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amberofembers · 4 years

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International Herzog Week

A/N: hello! i hope you enjoy this dumb little fic about andrew and his herzog nonsense. 2.6k of fluff, if you’re into that :)

ao3

—

It was the third week of lockdown, or maybe even the fourth – it was hard to keep track of anything related to time nowadays. The days were becoming less discernible and everything seemed to still. The birds still chirped at daybreak but there was a certain quiet that filled the air.

It wasn't all that different from the previous few months and by this time, you had fallen into a comfortable routine at home. The gradual crescendo of your alarm pulled you from the depths of sleep. Unlike most mornings, the sound wasn't jarring but felt more like a gentle tap on the shoulder signaling the start of the day. As you stretched your legs, the duvet crinkled along with your movement and a quiet grumble was heard on your left. Blinking in the sunlight, you turned to face Andrew, whose brows were set in a slight frown as he stirred awake.

"Morning, you," you said softly, your voice raspy from sleep.

No reply was heard from him, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he placed his hand over yours underneath the duvet.

You had gone to bed without him last night, knowing his tendencies to stay up late. He had no fixed schedule to follow and, unsurprisingly, his sleep schedule was completely messed up. Seeing him awake before lunch would be a rare occurrence.

"What time did you go to bed last night?" you asked as you peeled yourself away from the warmth that you both had created under the duvet.

"Four"

"Oh god, your lifespan is steadily decreasing," you chuckled as you draped your legs over the side of the bed.

You padded over to his side of the bed, giving him a peck on the forehead. “You can go back to sleep, I gotta start work soon,” you said gently. He reached out to grasp the hand that hung loosely by your side and his eyes opened to a sliver, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Morning, love," he said, voice only slightly above a whisper.

"Yeah, morning," you let out a quiet laugh, "go back to sleep,"

“Stay here,” he whined, tugging your hand.

“You know I’d love to,” you huffed, “you’re just rubbing it in now”

You shook his hand off yours in mock anger, letting his hand fall from your grip down to the side of the bed. “Babe…” he pouted. You picked his hand up, giving it a soft kiss before placing it on his chest, “Work awaits, my love.”

As you headed towards the bathroom to freshen up for the day, you peered back into the bedroom. Andrew had rolled himself up in the duvet on your side of the bed, his feet sticking out slightly. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing his hair messily splayed over his face and the pillow - How lucky you were to be waking up to this every morning.

—

You chose to set up your workstation on the large wooden table in the dining room. There was a study in the house, but the gentle morning light that entered through the big glass windows of the dining room gave it a warmth that was irresistible. Preoccupied with replying and sending out emails and with a few zoom meetings here and there, the morning passed quickly. The initially steaming mug of coffee you placed beside your laptop had gone cold, you realized as you absentmindedly took a sip from it.

“Morning... again” You heard Andrew call out.

You looked up from your laptop, then back at the time displayed at the corner of the screen – 1pm. “Good afternoon to you too,” you said, shaking your head.

His hair was tied loosely in a bun and his glasses were set slightly crooked on his face. He wore a grey sweater that barely covered his torso and a sleepy smile.

“Time doesn't mean anything anymore,” He yawned as he strolled over to where you sat, threading his hand through your hair. You paused your typing, glancing up at him smiling, “imagine if my camera was on.”

His eyes widened comically as he jerked out of frame, “Jesus, that would be awkward,”

You chuckled under your breath, gesturing towards the kitchen “There are some blueberries left, can you finish them before they go bad?”

He nodded in accordance and headed to the kitchen to fix up some food. With the weather deep in autumnal bliss, it was probably going to be another round of oatmeal.

Some clinking of spoons on bowls and kettle boiling sounds later, Andrew emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of oatmeal held in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

He placed them carefully on the table, plopping down opposite you. You reached over the table to pull the saucer below his cup over, taking a sip of the warm coffee. The bitter liquid felt rough on your tongue as it flowed down the back of your throat. Your nose scrunched up involuntarily.

“That’s what you get for stealing my coffee,” Andrew teased.

“I’ll never understand the voluntary torture of black coffee,” you grumbled, “at least it was warm.”

Andrew pulled the saucer back to his side of the table. A comfortable silence blanketed the dining room. The clicking of your keyboard and the sounds of his spoon hitting the bowl padded the silence while the muted rustling of dried leaves could be heard through the windows.

“Is there such thing as insanity among penguins…” A voice broke the silence.

You sat upright with confusion, looking over your computer screen at Andrew. He was staring intently at his phone, his brows furrowed with concentration.

The voice that came from his phone went on about insane penguins and something about their certain death. As you listened, you stifled in some laughter. What was this video about? Andrew, on the other hand, seemed a little too invested. You watched in amusement as he replayed certain parts of the video.

“Bit morbid for a Monday morning,” you pointed out.

“It’s Herzog,” he said conclusively as he looked up from his phone

“Her who?”

“Herzog, he’s a German filmmaker.”

“Ah…” you nodded. You still had no idea who Herzog was.

“Look,” he thrusted his phone in your direction, leaving you to look at a lone penguin waddling away into the mountains.

“And here, he is heading off into the interior of the vast continent. With 5000 kilometers ahead of him, he’s heading towards certain death,” the narrator of the video concluded.

“Poor guy,” you said as you looked up at Andrew bemusedly.

“Poor lad indeed.” He sighed.

“Why are you watching a video about deranged penguins?” You chuckled.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “It popped up on youtube.”

“So this is why you sleep at 4 in the morning, huh…”

“No! I was watching American news and ehm… ” He trailed off, his eyes looking upwards in search for words , “...Working.”

“He was a good looking man, that Herzog,” He said as he turned his phone to you, showing you an old black and white photo of a mustached man. You gave him a murmur of assent.

“Thot… Hah!” he huffed a laugh. You stared at him quizzically.

He tried to stamp down his laugh, considering the calm of the afternoon but he was too pleased with his joke. “That… Herzog…. Over…” He struggled out between fits of laughter, “...There”

“Fuck, that was bad,” You offered him smile, “commendable attempt, though”

“No?” He tilted his head forward, looking the slightest bit affronted, “It’s so bad that it’s good, though...”

You shook your head. Andrew frequently made jokes that were questionable at best, and you’d give him shit for it usually, but the smile that was plastered across his face as he thought about his dumb joke was so endlessly warm that any snide remark you had disappeared immediately. His smile had a warmth that filled the room, one that danced over your skin and surrounded you in a tight embrace. You looked at him fondly as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Oh my god, should I post it?” He said, his voice dripping in childlike glee.

“No!” you exclaimed, “I swear to god, don't do it Andrew”

He raised an eyebrow almost like he was challenging you. “I’m gonna post it”, he grinned. He tapped away on his phone, smiling to himself.

—

Andrew had finished his breakfast - or lunch - and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. He’d taken your empty cup as well, a sweet gesture you took a mental note of - remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today.

As he left the table, you took the chance to check your phone. Scrolling through Instagram, you saw that he had posted a story.

“Jesus christ, Andrew...” you mumbled to yourself, maybe slightly too loudly because you heard him call out from the kitchen.

“It’s good, isn't it?”

“You posted the THOT thing and 20 million videos about the penguins?”

“Yeah, it’s so cool!” He protested, popping his head out of the kitchen door, “and the joy of discovering insane penguins deserves to be shared!”

“Mmm… Morning affirmations with Herzog,” you said, fluttering your fingers.

His eyes widened in revelation, “That’s fucking gold. Hold on, I’ve gotta post that too.” He grabbed the hand towel as he dried his hands briskly.

“Oh no, what have I done...”

“You being a genius is what you’ve done” he looked at you endearingly as he snatched up his phone from the table, “Can I steal the morning affirmations line?”

“Go ahead,” you said, “it’s not that funny though.”

“It’s brilliant,” he beamed, bending down to place a quick kiss on the top of your head. “Think I’m gonna be in the studio today, good luck with work, yeah?”

—

As the day went on, you busied yourself with more work. You would be lying if you said that you stopped to stretch periodically. It was more like forgetting that your body existed for an entire hour while typing in a hunched position until realizing that, wow, your neck ached. You looked at the time - 5pm. As you rubbed your smarting eyes, you decided it was time for a break.

You noticed that Andrew hadn't emerged from the studio yet. He could spend hours on end in that room, either working on lyrics or fiddling with his guitars or humming along to the piano. The studio was one of your favorite places in the house, because it felt so much like him. Notebooks scribbled with odds and ends of ideas strewn on the floor, the thermostat always set a bit warmer than the rest of the house, the sound of music and occasionally his voice filling the room as he tinkered around with ideas.

From time to time, the room would be livelier with musician friends coming over to work on material. You'd stay out of the studio when it got too crowded. Lately, since it’s been just the two of you, the studio started to feel like the most intimate place in the house.

Remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today, the thought popped back into your mind.

Doting on each other wasn't a typical thing you two would do, it was more small gestures that showed you cared about each other. Those tiny gestures of affection were usually pleasant surprises and received with much tenderness. On one particularly bad work day, you remember how he wrote you a sweet letter and hid it underneath your pillow for you to find it the next morning. When you found the letter and thanked him for it, he blushed a deep red and hid his face behind a curtain of his hair, smiling sheepishly. Thank god, I thought you were going to find that too cheesy, you remember him saying.

Since today was a studio day, you figured he could do with a warm cup of tea. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater down to your palm, you gave your limbs a much-needed stretch and shuffled to the kitchen to make some tea for the both of you.

Precariously balancing two steaming mugs in both your hands, you carefully walked to the studio, trying not to scald yourself with hot tea.

The door to the studio was ajar and through the gap you could hear the faint strumming of a guitar float through the hallway leading to it.

“Can I come in?”

The guitar strums stopped as Andrew chirped, “Yeah, come in! I missed you.”

“I’m only 3 doors down, love,” you said as you pushed the door open with your foot.

“Yeah, but it’s too cold…” His eyes travelled to where you stood in the doorway.

“Tea?” The excitement was apparent in his voice.

You handed one mug to him, nodding, “careful, it’s hot.”

You headed to the small couch tucked into the corner of the studio and set your mug on the table next to it. A wool blanket was draped haphazardly over the couch so you balled it up, using it as a pillow of sorts. He placed his guitar on a rack nearby and stalked over to where you sat, tea mug held tightly in his hands. You shuffled to one side of the couch to give him some space but it still seemed like the couch was far too small for the both of you.

As he sat down, he leaned over and gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, muttering quietly into your hair, “Thank you for the tea, love. Sorry I didn't come out much, I’ve just been trying to hammer out this idea that’s been swimming in my head for far too long.”

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly. Your hand reached out to his face that was placed near your shoulder, stroking his jaw with slow, hypnotic movements. He hummed softly, leaning into your touch.

“What was the idea about?”

“Herzog,” he stated plainly.

“I hate you, Andrew, I really do,” you said incredulously.

“You don't,” he grinned, “but anyway, it was just a riff that begged to be completed. I don't have lyrics yet.”

“About the Herzog thing, though…” He began, “People aren't getting it.” He seemed equal parts disappointed and humored.

“Of course they aren't!” You let out an amused laugh, “I think you should clear it up. Instagram really isn't fit for weird shit, maybe keep that to twitter.”

“I’m off twitter, though.”

“Suck it up, big man,” you teased.

“Okay fine, I’ll tweet about it,” he sulked, reluctantly unlocking his phone, “What do I even say?”

“Happy international Herzog week, folks!” you joked.

“You are too good at this,” he turned his head to stare at you in awe.

“My god, please don't tell me you're using that too…” He stayed silent, reacting only with a sly smile.

“You’ll have to start crediting me for all those punchlines...” you hesitated, “actually, no, don't. They're not that good, it’s better if people think it’s you.”

He chuckled and gave your side a small shove, “I think it’s hilarious.”

“Can you italicize stuff on twitter?” He asked.

“No… Oh wow you’re going all out, huh?”

“Only the best for your joke,” he said, giving you a playful wink.

You pulled yourself closer to him and draped your legs over his, his sweatpants folding underneath yours. The warmth of your bodies meeting gave you an immeasurable sense of comfort and security. One of his hands rested on your thigh while the other was used to type his very complex tweet. As his eyes stayed fixed on his phone, his index finger absentmindedly drew circles on the fabric of your sweatpants. Melting into his gentle touch, you closed your eyes, making a mental note to maybe move your workstation to the studio instead.

#hozier #hozier fanfic #hozier imagine #hozier fic #hozier x reader #hozier fanfiction

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pkg4mumtown · 3 years

Text

Signs of Attachment (Ch. 3)

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

Taglist: @trash-dino-5000

A/N: Thank you, again, for everyone who’s read. This is the tentative end, but I may add an epilogue at some point!!

Just a reminder:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 3 - Falling

I mulled over a data pad in my examination room, counting down the seconds until I could run to the mess hall for lunch. I felt an all too familiar signature approaching my door, making me look up before it had even opened. It had been a couple months since that spar with Obi-Wan, but we had both enjoyed it so much that we made a habit of it at least once a week. Though, not as intensely as that first one that left both of us rather sore the next day.

“Good afternoon,” Obi-Wan signed immediately upon seeing my eyes fixed on him. His voice rang out melodically, so I basked in it before it would inevitably become muddled.

My eyes widened when I saw his hair, “You got a hair cut?”

He paused, embarrassed because I’d noticed.

“Yes, yesterday,” he ran a hand through his hair, which was brushed over to the side, his mullet long gone.

“It looks good, I love it, Obi-Wan,” I complimented, his cheeks tinting pink almost immediately.

“Have you had—lunch?” He asked, stumbling over the sign at the end.

“No, not yet,” I stood and stretched.

“Come with me,” he nodded his head toward the door with a bright smile.

“What are you up to?” I squinted my eyes at him.

“You’ll see,” he winked.

I followed him, impressed with his progress every day. Obi-Wan led us away from the direction of the mess hall, toward the entrance to one of the gardens.

I smacked his arm to get his attention, “Where are we going? The mess hall is that way.”

“Patience,” he smirked and patted my shoulder. He led me with his hand still firmly on my shoulder while we entered the gardens. We weaved our way through to the back until we stopped at a sort of clearing. I felt him tap my shoulder before he dropped his hand.

“My Master and I used to—have mid-meal here often,” he explained.

“It’s beautiful, Obi-Wan,” I sighed in awe at my surroundings. I had been in the gardens hundreds of times but never in this specific spot, hidden just for Obi-Wan and his Master. I looked down, seeing a small blanket, just barely big enough for us to sit on, and lunch already spread out for us, my head snapping to him in question.

