the road.

I made it back to Katie’s wedding in time for dinner, and luckily Lavender didn’t notice my absence. “So, I’m trying to decide between those two groomsmen over there. What do you think? The blonde or the brunette? I’m personally thinking the brunette myself. Tall, dark and handsome...really gives off the mysterious vibe, don’t you think?” she asked me.

“Are you really only thinking about sex right now?” I asked her incredulously.

“What else are weddings good for other than a one night stand? Besides, I really want a man to rip this dress off me with his teeth! You could probably use a good one night stand yourself,” she smirked at me as she got up and sauntered over to the men by the bar.

I shook my head as I checked my watch again. Duty calls, I thought. I grabbed my bag and headed back out to the taxi.

And that’s how my night went. I was secretly thankful for Seamus, even though he couldn’t resist looking in the mirror on more than one occasion. He stopped me before I walked into Parvati’s wedding in the wrong shoes, so I decided I’d give him £10 back for that at least.

The night went by like any other wedding I’d attended; the only difference being me splitting my time between the two. That meant two meals, two different instances where I helped the bride use the bathroom, two times I had to dance to the staple wedding songs like the YMCA and the Electric Slide, and two cake cuttings.

There were also two heartfelt speeches where the brides each thanked me in kind for all of the work I did and how helpful I’d been through the entire process, not that I was in the business for the recognition. I just wanted to see these brides happy with their perfect wedding.

I was at Katie’s wedding for the bouquet toss. I found myself on the floor with all the other single ladies, but I’d long since given up hope of catching the bouquet. Yet, as Katie tossed it I realized it was headed directly for me! I raised my hands in anticipation and just as it was about to come into my grasp, I was knocked out of the way, and most likely trampled on in the process. It knocked me out, so I honestly had no idea what happened before I came to.

When I did wake up, everything was slightly out of focus. I turned my head to see the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen, and the man behind them was quite attractive too. He was a redhead, which wasn’t usually my type, and he had freckles that covered his face, with a large cluster along the bridge of his long, slender nose. I’d never seen this man before in my life, and yet I felt like I knew him.

I closed my eyes in an attempt to shake the thought from my mind. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a total stranger, and he was probably the closest person nearby when you fell, I told myself. Lavender and another bridesmaid appeared behind the man as he maintained eye contact with me.

That was when I noticed my head was pounding. I moved my arm to grasp it and tried to sit up, but he stopped me. “Whoa, don’t move. It could be a concussion. That was a serious fall.” I heard him say. He turned around and looked at the bridesmaids. “Okay, I need you to get me some ice, you some strong liquor, at least 80 proof, nothing less, and you, go find a towel to cover the ice with.”

He reached out his hand and helped me sit up. “Are you a doctor?” I asked him.

“No, but Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Drunk were hovering so I figured they could use something to do,” he said as he flashed me a lopsided grin. “Do you know your name?”*

“Hermione,” I said simply.

“Hermione. Good. I’m Ron,” he answered.

I couldn’t help but smile back at him, albeit a bit shyly. “Thanks for helping me,” I told him gratefully.

He helped me to my feet and made sure I was alright. I nodded and touched my head once more. Things felt a little woozy and his strong arms caught me before I started to fall backwards again.

“Maybe you should head home. Let me help you get a taxi,” he insisted. I vaguely remember nodding as he led me to get my things and we approached the door.

Seamus was waiting outside as I got in. For some reason, Ron insisted on making sure I got home safely, even though I told him I was fine. The taxi ride started in silence, but I should have known that was too good to be true.

“Nice knickers, by the way,” he said a bit too casually.

“Excuse me?” I asked. What was he talking about?

“I saw you changing earlier. How many weddings are you in tonight, anyways? Two, three?”

“Two. Not that it’s any of your business.” So much for thinking he was genuine.

“It’s a little upsetting, don’t you think?” He asked.

Who does he think he is, I wondered. I needed to think quickly. “What? They’re both—” I paused awkwardly, needing to think up an excuse. “They’re both really good friends of mine, so what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let them down because their weddings fell on the same night! It was fine until I was knocked over and hit my head.” It wasn’t a complete lie…

“That’s not the upsetting part. I don’t know how people stand attending one wedding, let alone two.”

“What do you mean? I love weddings!” I defended myself, not that I needed to.

“Ah, yes. What exactly do you love? The bad food? The cheesy dances? Open bar? That’s what has me coming back if I’m being honest.” What was with this guy?

“What? No. If you must know, it’s seeing two people in love. The special time in a couple’s life when they’re bonded together.” I wasn’t about to let him win.

“Ah, of course. Love. How could I forget. Love is patient, love is kind. Love makes me lose my mind.”

I sighed. It wasn’t worth getting into an argument with him, so I changed the subject. “What is it you do again?”

“I’m a writer,” Ron said with a lopsided grin.

“Ah. Makes sense,” I said as Seamus pulled up to my place. I handed Seamus his money. “Thanks for everything tonight. Here’s £150. You know what you did.”

“Well, thank you for—” I was about to thank Ron for his help tonight, but he was already out of the taxi. “Wait! Where are you going? Shay, don’t go anywhere. He’ll be right back,” I said pointedly.

“Don’t you think it’s a whole lot of wasted money, time, and effort for something that honestly has a fifty-fifty shot at lasting a lifetime?” Ron asked as he walked around to my side of the vehicle.

“Oh, lovely, another man who doesn’t believe in marriage. How relieving,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m just saying! The whole thing is hypocritical. The fancier the event, the less likely things are going to work out,” he said as he shrugged.

“How very insightful of you. Putting in the hard work to help hopeless romantics see reason in the face of love,” I shot back. “Do you also tell small children that Father Christmas isn’t real? Because you’re quite good at bursting bubbles, and someone needs to blow that shite wide open*.” I rarely swore, but this man was getting me all sorts of riled up.

“Hmm, so you agree? Believing in marriage is a bit like believing in Father Christmas, yeah?” he said with a laugh.

“No! I—” Why was I letting him get to me? I didn’t understand it. I needed to end this conversation and get to bed. That fall was doing weird things to my mind. “I don’t need to be arguing with you about this. I don’t even know you!”

“Because you know I’m right?”

“No! Marriage is hard. It takes work, and if you’re willing to work at something so much that you want to commit the rest of your life to that one person, then that’s special, and should be celebrated! Cynicism, on the other hand, is easy.” I held out my hand. “It was very...peculiar meeting you.”

“You as well,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Yeah. Goodbye,” I said with an air of finality.

“Bye,” he said. I crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk. I’d almost gotten to the steps when I heard him say, “Are you going to be in any weddings next weekend?”

“Very funny. I have to go. You can leave now,” I said, waving him off.

“I’m just wondering. How many have you been in, anyway?”

“It’s none of your business!” I called over my shoulder.

“Come on, just give me a number. Doesn’t have to be exact!”

“Goodnight!” I said as I punched in my code and shut the door firmly behind me.

I shook my head as I climbed the stairs to my flat. Were there truly no genuine men left out there? Normally I’d put everything away upon walking in the door, but my feet hurt and head throbbed. So, I tossed the bag on the counter and changed into more comfortable clothes. I popped a few aspirin and hung both dresses up.

I stared at the large closet in my living room and sighed. Even though I was exhausted, I took the few extra steps to hang the dresses up along with the other twenty-four that were shoved into that small space. I wasn’t sure why I kept them all, but I did. Maybe it was my little piece of nostalgia from each bride I helped.

The contents of the closet were about ready to burst, but I managed to shut the doors. Finally, I could sleep. I pulled the covers back on my bed, and closed my eyes as my head hit the pillow. Much to my dismay, thoughts of the negative redhead filled my mind. No matter how hard I tried to shake those thoughts away, he wouldn’t budge. It was a relief when sleep finally consumed me.

~o~

I woke up Sunday morning and followed my normal routine, which meant immediately collecting my newspaper. I sat down on the sofa and sifted through the different sections until I found the one I was looking for.

“Ah, the Commitments,” I said with a big smile on my face.

As if weddings didn’t already consume the majority of my life, this was the reason I subscribed to The Telegraph, and I had no regrets. Billy Weston was one of the most prolific commitment writers I’d ever read. His coverage of weddings were always so romantic, and I only hoped that one day he’d cover my own.

“Ha, take that Ron!” I said, thinking of the cynic I’d met last night.

I was certain he’d never live up to this writer, no matter where his line of work fell. He’d do well to meet the likes of Billy Weston, who proved that romanticism still exists. Someday, I thought. Someday.

#romione #muggle au #27 dresses inspired #ron x hermione #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Lavender as Casey cracks me up

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crewhonk · 4 years

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Only Happy Accidents (12)

AN: I’m actually really sorry about this

Warnings: *deep breath* scared Steve, labour, Ms. YLN prays over YN and Steve and baby (its Christian prayer), swearing, incorrect medicine, lots of blood, childbirth complications, dying wishes, trauma, very angry Steve, hatred against newborns, Steve is a dick, Steve is scared, Helen cho has a good poker face, Helen cho is badass and isn't afraid of anything

Only Happy Accidents (master list)

____________________

July 3rd, labour day 1

“Say You Love Me”— Jessie Ware

8:00pm

“You were in labour and you didn’t tell me?!” Steve hissed as he stormed around the room, shoving things in a backpack— YN wasn’t sure what he was doing, since everything was already in the med bay but she stayed silent, letting him do his thing.

“You deserved to have a day that was about you! Everything these past few months has been about me, and I wanted you to have some time where you were the star, okay!” YN snapped back, frustrated. She had thrown on her dress again since he’d passed out, but he had woken up quickly enough, eyes wild and searching for YN.

“I understand that, but this is my kid too, YN! I deserved to know that he was on his way!” Steve pointed a finger, and YN bared her teeth.

“Don’t you dare point a fucking finger in my face, Steven!” YN barked, irritation spiking when she could feel another contraction go through her body. Steve had almost immediately downloaded a timing app on her phone after waking up, and she clicked it, hunching over her stomach almost protectively. Noticing she was going through a contraction, he rushed over, but stopped when she put up one finger. The contraction subsided and YN looked up at Steve, eyes on fire.

“Look. I’m sorry I wanted you to be the star of the day. I’m sorry I wanted to take a step back after you doting on me every second of every day and just have some fucking time with your friends for once! I was practically a stranger a few months ago, and then I’m the centre of your world for nine consecutive months and you don’t get any time for yourself and it’s not fair!” YN explained, tears in her eyes and Steve softened slightly, falling to his knees in front of her and holding her hips.

“YN, I want you to be the centre of my world. I want you to be my priority, and I don’t want to be the centre of attention— I’ve had that since Erskine talked to me. Trust me when I say I’ve had enough attention to last me countless lifetimes.” Steve said, voice low but strong. YN nodded, and leaned her forehead against his.

“I just don’t want you to fall out of love with me because I’m not carrying your baby.” She admitted and Steve made a sound that broke YN’s heart.

“Baby. Sweetheart. My beautiful, sexy, funny wife believe me when I say, that the next morning after Halloween, I decided you were going to be my wife at one point or another. Believe me when I say that I knew it from the first moment that you were it for me. Sexy pirate, baby mama, wife, future museum curator, all of it— the second I met you I knew I was done.” Steve gushed, and when he was finished, he wiped the tears streaming from YN’s eyes.

“I feel like I’m in a love story, Steve— this doesn’t happen to people in real life.” YN cried and Steve offered a wet smile.

“It happened to us, Ma. Now, how about we go have a little baby, huh?” He asked, pulling her to her feet. She took a few seconds to steady herself and looked up at him sharply, suddenly overcome with dread.

“Steve.”

“What.”

“We don’t have a name.”

________________________

9:00 PM

The hospital gown, no matter how YN tied it, wasn’t cute. Sure, it was soft, but it didn’t tie all the way in the back and it showed off the adult diaper she had to wear to catch the fluids leaking from her, which was odd considering her water had yet to actually break.

“This is awful. This is the worst thing I’ve ever worn.” YN pouted, looking in the mirror and frowning at how… round she looked. Sure, she’d had bad body days before this, but she couldn’t look like this today. Her baby was coming and YN just really wanted to make a good impression.

“I think you’re sexy.” Steve piped up from across the room and YN snorted, enjoying the chorus of laughter that joined her. Bucky, Nat and Sam were all in the room, having pulled in couches from the living room to accommodate everyone.

“Very funny, Rogers.”

“Seriously. Sexiest diaper I’ve ever seen.” He joked, winking at you through the mirror and you scoffed, throwing a nearby chapstick at him.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.” Sam said, and YN rolled her eyes, a friendly smile on her face.

“People have called mom, right?” YN looked around the room and Natasha nodded.

“Moms on her way.” She informed and YN nodded, wringing her hands and walking towards the window. The sun as setting now, deep oranges and purples painting the sky and somehow settling YN’s anxious heart. She was hooked up to portable monitors, now and the steady beep of heart heart beat echoes around the room. Steve had taken YN directly to Cho following their fight, and after a sweep of YN’s cervix, Cho had informed that YN was 5 centimetres dilated and was since checked in— she was officially in active labour.

“Steve.” YN called and he was by her side in an instant. YN grabbed his hands and tucked herself into his chest, groaning into his shirt as another, stronger contraction rock her. She felt it not only in her lower belly, but shattering up her spine and stealing her breath.

“Breathe, Mama.” He cooed, letting her dig her fingernails into his skin, rocking her and kissing her hairline. “Doin’ so good, Ma. You got this.” He whispered, acting quickly and picking her up and onto his lap as he knees gave out. He angled her to straddle him, thinking that it would be good for her legs to keep open. He continued rubbing her back and speaking sweet nothings into her ear as she curled into him as close as she could, shaking with aftershocks even after the contraction had gone.

“Holy fuck.” YN berthed into his neck and he chuckled.

“That was a good one, YN. You killed it.” He reassured and YN sat up, rubbing her eyes and stretching her neck, trying her best to keep her muscles from bunching up too much.

“Your kid is a pain in my ass.” She cursed and put her hands on his pecs, glaring down at him with swollen eyes. Instead of responding, Steve tilted his chin towards her and she leaned in, kissing him quickly before letting him help her to her feet so she could continue her pacing. She glanced over at the group of people on the couch, and flushed lightly at the thought of them seeing her like that— so vulnerable.

Sam and Bucky looked horrified, but impressed and Natasha looked proud, and almost a little sad. This was all interrupted by Cho walking in with a handful of long, metal tools.

“Hey, Mom.” She greeted YN and YN smiled weakly, eyeing to tools suspiciously. “So, I think we could progress this a little quicker if I broke your water, since it hasn’t broken yet. It should encourage the process.” She smiled and YN looked nervously as Steve before nodding. She was helped immediately up on the bed and after Steve kicked out Sam and Bucky for obvious reasons, sat by YN’s head as she put her feet into the stirrups.

“Scared you’re gonna pass out again?” YN teased and he blushed, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“I’m never living that down, am I.”

“Never.”

Cho made quick work of the water, and Steve watched as YN felt it. It felt less dramatic than she had imagined it, but still felt about five pounds lighter than she had mere seconds ago.

“Woah.” Yn whispered and Steve chuckled, kissing her forehead softly and praising her once more.

________________________

“Breathe (2AM)”— Anna Nalick

10:15 PM

The pain got worse for YN after the water had been broken. The contractions were hitting harder and faster, and YN felt as if her whole body was on fire. There was a constant leaking from YN’s vagina that made her feel gross and unnattractive, but the way Steve held her and kissed her and made her feel like she was a damn superhero made it almost worth it.

After another body-trembling contraction passed, YN reached towards Steve who took her hand.

“Can we shower. I need a shower, maybe it’ll help to have hot water.” YN slurred, pain making her a little bleary of the world. Steve nodded and made quick work of her gown— the diaper having been long gone, and pulled her into the bathroom and standing shower. He took of his pants and shirt, and leaving his underwear on, stepped under the hot stream of water. He took the second detachable shower head and angled it at YN’s core and she sighed, nodding into his shoulder at the small bit of relief it gave her.

The relief disappeared quickly, however, when another course fo pain rocketed through her body, making her knees tremble. Steve held her in his arms, shushing her and holding her as she short of screamed into his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the muscle and growling.

“Steve, Steve I can’t— this— I hurts.” YN whimpered, cutting herself off with a scream that tore his heart into two. “I need— mom. Where’s my mom.” She sobbed and Steve looked back towards the door at Nat who was hovering worriedly.

“She’s just pulling in, Sweets. She’ll be here in a minute okay?” Natasha said and YN nodded, clutching Steve and shaking— chills and jitters cutting through the hot water of the shower. It wasn’t long until her mom came into the bathroom and YN sobbed with relief.

“Mommy, you came I wasn’t sure—“

“Of course I would come for you, my love. You’re my baby girl and always will be no matter what anyone thinks, okay?” The older lady reassured and Steve mouthed a quick thank you o her which she smiled softly at.

“Mama, I know that I haven’t been to church in years, but can you— can you pray for me and Steve and baby? Please, I just need to know that He’s watching out for us.” YN cried, pain making her tired and emotional— hell, if Steve had been labouring for fourteen hours, he’d probably be dead in the street somewhere. Steve made room for Ms. YLN as she leaned into the shower, placing one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other on YN’s. She bowed her head, and waited for the lump in her throat to pass before she spoke.

“Dear Heavenly Father, watch over this new family. Allow for the reprieve and mercy of pain, and allow for YN to have as safe a labour as possible. Allow for Steve to stay strong and resilient by her side as YN pushes her body to its limits— those same limits You set for her. Allow her a healthy, strong baby, and I call for Your blessing over this labour and the baby’s life. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.” She finished and Steve sniffed as he held his sobbing wife body. Her own wet hand had come to clutch her mothers bicep and her lips trembled as she thanked her.

“Thank you, Mommy. That meant so, so much.” YN said, and Ms. YLN nodded, leaning in and kissing YN’s wet forehead.

“It meant so much to me too, Bear.”

_________________________

July 4th, Steve and baby’s birthday

12:00 AM

“The Middle”— Mree / “The Funeral”— Band of Horses

Steve liked to think he was brave. He’d done a lot of really cool things in his life that required a lot of bravery, but right now Steve had never been more afraid in his life. YN had been in labour for an ongoing sixteen hours and the four hours YN had been in active labour had so far been the worst of his life. Sure, he was over the moon over the fact that he was going to meet his baby soon, but seeing YN in this much pain, begging for him to help her stop the pain and not having any sense of control was scary, and Steve didn’t feel very brave if he was going to be honest.