“You planned this?” I questioned.

“Yes,” he signed, then waved his hand for me to sit down. “An excuse to get you alone, nothing compares to conversation.”

“I agree.”

We sat facing one another so signing would be easier, our legs crossed and knees nearly touching each other. The food was off to the side of us for us to grab. As we dug in to the food he had brought, my involuntary sigh of happiness at finally being able to eat made him laugh softly, something so much easier to hear here where it was relatively quiet and low distraction. I waved my fingers up and down at him to get his attention as he looked off elsewhere.

“Obi-Wan, did you make this?

A laugh bubbled from his lips and his head shook, “Stars, no, ask Ana—kin, I can’t cook.”

I felt a smile tug my lips as I watched him stumble over fingerspelling, “That’s not good!”

He just shrugged, “He survived.”

“How is your Padawan?” I wondered, not having seen him in a couple weeks.

“He was knighted,” Obi was signed, mimicking the cutting of a Padawan braid with his fingers behind his ear.

My eyes widened in shock, “That’s amazing, Obi-Wan, congratulations!”

“Thank you,” he signed, then bowed his head.

He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, “What does this mean?” He asked and mimicked a sign I had just used.

My cheeks burned a little at having to explain it, “It’s your name.”

“But, my name is signed,” O-B-I- — -W-A-N? He finger spelled his name.

“Yes, you’re right, but see how long that took?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

Yes, “It was a lot,” Obi-Wan half signed and half spoke.

“Of course, if it’s okay with you, I shortened it to that. It’s just your hand making an ‘O’ and a couple swipes to your jaw,” I explained and demonstrated it again.

“That’s so much easier,” he repeated the sign. “Why here, though?” He asked, gesturing to his jaw.

“Um, your…beard,” I stuttered slightly.

“Interesting,” Obi-Wan murmured, running his hand over said beard.

I stared at the way his fingers sifted and twisted in the hair. I snapped myself out of a trance and continued on explaining.

“Usually, personal signs like that have your initial and something distinctive about you. Something you wear, your favorite animal, your occupation…”

“I see, so what would Anakin’s be? Because spelling his was exhausting, too,” Obi-Wan chuckled. I smiled involuntarily at the sound of his laughter, not always able to hear it so clearly in our brief passings.

“You’ll get better at it in time,” I nudged his knee with mine and finger-spelled “Anakin” quickly.

“That’s not fair,” he nudged back.

“Well, Anakin has a scar, right? That’s identifiable, so maybe this?” I made an “A” and drew a line down over my right eye with my thumb.

“That’s…genius, how did I not think of that?” Obi-Wan sighed.

“It can be hard to come up with them sometimes,” I shrugged.

“What did you use for Master Plo?” Obi-Wan wondered.

The words decided, then, to muddle together making me look at him strangely, Repeat, I signed to him.

“Sorry, what sign did you use for Master Plo,” he repeated and added sign.

“I made a ‘P’ with both hands and did the gesture for teacher, pretty much,” I demonstrated it for him. “It got the point across as him being my teacher. Similarly, he made my initial and did the gesture for student for me.”

“Clever, though you’re not my student, so what would you use now?” His hand made its way back to his beard, letting his fingers smooth over the chin area. And he wondered why I chose that area for his name.

“Mmm…the closest thing we have to ‘healer’ is ‘doctor’ so maybe…” I trailed off as I formed my initial with my dominant hand and tapped the inner part of my wrist on my non-dominant hand with that palm facing up. “I’d never really needed it before, but that works pretty well.”

I watched Obi-Wan repeat the sign a few times to commit it to memory.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he signed.

“Nice to meet you, too, Obi-Wan,” my shoulders jumped with laughter.

“How long do you have left on—your break?”

“Thirty minutes,” I answered after checking my comm for the time. I groaned and let myself fall backwards, my feet unfolding to land on either side of Obi-Wan. Most of my body was now in the grass behind me, not that I minded.

“Hey, you can’t nap, I can’t sign if you’re laying down!” Obi-Wan protested at my dramatic gesture.

“Relax, Obi, you’re doing well,” I rolled my eyes.

“But I’d like to get practice in!”

“We’re you a master’s pet? Because you sound like one. Oh, who am I kidding, of course you were,” I closed my eyes and rested my hands on my stomach.

I felt Obi-Wan move next to me and lay down, “I resent that.”

“But, was I not correct?” I opened my eyes and turned my head in his direction, seeing his head propped on his hand and looking down at me.

All he did in response was squint. Obi-Wan huffed and laid on his back, playfully bitter about not being able to practice, as if he hadn’t set up a whole lunch date. His hand fell into the grass, softly picking at the blades while the other rested on his chest.

“Obi, huh?” He commented turning his head slightly to raise an eyebrow at me.

“Sorry,” I murmured back, letting a hand slide off my stomach and fall into the grass, my pinky landing on his.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Your name is just so tedious that I have to shorten it in speech and sign,” I stressed the “and” by poking the back of his hand with my index finger.

“Yes, well I didn’t choose it, dear.”

“‘Dear’? How old are you?” I snorted.

“Our Temple Days are only five months apart, don’t insult me!”

“Says the man with gray hairs,” I mumbled.

“You’re insufferable. It’s a wonder I don’t have more, now,” he ripped a few blades of grass and used the force to fling them at me.

“You’re the one who invited me,” I sent the grass back at him, hearing him bat the grass off his face with his other hand.

I felt his hand shift under mine, taking it as a sign for me to move my hand, but as soon as I did his palm turned up and grabbed my hand back. I felt a blush rising up my neck, that I could probably pass off as a reaction to the grass, but probably not well. I could feel the contentment he was pushing through the force where our hands met, only making my blush rise faster.

What in the world was he doing?

He settled his hand when he was sure I wasn’t going to take mine back and let his fingertips barely pass through mine. Enough so, that if I squeezed my fingertips together just slightly, I could feel his next to mine.

“Why are you learning BSL, Obi-Wan?” I blurted out.

I did my best to shield my feelings, especially since we were touching, but I couldn’t help wondering why he was doing this. In the back of my mind, I knew it was for me but the fact of the matter is he was a model Jedi. He had no business growing so close to me these last seven months, learning a whole new language for me, and quite literally holding my hand in this moment.

I was too nervous to turn my head all the way but saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed anxiously. I could no longer feel contentment though his hand, but a nervous, vibrating energy instead. Obi-Wan’s fingers slipped entirely passed mine, lacing our fingers together purposefully.

I could read into it without him saying anything, but I was not going to be the reason one of the Order’s greatest Jedi would be expelled, or worse, fall to the dark side. Not that I was entirely without fault here, either. I had definitely fallen victim to attachment toward him, as well; hard.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t d—,” I moved to sit-up, but Obi-Wan sat up faster.

Please, wait, he let go of my hand very briefly to sign.

“Not now, I—.”

Please.

I could see the urgency in his eyes and hear it desperately in his voice as he plead with me, so I paused my hasty exit.

You’re—important to me, he signed slowly, foregoing speech because of the topic, trying to figure out what he wanted to confess as he went.

This isn’t good, Obi-Wan, the Council—

—Can’t understand BSL, he interrupted.

No, but they can read the force. You forget my old Master is also on the Council, I let my arms flop down in frustration.

I’m on the Council, too, now, or have you forgotten? He challenged with a playful twinkle in his eye.

Regardless, they are very set in their ways and my shields aren’t as impeccable as yours, my signing was more erratic than normal, his eyes tracking everything and trying to understand as quickly as possible. If I wasn’t so terrified, I would have said it was good practice for him.

I’ll help you, he took one of my hands in his tightly.

I scoffed and shook my head, No.

I quickly stood up, dropping Obi-Wan’s hand, only to be stopped by a single string of signs.

I’ve fallen in love with you, he finally signed, almost defeatedly dropping his hands in his lap. His eyes were downcast, my entire body frozen as I stared down at him sitting on the blanket. That’s why I’ve kept learning, because I…, he trailed off.

I didn’t even try to pretend that I didn’t feel the same way in that moment, he was just brave enough to say it first. I stared at him for ages, in tune with how his signature had wilted ever so slightly during this extended silence. I finally stuck my hand out to him, to which he looked at and then up at me. I waved my fingers impatiently, so he grabbed my hand and pulled himself up.

We stood almost chest to chest, neither of us moving. I held his gaze, trying to bring myself to sign but my hands were shaking next to me. Obi-Wan brought his hand up, brushing his thumb along my cheek. He didn’t rush me but seemed content to just watch my nervous face. Finally, I brought my hands up, his eyes immediately focusing on them out of habit.

I—I’ve fallen for you, too, I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t feel like this, we shouldn’t…, I looked down, feeling guilt wash over me like a tidal wave.

“No, no, no,” Obi-Wan murmured, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Never be sorry, not for this.”

I allowed myself to sink into his arms, the guilt barely subsiding at the contact. At least until Obi-Wan metaphorically opened the floodgates and pushed through the feelings he had kept hidden from me. I gasped against his tabards, a warmth surrounding me and taking my breath away. I pulled my head back to look at him, running my hand over his beard and smiling as he nuzzled into my palm. Obi-Wan let go of me with one hand, taking my hand in his own so he could bring it to his lips. With his eyes closed and a desperate kiss to my knuckles, he let my hand go and dropped his other from around me.

Can I kiss you? He signed shyly, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

Pleas—

He barely let me finish the full sign before he was pulling me back into his arms. I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his shoulders as his mouth descended on mine.

There was nothing complicated or urgent about it, just a simple, exploratory meeting. I pulled away first, the location of this scandalous occurrence suddenly hitting me.

“I need to get back to the Halls of Healing,” I sighed as he pressed his forehead against mine.

“Let me walk you.”

I nodded, allowing him to hold me close as we walked until we got to the busy hallways. In the semi-safe enclosure of my examination room, Obi-Wan pulled me close and kissed me again. This time, more urgently than before, his tongue swiping along my bottom lip and making me clutch his tunics tighter.

I smiled into the kiss but pushed him back by his chest, You’re getting too excited.

Sorry, he replied shyly.

I’ll see you later, I signed, punctuated with a quick kiss.

I’ll be waiting, he stepped backwards toward the door until the door swooshed open. I love you, he signed with his back to the hallway.

I love you, too.

With that, Obi-Wan left the doorway, giving me a passing sign for “ILY” while waving with that index finder at the same time.

#obi wan x y/n #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #gn!mc #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #hard of hearing reader

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the-hidden-writer · 3 years

Text

And Into The Fire

Chapter 12: A Definitely-Not-Plan

Summary: Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Taglist: @squidsushi , @astro-aye , @shitmyex, @sharks-are-friendly, @snakeguy99

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Definitely-Not-Plan

One of the worst parts of being a parent, Linda thought, was having to wake up your children when they were sound asleep with peace written all over their faces. As their original plan of spending the night at the campsite was discarded without warning, Aaron fell asleep very quickly into their high-speed journey to Silicon Valley. Even Rick (who had been adamant that he would stay awake) began to snore after an hour or so.

She hadn’t minded. She would much rather her boys be well-rested for whatever they were about to face.

While driving, it felt like the journey was taking forever. But now that they’d arrived it felt like it had taken no time at all. They weren’t too far from the massive Pal Labs facility that looked very menacing as it loomed in the near-distance.

They’d arrived at their destination. And she had no idea where to go from here. Unless they simply charged into the building…

Doing her best to brush all illegal-sounding thoughts from her mind, Linda continued to gently shove her son awake.

“Aaron, sweetie, we’re here.”

“Mmm not yet, Mom...”

She briefly considered leaving Aaron in the car to let him sleep. Which, although it may keep him safe, could also result in him being in a whole different danger that was out of their control. She’d rather keep him close.

“Rise and shine, son.” Rick said, purposefully speaking in a louder tone which caused Aaron to wince and squeeze his eyelids shut tighter. “We need to rescue the bots.”

That caused Aaron to stir a little. “But it’s still dark.”

It was true, dawn was only just beginning to break and soon they would lose the cover of darkness. But at least there was a chance, as small as it may be, that fewer people would be there due to it being the middle of the night.

However, Linda doubted it. Especially if both of the bots were inside.

“So what’s the plan, Lin?” Rick asked her once Aaron began to sleepily climb out of the car.

Shoot. She’d promised to have thought up a plan by the time they’d arrived in exchange for letting her drive the car. And in her defence she had tried, but without knowing what the situation was going to be like she couldn’t think of anything apart from…

“We storm in there and demand that they give them back.”

The hesitance on Rick’s face was totally justified. “Uhh, are you sure? No offence but that sounds like a pretty dumb plan, dear.”

“Got any better ideas?” She quipped back. And although it sounded sarcastic, the question was completely genuine.

“Why don’t you just pay for the bots?” Aaron supplied, shutting the car door in a way that sounded far too loud for the serenity of the night around them. “Just buy them off Pal Labs then they’ll leave us alone.”

“Aar, that’s a great idea!” Rick exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We may be completely broke afterwards, but it is a good idea.”

“Yeah…”

Linda had to admit that the idea was smart and even had a better chance of working than her plan. But there was something about the notion of having to buy her sons back that didn’t sit well with her. To treat them as collectable items, as inhuman as they were, went against all of her instincts.

(Her… sons? The bots. Her boys. Her… sons.)

“Let’s keep that as a last resort.”

“Yeah, that’s a better idea.” Rick agreed. “I’d like to save my money if possible, 'specially since I’m not working at the moment.”

She smiled at her small victory. Now came the hard part. “So… shall we go?”

“What, we just drive right up to them and walk in?” Rick frowned. “We really don’t have a better plan?”

“We never have a plan.” Aaron added from below them. “But we always win in the end, don’t we?”

Linda bit back a comment about how last time was nothing but pure luck. She also admired her son’s optimism and tried to let some of it sink in to calm her own nerves.

“You’re right.” She said, bending down to kiss Aaron’s forehead. “We’ll get them back.”

Even if it meant having to tear the whole building to the ground.

~-.-~

“I don’t understand.” Muttered Katie. “So you were trying to decommission them?”

“That’s what I thought they were trying to do.” Mark replied. “That’s what I was trying to do, but apparently that wasn’t the plan. They want one disassembled and one online for some reason.”

With Agent Ward busy elsewhere and due to the lack of agents/employees at this time of night, nobody was able to supervise the two as they sat in the locked office. It gave them an ample opportunity to have a private chat.

And it also allowed Katie to gather as much information about what the hell was going on here.

“Right… but why?”

Mark shrugged. “Beats me. Unless they want to build their own robot army-”

He paused abruptly- a look of horror growing on his face.

“Oh my god they wanna build a robot army.”

Katie wasn’t even surprised. Of course that was what they were planning, what else could it be? The robots had already proved their worth at being able to take over the world, just imagine what they would be able to do if they were utilized by the government of any country, let alone the United States.

“...Are you sure you can put him back together?” She asked quietly.

Mark Bowman blinked. “What?”

“Eri- uh, that Pal MAX bot in the lab.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m pretty sure. I specifically told them not to break anything when taking it apart, whether they listened or not is out of my hands.”

“Right.”

They fell into silence for a few moments. Mark was sitting in his wheelie chair while Katie sat on the computer desk at the side of the room. It was surprisingly comfortable.

It was Mark that was the first to speak up again.

“You called it Eric.”

Katie hung her head. It sounded a lot more like an accusation than a comment. “Yeah… I did.”

“Why?” Mark Bowman continued. “Because the Evil Warden can’t be right, you and your family aren’t actually-”

“Working with them?” Katie finished. “I mean yeah, if adopting them counts.”

She knew it was probably a bad idea to tell him the truth, but she really needed an ally in this place, and since Mark Bowman seemed to be a prisoner in his own facility he was the best (and only) person for the job.

It took a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

“...You what? Adopted them?”

“Yeah.” Said Katie nonchalantly. “They helped us save the world, actually. A dinosaur fell on them and they turned defective and told us how to stop Pal. We literally couldn't have done it without them.”

The expression on Mark Bowman’s face was priceless.

“It's a long story. And then when all the other robots switched off, they had nowhere to go so we took them in.”

Mark looked stunned. “So you use them like normal? Get them to cook and clean and stuff?”

“God, no!” Katie cried. “They’re a part of the family! They’re practically children and they have their own personalities and everything. They gave themselves the names ‘Eric’ and ‘Deborahbot 5000’.”

“...And ‘Eric’ is chopped up on a table in Lab 5.”

Katie sighed, the memory of what she’d seen flashing through her mind. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“Well that makes a lot more sense.” Said Mark. “I still think turning them off is the best option though. They may seem nice, but they’re dangerous-”

“No they’re not! They’re absolutely harmless! Deborahbot practically started crying when he stood on a beetle by accident!”

Mark scoffed, but at least he didn’t argue.

“We all love them.” She added. “We just want them back. And I’m pretty sure the whole world is safer if they’re with my family instead of the CIA.”

Mark seemed to contemplate this for a few moments. “I mean…”

All of a sudden, the computer behind Katie began to flash red, causing her to jump straight off and Mark to leap onto his feet.

“What’s that?!” Questioned Katie, pointing at the screen that was flashing the words: CODE #15.

“That’s the alarm.” Said Mark worriedly, rushing to the computer. “Someone’s broken in.”

Comments make my day! :)

#the mitchells vs the machines #tmvtm #fic #fanfic #linda mitchell #aaron mitchell #rick mitchell #katie mitchell #mark bowman #eric and deborahbot5000 #eric and deborahbot #and into the fire

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ot3tropetober · 4 years

Photo

Eliot stared at the gleaming new machine in his kitchen.

“What,” he said slowly, “is that.”

Hardison slouched against the kitchen island, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. “What’s what, handsome?”

Eliot jerked his head at the thing on the counter. “That.”

“Oh, that?” Hardison said, elaborately casual. “That’s a top of the line Necromincer 5000. Not only does it mince, but it chops. It shreds. It juliennes. It chiffonades. It purees. I don’t know what half of that means, but it’s the hottest new addition to any herbalist’s arsenal.”

“What are you, writing ads for it?” Eliot grumbled. “What’s it doing in my kitchen?”

“I got you a lil’ gift,” Hardison said. “To show my appreciation for everything you’ve been giving me, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows.

"This is technology,” Eliot said, ignoring Hardison’s suggestive expressions. “I don’t use technology in my magic, man.”

“Sure you do,” Hardison said. “Mortars and pestles don’t grow on trees. Neither does that big fancy gas stove. It’s all technology." He set down the coffee cup just so he could make dramatic air quotes around the word "technology”. If he hadn’t been shirtless with those low-slung sweatpants that threatened to slide right off his hips, Eliot probably would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he was a little distracted. Hardison’s sweatpants won a lot of their arguments, if he was honest, especially since Hardison had been spending more and more weekends at Eliot’s place.

“Eliot. Calling Eliot. Earth to Eliot." Hardison poked at him. Eliot startled out of his reverie about Hardison’s abs and all the rest of Hardison and the amount of time they’d been spending together in Eliot’s big sage-scented bed.

"Will you put a damn shirt on so we can finish this argument?” Eliot said.

Hardison looked around. He picked up one of Eliot’s flannels from the back of one of the high chairs tucked under the island and shrugged it on without bothering to button it. It didn’t help hide his abs at all, and it was way too snug across the shoulders, but it was something. Eliot regained enough brain function to refocus on why Hardison was wrong.

“What I use isn’t technology,” Eliot said. “It’s human powered. Well, the gas stove is fire-powered, I guess, but it doesn’t need electricity. I can light it with a match if I have to.”

“Oh, sure,” Hardison said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Because they just went out and harvested all the pipes for it from the gas-stove fields. Dug up the burner covers, knocked the dirt off, and shipped them straight to you. It’s technology, Eliot. We made it to work for us.”

“It’s not new technology,” Eliot insisted. “I don’t just press a button and wham bam chiffonade." He glared at the Necromincer. "I also don’t believe that damn gadget can chiffonade.”

Hardison tipped his head. “Fine. Try to do something nice to make your life easier, give you a little more free time to spend with me, but I see how it is." He shifted and picked up his coffee cup again, taking a step toward the living room. Eliot caught him around the waist and Hardison smiled down at him, more than a little smug.

"Thank you,” Eliot said,settling his hips comfortably against Hardison’s. “I’m never gonna use it.”

“Maybe not for magic,” Hardison said, “but when it comes to dinner, that might be a different story.”

Eliot looked back at the big machine as Hardison wrapped one arm around Eliot’s shoulders, tugging gently at Eliot’s hair. “It might be useful for dinner."

"Hmm, changing your tune,” Hardison said, smiling.

“Yeah, well,” Eliot said. “Sometimes you chop all day, you don’t want to chop all night.”

“I do love to watch you though,” Hardison said. “My man and his big old knives. All those muscles in your back, mmm.”

“I got plenty of chopping to do today,” Eliot said. “Or I will after I go out and forage what I need.”

“You want help?” Hardison asked.

“Hell no,” Eliot said. “Not after you mixed up foxgloves and violets.”

“They were purple,” Hardison protested. “You said they were purple. I got the purple ones.”

Eliot shook his head. “I’m not taking any chances. You’d probably pick up the wrong mushroom or something and then I’m minus one boyfriend.”

“Oh, boyfriend, huh?” Hardison teased.

“Yeah, well,” Eliot said, pretending to scowl, “if you’re gonna start trying to clutter up my beautiful kitchen with your weird appliances, I think it’s kind of official."

"You’d bring me back,” Hardison said with certainty. “Even if you had to use the Necromincer.”

“I like your faith in me,” Eliot said, “but I’d also just rather avoid any kind of near-death experience." He leaned forward very deliberately and ran his hands over Hardison’s abs. "I’ve got better things to do with my time than spend it saving your ass, you know?”

“I think I get it,” Hardison said. He leaned down to give Eliot a lingering kiss. “I’m gonna go get my magic done for the day so you don’t have to see me shaping any nasty electricity or non-ancient technology into spells to save lives and make people’s days run smoother. Wouldn’t want you to get upset by any kind of magic that didn’t start out growing in the earth.”

“Great,” Eliot told him. “I’m gonna go out and participate in centuries of tradition by harvesting the blessings and, yes, some of the curses of nature and transforming them into medicine and enchantments.”

“Seems to me like you’ve got plenty of home-grown enchantments working,” Hardison said, setting down his coffee again so he could rub Eliot’s back. “If you know what I mean.”

“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down,” Eliot said. “Guess the sooner we both get done, the sooner we can test that theory.”

“Hey,” Hardison said as Eliot moved away. “Make sure you come back just a little sweaty, okay?”

“Just for you, I’ll make sure to get a little sweaty,” Eliot promised. He got his picking bag off its hook on the wall and slung it over his shoulder. Hardison patted his ass as Eliot walked past him again on the way to the fridge. He opened the door, blocking Hardison’s view with his body, and rummaged around in the vegetable drawer under the celery, coming up with a packet wrapped in waxed cloth.

“Is that the sandwich?” Hardison asked. “Damn, I’ll be honest with you, E. I was gonna eat that sandwich.”

“That’s why I made two." Eliot smiled. "Yours is the one on top of the eggs." He packed it carefully in his bag and filled his water bottle at the sink, dropping in a few mint leaves from the plant on the windowsill. He kissed Hardison as he left and hummed a little tune to himself. The air was fresh and crisp, and he lived in a world full of magic. When he came home, Hardison would be curled up in an armchair, and in a way, that was the best magic of all. He wasn’t going to tell Hardison that, though. There were only so many smug grins a man could bear. Still and all, it was a nice life.

#au: magic #author: aimlessglee #submission

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todisturbtheuniverse · 3 years

Text

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [8/9]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 5000 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one. Chapter-specific note: All of the remaining chapters are up on AO3; they’ll be posted more slowly here on tumblr so as not to clog your dashboards.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

"She's late," Bull said.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "You don't say."

Cassandra, ignoring them both, continued to look toward the village through her spyglass. Josephine watched her, hands clammy. They were all awfully comfortable with the idea that something had already gone wrong. Perhaps from long practice.

Josephine, unfortunately, wasn't practiced at all.

Cassandra lowered the spyglass. "That's the last of them."

"Really," Bull said, doubtfully. "All of 'em in the tavern?"

"Or standing around outside it." She tucked the spyglass into her belt. "Ten, all told. A few in older gear, but otherwise well-equipped."

"I'd've left some men out in the field. They have enough to spare for that. Catch us off-guard when we're in the middle of cracking heads."

"I believe they hope that if they are all in one place, you can be prevented from doing that," Dorian said dryly.

"We'll see how that works out for them."

"No change to the plan, then," Josephine broke in.

They all looked to her, as if they'd forgotten she was there. Fair enough. She wasn't usually here when they did this kind of thing. And after this experience, she hoped she never would be again.

"If she wasn't fast enough to observe without being made, none of us are," Bull said. "So either she's injured or worse, and we need to ride to the rescue sooner rather than later—"

"Bull," Dorian said, not exasperated now, but sharp. Maybe Josephine's face had given away something of how she felt about this hypothetical scenario.

"—or she's just tied up, and we might as well get on with it," Bull went on, perfectly even. "We're not going to figure out more about these people by standing out here with our thumbs up our asses."

Dorian glared at Bull. "If they've gone to the trouble of luring her here, she's probably the picture of—"

"She'd rather know the score than listen to me lie," Bull interrupted.

"We don't gain anything by waiting," Cassandra said, taking over. "She is very good with those daggers, but not good enough to handle a dozen opponents at once."

"She lacks the reach," Bull agreed.

Josephine looked to Cassandra again, who looked back at her, frowning. "They're not Red Templars," she said, not reassuring—that was not Cassandra's forte—but simply conveying facts. "I'm certain of that much. Well-outfitted, but no identifying regalia."

"Professionals, then," Bull said. "Not hungry folk."

"I just imagined I would know more about them than that when I walked into this negotiation," Josephine said.

"We always knew that we would have limited information," Cassandra pointed out. "Besides, you have worked miracles before. I have watched you change the mood at many a meeting in a single blink."

"To you, it may certainly seem that way. There is a lot of groundwork before we reach that point." Josephine took a deep breath. "And the stakes here are higher."

"Nah," Bull said. "Just think—usually we have to do this part without you."

Dorian looked torn between outrage and amusement. "You are creating more and more problems for future Adaar, you know."

"She can handle it," Bull said easily, and winked at Josephine. Well, maybe he just blinked. It was hard to tell.

"Very well," Josephine said, ignoring all of this regardless. "Let's waste no more time."

They took the wagon-rutted road on foot, leaving the horses tied at the turnstile that marked the highway. Josephine took the opportunity, as they walked, to unwind the chain of office that had been packed carefully away in her saddlebags and don it again.

"If they are as well-researched as they seem," she said, to Cassandra's questioning look, "then best they know who they're dealing with from the outset."

Cassandra's mouth twitched toward a smile. "They may be so distracted by the idea of all the money they don't know that we don't have that it will all be over before opening remarks."

"You would like that," Josephine said mildly. "Given your distaste for wasting time."

"Mmm," Cassandra said, noncommittal, but still she smiled. She hadn't drawn her sword, but her hand rested on the pommel; she watched the fields, eyes seeking any sign of movement.

Josephine spoke more quietly this time. "Do you think she really could be injured?"

Cassandra's gaze flicked to her, just for a moment. She hesitated before answering. "Yes. Anything is possible. If this is a hopeful grab for money, though, they would be stupid to seriously wound her." She let out a barely-audible sigh. "As long as she keeps her mouth shut. But if these people know her...if they wish to harm her because of some personal vendetta...well, she is resilient. She will recover."

Adaar had once told Josephine a story too terrible to be false. Now she had a hard time forgetting it, the images it had evoked: the close cellar, the tortured sawing of blade against horn, the just-in-time arrival of the Valo-kas.

She'd promised Adaar that no one would do that to her, ever again. She hoped that she was not too late.

"And if it's worse?" Josephine asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"She would fight," Cassandra said easily. "To her dying breath. We would already have heard the ruckus." She paused, considering. "And if she got the opportunity, she would run."

Josephine held onto that through the long walk down into the valley, where the light from the Dancing Star still gleamed, brighter and brighter, resolving clearly now into firelight, not a star at all. The others didn't talk much, either, all preparing in their own way: Cassandra, steadily alert; Bull, whistling a low tune; Dorian, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his staff; and Josephine, combing over the possibilities, trying to think of what she'd missed, trying to guess at every angle this adversary might arrive from.

Five mercenaries stood just outside the tavern building, bright with nervous energy. They perked up when they saw the group. "Nice of you to finally join us," one of them—a lean woman with her hair braided tightly out of the way—called out. "No funny business means no mages." She pointed at Dorian. "Give up your staff."