Especially when YN was shutting down on him after hearing Dr. Cho telling her that her cervix hadn’t dilated any further since she’d entered active labour. She stared forlornly out of the window, eyes on the stars as Steve held her opposite hand, kissing her knuckles and watching her, silently begging for her to look at him. Natasha had brought in electric candles and a speaker to help YN relax and create a comfortable atmosphere. Maybe it was working, Steve wasn’t sure. Any sort of contraction that shattered YN to her bones was only felt through Steve’s hand. YN’s body remained limp against the sheets as she continued to stare— the only indication of her being alive still was the heart monitor and the death grip on his hand every three minutes.

“Baby.” He whispered as she loosened her grip, panting slightly as another contraction finished. Finally, she lolled her head towards him, and Steve wants to cry when she saw how puffy and dark her eyes had gotten. She looked so damn tired and hopeless and Steve would have given anything to take her pain from her. Anything.

“Sweetheart, please.” He whispered and YN closed her eyes, frown tugging at her lips.

“What, Steve?” Her voice was hard, but it shook with frustration and grief.

“I don’t— I don’t know.” He admitted, and YN opened his eyes. “I’m scared. And I want you to look at me.”

“I’m scared too, if that helps.” YN tried to smile, shrugging her shoulders and looking back up at the roof.

“I’m sorry I did this to you, baby.” He murmured and YN looked at him sharply. Her vision swam with the quick movement and she squinted her eyes at her husband.

“I’m not. Steve Rogers, don’t you ever apologize for giving me a normal life. Never apologize for you giving me a baby, and marrying me, and taking all of this responsibility even though we were complete strangers when we met. Don’t you dare apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for, my love.” YN said, voice strong and Steve nodded, unfurling her fist in his hands and kissing her clammy palm. The salt on his lips was still there when she wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him close, kissing him softly. She kissed him until a low moan rumbled from her throat, and she pressed her forehead against his as she rocked her body through the pain. Eventually her familiar, warm eyes met his and he nodded.

“Good girl, baby.” He praised and she smiled, nodding and falling back to her pillows. There was a stretch of silence as the song switched, a familiar song coming through the speaker Nat had brought.

“Love this song.” YN hummed, lolling her head from one side to another, and Steve stood, making her look at him. He held out his hands to her and wiggled his fingers, beckoning for her to take them. “What?”

“Dance with me. Maybe it’ll help.” He tried, and YN blushed lightly.

“I’m sweaty.” She whispered and he rolled his eyes, making ‘gimme’ motions with his hands.

“You’re beautiful.” He smiled and YN couldn’t help but smile and bite her bottom lip, rolling to sit up straight and letting Steve pull her to her feet. He lead her to the middle of the room after slipping her slippers on her feet, pulling her into his arms and just swaying. They had tried to dance like they used to in the ‘good ol’ days’, but Steve had two left feet when he tried, so swaying would have to suffice.

YN wrapped her hands around his waist, tucking her fingers into the back pockets of his jeans as his hot hands rubbed her back, soothing her and pressing lightly into the muscles he knew bugged her when she was stressed. They spun in circles for what could have been an hour or a year or three seconds, but the contractions that came seemed manageable in his arms. They seemed manageable when he could pepper words of praises and kisses across her sweating hairline.

“I love you, YN Rogers, and I’m in awe of how damn powerful you are, okay?” He whispered and YN shook in his arms, nodding into his shoulder as he continued to sway her. “How’s the dancing?”

“Dancing helps.” There was a period of silence before YN popped her head up quickly. “What time is it?”

Steve glanced at the clock on the wall and squinted, his eyes dry from exhaustion.

“Midnight.”

YN jumped up on her toes as eagerly as she could, cupping Steve’s face in her hands and kissing him quickly all over his face before wrapping her arms around his neck and giggling as she was spun in the air slowly.

“What was that for?” Steve laughed as he set her gently on her feet again, stars shining in his eyes as he looked down at his best girl.

“It’s your birthday, Steve. Happy birthday.” She whispered against his lips and he smiled, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her belly press hard against his own.

“Best birthday ever, honestly.”

___________________________

3:00 AM

Six hours into active labour, Dr. Cho did a sweep of YN’s cervix, and upon new that she’d dilated from five centimetres to six centimetres.

“That’s good, right? Progress.” Steve asked, hopefully and Cho gave her best ‘yes and no’ patient smile.

“Well, progress is progress, but with the water having been broken for more than six hours with such slow progress, there’s more and more of a risk of infection for mom. YN, your cervix is also getting a little swollen, so that may impede your progress just a little bit.” Cho said, grimly and YN dropped Steves hand, curling them around her belly.

“So what do we do?”

“I know we said we weren’t going to do an epidural, but it could help the muscles in your abdomen and the cervix itself relax.” Cho tried and YN sank back, looking at her cuticles and trying her damn best not to cry. She’d always imagined herself being one of those badass moms in the birthing vlogs she watched on youtube— catching their own babies in a tub and doing it at home and without epidural, but they hadn’t told her about the pain— the raw, genuine, awful pain that she was feeling currently as well as how damn disheartening it was to make such little progress. She looked at Steve who nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“I want you to be safe, and seeing you in this much pain is the worst thing I’ve experienced. I can’t make you do anything, but I think it could be a good idea.” He tried, treading lightly. YN, if she was in less pain, she would have told Steve that she felt as if she had some sort of control over her body without it, but the exhaustion in her bones and the twitching of her muscles screamed for relief.

“Let’s do it, please.” YN begged and Steve relaxed, leaning forward towards YN and pressing his head against her stomach.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

So, this is how YN found herself tied down with wires and three catheters, stuck to the bed until Steve’s child decided to enter the world. Steve watched as she slept, contractions coming and going as mere pressure when they came.

YN cracked an eye open, and Steve smiled tiredly at her. She ran he palm down the side fo his face and he rested his head in her hand, sighing and shutting his burning eyes.

“Steve, get up here, please.” She whispered, and he lifted his head, shaking it slightly.

“Gotta make sure, you’re okay.” He whispered, knowing that if he got into bed with his wife he would sleep like a god damn rock.

“We’re okay. Come sleep, we’re not going to be getting any more sleep for a while so let’s catch up while we still can.” YN smiled, pulling at his arm and cheering when he conceded, pulling the heavy quilt that Ms. YLN had brought them. Steve, careful of the wires and tubes, pulled YN into his arms, holding her jittery body in his arms and closing his eyes, the weight of his wife and unborn child lulling him into the most comforting nap he’d ever had.

_____________________________

“Pretty Things”— Big Thief

6:15 AM

Someone was screaming. Loudly, somewhere very close to his ear. Steve woke with a jolt, and upon immediately waking up and looking down at his wife, found the something was very, very wrong. YN was screaming, yelling for Dr. Cho and her mother, but she was not yelling from the pain— the epidural, thankfully, allowed her to not feel whatever was making her bleed.

Maybe bleeding was an understatement, considering that the lower half of the quilt was warm and red and sticky, and Steve hands were covered in it.

“Steve! Steve, what’s going on?!” YN cried, clutching her stomach and shaking. Steve looked down at the blood in shock, and he complied easily when four hands pulled him off of the bed. The quilt was torn from the bed by Cho, and Steve felt a wave of nausea tear through his body.

There was so much blood.

“Steve! Help me!” YN sobbed, and Steve remained frozen. He did not feel very brave at all.

“It must have not shown up on the scans. Damn it!” Cho cursed, pressing a button attached to the bed and flattening it, throwing the pillows across the room and barking orders at her nurses. YN continued to cry, looking up at Steve, who upon realizing that this was not just a really, really bad dream, snapped out of his fog and rushed to YN, grabbing her hand and walking with the bed as it began to roll out of the room and towards the small operating room at the back of the small clinic.

“Baby, you’re going to be okay, I promise.” Steve ignored Cho’s sharp look as she pushed the bed faster, eyeing the blood nervously. “You’re going to come out of this, okay?”

YN cried, and cupped his cheek.

“Sarah. You name the baby Sarah if it’s a girl after your mom and Charlie if it’s a boy— after my dad. They go to a good public school— enough to get a solid education but do NOT send them to a private school they’ll turn into a bitch. They get to go on all their high school trips. It’s something that I wish I did, and you retire, okay? If I’m not there they need someone to raise them with everything they need. And Steve, you tell them the good things. You tell them that we were happy and that we loved each other and that this was the best nine months I’ve ever had because I had the family I always dreamed of having. You tell them the good parts.” YN demanded, and Steve felt his eyes well up with tears, his face becoming wet within seconds.

“You’re not dying. You can’t die.” Steve whimpered, sounding a broken man.

“Wow, no pressure.” YN said, voice now weak. Her skin was the palest and most translucent Steve had ever seen, and her lips were blue. Her grip on his hand was weak, and her eyes grew glossy soon enough.

“I’m serious, YN.” He called out as she was rolled into the OR, the nurses working quickly to prep her for surgery. Just as Cho made to step in, Steve grabbed her arm tightly and stared her down with all the emotion he could muster.

“If it comes down to her or the baby, you save her. I will not survive without her do you hear me?” He snarled, face contorting with fear and anger. Cho jerked her arm from Steve’s grip and glared harder, straightening her posture and staring Steve down.