"Of course, good woman." Without any apparent hesitation, Dorian threw the stick at her, maybe a touch harder than necessary. She fumbled the catch a little.

"Boss wants to talk to someone agreeable," she said. She leaned the staff against the wall behind her. "Amenable, like. Just one."

Some might call the diplomats, merchants, and nobles Josephine dealt with mercenary, but she had rarely dealt with actual mercenaries. Still, they were just people, in the end. People she wanted something from, who wanted something from her.

So she had gotten through many moments like this. She had just not been bargaining for her heart, then.

But her head took over. Like Adaar's long years of practice with a blade, Josephine had honed her craft until it was muscle memory, until it was second nature. She did not hesitate.

"Lady Josephine Montilyet," she said, stepping forward. She did not curtsy. "Chief Diplomat of the Inquisition. I believe that I will serve." Before they could get halfway through their uneasy looks to one another—maybe they hadn't bargained on quite so high an officer—she pressed ruthlessly on. "I must insist, however, that I bring some protection to the table. Cassandra will accompany me."

This was important; they would have a hard time inside, at the crucial moment, if only Adaar and Josephine were on hand to deal with the number Cassandra had marked going into the tavern—or, worse, if Adaar wasn't in there at all.

The woman said, "Boss said just one."

Josephine smiled, unthreatening, polite. "Two is not so different than one. We come in good faith; our mage has already surrendered his weapon; this is the nature of compromise."

With a scowl, the woman flung open the door to the tavern. Josephine heard the murmur of conversation through the thin walls. She listened with half an ear in case the words became discernible while she observed the others.

One of the men, standing a few feet to the right of the tavern door, had paled. His eyes flicked from Josephine's chain of office to the tall, tall points of Bull's horns. His armor was older than the rest, not as well-fitted or well-maintained. The mercenary standing beside him wore a similar outfit, but his jaw was set. He did not look at their group at all.

The woman reappeared, a sour twist to her mouth. "You two, go in." She gestured to Josephine and Cassandra. "You two, stay put." She pointed at Bull and Dorian. Bull made a display of scratching his belly and yawning.

"Thank you," Josephine said pleasantly, and led the way into the tavern.

It had been mostly cleared. There were a handful of small tables in front of the hearth, where three of the mercenaries stood; one of them broke off, following Josephine and Cassandra to the table that stood apart from the rest, where one man sat.

Adaar was on the ground behind him.

She still catalogued the rest of the room, took in all the information she could: a third mercenary near the hearth with lopsided leather armor; the old man behind the bar on the wall opposite, shoulders hunched, watching the room from beneath a furrowed brow; the man at the table, tossing one of Adaar's daggers idly as he watched them approach.

But she spared a heartbeat for Adaar, to feel the relief that she was alive, even if she couldn't allow it to show on her face.

Adaar knelt on the tavern floor, a mercenary to either side of her, their weapons already drawn, guarding. The neutral expression on her face spoke to how deeply annoyed she really was; Josephine had seen it now and then, when a visitor to Skyhold got too pushy with their demands. But her dark eyes met Josephine's, and they were steady, unafraid. There was a suspicious red shininess around one of her eyes, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

They'd bound her hands behind her back, a problem she was likely already working on, especially now that the mercenaries were distracted by newcomers. Josephine would need to buy her time.

"Ah," Adaar said, breaking the silence. "The cavalry."

"Shut up," the man at the table said, eyeing Cassandra. "Moiraine failed to mention that your bodyguard is the bloody Hero of Orlais."

"I assure you," Cassandra said, in a tone that no one would have believed, "tales of my exploits have been greatly exaggerated."

It would be best to remove attention from her, immediately. "I don't think it's unreasonable to enlist such a chaperone," Josephine said, "considering the number of soldiers you have in this room."

Six, by her count. Just one more than Cassandra had marked. Bull and Dorian would have their hands full outside once it all began, and in these quarters, she would have a hard time keeping out of the way. It was several feet to the bar counter; she wondered if she would be fast enough to dive behind it before the mercenary standing behind her could act.

She sat. The man at the table still held one of Adaar's daggers, though he'd stopped tossing it. The other lay on the table in front of him like a trophy. She heard the mercenary behind her settle into position—no weapon drawn, and within reach of Cassandra, but the casual threat was clear.

"I assume your lieutenant already introduced me," she said. The man across from her glanced at her chain of office, as if in acknowledgment. "Who do I have the pleasure of dealing with?"

He sneered. "Ellis Koster," he replied. "Of Koster's Carvers."

The company name didn't give Josephine much confidence, but she pressed on. "I wish we'd made this acquaintance under more pleasant circumstances, but we must make the best of what we have." She folded her hands on the table in front of her. "So, to business: what do you want?"

He pulled a folded slip of paper from his breastplate, placed it on the table, and slid it across to Josephine under the point of his forefinger. There was a smug look about his face, every movement slow and exaggerated, as if he'd always dreamed of doing it—holding all the power, dictating to others.

She had been afraid, waiting for Adaar's return, realizing she wasn't coming. But now—now, seeing this foul man put a price on the head of the woman she loved, seeing him crush it beneath his insignificant finger, she was angry. She was furious.

She took the paper, unfolded it, and read the sum with a carefully schooled expression. Even had she been seriously considering the ransom, it was a preposterous amount. No one could be under any illusions that the Inquisition had such deep coffers.

She adjusted her understanding of his intelligence.

"What offense has the Inquisitor made against you to make such an amount appropriate?" she asked, looking up again.

A little surprise tugged at his features. "Against me, personally? None."

"Then I find it hard to believe that you demand this payment seriously," Josephine said, setting the folded paper delicately on the table.

"This ain't a court, Ambassador. I've got something you want; you've got something I want. I baited a trap, and this is the tax you pay to get out of it."

"I see," Josephine said. "Well, then I think you know that this is far too much to demand for one person."

A little of the lurid anticipation fell from his face. "That so."

She did not elaborate; she simply waited, keeping all eyes on her. She had learned early in her career that silence was a powerful weapon. Even now, she saw it doing its insidious work: sowing doubt, planting second thoughts—not just in Koster, but in his thugs.

One, in particular. The woman by the hearth with the ill-fitting armor. The rest of them showed discomfort in other ways, in a hardening of the brow, a shifting of weight, but this one had panic in the twist of her mouth, in the nervous flex of her fingers.

The barkeep, by contrast, had stilled. He glared—not at Koster, Josephine, or Adaar, but at the nervous woman across the room.

Interesting.

"Because it seems to me," Koster said, breaking the silence, "that there's not much of an Inquisition without an Inquisitor."

Josephine felt the flush of a minor victory. He hadn't been able to outlast her, and now, whether he understood it or not, she had reclaimed some of the power he had tried to hold over her.

"The Rift is closed," Josephine said, choosing her tone carefully. Bored, relaying outdated facts. Her attention already turned to other, more serious things. "The days of paying off common thugs so that we can retain the Inquisitor's services are past. There is the matter of Corypheus, certainly, but we will be able to make do, I believe. After all," she gestured to Cassandra, "we are among esteemed company."

She sat back, physically signalling her disengagement, ignoring the discomfort of putting herself any nearer to the thug behind her. Adaar was no longer looking at her, she saw; she was instead focused on the mercenary by the hearth, the woman the barkeep was glaring at. She avoided Adaar's eyes. Her hands had curled into fists.

The barkeep knew this woman, Josephine realized. And so did Adaar.

"That's too bad," Koster said, drawing her attention back to him. "Too bad for you, I mean."

Josephine tilted her head to the side, as if vaguely curious. "Oh? How so?"

He put the dagger down on the table and leaned forward. "You can't imagine I'll let you leave, Ambassador, if you don't give me what I want. The next person to sit in that chair might be more interested in playing ball if we have half your war table in our cellars."

Josephine allowed a beat of silence, and then she brought a hand to her mouth to cover an amused laugh.

"By all means, Messere," she said, twisting the honorific into a taunt. "Show us to our accommodations. We will see who decides to negotiate with you next. For your sake, I do hope Nightingale does not take an interest."

Finally, he betrayed a twitch of unease. She'd guessed correctly; his mercenaries had recognized her, and he had recognized Cassandra. Not a small leap to imagine he'd heard of Leliana—and some of her less savory methods of doing business.

Sometimes it was good to have questionable friends.

"Perhaps it's time for us to move on, then," Koster said, staring Josephine down. "We'll take what we need from these fine people and make ourselves scarce." He had an ugly, unkind grin. "Wouldn't do to leave anyone to tattle on us, though, would it?"

"You said no one would get hurt!" a new, shaking voice broke in.

Josephine judged it acceptable to look toward the woman. She'd taken a step forward from the hearth; the other mercenary, a few feet away from her, put his hand on the pommel of his sword, frowning.

"Vilya," Adaar said, her voice low, "don't—"

"I told you to shut up," Koster snapped over his shoulder. He pointed at Vilya. "And you—"

The situation was rapidly escalating out of her control, but Josephine had bought enough time. Adaar's gaze swept the room, cataloguing and assessing, muscles tensed on the verge of movement. She was ready.

Josephine caught Cassandra's eye and gave the tiniest of nods, one that Koster, distracted by a room of unraveling threads, wouldn't notice. Cassandra's sword made a magnificent, ominous sound as she pulled it from the sheath. All eyes went to her.

In that moment, Adaar was meant to act. Josephine was meant to dive for cover.

But Josephine wanted more than to cower in a corner while others took care of this creature. He had made it necessary to say untrue things, words that had left such a sour taste in her mouth. She would play a small part more in his demise.

She snatched up Adaar's daggers.

"Catch!" she called, and threw the blades to Adaar.

Adaar was already moving. She had one foot planted on the floor beneath her; her hands, trailing snapped rope, reached up to pluck the clumsily-thrown daggers from midair. Her rise was graceful, effortless, and as she straightened to a height taller than either mercenary flanking her, she left a dagger in each of their chests. She never took her eyes from Josephine.

"Duck," she replied.

The room erupted. Josephine scrambled under the negotiation table. She heard the whistle of a near miss above her; the mercenary standing guard over her had acted, but too late. Only a second later, his body thudded to the ground behind her. Cassandra's sword had found an opening.

Three down, she thought, pulling her knees tight to her chest, so as to present the smallest possible target.

From her vantage point, she couldn't see much. She saw Koster's boots and Adaar's bare feet, moving, in and out, back and forth; she heard the snarls of his rage and Adaar's eerie silence. When she dared glance over to her right, she saw Cassandra's greaves, the occasional flash as the firelight reflected off her sword—and her opponent's. She kept him crowded near the hearth, blocking his path to his commander.

Vilya's was the only face Josephine could see. She'd backed into the far corner, huddled on the ground behind the tables and chairs.

Josephine returned her attention to the fight in front of her. She stared at the light way Adaar's feet moved across the dirty floorboards. Her footing was so sure, so graceful. Koster lunged and hacked, and Adaar, without the benefit of armor or boots, moved fluidly out of his way—and yet, at the same time, closer. Trying to get inside the reach of his weapon. There was a yelp—she'd made contact—and then an angry bellow; her points made, Adaar slipped out of reach.

But Koster was not ready to give up. Josephine had hoped that the blood now dotting the floor would slow him down; instead, he stopped swinging so wildly, waited, focused. She heard him give a mean, breathless laugh, and her blood ran cold.

"I've heard tales of your skill," he said. "Glad you measured up to the challenge. But someone got the better of you once. Maybe I'll take the other horn, as a trophy."

Adaar didn't rise to the bait. Josephine had seen her temper, secret, boiling. But she directed it as she liked; it did not direct her.

Josephine could hear the smile in her voice. "I've been saying for years that I'm just not symmetrical anymore."

The battle rejoined. Their feet moved faster now, the movements so quick they left Josephine breathless. She clenched her fists and watched, not daring to blink.

Now and then, she saw the length of Koster's sword, just barely sweeping into view. It was after one such upswing that she heard a dull, sickening thud.

Adaar had frozen in place, her stance unbalanced, wobbling. Koster gave another nasty laugh. Josephine tossed a panicked look toward Cassandra, but she was still occupied with the other mercenary.

She cast around frantically for a weapon, found her guard's fallen sword, and snatched it up. Then she crawled toward the fight, the scene coming into view as she peered out from beneath the table.

Koster's sword was stuck in Adaar's horn. Josephine's heart seized, but Adaar was smirking, and after a second's panic, Josephine understood why: the sword was truly stuck, about a third of the blade's width trapped in the horn. Koster pulled and pulled at it, the look on his face transforming from triumph to concern, and Adaar only turned her head in a way that made pulling it free harder.

"Sorry, is the angle bad?" Adaar asked, all innocence.

The next time he pulled, she pulled too, away from his sword. The sudden release of the blade threw him off-balance; he caught himself on the backfoot, but not fast enough. Adaar had used the moment to move in, lightning-quick, daggers extended. She crashed into him, toppling them both to the floor.

For a long, terrifying moment, they both lay still. Josephine could not move, could not breathe—

Then Adaar, with a hard exhale, rolled off Koster's body. The hilts of her two daggers stuck up from his torso. One had left his breastplate askew, no longer protecting his ribs; Adaar must have cut the leather fasteners that held front to back, at his sides, on an earlier pass.

The other, she'd left in his neck. Blood was still pumping from that wound, though sluggishly. Josephine's stomach turned, but she ignored it. She scrambled out from beneath the table, around Koster's body, and to Adaar, who still lay on her back, breathing heavily, mouth twisted in a grimace of pain.

Closer now, without a sword in the way, Josephine saw why. Koster's sword had clipped the pointed tip of Adaar's ear in its doomed arc toward her horn; the wound was still bleeding.

"I don't think he understood symmetry," Adaar said, fumbling to feel at her ear. She smiled at Josephine. "Were you going to duel him?"

Josephine stared at her, uncomprehending, then remembered the sword in her hand; with a noise of disgust, she tossed it away with a clatter. She caught Adaar's hand instead, pulling it away from the wound.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Josephine tensed, but then Cassandra asked, "Are you well?"

"Fine," Adaar said. "Thanks for the rescue."

Cassandra snorted. "What will we do with this one?"

Josephine turned. Cassandra held Vilya by the shoulder. The woman stared at the ground. The other mercenary lay dead on the floor beside the hearth.

"Herah," a reedy voice said—the barkeep, shuffling toward them with the aid of a walking stick. "I mean, Your Worship—"

"Don't start with the holiness stuff, Hammond." Adaar sat up with a grunt, holding fast to Josephine's hand. "Please."

"Well." Hammond cleared his throat. "You're not going to hurt her, are you? She's been awfully stupid, but...she didn't fight."

Adaar looked at Vilya and sighed. "I don't want to. But I do want to know what's going on. What happened, Vilya?"

For a moment, Josephine was sure that Vilya would keep quiet—but then she spoke, low and fast, not looking up from the ground. "Trade's been bad. Crops didn't do well this year. Everybody says the war's coming this way, if we don't starve to death first, and when Koster came along, he said he could help us. Get the Inquisition to protect us."

"You knew he was going to lure me here," Adaar said.

"He made it sound so easy! Made it sound like you'd just pay up and be on your way. He said you wouldn't miss it. And the Inquisition wouldn't leave us vulnerable again, after that." Her voice was thick with tears. Josephine felt a pang of sympathy. Here were their desperate folk, driven to desperate things.

"Who else?" Adaar asked.

"Just Cossus and Herbert. I swear."

"They came in one night with those Carvers," Hammond said, "leading the way. No one in town's spoken to them since. They've been sleeping here." He shot a look at Vilya. "Not by my choice."

Adaar rubbed her unbloodied hand over her forehead. "Well, Vilya," she said, "you—and Cossus and Herbert, assuming they were smart enough to surrender—have two options, the way I see it. You can beg your families' forgiveness, work off your guilt here. Or, if you really want the protection of the Inquisition, you can work for it."

Vilya finally looked up. She swiped at her eyes with a fist. "Can we...can we think about it?"

"Think fast. I'm not staying long." Adaar nodded to Cassandra. "See if Bull and Dorian need help. And keep an eye on her and her friends until someone else can."

"Come," Cassandra said to Vilya, pushing at her shoulder.

"Herah," Vilya said, still tearful. Now that she'd looked up, her eyes were fixed on the blood streaking down Adaar's cheek, down her neck. "I'm—"

Adaar waved her off. "Don't say it til you mean it."

Cassandra prodded Vilya along to the door. When it opened, noise poured in: Bull in the midst of a lecture on company ethics; fire crackling beneath the occasional yelp. The door swung shut again, muffling the sound.

Adaar let out another deep, bone-weary sigh. "Sorry about the mess, Hammond."

The barkeep scoffed. "We'll set Vilya and her friends to scrubbing. The blood'll be out in no time, or we'll have them laying a new floor. I'll get you a rag for that bleeding."

"My bag—"

"They took it downstairs. I'll fetch that, too."

Hammond shuffled off behind the bar. Josephine waited until his footsteps had faded, and then she asked, quietly, "Are you all right?"

"Could have been better," Adaar said. "Could have been worse."

"That does not answer my question."

Adaar met her gaze. "I don't think I can leave this place unguarded. There are other Kosters out there." She shook her head. "And other Vilyas. I'm sorry. I know we're stretched thin."

Josephine brought her other hand to cover Adaar's and squeezed. "We will make do."

Adaar's lips quirked up on one side in a tiny, crooked smile. "You know, when you say that, no matter how impossible the task seems, I believe you. Especially after that display." Her eyes danced. "It's a pleasure to watch you work."

"Oh, that man was insufferable," Josephine said darkly. "I could have carried on for another quarter-hour and still found more ego to chip away at!"

Adaar laughed. The sound, bright and joyful, was infectious; Josephine found herself laughing, too, on the verge of hysteria, all her relief pouring out in a flood.

"That business with the little piece of paper," Adaar choked out, between gasps, "can you believe…"

"You didn't see his face," Josephine said, wiping at her eyes. "He was so sure—"

"You showed him."

"No, my dear, I think you showed him, in the end."

Adaar pulled her hand free from Josephine's grasp, but only to reach out, to sweep Josephine fully against her as their laughter died down to chuckles and hiccups. Josephine wound her arms around Adaar in return, pressing close to her welcome, living warmth, savoring it.

"You shouldn't have grabbed the daggers," Adaar admonished.

"You shouldn't have gotten caught!"

Adaar let out another chuckle. The sound rumbled pleasantly beneath Josephine's cheek. "Fine. We're even."

Adaar pulled back, just enough to look down at her. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind Josephine's ear.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Josephine's heart leapt. Gone were her old doubts; she recognized the intent in that look, the affection, and leaned a little closer—

"We can put you all up in some of the rooms, Herah," Hammond said, and they both jumped. He hoisted Adaar's pack up onto the bar counter and brandished a wet rag. "You'd better get that wound seen to."

"Right," Adaar said, and with a rueful smile at Josephine, she gently pulled away and got to her feet. She offered a hand to help Josephine up. "Getting blood everywhere."

"You ought to stay," Hammond continued. "For a few days, at least. People'll be happy to see you. You take your sweet time between visits."

"Yes, I was a little preoccupied with the giant hole in the sky for a while—"

"You been Inquisitor for ten years?" Hammond interrupted.

Adaar stared for a moment, then shook her head. "No, messere," she said, much more meekly.

"I thought not. Now, you get yourself cleaned up, and we'll have a proper homecoming." He made for the front door of the tavern. As the door swung shut, Josephine heard him barking names.

"You hear that old codger?" Adaar asked wonderingly. "I lose a piece of my ear, and he wants to have a party."

Josephine tried very hard not to burst out laughing again. She almost succeeded.

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar x josephine #f!adaar/josephine #dragon age #inquisition #friends to lovers #class differences #mutual pining #developing relationship #universe writes

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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The Tower: The Queen of Asgard - 27

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2990

Warnings: Being naked, sex talk

Synopsis: The twins are now three and while the Avengers know that Clint and Thor are the biological father’s none of them know or care which blond, blue-eyed baby is related to which man. When Riley gets the power to control wind and it becomes evident that she is the heir to the Asgardian throne, Elly, Steve, Thor, and Tony take the twins to Asgard to train her.

Not every Asgardian is happy with their king’s choice of consort, nor the impurity of the heir’s blood. While others expect Thor to make things more official. What’s clear is, the role of Queen of Asgard is not easily filled.

Author’s Note: Written with my very sleepy daughter @fanficwriter013

Chapter 27: Friends and Loved Ones

The following week and a half passed with little incident. Since the Fenestare things had settled a lot. The threat of some sibling taking the crown seemed to pass by forgotten completely and everyone had just fallen in line with Thor’s leadership. For most of us, it had become like the vacation none of us had ever taken. We were relaxed and enjoying the planet and each other. Tony had made his little bots that followed us around but aside from the fact I would need mine to tell me where I was, no one ever used it.

It was only really Thor that was kept busy and he was kept very busy. Between the Bonding and training Riley and running Asgard he was out from early in the morning until late at night when he would come back exhausted. We had started talking about one or two of us staying with him on Asgard at a time but we didn’t know how to organize that system. There was already so much time that got taken from us as a family, to add weeks on Asgard to that too meant that we’d always be in a state of flux. Not to mention deciding who would stay.

Being in a long-distance relationship with a king wasn’t easy.

The day we had set to have our joint bachelor party I woke up engulfed in Bucky and Steve’s arms. I stretched like a cat and they didn’t stir at all. It had only taken a week for them to completely enter a relaxed holiday mode. It was probably a little concerning, but I was still impressed. It was nice seeing them like that.

When I opened my eyes that wasn’t the only thing I saw though. Phil Coulson was standing near the bed looking at us.

“Phil!” I yelped covering myself with a sheet.

Bucky and Steve both sat bolt upright and looked around startled and on alert. “Phil?” Steve said confused.

“What the hell?” Bucky added a little angrier sounding.

“Sorry!” Phil said raising his hands in surrender. “I was told you were in here, so I came to see and you were sleep and… I’m sorry.”

“Does that mean everyone is here?” I asked.

“Yeah, we arrived this morning,” Phil answered. “You’re getting married?”

“Bonding,” Steve said. “But essentially. Now if you don’t mind…”

“Right. I’ll go back to the others.” Phil said apologetically, retreating from the room.

When the door closed I leaned my forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. “I think I just aged 5 years.”

Steve chuckled softly and kissed my neck. “Well, in good news, you’re about to get 4,900 extra years. So you can afford them.”

I turned and kissed him gently. “Two days.”

He made a soft sound and his hand flexed on my hip.

“Okay,” I said pulling back. “I’m gonna get dressed and go say hello.”

“That’s a good idea,” Bucky said stretching.

I dressed and headed out into the living room. It was at capacity, with almost everyone else up and eating as well as our friends, some of the Dora Milaje and even Carol Danvers who we saw once in a blue moon.

“Gurl!” Clark said, jumping to her feet, her violet eyes twinking. “We gonna hafta talk. This is fucking Asgard!”

“Right?” I said coming over and hugging her.

“Everyone is so pretty. How are they all so pretty?” She asked as she pulled back from me.

“They’re gods?” I said. “But it’s much more open here if you and Jax want to get busy.”

“Mmm… we’ve already decided on a competition. I’ve got my eyes on a few people.” She teased. “So come on, explain to me what’s going on.”

I came and sat next to her and Jax and ran through the whole series of events from the day Riley’s powers come in, coming here, being attacked and the bonding ceremony. Around me, a similar conversation was had by small groups of the others in the room.

“You sure you want this?” Jax said. “We always spoke about what your parents wanted for you…”

“Yes, what they wanted for me was marry rich have kids. Which I guess I am doing, but I don’t think they envisioned this. There are things that scare me, and I’m sure you’re going to have your work cut out for you when I get back. Living for 5000 years is scary. But...” I said. “I’m so happy.”

“Well, then I’m happy for you.” He said.

“Sweetie, you’re not at work now,” Clarke said in a playfully patronizing tone, letting Jax know to stop analyzing things. He held up his hands in surrender and she turned back to me. “So bachelorette?”

“It’s a group thing because we don’t really have a lot of people otherwise,” I said.

“Alcohol? Strippers?” She asked.

“Yes to both. But go easy on the mead.” I said. “I had to take Sam to the healers.”

“Yikes. Okay. I’ll try and remember that.” She said. “I’m excited to try the food.”

“Well, it should be here soon. I’m sure there will be enough for everyone.” I said.

“Oh, nice. I bet it’s super weird and decadent.” She sat up straight all of a sudden and looked around the room. “Wait, where are my kiddos?”

“Asleep I guess. They sleep like the dead here. I think it’s the air.” I said. “Do you want to go get them.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Of course.”

“Before you do,” Loki said, appearing behind me and making me jump.

“Jesus, Loki!” I gasped holding my chest. “How many times can you do that and find it funny?”

“Every time, Elise,” She snarked. “There is a tight schedule today. You have about an hour and a half for breakfast and to … socialize. Then final fittings for your garments. Then there will be initial preparations for Henhalda. That’s the body painting. You will be bathed and then your artists will do the outlines on your arms and legs. You will have lunch during that time because it will take you until dinner and then this party of yours tonight.”

“Thank you, sister.” I teased.

“Do not make me break the truce and stab you, Elise.” She snarked.

“Fine. No, that’s all good. I’ll go and get the kids then?” I said. “Will you be taking care of them?”

“Myself and the Lady Sif shall take turns. I assure you they will be fine.” She said.

I nodded and got up and headed into the kids’ rooms with Clarke trailing behind me. As we came into the room we found Riley already climbing out of the bed. She squealed and ran over to Clarke. “Aunnie Cwarke!”

“Hi, baby!” Clarke said scooping her up. “Tell me all about Asgard.”

I went over to Pietro and start to rub his back to wake him.

“Umm… dey calls me a pwincess.” Riley said, thinking hard. “And uhh… daddy’s been teaching me to do da wind.”

“And are you getting good at controlling the wind?” Clarke asked.

She nodded vigorously as Pietro groaned and sat up. “Aunnie Cwarke?” He said in a sleepy voice.

“Hey, baby,” Clarke said gently.

“You came to Asgawd?” He asked.

“Yeah, buddy. Lots of people are here. Uncle Phil and Auntie Maria. Uncle Scott. Uncle Rhodey. Uncle Jax.” I said and he started bouncing on his bed.

“Come on, kiddo,” Clarke said. “Come out and see everyone.”

Pietro ran out and stopped dead looking at the room full of all the people he loved best. The food had arrived and Riley pointed at Magnus. Meanwhile, Pietro had started dancing on the spot like he didn’t know where to go first. Wanda looked around at him and smiled. “Hey, little one. How are you doing?”

“Good, daj,” he said, happily. “Deys all here.”

“Are you happier now that family is all here?” Wanda asked.

“Dis Cwistmas?” Pietro asked.

Wanda squeaked and her hand went to her mouth. “El. El! That was adorable!”

“Not quite Christmas, kiddo,” I said ruffling his hair. “How about you go say hello to everyone though.”

He ran over to Rhodey first and gave him a huge hug. I went and got a plate of breakfast for me and the kids and sat. The room was completely alive with talk and excitement. It was good. Everything felt like it was falling into place. There were just a few more pieces to go.

My final fitting was done under the supervision of Loki, who was very particular about where things still needed to be taken in or up. She’d hiss things in Asgardian to the tailors and then swept out of the room to do the same with the next person. It looked beautiful though. Everything I never imagined a wedding dress could be. Not that it was a wedding really, but there was no way that whatever dress I chose to wear when I married Tony would be able to match the way this shimmered in the light and looked like it contained magic itself in it. I decided then and there, whatever Tony and I did would be small, and more casual. A little celebration just to make what we were doing here as a group, as legally recognized as we’d be able to back on Earth.

When I was done and back into my regular clothes I came out to the living room. A moment later a group of people of varying ages came in and they were directed by Loki to each of our bedrooms. She turned back to face us.

“Now is Henhalda. You will need to follow the directions of your artists. They may ask you to stand, lie down, sit. Or they might be happy for you to decide. Each artist has been chosen to deal with you specifically. Whether you need a firm hand, someone to work in silence, a reassuring presence, a gentle touch, or someone who is less attached to rank and tradition.” Loki said looking from Clint, Natasha, Wanda, Bruce and I in turn. “They have briefed about who you each are and who they are working with specifically so they understand what reservations you might each have. Particularly when it comes to the nudity required for Henhalda. Those fine with nudity will most likely be asked to strip off right away so that the artwork can be carried out from the inside out. Those that need time to become comfortable will have their arms and legs worked on first.