“How about you let me do my damn job.” Cho demanded, and walked into the room, shutting the door and leaving Steve alone in the hallway. Unaware of Natasha, Sam and Bucky staring at him, he pressed himself against the wall beside the door, slid down it, wrapped his arms around his knees, and for the first time in eighty years, sobbed like he had never sobbed before.

____________________________

6:40 AM

Steve had been coaxed to the waiting room chairs and his hands were cleaned of YN’s blood, and he was given new clothes which he was helped into in the middle of the waiting room. Once changed, he resumed his curled up position and stared at the trail of blood leading from the room where YN was last okay to the room where he didn’t know if she was alive or not. Steve watched as the custodian mopped the trail, leaving the acrid smell of bleach behind. Steve stared at the polished floor, not feeling Bucky’s and on his shoulder, and not feeling Natasha’s hand on his knee.

Steve continued to stare at the floor as a nurse walked up, afraid to see the expression on her face. The words she spoke were muffled and far away, but he heard them.

“Steve, you have a beautiful baby boy. He’s healthy and crying and all of his tests have passed with flying colours. Would you like to see him?” Steve blinked slowly, body swaying as Bucky and Sam clapped his shoulders. He moved slowly, looking up at the nurse who as beaming down a him and he squinted. He felt as if his body was not his own, moving both too fast and too slow to feel like it.

“Where’s— YN. Is she..” He trailed off, heart feeling frozen in his chest— that is if it was even there any more.

“There was another complication, she’s still in surgery, and it could be a while.” The nurse said, and Steve’s lips and chin wobbled. He felt more tears dance down his cheekbones and into his beard. “You can see your son, though.”

Steve blinked and sank back into his chair.

“No.”

______________________________

“Toronto”— Tusks

8:00 AM

Exactly one day ago, YN Rogers was staring out over the compound grounds from Steve Rogers window, smiling at the touch of the warm July breeze and kissing Steve happily. Her body was warm and soft and tangible in his hands, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to remember the last time he was alone and happy and carefree with the woman he loved. The memory already felt like it happened a while ago— it was grey and distant and the images in his mind were fuzzy. Her face was blurry, and her laugh wasn’t quite right, no matter how much he squeezed his eyes and thought about it. He tried to remember how she smelled, and how she jolted when his fingers danced over her ribs or how they would spend hours in bed before either of them even thought about getting up. But the happy— the good things he was supposed to try to tell the kid about were marred but he sound of her screams and her hands gripping him and the trail of blood that was bleached hours ago.

He had a kid. A son, he was supposed to name Charlie. A beautiful, innocent son that didn’t deserve the black spot he had in Steve’s heart. Natasha had come back after meeting him, and she had said that Charlie had Steve’s nose, and YN’s lips and eyes and hair and cried like a banshee which was a good thing apparently, since it meant the kid had good lungs.

“He needs you, Steve. He should be in your arms and hearing your voice.” Natasha whispered and Steve’s eyes, dark and angry snapped up to her.

“That kid could have killed the woman I loved. As far as I care, until YN comes out of that OR alive, that’s no kid of mine.” Steve snarled, standing suddenly and making Natasha jump back. She had never seen her best friend this angry before— not fighting, not as Nomad. She had never seen Steve this dark, and as he slammed his shoulder against her own as he stormed out of the med bay, her knees gave out and she fell, shaking into one of the chairs.

____________________________

“Rescue”— Lauren Daigle

9:19 AM

Steve was sitting on a roll of grass not far from the entrance to the compound, resting his chin against his arms and staring sightlessly at the recruits training far away. Imagine being that carefree, he thought. To have woken up today and pressed snooze. To have rushed a shower and breakfast to make it to the gym in time. To have smiled at a friend and felt excitement when you completed the ‘Captains Circuit’ for the first time successfully.

Steve remained still as he heard someone walk up behind him. He stayed still as Bucky cleared his throat and groaned slightly as he joined Steve on the grass. Steve stayed still when Bucky cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

“He’s gorgeous, Steve. He has your spunk, I think— he spit up on Nat when she made a bad joke. He’s fat, too. Really chubby and soft and he’s really alert and he keeps looking around the room for someone he finds familiar. Someone who talked to him when he was cookin’ and his Ma was sleepin’. Someone who left the house at four in the morning to go to the Bronx for the right Pizza cause his Ma was craving it. Someone who painted him a beautiful room and who made sure his development was as safe as possible. He’s looking for his father, but all he’s getting is uncles and aunts and nurses and—“

“Shut up.” Steve mumbled and Bucky glared hard at him.

“No I will not—“

“Shut the fuck up, James Barnes.” Steve snarled, and Bucky stood to his feet, walking in front of Steve and kicking his foot hard enough to make Steve flinch.

“You listen—“

“SHUT UP!” Steve roared, and he could hear the grounds fall quiet. He could hear the training stop and the word quiet and he swore the Earth stopped turning just for one second.

“NO!” Bucky screamed back, not backing down when Steve rose to his feet and got in his face. “You’re scared I get that! But if YN lives and finds out that you weren’t there for your baby boy in his first few hours how will she fucking feel about that, huh? How will she feel about how her husband and the man she loves screamed at his best friends and ignored the fact that his son hasn’t stopped crying because he’s scared and there’s not one familiar thing around him. How will she feel when she finds out that you fucking failed her?” Bucky snarled, and Steve shrank back and blinked.

“And if she doesn’t come out of this? You’re dishonouring her memory and her dying wish that this kid should have a good life. You’re a coward, Steve Rogers.” Bucky spat and Steve stumbled back at his best friends words, the first wave of aggression telling him to hit Bucky until he was unrecognizable and bleeding on the ground— to spit on his body and get in a car and drive far and fast away from this god damn place. However, the second wave— the love he felt for the woman he swore he would breathe for stopped him. The second wave made his eyes grow hot and wet, and his bottom lip tremble. The second wave made his back slouch and shoulders slump and start to fall to his knees, and upon the sight of seeing his best friend shrink in on himself, Bucky Barnes caught his elbows and pulled him tight, supporting all of Steve weight as he sobbed, without restraint, into Bucky’s shoulder.

“How about we go introduce you to your son, huh?”

_________________________

“Love Like This”— Lauren Daigle

9:30 AM

“I should have shaved. I look like a fuckin’ slob.” Steve cursed, running his hand over his chin as he passed a window. Bucky rolled his eyes next to him, but continued to walk beside him in case Steve’s knees gave out again.

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky reassured and Steve wrung his hands.

“I’ve already been a shit dad, what if he doesn’t like me? What if I continue being a shit dad?” Steve worried, fear gripping his heart at the idea. God, if YN didn’t make it and if he was a bad father, what the hell was he supposed to do? He didn’t even know how to be a good dad— how the fuck was he supposed to do it as a widow?

“Steven.” Bucky shushed and Steve nodded, coming up to the door where his son was. Bucky, upon waiting long enough for Steve to not open the door, opened it himself and pushed it open.

The room was open and airy— it smelled clean and the blankets looked soft and welcoming— YN would have loved them, maybe even convinced Steve to steal some of them for their own house. The room had a good, calming atmosphere— except for the screaming.

Natasha was bouncing lightly on her feet, a blue bundle in her arm as she tried but failed to angle a bottle at it properly. The bundle was the thing making the noise, and Steve felt his heart jump into his throat. He shoved the image of YN’s screams aside and focussed very hard on the bundle.

“Nat.” Bucky’s voice sounded far away, and when Natasha turned towards it, Steve’s breath stopped in his chest.

Charlie was crying, his small, tiny face was as red as a tomato, and it was twisted around the screams coming from his little mouth. Steve stumbled forward, and upon closer inspection, Steve recognized YN’s nose, and his own chin and brow bone. As he got closer, Steve’s heart ached— in fact, his whole body ached and he looked nervously from Natasha to the baby.

“Charlie— look who it is.” Natasha said over his cries, walking over to Steve and coaching him on how to wrap his arms around him. Steve felt stupidly big as he took Charlie in his arms— his head was no larger than the size of his palm for gods sake. Upon feeling the overwhelming heat from Steve’s body, the screams softened into sobs and he looked up, scared.

“What’s going on?” Steve worried as the baby got quieter and quieter. “Why’s he stopping?”

“He hears your voice and feels you— it’s familiar.” Natasha nodded, patting his shoulder and looking down at Charlie. Natasha pulled Buky from the room, having the two persons alone together, and Steve’s entire universe seemed to shift— just the slightest, as Charlie stopped crying, wrinkled face smoothing out as Steve continued to rock him.

“H-hi.” Steve stuttered, and Charlie hiccupped. “I’m uhh— I’m your dad, I guess.” He tried, regretting that he sounded so damn lame. The baby made a small noise and Steve felt the dark place his heart was right now warm a little. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bad dad, pal. Your Ma— she’s not doing so well and I’m scared because I love her a lot. She was— is— my world, and I—“ Steve cut himself off, tightening his arms slightly. “I’m gonna try my best to make it up to you, baby. Treat you the way your Ma and I wanted to from the beginning.” He whispered, lips shaking with grief and fear and love.

Without looking from Charlie, he walked to a chair and sat, grabbing the bottle from the table beside him and angling it awkwardly to his lips— YN’s lips.