“Voice your reservations so they can put them at ease. But this must be done apart from each other. You may take a friend with you but it can not be one you are to bond with.”

Steve looked a little uncomfortable but gave a small nod, while Bruce looked from Loki to me with panic in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this, El.”

I moved over to him and caressed his jaw. “Yes, you can,” I said firmly. “The big guy knows how important this is. You just have to get out of your own head.”

“I can come with you if you like,” Jax offered. “Go through your relaxation techniques.”

Bruce nodded a little. “If you’re sure.”

“I’d be honored,” Jax assured him.

“Bruce, if you really can’t handle it, let Hulk out. Just… let him out before he takes over on his own. You know that he’s always calmer when you do that, and I think he’d quite enjoy being painted on. Besides, it will let him be a real part of this.”

Bruce winced and gave a nod. “El,” he whispered. “I might need a buffer for the party. I mean, after this.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek gently. “Of course, honey. You’ve got me.”

We separated into pairs. Coulson went with Clint. Hill with Natasha. Jax went with Bruce, Wanda with Vision. Scott got super lucky when Steve agreed to let him go with him. Bucky had the honor of T’Challa agreeing to go with him. Sam took Rhodey with him after Tony agreed to share his best friend and took Happy with him instead, and Thor took Sif. Clarke was coming with me and everyone else was going to either see the sights of Asgard or take turns looking after the twins.

I went into my bedroom to find a young woman, who looked around 18 in Earth years but could have been any age really, set up with a table, brushes, and inks.

“Where would you like me?” I asked.

“Where ever you feel comfortable.” The girl replied. “We’ll be here for a while so I’d suggest lying but I can work however you like.”

“Do you want me naked right away?” I asked her.

She nodded. “If you’re comfortable doing that. You can go face down first too if that helps.”

“Alright,” I said taking off my clothes. “It’s okay to tell me what to do, you know? I don’t want to make this difficult for you.”

“So, it is true what they say.” She said as I lay down on the bed face down and Clarke went to my wardrobe and began looking through it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That you are like us,” she said. “You don’t see yourself as Royalty. Or better than us.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, well I don’t think I’m better than you, that’s for sure.”

“Some of the elders don’t understand.” She said. “I like it though. It’s nice.”

She began to wash my back down with a warm cloth that smelled like roses and Clarke came back and sat down beside me, leaning on the bedhead. “I’m gonna steal some of your clothes.”

“Go for it,” I said as the girl began to trace a pattern out on my back with her finger.

“Awesome. Gonna look like a princess at your party.” Clarke said. “What’re you doing there?”

“Oh, I uh - I’ve never done a Henhalda before. I just want to get a picture of it in my head before I start.” She said. She kneeled on the bed beside me and pulled her little table over closer and began to paint.

The ink was cool on my skin and she was painting such fine intricate lines that it put me into an almost trance-like state of relaxation, my skin tingling.

“You should see this, blue,” Clarke said. “This girl is crazy talented.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Will the others be the same? Or is this unique per person?” I asked.

“Some of it will be identical. It’s supposed to represent your lives together. And some of that is shared. Some is individual.” She explained.

I hummed. “I can’t wait to see everyone’s.”

“And of course the private paintings meant only for each other.” She said.

“What will they be?” I asked.

“You will have symbolic images, representing your lovers, painted in your most intimate places.” She said.

“Oh wow. That’s going to be so fun to explore with each other.” I said. “What will the one that represents me look like? Do you know?”

“It is a flower made of blue flame, that’s roots run out and join with the other’s symbols and one to the heart of each person it is painted on. Worked into the flower is the rune Gebo.”

“What does Gebo mean?” I asked.

“It means, gifts and relationships. Sacrifice and exchange.” She said.

I liked that and wondered if the others had runes in their symbols too and if they did what they stood for. “Who designed them.”

“We did as a team using psychics who mapped out your futures.” She answered. She moved down to my legs and then seemed to change her mind and came back up to my shoulders. “Sorry, the way I paint is more unconventional. This is why they assigned me to you. The others are more stuffy.”

I chuckled. “Oh no. I’m the difficult one.”

“Just untraditional. But I am the youngest. So I don’t care for tradition.” She said. “I like working with you. I think we could be friends.”

“That would be nice. I could always use more friends.” I said. “What’s your name?”

She almost squeaked in excitement. “Katveil. Can I call you Elise?”

“Or Elly. My friends call me Elly.” I said.

“I don’t. I call her blue.” Clarke said.

“Why do you call her that?” Katveil asked.

“I don’t know. She’s just … blue.” Clarke said.

“What is your name?” Katveil asked.

“Clarke,” Clarke said giving Katveil a nod. “Here to share in naked time.”

Katveil started laughing. “It is a little odd, even for here.”

“Feels nice though. Soothing. I could probably fall to sleep.” I said.

“You are welcome to if the urge comes. Go with your feelings.” Katveil said.

We stayed talking until lunch where I ate lying on my stomach while the ink dried on my back. When Katveil was satisfied with the ink being dry enough she had me roll over and started painting my front. I watched her for a while as the design got smaller and more intricate and eventually I did doze off and was awoken abruptly by Katveil shaking me.

“You’re finished.” She said when my eyes snapped open. “I have not painted the special symbols yet. They are to wait until tomorrow.”

I looked down at myself. I looked like I’d become one giant mandala. “Holy shit.” I gasped.

Katveil smiled. “Just wait until it’s colored. You won’t believe your eyes.”

“I’m really excited,” I said.

Katveil gave a little bow. “I shall see you tomorrow. Enjoy your party, Elly.”

“Thank you, Katveil. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said.

“Please, call me Kat.” She said.

“Kat is is.” I agreed.

Katveil left the room and Clarke shoved me. “Come on, lady.” She said. “We gotsta get ready. It’s time to party.”

// NEXT

136 notes · View notes

justkending · 5 years

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10 years Time. Chapter 4.

Series Summary: As princess of Alberia, it is your duty to grow into a rightful young lady if you plan on ruling your family's country. Of course, the only way your father can see this happening is sending you off to a boarding camp at the age of 14 for 10 years to learn what it means to grow into a Queen.That means leaving all your friends and family behind. One specific person, your best friend, you never want to say goodbye to. But 10 years later, you come back grown into a young lady, and find your best friend has grown into a knightly young man. How will you two adjust after 10 years apart? Will things be the same, or will all that’s happened in that span of time affect your relationship?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark Daughter Reader

Word Count: 5000+

A/N: So one of our surprise guest, is one from the X-men universe. The actor that I felt best fit the role for the person is pictured down the way. Hint: I love him and he also grew up where I did:) Different times, but still see or hear of him coming home every once in a while! Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!!!

Chapter 4:

Surprise, surprise. After Nat and Wanda stole Y/N away from a very uncomfortable discussion she was about to have with Steve, she was thrown into the lion’s den once again. More introductions, more young men showing off, more kings and queens thinking their son is better than the rest.

Not that Y/N was upset about getting ripped away from the library, because she wasn’t really sure what she wanted to say yet. Sure she had all those years to think it over, but at this point, she was over it. Or at least she thought she was. She wanted to be over it, that’s for sure. It had caused so much pain and anger in her heart after Steve stood her up, and never reached out to her all that time.

But she put those emotions aside knowing she had a duty for the night. Mingle and learn who the people around her were.

“Princess Y/N, this is-” Nat said going to introduce yet another prince, but was rudely cut off by the Queen.

“Your highness, this is my wonderful and handsome son, Prince Brock Rumlow.” she said bowing and presenting the younger man.

He was handsome, yes, but something about him made Y/N’s skin crawl. Plus, the way his mother was practically pushing Nat and Wanda aside to get closer to her, was making her cringe internally.

“Princess.” he bowed taking her hand and leaving a kiss on her hand, of which she wanted to wipe and scrub off with every last piece of soap in the kingdom, but instead she tucked her hands in front of her like the lady she was. “It’s nice to see how you’ve grown. You blossomed into a beautiful young girl.”

“Woman, and thank you.” Y/N corrected him standing straighter. “It was quite a while from home, but I now understand why my father sent me off. I learned a plethora of new things.” she smiled politely.

“Hear that mother? A queen who will serve her king well.” he turned back to her, and Y/N had to quickly wipe the disgust off her face before he saw. “I’m sure whatever man has you in his possession will be showing you off on his arm every chance he gets. You’ve undergone quite the transformation from most the princesses I’ve met. Best of them all actually.” He said confidently.

“First off, I will serve my kingdom well before my King. Second off, I will be under no possession. I’m not a piece of livestock to be sold off.” she said bitterly, but keeping a dignified poise to her manner. “If you’ll excuse me Prince Brock, my ladies and I have more people to converse with tonight, so I’m going to have to kindly bid you adu.” she said with pursed lips. “Queen Rumlow.” she bowed before walking away, and having Nat and Wanda followed with slight grins on their face.

“I know he deserved it, but you should reconsider getting sassy with possible future husbands.” Nat chuckled.

“And he should consider speaking to women like the human beings they are. I also never plan on giving him a second glance as my future husband. He’s got egoistic, narcissistic, jackass written all over him.” Y/N mumbled lowly hoping to catch no one's attention at her language.

“My, my, my. The mouth on this royal.” A man’s voice said from behind the three.

They all turned seeing it was Sam and Bucky giving them lopsided smirks.

“Bucky. Sam.” Y/N nodded with a slight laugh.

“Princess.” they bowed.

“I noticed you met Prince I-get-everything-handed-to-me-by-my-parents-and-I-think-I’m-all-that.” Bucky mocked coming closer to the group. Sam following and snickering under his breath.

“Might want to come up with a shorter name there Buck. Kinda a mouthful.” Y/N laughed.

“Yeah, I’m working on it.” he huffed as if he had been told that before. “Quite the character though, right?”

“Yes, but have to meet every suitor. Good and bad.” she sighed.

“Wait, he’s one of your suitors? But his kingdom isn’t even that great.” Sam scoffed.

“Doesn’t matter. Man of age is a man of age. Have to meet them all.” she shrugged.

Sam and Bucky sharing a look before looking back at her.

“Any promising ones yet tonight?” Bucky pushed on.

“You mean have I found any that aren’t spoiled little boys, whose teachings are from 100’s of years back where they just see women as children makers and nothing more? Or someone who doesn’t just see me as a trophy wife who happens to have a great piece of land and fortune that comes with the package?” she paused acting as if she were in thought only getting raised eyebrows from the men. “No. I don’t think I have.”

“She’s a little irritated with said company tonight.” Wanda said with a tight smile.

“I can tell.” Sam laughs.

“Hmm mmm… Doesn't look like our Y/N is too far gone. Just more verbal on her thoughts on equality.” Bucky smirked. “I like it. Keep speaking the truth.”

“Sorry guys.” she sighs realizing she kinda went off. “It’s hard when you know you’ll be married off, but all the men don’t know how to treat a woman right. They all just see me with a for sale sign rather than a get to know me sign.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but hey!” Bucky said wrapping an arm around her shoulder and bringing her in for a modest hug. “Night’s half way out. All there's left to do is some dancing, and if you look uncomfortable with a rando out there, one of us knights will save you. It’s our job after all.” he winked once he pulled back.

“I hope you mean that, cause I would much rather be dancing with all you loons than any of the guys I’ve met so far.” she groaned again looking out to the crowd.

“We’ll all be together again soon. Just need to give you some time to settle.” Sam adds.

“Fair.” she smiles.

Before anyone could continue the conversation, Tony was making his way over to his daughter. The crowd splitting around him.

“Y/n!” he shouted happily.

Everyone around bowing before looking back up at him.

“Father.” she said shifting back to business mode.

“I want you to meet Prince Scott Summers.” Her father said moving aside and introducing a young man with brown hair, blue eyes, and a kind face. “Prince Summers here is from the kingdom of Turan. He actually just got done studying all over the world. Multiple countries right?” Tony said turning to the young man with a hand on his shoulder.

“Uh, yes actually. I wanted to get a better understanding of as many cultures as I could while I was in school. So every semester for the past 6 years, I went to a new land.” he smiled turning to Y/n. “It’s an honor to meet you your majesty. I’ve heard many great things about you.” he smiled taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on it like everyone else. This time Y/N actually enthralled by him unlike the rest of the snobs.

“Scott? It’s an honor to meet you. Now Turan, that’s off the southern shores of the Vilayet Sea right?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it. We may be a small kingdom, but-”

“But you are a lovely one at that. I met some of your neighboring countries royals while I was at the academy. They say you all are kind, sustaining, and flourishing friends to have.” Y/N nods.

“Well I’m glad we come off that way. We strive to stay clear of war and just provide for the other kingdoms who aren’t as lucky as us.” he smiles.

Wanda, Nat, Sam, and Bucky took in how well the conversation was going. The two had yet to take their eyes off each other, and it seems as if there was some chemistry.

Sam and Bucky share a look with Steve in the back of their heads, and then shift their eyes to Wanda and Nat who return it.

Suddenly the music becomes slow, and people began to move to the dance floor and slowly dancing with their dates. Everyone turning their heads at the change of atmosphere.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but would you care to dance Princess?” Scott said bring Y/N’s attention back to him.

“I don’t mind at all.” she smiled taking his hand he extended out to her.

“I’m going to find Pepper and Morgan. I’ll see you on the dance floor.” Tony said with a proud smirk happy that his match worked.

Y/N nods and then turns to her friends who quickly plaster on a fake smile.

“You all are welcome to dance as well. It is a party after all.” she winks before moving to the floor with her arm threaded through Scotts.

Again, they all share a look, but it isn’t until Bucky speaks up that they let out a sigh.

“He’s going to hate this you know. Every bit of it.” Bucky says scratching his beard.

“Yes, but he knows it has to happen. It’s the way it works.” Nat sighs watching you.

“In that case. Care for a dance?” Bucky said sticking his arm out for Nat.

She stubbornly rolls her eyes before smiling and taking his arm.

“I guess if you’re the only option.” she teases.

“I’m hurt.” he said clutching his chest dramatically as they walk to the music.

“Wanda? May I have this dance as well?” Sam says sweetly getting a giant grin from the energetic redhead.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” she jumped moving to him and walking to join the rest of their friends on the floor.

Once they are all situated on the beautiful polished dance floor, they all keep a close eye on Y/N as they see her giggling and smiling with the new Prince. Far from how she had been acting with the rest.

“Where is Steve?” Bucky said looking around and Nat doing it as well. “He better swoop in soon if he wants even the smallest chance of dancing with her.”