“We gotta eat, though okay? You Ma would kill me if you got hungry.” He whispered, pressing the nipple of the bottle to his lips, and he sucked in a breath when the little mouth opened, taking the nipple into his mouth and beginning to drink the formula. The little guy finished the bottle quickly— there wasn’t much in it to begin with. Steve, remembering the birthing classes we went to with YN, threw a small towel from the table beside him over his shoulder and lifted Charlie onto it, tapping his back as gently as he could until the smallest, quietest of burps sounded.

Steve lowered Charlie in his arms, too astounded at this… being he created to say anything. God, how he regretted his anger and fear and resentment to this perfect little human. Well, he thought he regret it until his eyes opened.

YN’s eyes stared back at him, surrounded by Steve’s eyelashes— large and slightly unfocussed and YN’s eyes. Steve felt his body clench around his rapidly warming heart and he let out a dry sob, tracing a huge finger down Charlie’s fat little cheek as he curled himself around him. No matter how the rest of the day panned out, Steve knew, with one look at Charlie, that YN would live within him forever. YN would be staring back at him from a crib, or a carseat, or from his arms as he tried his best to stay awake in that rocking chair because he’s be damned if he wasn’t watching over him one second of a day. YN’s eyes would be looking at him as Charlie took his first step or said his first word or as he looked back at Steve while he bravely walked into his first day of school. YN’s lips would frown and smile and laugh and yell, and Steve would brush YN’s hair, styling it properly and kissing it any damn chance he got.

“I love you.” Steve whispered, voice cracking as a tear dripped from the tip of his nose onto the soft blanket. “I love you, I love you, I love you, my Charlie. I love you.” He bent over and pressed his nose to Charlies tiny chest and sniffed as he felt Charlie’s hands curl into Steve’s beard. His grip was strong— strong enough anyways for such little hands. “I love you.”

Steve could have been there for days— he wasn’t too sure, but the bubble he had constructed around him and his beautiful, innocent son was burst when a polite cough sounded from the doorway. Steve looked up quickly, and his heart— now warm and bright with love for this little bundle hammered in his chest.

It was Helen Cho, and her face had no expression.

_______________________________

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose / laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot/ vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema / mmyepic / multifandommandy / tommyhoe / lostdarksoul6 / crist1216 / taeeemin / jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory / feelmyroarrrr / teller258316 / mrsdeanwinchester19 / qrangr / mariswritingforfun / nerdypinupcrystal / kittycatlover18 / laucontrerasv / printedpeterparker / @dumblani / @captainomad / eversonaive / rainbowkisses31 / i-think-i-am-adorable / rainbowkisses31 / smalltintedgorl/ geeksareunique / jennmurawski13 / clutteredmind-emptythoughts / venezuelaanklemayonnaise / manuosorioh

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers series #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dad!steve rogers

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fly-pow-bye · 3 years

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DuckTales 2017 - “The Lost Cargo of Kit Cloudkicker!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Ben Siemon, Bob Snow, Tanner Johnson

Written by: Colleen Evanson & Tanner Johnson

Storyboard by: Vince Aparo, Kristen Gish, Victoria Harris, Ben Holm

Directed by: Tanner Johnson

Spin it!

Before doing research when Don Karnage first came to the series, my knowledge of TaleSpin began and ended with me having that awful Genesis game as a kid. I do know that the show took place long before the modern day, which is when DuckTales 2017 takes place, and it appears that the events of TaleSpin in this universe still goes with that. Why do I know this? Because this episode does not start with Baloo piloting the Sea Duck...

...but a grown-up version of his surrogate son, Kit Cloudkicker, who is now running Higher for Hire by himself. However, while things have definitely changed for Higher for Hire since Baloo's apparent retirement, mostly for the worse, some things remained the same. Namely, he is still being tormented by the nefarious Sky Pirate of the Skies, the corsair of the air, Don Karnage. Or Dan, as he calls him much to Karnage's annoyance. The good news is that Kit is now an ace pilot who can easily fight off sky pirates like he did back in the glory days. The bad news is that he can still do what he did as a kid with a giant cargo plane. He even says it, and with most of his dialogue in this cold opening suggests this is going to make him look foolish.

Even worse news for the business is that the fragile box addressed to F.O.W.L. is just sitting in the center of the cargo bay with no security whatsoever aside from a caged chicken and a goat. After rocking back and forth due to Kit fending off against Don Karnage, the box breaks to reveal a rock with a blue lion carved into it, and when that aforementioned chicken and goat touch it, they both turn into some sort of chicken-goat hybrid that Kit has to fight. How is able to fight this goat-chicken while piloting the plane? Simple: he puts a crowbar in the steering wheel, just like Baloo did in the original. Here, the idea is played as silly as it would be to someone who had never heard of TaleSpin. It is doubly sad when one considers Kit treats this crowbar like his only crewmate, because it is.

I do like that this first scene introduces this show's version of Kit very well. He's obviously an incompetent pilot, and not one that is lovably incompetent like Launchpad, and this incompetence is pretty well known among his customers judging by this line:

Kit Cloudkicker: Who's the terrible pilot now, everyone?

He's surprisingly cheerful about that, which, again, makes him look foolish. Despite all of this foolishness, he does appear to still be competent at coming up with plans to defeat his enemies, whether they be sky pirates or mutated goat-chickens, even if those plans end up putting the cargo he was supposed to deliver into the water. This includes that lion stone. He looks onto this and says "my bad" in a way that shows that his business is definitely going to be in the red in a few years.

A few years later, we see that Della is taking Huey, Dewey, and nobody else to Cape Suzette, and she's even allowing Dewey to fly the plane along with her. It is easy to see why Huey is extra prepared even if Dewey is doing surprisingly well, as Huey is not only using extra seatbelts, but having a Safety Boy helmet as well. Huey's also prepared with the knowledge of that Lion Stone we saw go into the ocean in the previous scene, which, you guessed it, is a Missing Mystery of Isabella Finch. Specifically, it's the Stone Of What Was, which was described with the mysterious phrase "what was once two becomes a-new." Huey does not seem to figure that one out. The good news is that it was found, but the bad news was that it was found by F.O.W.L, but the better news is that they lost it, but the worse news was that the stone was made of potassium benzoate. Okay, that last one was made up. There's a few throwaway lines to fill in how Huey even knows F.O.W.L. had the stone in other scenes, and those plot holes are really not that important.

After nearing their destination, which we learn was based on a clue from an intercepted F.O.W.L. transmission from a throwaway line from Huey slightly later in the episode, Della has the bright idea to let Dewey land the plane. Letting a little kid fly a plane? Not a good idea. Letting a little kid land a plane? Also not a good idea. Telling that little kid that there's nothing wrong with a basic landing? May be a good idea in the off chance it could even come up, but definitely not a good idea when it comes to Dewey. To Della's credit, at least it was Huey that did that last one.

After the crash landing, and not a Launchpad-type one, they arrive at Higher for Hire, which shows an advertisement showing its legacy playing on a television screen with plenty of TaleSpin references. This includes one shot of Baloo and another shot of a younger Kit and Molly Cunningham riding on an airfoil done in the style of the original show. This is great for people who were not aware of TaleSpin, which the target audience for this show may not have seen unless they have Disney Plus. Kit, still shown to be the sole employee years later, assumes anyone knocking at his door is the bank demanding payments, but he's delighted to see one of his former classmates at pilot school. He constantly has to tell Della that he is an ace pilot now. Most likely, he's telling that to himself too, as we'll see in the next scene. He at least has reason to believe he's a better pilot than his former classmate, as it doesn't look like her plane is in good shape. Della could have explained that this state was because she let one of her less competent sons fly the plane...and that would have probably made her case about a thousand times worse.

That television commercial also inspires a sort of B-plot that also ties into Kit's character arc, as seeing young Kit cloudkicking makes him want to do it, too. Despite his failure at even mimicking it, Kit is happy to see a fellow cloudkicker and would be glad to teach him the ropes. Della is not too excited by this prospect, but ends up allowing it, because she doesn't want to be the mother that does not support her kid. They aboard the plane, which ends up being a very bumpy ride, and Della goes to investigate, only to find that Kit was in the bathroom, letting his only other employee, the crowbar, be his substitute.

Kit tries to stop what he calls "mutiny" by saying that he's the only one who knows where the cargo could be, only for the crowbar to slip and reveal that he's been keeping a map in the glove compartment. The map actually has some Xs and a circle on it, which suggests that Kit may have been trying to correct his previous mistake, but either never getting the motivation to go through with it, or, more likely, he isn't competent enough to deal with whatever is on that island he circled. Maybe I am thinking about this too hard, but I would say it would be fitting.

Kit decides to distract everyone from him getting kicked out of the pilot's chair by giving Dewey his airfoil and the cloudkicking rope for him to hold onto, and a shot of Dewey's excitement instantly cuts to Dewey screaming for his life, holding on for dear life as he can't seem to. The parallel between a former cloudkicking guy who isn't really a good pilot, and a kid who can actually fly a plane who isn't really a good cloudkicker is easy to notice, and the episode plays around with this. For starters, similar to Kit and his not-so-ace piloting skills, Dewey also tries his hardest to hide how terrified he is at the cool new thing he wanted to do. Of course, it is very possible that Kit is acting the way he does because he's in a certain someone's shadow. Dewey just does it because that's how he is.