“Bucky, you can’t keep giving him hope that something will happen.” Nat sighs.

“Hey, he’s my best friend and he’s one of yours too. Give the man some sense of joy.” Bucky said looking down at her green eyes.

“Yes, but-”

“Come on Nat. You know he just needs to say his piece so he can finally find some form of peace after all these years. He hates how he left things… Even if he didn’t have the choice. He wants to make it right.” Bucky said looking back and forth in her eyes for the sympathy he knew she had for their friend.

“Ok. Ok.” she finally gave in going back to search the room. “Do you think he’s hiding out, or-”

“Knowing that punk, he’s watching her like a hawk, but not letting anyone know about it.” Bucky said still searching over heads for the honey colored hair.

“True.” Nat said finally spotting someone who had a similar outfit. “Wait. I think I got him.” she said.

Bucky and them turn in a circle and a grin forms on Buck’s face.

“Got him.” he says before moving to Wanda and Sam. “Operation Day and Night is a go.” he says nodding his head toward Steve.

They called it day and night cause she was the sunshine, and Steve was her knight. Clever right? They thought so.

“We sure this is a good idea?” Sam asked.

“No, but he needs to do it.” Bucky answered.

The dance ended, and they look over to Y/N and Scott who looked like he was about to ask her for another dance, but jackass Brock Rumlow was cutting in.

“Ok, now we just need to do it to get her away from him.” Wanda nods their direction.

“On it.” Bucky said before moving to Steve who sure enough was watching, but also posing as if he was holding a conversation with Thor and Loki. “Hey Cap.” Bucky said grabbing Steve’s shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. “Don’t know if you’re busy or not, but I told Y/N we would send in reinforcement if she needed it.”

“Reinforcement? Reinforcement for what?” Steve said getting slightly worried and just now turning to see that slimy Brock had somehow snuck his way over to Y/N. Steve’s eyes got bigger as he took a step, but stopped suddenly. “Why are you asking me? Why aren’t you saving the day?” he said looking at Bucky.

“Because that’s your job buddy. Not mine.” Bucky said throwing his hands up in defense and then shooting his friend a grin.

“Buck, I can’t.” Steve sighed looking back at her. Even though every bone in his body was telling him to sprint to her and hold her and never let her go, he knew it was pointless.

“You have a lot to say, and what better time than saving the damsel in distress when a snake is making a move on her?”

“I have to agree with Buck here.” Thor spoke up. “You’ve been pining after the girl ever since she hopped on that wild horse and road it through the sunflower fields all those years ago. Women’s been playing your heart like an instrument since. Hell, I think we all had a crush on her after that day!” Thor laughed loudly drawing attention from all around and patting Loki on the back roughly getting yet another glare from his brother.

“He’s not wrong. Shocked us all that day with the risk she took.” Bucky laughed at the memory. “Crazy story aside.” he waved off going back to Steve. “Go get your girl. She’s not going to wait for you forever.”

“She’s not going to wait on me at all. I don’t have the status to ask her hand in marriage. Plus, we know how the king feels about all this. Hence why I’m at a standstill right now.” he said shooting a glare toward the other blue eyed man.

“Ok, ok, but if you don’t go. I’m going to push you.” Bucky said straight faced.

“You’re going to push me?” Steve repeated with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you 12?”

“No, I’m persistent.” Bucky corrected before grabbing both of Steve’s shoulders and starting to push him Y/n’s direction.

“Buck, let me go.”

“You’re not really fighting me that much. I think you want this deep down.”

“Buck-”

“Look we’re so close, and she’s soooo not happy with Rumlow.” Bucky said taking in the disgust on her face. “Go save the day Cap.” Bucky said giving the final push before running the other way.

Steve turned to yell at his friend, but just saw that the whole crew including Clint now were staring at him with smirks. He let out a sigh and when he turned back to Y/N’s direction she was staring at him.

He could see the pleading in her eyes to interfere. Despite everything he thought she hated him about, apparently she hated Brock more. He let out a soft chuckle at the desperation she was showing, and moved in big steps to get to her.

“And that’s when I told him if spoke to me like that again, I would send him to the chopping block. No puny guard talks to me like that.” Brock bragged about being a dick thinking it was making him more attractive for some reason.

“Hmmm.” Y/N hummed not interested at all.

“Excuse me.” Steve spoke up straightening his posture and towering over Brock. Y/N already looking at him, and Brock looking up. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Actually bud-”

“Don’t mind at all. Please.” Y/N said pulling back and curtseying to Brock in hopes it would get him away quicker.

“But-” Brock began to complain.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind one dance.” Y/N said with a stern look that honestly intimidated Brock more than anything.

“Uh, yeah. Ok.” he pouted giving Steve a dirty look before bowing and walking away. Turning back every so often to send another glare.

“You didn’t look too happy, so I figured...” Steve said turning to her.

“You figured right. I wanted to die.” she huffed.

“Well, I hope I don’t have the same effect on you.” he said carefully before putting a hand out.

“We’ll just have to see.” She responded taking it.

Steve took dancing position, but kept his distant scared that she wouldn’t want to be close to him.

“You know I don’t bite right.” she said after a while.

“What?”

“You’re holding me at arms length practically. I don’t bite.” she lets out a small laugh, and the tension in Steve’s heart clears up a bit.

He relaxed his muscles and then pulled her closer. Wrapping a hand firmly around her waist, and cradling her hand in his. She griped his shoulder softly but firmly so that it doesn’t slide off as they swayed side to side.

He just looked down at her as she looked around. He took in her features while he could because he wasn’t sure if he would ever be close enough to do it again.

Her eyelashes had grown. They were always long, but now they curled perfectly bringing all the attention to the beautiful Y/E/C orbs that replicated her mothers. Her cheekbones were perfect, and had a slight blush on them. He wasn’t sure if it was the makeup or the fact that it was a little warm in there, but nonetheless it gave her color that was adorable on the cheeks. Her lips were plump and had dark colored red on them that he hadn’t noticed before. How could he not notice? They brought so much attention to the perfect outline of her mouth. And her skin. It was perfectly sun kissed and had no flaws whatsoever. She had little freckles running over her nose that you had to look closely for, but once you found them, you never lost them again.

She was breathtaking to say the least. So without thinking. He said the least.

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.” he said still looking down on her.

Her head snapped up to his and he focused on the irises in her eyes now that he could see them more clearly.

“T-Thanks.” she responded.

That was the first time he had ever heard her stutter. She was never unsure of anything. Always so confident in her words.

“Of course.” he responded with a smile that grew when he noticed that the blush he saw earlier got darker.

“How, uh, how has everyone been? I haven’t really got a chance to catch up with the old crew beside Nat and Wanda. Some of Sam, Clint, and Bucky, but not enough.” she said changing the focus.

“Sam is still as childish as ever.” Steve laughed. “Clint and Laura have been going steady for a while. Probably going to get married soon.” he smiled looking in the crowd as Y/N took her turn studying his features now.

“Really? Laura finally gave in?”

“Took him some convincing and lots of little dates and flowers, but eventually she said yes.” Steve laughed looking down.

“Good.” she smiled thinking about her friends. “Tell me more.” she grinned not wanting to break eye contact now. Steve was ok with that though.

“Well, let’s see. Sam and Wanda have become even closer than ever. It’s the personalities I’m sure. Both playful and overly energetic.”

“Very true. I miss their energy.” Y/N laughed moving a little closer without thinking, but Steve noticed, and he moved closer too.

“Nat and Bucky I’m pretty sure are going to be a thing.” Steve said looking down at her still.

“What? No! You’re messing with me. Those two?” she said shocked just like everyone else.

“Bucky loves her sassy attitude, and even though she plays hard to get about 1000x more than Laura did… Bucky is persistent.” he rolled his eyes thinking of the dark haired man.

“Stubborn.” Y/N said. “Stubborn as an ass.”

“Language.” Steve chasted, but Y/N just laughed and rolled her head.

“Right. I forgot. Princesses should never cuss. That and you’re the language guard. Or should I say Captain,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

“Not as bad as I used to be, but I don’t think I’ll ever get use to you cursing. Throws me off.” he smiled.

“Hmm.” she hummed with a smile before carefully moving to rest her head on his chest. “What else has happened? What about Thor and Loki? T’Challa and Shuri?”

Steve was still stunned by her resting on his chest, it took him a second to remember where he was. This was real right? This wasn’t a dream? Did she mean to do that, or was the wine getting to her? Forget it. Let it be.

“Uh, well..” Steve gulped some air trying to get his brain to work. “Thor and Lady Jane have started what could possibly be a future relationship.”

“Jane Foster?” Y/N asked still tucked into his chest.

“Yeah. She’s quite the scholar.”

“So I’ve heard. Who else is getting into a relationship?” Y/N said finally lifting her head. Steve missing the closeness.

“I think that’s it. Sir Banner, Vis, and Colonel Rhodey are still councils of your father. They are off on a mission right now though. T’challa and Shuri couldn’t come tonight, but I think they plan on visiting within the next few days.” Steve went on.

“See these are things I have yet to be informed on. As soon as I got here, they started getting me ready for this. I haven’t had a second to think or ask what all changed.”

“Any questions you have, I’m willing to try and answer.” He grinned down at her.

What he didn’t expect to see was her smile go down. She had a lot of questions for him, but she wasn’t ready to ask.

Perfect timing the music stopped and Y/N pulled back. Steve’s arms chased after her touch, but quickly fell to his side when he figured why. They bowed and curtseyed before she looked anywhere but him.

“I’m going to get a drink. I haven’t- I um,-” she paused to take a breath. “I need some air.” she said before walking away quickly.

Steve wanted to go after her, but he knew better not to push his limits. Taking an impulsive step toward her, he wrapped his brain around the scenario and didn’t let his second foot follow. No matter how bad the urge.

“Hey. What happened?” He heard Bucky’s voice come up from behind him. When he turned and his head hung a little lower he noticed that the whole crew had joined Buck. Thor and Loki even.

“What didn’t happen?” Steve said exhausted from all the shit that he knows will go down eventually.

The group of friends shared a saddening look at their failed attempts to bring the two together again. Even as friends for now, but that was still a step in a good direction.

“I’m going to go check on her.” Wanda said smiling softly before excusing herself. When Nat moved to go as well, Wanda gave her a soft nod showing she had it and it’s best if she goes alone. Nat sighed waving her off even though she desperately wanted to go, but Wanda was right. This was a one on one moment.

___

“Y/N? Y/N are you out here?” Wanda timidly whispered as she walked out to the front steps of the palace.

She noticed it was vacant since everyone was inside enjoying the party. Just the guards scattered at their posts.

“Over here.” she heard the deflated voice.

She turned the corner finding Y/N sitting on a bench to the left and looking off into the land. The best thing about their kingdom was the amount of wildflowers that had taken over the entrance. Groomed and carefully manicured to not look like they grew on their own, but still captivating under the bright moonlight of the evening.

Wanda cautiously moved to the bench and stopped just about 3 feet from it before interlacing her fingers in front of her. Y/N had yet to turn and was still gracefully looking out in the view.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Y/N said monotoned.

“About how after your dance with Steve, you rushed out of there like your gown was on fire.” Wanda chuckled lightening the mood.

Y/N’s lips turned up in a small smile before she looked down at her hands in her lap.

“I was hoping no one noticed.” Y/N chuckled herself, but it wasn’t a happy laugh.

“Maybe not everyone, but your closest group of friends? Yeah, we noticed.” she said sitting on the opposite side of the bench. “What’s going on in that head of yours Y/N/N?”

She took a deep breath before looking at her patient and kind lady in waiting.

“What isn’t going through my head?” she chuckles, but Wanda can see the struggle in her heart that causes a small tear to make its way down Y/N’s cheek. But she quickly wiped it away not liking showing weaknesses.

“Ok, than give me the bullet points. Even speaking those into existence helps.” Wanda says placing a soft hand on her friends shoulder before bringing it back on her lap.

“Where to begin?” Y/N bitterly laughs before sitting straighter and then turning her body toward Wanda.

“First, I just got home and I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath. So much has changed here, more little details than big, but enough to make me feel stressed beyond measure. I feel like I have so much to catch up on, but so little time to do so. I mean after 8 hours of getting dressed in this-” she motioned to her dress aggressively throwing her hands back in her lap. “Then I was already being thrown to the wolves without any tell of what to expect.”

“You’ve handled it better than anyone I know could have. I’ve heard nothing but amazing comments at how you’ve grown, and how knowledgeable, mature, and poised you’ve become.” Wanda said bringing in some positive vibes.

“Thanks Wanda. I’m glad my facade is tricking all those snobs in there.” Y/N scoffed, but still appreciated Wanda sending her kind reassurance.

“They are all kinda snobby aren’t they?” Wanda giggled.

“So snobby. Why the hell do they think they’re all better than the next person in the room? It’s draining.” Y/N sighed looking back at the view.

“I must say I’m glad to be apart of this kingdom. You’re father has made it a very open, welcoming, non-judgmental environment. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“They aren’t. It sounds selfish of me to complain about all this. I do have it good, but it can be-”

“No. You have the right to feel overwhelmed Y/N. Even if you don’t want to, you can still feel those things. Your emotions are there to tell you what's going right and wrong. You have to listen to them if you want to fix them.” Wanda said spreading the wisdom everyone knows she has. Even if she hides it behind a goofy exterior.

“You’re right.” The princess said after a while of thinking. “I just need to get a better grasp as to what all changed and how I can work with it. I am going to be the ruler of this kingdom some day. It would help if I knew it better.” Y/N smiled sadly looking at Wanda who returned it.

“We have all day to do that tomorrow though. Today was just supposed to be a day you can celebrate coming home! Put all those stresses and worries that we can figure out later away. Nat and I have that figured out for the morning and all.” Wanda waved off.

“But what about-”

“Don’t. Not tonight. Tonight is a celebration. Go find your friends. Mingle and catch up. You’ve done enough talking to princes tonight. I’m sure your father is ok with you just enjoying the party now. No more business talk.” Wanda stood up at the last comment and extended her hand. “I’ll stay by your side if you want. Make sure no royals try ‘talking shop’ as King Stark says.” she giggled.

Y/N let out a laugh as she grabbed the extended hand, and straightened herself. She smoothed out her dress, dabbed her face of any tears, and took a deep breath before raising her chin.

“Let’s go enjoy ourselves then.” she smiled.

“That’s the Y/N I know and love. Come on sunshine. Let’s go.” Wanda said turning and walking with an extra skip in her step before walking to the front.