Despite that difference, this parallel is enhanced even more when they get attacked by the Sky Pirates, and Kit has to intervene and show that he, at the very least, can get Dewey out of the danger that Kit himself has caused. And yes, Don Karnage's Sky Pirates are now working for the very organization that they indirectly harmed years before by attacking that cargo plane and making them lose that precious stone. That does not come up at all, not even as a throwaway line. What does come up is that Don Karnage is delighted that one of the people after the Stone of What Was is his new arch-nemesis, Dewey. It's a long story that started all the way back in Don's debut in Season 1. It's neat to see these old references. After they all make a landing on the circled island, some more safe than others, they get to meet the wildlife of the island. Let's say there's a good reason why this island was circled, and why Kit could not handle it by himself.

It's a rhino and a gorilla crossed together, either a rhinosorilla or a gorillanoceros depending on whether one likes Dewey's word for it or Kit's. Clearly, this is the result of the Stone of What Was...what was...Wuz...Wuzzles! Admittedly, the Wuzzle was also not a show I grew up with, though that could be because it lasted only a season. In fact, I just now notice the lion carved into the Stone of What Was happens to have bumblebee wings. These animals are a little more realistic here, as they don't talk, and they're not cute or fuzzy like the original Wuzzles were. In fact, the character this gorillanoceros was based on was actually a monkey-rhino. There is a difference, even if they are very similar species genetically!

They eventually get to the stone, only to see that Don Karnage and his crewmates have found the stone first. Hiding, they see Don Karnage command Hardtack Hattie, his strongest crewmember, to lift it up. Unfortunately, she happened to lift it as a bunch of ants were crawling on it, turning her into an ant centaur to her and Don's horror. Despite that horror, and fitting for someone who just wants to finish his mission, he tries to get some of the other crew members to lift it...

...leading to these freaks of nature, which is what Don Karnage actually calls them. DuckTales 2017 isn't too afraid to show the horrifying nature of some of these fusions, continuing with the theme of how they portray the Wuzzles as these monstrous beasts. I would not call it nightmare fuel, but I would not be surprised if it already has an entry on TV Tropes. What makes these even worse is that there is no way for these guys to revert back to their normal forms. There's no "if the stone feels like it, it'll separate you" clause here, that snail-dog is permanently a snail-dog, and that pirate will have to live with a hand for his head for the rest of his days. These guys just end up getting forgotten.

Della tries to sneak by climbing around this horrific scene, only to be caught on some sort of sticky rock. Dewey decides to try to save her with his airfoil-riding skills, much to Huey's disagreement. Dewey's got to Dewey it! Oh yeah, I forgot, Dewey ends up doing "Dewey" puns for most of the episode. It's not funny, but I have a feeling it wasn't meant to be funny, and it's certainly not funny when he ends up falling down near the pirates. Face to face with someone who considers him his arch-nemesis, he tries to save face when he notices Kit stole Don Karnage's plane...which he immediately crashes into a rock.

As for the rock that Della was stuck on, it turns out it wasn't a rock. Nor was it a rock lobster, either!

It hatches into another classic Wuzzle character: the Butterbear, or the Bear-terfly as Don Karnage calls it. They never quite match the original Wuzzle names, and it is not like they would know them. There is one part of this where Kit and the Bear-terfly cross paths, and it almost seems like they're going to bond because they happen to be a similar race. Then, it instantly cuts to Kit running away from a rampaging Bear-terfly. How are they going to continue from this? Have the Bear-terfly get caught in some rope, and have it run in a way that ties up the stone, and have it fly away with Della still on its back. It is a bit convoluted, but it works in the end as it is a way for the stone to travel without it mutating even more people. Whether any of these fusions can use the stone to combine into other fusions is left unanswered, which is for the best.

One may notice I didn't talk a whole lot about what Huey did, and that's because he really didn't do much for most of the episode. He delivered the exposition, he tries to stop Dewey from "Deweying it", and that's about it. However, he does have a major part in the episode: he gets to take part in the scene where the two bumbling fools realize what they have been doing was foolish. Namely, they needed to realize that they should do what they were good at: Kit should cloudkick and Dewey should fly the plane. It is a good lesson that had some good buildup. Sure, they were pretty much failing throughout the episode, but there were scenes where they were surprisingly competent, like the scene where Kit rescued Dewey with his Cloudkicking skills, and Dewey managing to fly the plane in the beginning before he decided to "Dewey it" and crash it. It does not come out of nowhere. Speaking of which...

Dewey: Okay, let's do it.

What would be an unremarkable line actually works really well here, mainly because he decided not to make a pun on his own name, which he did way too much. It does show development, as if this fun-loving showboater is actually learning his lesson throughout the episode. I expect this from DuckTales 2017, and there are certainly cartoons where I don't.

Fittingly for a TaleSpin episode, this all ends with a flight chase scene. No, not the usual DuckTales 2017 fight scene, though there are some fights here and there, especially with Kit and Don Karnage, armed with that crow bar and sword, respectively. The scene actually manages to make Dewey keeping the plane steady an action packed scene, as he has to save his Mom while trying not to let the stone fall into the ocean and make an octopus-fish-squid hybrid that would rival the Eldritch horrors. Again, whether any of these fusions can use the stone to combine into other fusions is left unanswered, which is for the best.

It's not really a spoiler to say the good guys win, but I will say the TaleSpin part of the plot is very much all tied up in the end. If Kit only makes a minor appearance in the finale, and I'd actually be surprised if he didn't appear considering how packed the clips were, it would be completely understandable. Also, there's a cliffhanger and we finally get to hear Don Karnage sing another song, if a very short one. It seemed like he just couldn't do it in his other appearances.

How does it stack up?

With the genius way of using not just one Disney show's legacy, but another Disney show as well, there's a lot to love about this episode, though I wouldn't say it's among the absolute best. Four Scrooges.

Next, Scrooge gets indicted.

← Beaks In The Shell! 🦆 The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck! →

#fpb dt 2017 #ducktales 2017 #ducktales #disney #fpb reviews

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whenimaunicorn · 4 years

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The Heart of Admiration - Part 2

Charles Vane x Reader, slow burn adventure/romance, written in a series of short scenes.

Part One Here

This episode’s prompt: “ “I thought they’d killed you. I lost my temper.”

The sea spray leaves the taste of salt on your lips as the ship crashes through another unexpected wave. It feels good to be sailing again, even with a crew you were all but press-ganged to join, and even with the weather now threatening to turn dangerous.

You had pled for mercy for Captain Fisher’s life, and those of his men. They had been your crew for going on five years, and though the plan to steal the cargo from Vane’s ship had been a foolish one, you couldn’t just let them die for it. That moment in which you watched Captain Vane’s eyes smolder while he considered your plea had been the longest one of your life. “So long as they leave Nassau,” he had finally said. “They leave, and you stay.”

You watch your new captain now, down on the deck below, alternately barking orders at the men and peering up at the darkening clouds moving in from the southeast. His heavy brow and bold cheekbones give his face a rugged sort of handsomeness, like he was carved by gods more primal than the Christian one, out of tougher stuff than other men. No one in Nassau knew where Vane had come from, only that he rose through the ranks of Blackbeard’s crew and barreled through the island like a storm.

He catches you looking at him, and responds only by calmly staring back. He looks at you too much. He has not yet been crude, but you fear you know what it means regardless.

It’s hard for a woman to survive as a pirate without becoming somebody’s woman. It would be safer that way, too. Easier. Anne Bonny may be an absolute hellcat, but surely the place she’s carved out on this crew stays comfortable because everyone knows she’s the quartermaster’s woman. It would be easier to have that kind of protection yourself, too, but the idea rankles you. You joined the pirating life because you wanted independence. You made it on the last crew because of your quick wit, and because your skills with celestial navigation were unique and indispensable. Although it helped that the captain was married to your sister and treated you like kin.

You had assumed those skills were the reason Vane wanted you for his own crew, as well. Very few people in this life are educated enough to read the charts and almanacs, to decipher the celestial bodies and figure a precise location in the middle of the ocean. But he looks at you too much. This may be an uglier trap than you had thought.

A lock of hair that escaped your braid flies across your face. The prevailing winds are changing. Perhaps the only thing this particular long look signifies is Vane’s awareness that this storm means the course you’ve been marking out for him will have to be corrected. The course that, if the weather doesn’t blow you too far off from, will take you to meet the intended course of a merchant vessel, whose schedule just happened to fall into Vane’s hands, much farther out from land than most pirating crews would ever hope to be able to find.

You’re already up here to take the noon measurements, but the sun is not quite at its zenith. Once you have the number, a flurry of calculations will follow, and you’ll give Vane your course corrections based on precisely where on the open ocean this ship is located right now, and where the other ship is most likely to be. But you’re already feeling extra tension in your chest looking at those thick clouds; if they cover the sun before you’re certain it has reached its apex, your faulty measurements could throw your course off by miles. And if that storm catches the Ranger, all you can do is wait for the skies to clear to figure where the hell it has blown you. Your chest tightens further when you see the captain mounting the steps to come up to your deck.

Even though you had intended to wait a little longer to take the next measurement, you find yourself lifting the backstaff toward the horizon again while you listen to Vane’s boots approaching you from behind. It’s careful work, to line up the sun’s shadow as the deck rolls in the waves. And it’s only getting more difficult as the nearby storm makes the sea choppier.

“Nineteen point three, and…” You mutter the numbers under your breath as you get them, not wanting to forget the figures before you have a chance to write them down. “Eighty-two point four.”

“Is that what you were expecting?” Vane is standing so unexpectedly close behind you that you jump at the sound of his rumbling voice.

You step away from him, quite deliberately, as you answer his question. “I’m not certain that’s the precise number we’re looking for, but yes, I believe we are still on-course.”

Vane closes a little of the space you had drawn between your bodies. But not enough to be worthy of further correction. “You look worried.”

The last thing a woman trying to hold her own on a ship should do, is admit vulnerability. You roll your eyes at him. “Fuck off. This is not my first storm at sea.”

A smile cracks the captain’s stony face at your response. “Fair enough.” He looks to the south. “We should be able to skirt the edge of that one without much difficulty.” His heavy gaze falls back on you, a sudden gust of wind pulling at his long, twisted locks. “But it will take us off the course we’ve been plotting.”

Usually you have no trouble looking a man in the eye; it’s something particular to Vane that has you dropping your head. You draw your little notebook from its pocket to excuse the movement. “Now who’s the one that’s worried? It’s no problem. I can correct for that just as soon as we get another sighting after it’s passed.” You flip to an open page, and lift your pencil. 19.3, you write, and then… “Fuck me, what was that last number?” Normally you have a good memory. The captain is just being too damn distracting.

You hear Vane chuckle. You refuse to look up. “If I tell you, do I get to?”

It takes you a half a second to run back through the precise words you just said, and catch his meaning. Your voice turns acid. “If you are not going to be helpful, then get out of my way. I am attempting to do the very work you pressed me into service on this ship in order to perform.”

Vane rocks back on his heels. “Is that what I did.”

Your exhale is a sharp burst of irritation, on many, many levels. “You can’t say you gave me much of a choice, about joining this crew.”

You risk a glance directly at Vane’s face again. He looks pensive, behind the general air of aggressiveness that usually suffuses his features. “You’ll be happier here,” he growls out after completing his thought.

You arch an eyebrow at him, just about as high as it will go.

“You were wasted on the Starling.”

~*~

Every pirating crew hopes to avoid violence. They ready themselves for it, bristling with threat and menace as they wait for the ships to close tight enough for boarding, but the most preferable option is negotiation, always, with a prompt surrender on the part of their quarry before any blood is spilt.

That ideal outcome is not playing out today. This merchant vessel’s crew must have been largely made up of former naval soldiers, given the competence with which they are resisting Vane’s vanguard, and the discipline you are observing in their ranks from atop the Ranger’s quarter deck.

“Get belowdecks,” Jack Rakham, standing by your side and watching the battle just as closely, suddenly urges you.

“What? Why?” you bristle on reflex.

Jack interrupts himself to bark orders across the locked sides of the ships: “Watch those riflemen! Aft!” Three men peel off the main fighting to interrupt the knot of sailors that Jack had spied franticly reloading near the back of the other vessel.

You raise your chin as one of Vane’s crewmen severs a man’s arm at the elbow with a deft strike of his axe. “I assure you, I am not squeamish.” You are accustomed to observing the fighting from one of the higher decks with your old crew. On just about every run, unless… Jack’s fingers close tightly around your elbow. With a little shove, he directs your gaze.

A knot of enraged seamen are pushing through the Ranger’s men, dangerously close to one of the gangplanks connecting the ships. “If they get across, you’re a target,” Jack says sternly. “Seeing as you are not disguising your sex. Hide yourself. Now.”

You’d been held hostage once before. It was not a pleasant experience, for you or for your crew. You forgive Jack for shoving you as you start to make your way down.

The fear starts to set in as you scramble toward the ladder that leads to the lower deck; enemy boots stomp onto the Ranger just before your head disappears down the hatch. You hope that Jack, or some of the other men still aboard, notice in time to resist them, but that officer’s eyes landed on you with heavy interest as you scurried away. It seems likely they are indeed intent on a hostage.

The long knife you keep belted to your waist is in your hand as you scurry through the belly of the Ranger. You whip your head and turn back and forth in the muted light belowdecks, changing your course more than once in a way that you are dimly aware signifies panic. This is not your ship. This is not your home. You don’t know where to hide in this unfamiliar place.

Booted feet are pounding somewhere behind you. No way to know if they are friend or foe. And would your new crewmen even care enough to defend you? You duck into the doorway ahead of you and then put your back to the wall beside it, clutching your knife to your chest and readying to ambush anyone that comes through after you.

Your eyes land on a bed, bolted into the bulkhead. You’ve somehow chosen the captain’s cabin in which to hide. Not that it means much more than that you ran straight to the back of the ship. You’re much more concerned with getting your breathing under control, until your great gasps are not making quite so much noise, so you can listen to the sounds of approaching feet.

A figure steps through the door, and your knife flashes out with barely any choice on your part. You bury it almost to the hilt in his chest. You may not be one to ever storm another ship in the vanguard, but you’ve been training to defend yourself for years. You wrench it out of him and blood flies as the startled man stares down at you, not even realizing he’s already dead.

His last earthly act is to attempt to grab you about the arms, which unfortunately means that when his body sags into dead weight, he’s falling directly into you. You had got the knife free to stab again, but that’s not going to help you against his two hundred pounds of inertia. You have to twist with him in a macabre dance, his life’s blood still spurting, in order to not be knocked directly to the floor.

Which, unfortunately, puts your back to his fellows, rushing into the room after him. You hear a couple of enraged voices screaming at you and then a sharp crack, which instantly creates a thundershock of pain reverberating up from the back of your skull before everything goes dark.

You wake to shouting, then screams. Ugly, ragged, tortured ones, of men too far gone in pain to retain either sense or hope. You feel your body, laying flat on the deck, and a splitting headache that rouses you quickly to consciousness. The sun is harsh against your eyes. Somehow you’ve gotten abovedeck again.

You lift your head; you don’t quite feel ready to move anything else. Your eyes focus dully on a dead man’s face in front of you, his cheek wet in a pool of blood that’s slowly expanding. You don’t know him.

Somewhere past your feet, you hear a voice call “Mercy.” The only response is a bestial snarl and then the wet sound of something slamming over and over again into meat.

You know that snarl. There’s only one voice in the West Indies pitched like that, rasping over blown-out vocal chords. You push up on your hands and look over at the men fighting less than two paces away from you.

The fight is over. Vane hacks once more with his cutlass and the head of the man who was just begging for his life drops to the deck and rolls.

It looks like most of the crew is back on the Ranger. How long had you been knocked out? “Captain…” comes the voice of Jack Rakham, and he’s pointing at you.

Vane’s face is feral as he turns, his long hair matted up with other men’s blood, sweat glistening on his exposed chest. His eyes widen, and your name falls from his lips. He takes a long step toward you, and drops to his knees at your side.

“Are you wounded?” His voice is low, and you’re surprised at the concern you see in his steady gaze.

You push with your hands so you can sit up on one hip, then reach up to the back of your head. “Quite a lump here,” you report, wincing.

Vane reaches to your chest, pinching up a bit of the fabric of your shirt. The whole front of it is soaked red with blood.

“That’s not mine.”

Vane lifts one scarred brow.

“You’ll find the first of the men that came after me belowdecks, with a hole in his chest.”

Your captain nods, looking pleased.

You notice that several sprawling corpses surround you on the deck, each one a red ruin, hacked more brutally than would have been needed to kill them. The would-be hostage takers? You look back at Vane for answers.

“When I saw them dragging you up here, covered in blood, I thought they’d killed you.” Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “I lost my temper.”

Your chest fills with some unexpected emotion that feels rather too complex for you to even attempt to sort out. “You can’t be losing the asset you just went to such lengths to attain for your crew,” you say wryly.

Captain Vane fixes you with eyes as blue and deep as the sea. “No one else could have guided us this far out to meet the prize,” he acknowledges. “But I have a feeling I’ve only barely begun to discover your worth.”

Part 3 Here

Notes: if you liked this, thank @acebreathesfire too, she’s my source on navigation facts and basically has been co-creating this OC with me. If not for her encouragement none of this fic would have happened!!!

Taglist is open: @acebreathesfire @kind-wolf @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen you are all pressganged into this ship but anyone else is free to request to be put on the list!! Also I am creating this series entirely out of prompt fill drabbles, so if you come across any dialogue prompts you think would inspire good chapters, please pass them my way!!

Link to More Vane Action

#charles vane x reader #charles vane imagine #black sails fanfic #captain vane #charles vane #the heart of admiration fic

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

Text

Contending the Flame IV

Author’s Note: Hope everyone had a safe and fun Halloween! Not much else to say here as we start to delve deeper into Ivar and the Nuns new relationship and the two different worlds they come from. Thanks as always for being so awesome!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2217

Warnings: Language, Master/Servant dynamic

His brothers had kept a close eye on Ivar since acquiring his new thrall. He still played at the leader of their army, but he had refrained from shutting them out of power entirely. Any chance they had at lending a commanding voice they took. Hvitserk's strategy of giving their little brother a distraction was paying off.

The changes in Ivar's behavior were minuscule. Only Ubbe and Hvitserk took notice. It was the same when they were children when someone would give a new gift to Ivar. It would be a stretch to say he was happy, but his vengeance had quelled. For the moment it was enough, and they could focus on securing lands for their people while Ivar was preoccupied.

It was strange for a thrall not to be seen waiting over their master's every whim, but it seemed Ivar wouldn't permit you to leave his quarters. The other slaves they had acquired tended to him during meals, and when he walked the streets with his guards, you were always absent. Ubbe walked alongside Hvitserk contemplating this.

"What do you think he has her do for him?" Ubbe wondered aloud.

Hvitserk's brows puckered in thought. "Don't know. I can't imagine they have much to talk about, and I know the one thing they aren't doing."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, think about it," Hvitserk jested with a smirk. "I suppose that must make him a good fit for her. She'll remain a virgin after all."

Ubbe latched onto Hvitserk's arm, pulling him to a stop as he gave him a harsh look. "Those are dangerous words, brother. Remember Sigurd. I don't want to see another brother dead because of Ivar's fragile grasp of his anger. He has poor sensibilities when it comes to that matter. It's unfair, but it's not his fault."

Hvitserk shook off Ubbe's grasp and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. "Right, that was stupid. I do pity him, though I don't think he'd want it. Who knows how he'll be when we start having families of our own."

Ubbe grunted. "He'll probably resent us, more than he does already. I think I understand why he keeps her away from everyone. Besides our mother, no one has ever taken to Ivar's company outside of obligation or familial bond. He's lonely."

"And it's not as if she can refuse," said Hvitserk. "But she's a Christian. That's got to account for some strife between them."

They continued on their way towards the center of the city. Food was beginning to run scarce, and it seemed the Saxons were holding steadfast on starving them out. While Ivar was willing to take their army to its limits to play Aethelwulf's game, Ubbe and Hvitserk were devising their own plan to negotiate land. They just needed a little more time. Many things rested in the hands of the nun, as unaware as you were.

"I just hope he hasn't harmed her," Ubbe said while they passed through the market.

Hvitserk looked grim, a heaviness settling on him that had replaced his usual cheer. "Ivar did always break toys. We have to hope that Christian isn't as weak as she looks."

ooOOoo

You were growing accustomed to your new station. As a woman, it was your lot in life to suffer, and you took your new situation as a test from God. The heathen, Ivar, he had made no bid to harm you. That wasn't to say he was good company to keep. He had taken to trying to instruct you in a handful of words and phrases of his language. Some of the words were difficult to form with your accent, and when you mispronounced things, he would grow irritated and throw things at you. Uttering dark curses in his tongue, you were certain he had insulted you as well, but it was better than a flogging.

At night you continued to pray, your back to your master, and the words spoken only in your head. You were sure they reached God, even without a rosary in your grasp or the piety to kneel. In your heart, you struggled to keep hope alive. If this test was to be your final judgment from God, its purpose remained clouded to you.

It was late when Ivar returned, and you had remained awake for his arrival. You now slept when he did, short and inconsistent hours of the night, only to be woken before the dawn. He did not rest well. Be it from his duties or pain you could not say, but he never faltered from exhaustion. This pattern must have been his usual routine, life at war.

Ivar's eyes sought you out the moment he came through the door, and you returned the stare. He had only just started walking in his new contraptions, a set of iron braces that he had created from pride. His determination to walk was admirable. You had never witnessed such a fighting spirit before, and you were certain it was a blessing from God.

"Something you wish to say?" Ivar interrupted your thought, a scowl on his face from your lingering gaze on his legs.

"It is a good thing," You said while rising from your corner of the floor. "I believe God has blessed you."

Ivar snorted, blue eyes rolling at your absurdity to insinuate such a thing. He took a slow seat on his pallet of furs and started to remove the braces. "Really, and why would that be?"

"You are not the first cripple I have met, but you are the most assiduous."

You could see him test out the word for himself, a lack of understanding passing over his face. "I'm not sure what that means, but I like how it sounds."

"You have an unrelenting heart. Strong-willed and resolute in your goals. I find you impressive."

He halted what he was doing, and took a long, considering look at you. "I've been this way for as long as I can remember. It is the way if I am to be seen as a true Viking to my people."

"So there are others like you?" You asked as you approached him with careful steps.

"There are not many cripples among my people, no. A child born with a deformity such as mine is left to die. I would have been if not for my mother. She was softhearted, and couldn't bear my loss."

You didn't want to have any strong sort of feelings towards your captor, but to learn that he had been left to die as a helpless babe engulfed you in sorrow. "It isn't wrong for a mother to feel pity for her child," You murmured, showing how distraught you were by such a story. "You don't sound grateful for her mercy."

Ivar's face hardened at your sentiment. "Mercy is for Christians. I would have done the same as my father. I loved my mother, but there are days I resent her for her choice. Her gifts failed to foretell the agony I would endure at the hands of compassion."

"What gifts?"

"She was a Vülva, a woman seeress of our people who has visions of the future."

You frowned at such a concept. "That sounds like sorcery to me."

"I forgot your people fear magic and witchcraft," Ivar said in a teasing tone. "My mother would have hated you. She was too steeped in the beliefs of our own people to have care about your sensitive notions of God. My father would have liked you though."

You blushed at the idea of such a great man holding you in favor. Though you didn't hail from Wessex you had heard the stories of the Viking King who fought for Mercia and befriended King Ecbert. "King Ragnar? Why do you think that?"

"He was often amused and curious about your God. Maybe you would have reminded him of Æthelstan, his Christian monk." Ivar resumed the task of taking off his braces, wincing in pain whenever a particular part pinched or pulled at his legs. "Here, come help me with this."

Startled by such a request, you moved with haste and uncertainty. Ivar showed you which parts to unclasp, and you would mimic his actions with a gentler touch, stopping entirely when he would let out any sound of discomfort. You were certainly slower at the task than if he completed it himself, but he seemed to enjoy watching you work over him, and you were grateful for the distraction.

"What about your family? Where are your mother and father?" Ivar asked while leaning back on the strength of his arms.

"They're both dead," You said, pausing only a moment to collect yourself before continuing on his braces. "I was born in Rendlesham, in East Angles. My mother was a whore, and I never knew who my father was as a result of that. When she died, I was orphaned to the streets until the church took me in. Being of such low birth standing, I turned to the church as my ray of hope."

You could feel Ivar frowning at you, but you did not waver. "Did you not want to be something more than a nun?"

You breathed a laugh. "Such as what? Saxon women are not allowed to be warriors."

"Yes, but isn't there a way you could have improved your situation?"

"No," You said bluntly. "Blood is everything. Those who are of Royal standing will always be in power, and through marriage, their line continues. The best I could have hoped for was a marriage to a farmer, and he would have to have been a poor one. I would have raised his children, and likely died young from childbirth."

"I see now why you're a nun," said Ivar. When you chanced a look up at him, he appeared troubled by your story. "Those Saxons in power are greedy. They keep all for themselves and give nothing back. What chance is there of an honorable death for those forced to live a life of poverty?"

"If you die without sin, you go to Heaven. We have no need for honor."

"A life without sin," Ivar hummed. "As if any man is capable of such purity."

"A Priest is," You argued back. "It takes a nobleman to obtain such a pious position in the church."

"Is it noble for these men to keep silver and gold in their churches while children run through the streets, no better than dogs?" Ivar had sat forward, his eyes emboldened with the wrath of a demon. "I have seen your noblemen of the cloth, and they died screaming the same as any sinning heathen of mine."

You lost your balance, falling flat on your bottom as you gazed up at Ivar in terror. "What did you do to them?"

"The things I've done to your priests," Ivar paused, a calm washing over him. "It would make Loki grin."

The suffering of your people seemed to fall down on you like a star collapsing from the night sky. When he spoke, you could almost forget that Ivar was your enemy, but he had now made it clearer than ever where the line in the sand was drawn. You were just a slave, a Christian slave, and how soon would it be before he tired of you? You did not wish the same fate to befall you as it had for the priests, whatever it had been.

"I have not dismissed you," Ivar tutted when you began to walk away to your corner, unaware yourself that you had begun to do so. You craved distance from him, even if it was only a few feet away.

At first, he tried to manage his composure, calling you back with his voice deliberately even. When it became clear that no amount of coaxing on his part would work, he started yelling in his language. That word came up again, 'Ólaug'. It had been peppered into a number of your one-sided conversations. If he had tried to brand you with a new name, you would refuse. He would not take who you were.

Your fight ended with him throwing one of his crutches at you. It landed just before you, and you were able to contain your flinch. Ivar scoffed at your non-reaction and threw himself back onto the furs. He had finished disrobing and gave you the courtesy of his back, which appeared to be covered in a new etched design each time you saw him. Matched against your own untainted skin, it was a reminder of how different the worlds you came from were.

When you were sure Ivar had fallen asleep, you moved to get under your own thin pile of wool blankets. They were scratchy and held none of the warmth of the furs, but it was not the worst sleeping conditions you had ever weathered. That night you prayed for the lost Priests, and for God to take away your suffering. You didn't see a way out of your situation, but if God acted through you, you were certain to find your answer. Content to keep faith in your heart, Sister Mary Catharine slept, ignorant to the matter that Ivar was awake and watching you.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson #history vikings #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar the king #ivar imagine #vikings imagine

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