What she didn’t see was the slight pause Y/N gave after she heard the nickname. Sure, Steve used it so often that everyone began to call her that. She was everyone's sunshine after a while, but she was Steve’s first. And with everything her heart had been through with him, it pained her a little hearing that name.

But just as fast as she faltered in her step at the thought, she picked up her pace and moved inside. Briefly stopping before to look out onto the field of wildflowers one last time to calm her again before fully going in.

10 Years Time Tag:

@starstrucknature @zlixlle @thorne93 @captainsteveevans @girlintheshire @shreddedparchment @queenie4ce @laneygthememequeen @averyrogers83 @sp2900 @heyiamthatbitch @purpleclodpastamug @noobmaster63 @snow30285 @zeilenkrieg @twizzziee @buckybarneslove76 @srrymydood @kaytizzle @cheeseburgersstuff @teller258316 @thejourneyneverendsx @notyourtypicalrose

Other Tags:

@shamelesslydean @sleepless-sin @sandlee44 @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition @spnwoman @ravengirl94 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ezilyamuzed @thosekidswhohuntmonsters @anise-d-castle6 @tailsoflightning @spookycowz @snffbeebee @angelessquirrel @deans-baby-momma @natura1phenomenon @tftumblin @gh0stgurl @screechingartisancashbailiff @herscrunchiehairtie @dreaminemz @monkeymcpoopoo @a-girl-who-loves-disney @andthatsmyworld @greenarrowhead @savio-the-depressed-moose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @greyeyedsmile14 @adoptdontshop-blog @casper57 @traceyaudette @rainflowermoonlibrary @luciathewinchestergirl @almostelegantfire @thefaithfulwriter @the-is13 @kaz11283 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @squirrelgirl67 @jackles-15 @lauravic @deansgirls-1968 @a–1–1–3 @spnbaby-67 @deannotmoose @naomi02hook @were-not-the-losechesters @lilulo-12

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mithrilwren · 5 years

Text

Dedicated to my own persistent insomnia over the last number of months, and the fact that I’ve never written a Fjord-centric oneshot, which is frankly criminal. This is Fjord/Caduceus, but leaning more towards the queerplatonic side of of the die than explicitly romantic (smooches are nice but have you heard of unfaltering emotional support?) [also on ao3]

the morning calls your name (fjorclay, ~5000 words)

It’s not so much that Fjord stops sleeping. It’s more that it’s begun to taper down: the number of hours he spends with his eyes closed.

There was a time that he got a full seven hours a night, sometimes even more than that, though it seems a far off memory now. Ship life is lousy with routine, the kind that can ruin the wrong sort of man - drive him mad with boredom, or make him rabid for the first sight of land, or trouble - but for Fjord, the routine was all part of the draw. You always knew the time your shift began, and when the bell rang and your berth beckoned, you went. His body got used to that predictability. It knew how to lull itself off to sleep without his help. All he had to do was lie there, let himself be drowned in the creak of the bulkheads and the briny surfside air, and then he’d be out, just like that. There wasn’t a trick to it. It just happened.

A month ago, he would have settled for six. Now he tells himself that five is still enough to go on. Five hours is all that Vandren took - and after all, why should Fjord need more than him?

It’s when the number gets to four that it starts getting harder to convince himself that everything is the way it should be. That everything is fine, just as it is.

But, of course, he does.

—-

One night over dinner in some backwoods tavern, Caduceus catches Fjord by the wrist. “Are you running a fever?” he demands, already reaching for Fjord’s forehead with the hand that isn’t occupied keeping Fjord’s still. The spoon between his fingers steadies, and the last of its soupy contents are saved from sloshing back into the bowl, or onto the table.

Fjord hadn’t realized he was trembling quite that badly, if he’s honest.

The meat of Caduceus’s palm is cool against his skin, a soothing pressure that might have been easier to bear in a less public venue. Embarrassed, he pulls away before the others can see. Maybe he is catching ill. It could explain why his face seems determined to flash between flushed and clammy with giving him a moment’s rest, and why the shivers running down his spine are more electric than your typical chills.

Fjord puts the spoon down and places his hands in his lap. If he presses down on them, his fingers quiet a little. Better.

Caduceus lets him go without a fuss, which he’s grateful for, but… gods, he misses the hand once it’s gone. It was nice to have something to lean against, if only for a few seconds. It’s too early to go to bed, but his head already feels impossibly heavy.

“Don’t think so,” Fjord answers finally. “Must just be hungry. Low blood sugar, maybe.” He can’t pretend like Caduceus didn’t see what he saw, though he’s still hoping Caduceus might. And after all, if it isn’t sickness, maybe it is hunger. It would make sense. Food’s been turning his stomach lately, the type or quality not seeming to matter. He hasn’t really examined it too closely. He was raised a kid in an orphanage that never had enough to go around, then a sailor on a long haul vessel, where the hardtack was all that was left by the end of the voyage. A lack of appetite has never been anything but a blessing.

“Mmm,” muses Caduceus. “Then you should make sure to finish that.” He nudges Fjord’s meal towards him. The sodden vegetables that sank to the bottom of the bowl swirl in a lazy arc as it inches closer, leaving streaks of oil all through the thin broth. Fjord’s stomach does a flip.

Caduceus is one to talk, he thinks. If there’s anyone who needs a lecture on feeding himself enough, it’s their resident vegetarian. But Fjord doesn’t say that. Caduceus will (rightly) read his words as deflection, and redouble his efforts to get Fjord to finish the bowl. Which would be simpler to do, if his hands would just stop shaking for two damn seconds.

It’s a bit of a conundrum - a circular problem, really. Eat, then feel better, then it makes eating less of a trial. He just has to pick a point and start.

He reaches for the spoon. And that’s as far as he gets.

Nott and Beau are arguing about something across the table. Somebody stole someone else’s mug, there’s not enough pork belly to go around, some circumstance has off and upset Caleb; who knows what it is tonight. There’s always something to bicker about, but at least tonight it’s keeping the rest of the group’s attention occupied.

“I could help, if that would make things easier,” Caduceus offers, a hint of a smile playing over his lips, and this time Fjord’s face flushes with a definite heat. Shame slinks down low in his belly, enough to overpower the nausea in his gut, enough to spur him to pick up the bowl, spoon be damned, and swallow the rest of the broth in three mighty gulps. When he looks at Caduceus over the rim of the bowl, already regretting the decision, his expression hasn’t changed. He’s still smiling, like he’s pleased either way, so long as the soup made it into Fjord.

He definitely doesn’t feel better.

“I can feed myself,” Fjord insists, wiping the corners of his mouth with his hand. He means to be scornful; it comes out defensive. The shame coils a little tighter, curdling the soup to bile in his belly. He isn’t a child, but he’s doing a fine imitation of one.

“I know you can,” Caduceus says, unmoved. “Did it help at all?”

“Yes,” Fjord lies. Then, because he’s starting to feel like an asshole, “thanks.”

He shouldn’t have snapped. Like always, Caduceus is just trying to help. He’s not searching for ammunition, or picking him apart for things to whisper to the others: proof that Fjord is unable to shoulder his own load, yet again.

He wouldn’t do that. Others might, others have, but Caduceus won’t.

At least, Fjord hopes.

They really haven’t known each other that long.

—

It must have started with the dreams. Or… well, then again, maybe it was the shipwreck that did it. The two experiences are indelibly linked; you don’t get one without the other. Could have been either. Might have been both.

Probably both.

Either way, the months drag on, and Fjord finds his eyes opening a little earlier each night. At first, that seems like a good thing. There are things that need doing, and not enough capable hands to do them. Nobody else can mend a spoke like he can (that’s a lie - Jester’s magic does in an instant what his hands can in an hour), or keep a fire going on a damp night (that too - and Caleb doesn’t even need wood to do it), or-

There really isn’t much, is there? Things he can do, that the others can’t.

More nights than most, he ends up just lying awake as the moon glides slowly overhead, curled with his blanket below his chin and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, like a little more pressure might help him nod off for good. Occasionally, he gives up and wanders a bit off from camp. Finds a log, leans his back against it, counts the leaves in the trees above. He does his best to ignore the scratch of rough cotton against his chest, and the salty particulate that dries hard and irritating within the weave of coarse fabric, that doesn’t come out no matter how hard he scrubs. The discomfort is as good an excuse as any for why he doesn’t want to lay back down. But in general, the group doesn’t ask. Everybody has their own shit to deal with.

He does find, alone in the cool night air, his eyelids fluttering, listening to the birds greet the new dawn, that he rests a little easier. He still can’t usually sleep, but a light doze is manageable.

When there’s a tavern, he shares a room with Molly. Molly, who drinks and carouses and comes back at all hours of the night - sometimes alone, sometimes in company, always loud . And if Fjord wakes up once, that’s it for him - the end of whatever meager rest he’s managed to eke out, though truthfully, if it’s a night involving company, a hallway sit or chatting with the bartender till sunrise is preferable to being present for what follows, asleep or no.

It’s annoying at times, sure, and he begins most mornings bleary-eyed one way or the other, but it’s not that bad, all in all. The nights when Molly is present and it’s just the two of them, Fjord sleeps well, and deeply, and the dreams tend to come less often than they otherwise might.

Those are the good nights.

Then comes Shadycreek Run. Then comes Lorenzo, and darkness, and endless nightmares that spill into the waking hours, and when they all emerge into the light of day once more, Fjord can no longer bring himself to wander too far from camp at night, not without someone else watching his back.

And Molly is gone.

And Caduceus takes his place. And they all move on.

And Fjord still sleeps, on most nights. Just a little less.

—-

“Hey, there. That’s alright. That’s fine now. You want to take a few steps back towards me?”

Fjord blinks, the shattered shards of glass crystalizing in his vision into something a little less metaphorical, a little less abstract.

The cup. He dropped it.

Oh.

It’s well past midnight, though in the absent light of Rosohna, there’s no good way to tell. There’s also no good reason for Caduceus to be awake, down here, watching Fjord make a mess of things as he fumbles for a glass of water in the dark.

He’s not really sure why his eyes are burning. It’s just a glass; they have twenty, of all shapes and sizes, and none of them expensive. What a stupid thing to be upset over.

He’s just tired.

He’s just tired .

“Fjord?”

Oh, right. Caduceus is still standing there, waiting for Fjord to back away from the hazardous region now strewn across their kitchen floor, like a normal person would.

The first step is easy enough to keep steady. The second is harder. Caduceus grabs a hold of his shoulders by the third, guides him into a chair that definitely wasn’t there a moment before. “There you go,” Caduceus encourages him. “Let me just get that cleaned up, ok? Just a couple minutes. Don’t go anywhere on me.”

Fjord opens his mouth - to offer to help, or to apologize, he’s not sure which - but his tongue is lead-weighted, his throat too closed off to form sound. Caduceus grabs a broom, and Fjord takes deep breaths, and watches someone else clean up his mess.

“Thank you,” he says as Caduceus pads back over his direction after depositing the broken glass into a basket by the door. His feet are bare, but he doesn’t seem worried about any shards that might remain. “You didn’t have to do that.” Vandren’s accent cloys in his mouth, too difficult to maintain properly at this time of night. His ‘r’s are beginning to morph into something smooth and clipped, rather than long and drawling, and his words come slower as he tries to choose simpler ones, the kind that don’t require an effort. “You should… bed. Sleep. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.” Shit, he almost made it, but that last one nearly ended in a flipped tongue. Fjord shuts his mouth before it can betray him any further.

“I’d offer you a metaphor about glass and houses, but it seems a little too on the nose,” Caduceus teases. He goes to the wall and lights a little lantern, summoning a dim glow that neither of them technically need to see, before kneeling in front of Fjord’s chair. Caduceus’s height being what it is, that brings the two of them just about to eye-level. “May I?”

Fjord nods, not quite knowing what he’s agreed to, but feeling it’s owed, regardless. Caduceus places a few fingers beneath Fjord’s chin, turning it this way and that, tipping his jaw back to expose Fjord’s throat in a way that sends his blood singing from root to fingertip. When he swallows, his gorge rises against the soft fur that carpets Cadcueus’s knuckles. He shivers - not quite afraid, not quite not.

“Can you look down at me? There. That’s perfect.” Apparently, Caduceus finds what he’s looking for with little effort, because he barely meets Fjord’s eyes longer than a moment before his gaze shifts away. Or maybe Fjord’s does; it’s hard to tell. He’s been having trouble keeping his eyes focused, recently.

“What- what was that for?” Fjord stumbles, trying and failing to land in the realm of ‘curious’ rather than ‘irrationally frightened’.

“I was just wondering… hmm. Did you know, you can tell a lot about most animals, just by looking at their eyes?”

“I... did not.”

“Oh yes. If an animal is fatigued, or in distress, their pupils tend to dilate and contract rather rapidly. Haven’t you noticed?” If this is an allegory that ends in his health being measured against Jester’s weasel, he’s laying full claim to the right to quit the team for good.

“Can’t say that I spend a lot of time looking into animals’ eyes.”

“I highly recommend it.” Caduceus cocks his head to the side, pausing to mull over whatever his next words will be. His shock of pink hair tickles the edge of Fjord’s collarbone. Fjord swallows again. “Your eyes are telling me quite a bit, Fjord.”

Maybe there’s a bit of animal in him after all, because Fjord’s first instinct is to bolt like a cornered one. “Like what?” he asks, a question he doesn’t want the answer to.

“That this isn’t the first night you’ve been up wandering at all hours. That you could use a little more sleep than you’re getting.”

Fjord huffs a laugh, then forces himself to shuffle the chair back out of Caduceus’s reach and stand. Caduceus follows suit, quick enough to block Fjord’s path before he slips out of the kitchen. He’s lithe, but tall and long-limbed, and Fjord would have to shoulder-check his way out to get past him. He doesn’t think Caduceus would put up a fight. He wouldn’t force him to stay.

There’s no reason to feel as trapped as he does.

“I should probably get to bed, like you said,” Fjord offers weakly.

Caduceus doesn’t move aside. “Will you sleep, when you’re there?” A whine is building up in Fjord’s throat, desperation and frustration mingling into something easier to call anger than dread.

“As much as I ever do,” he forces through gritted teeth, not quite there enough to lie. “Let me past, will you?”

Caduceus’s willowy arm branches towards the doorframe - at first a barrier, and then an acquiescence. A beckoning, guiding Fjord through. “...Go ahead.”

Would you come with me?

The question is so unexpected, even in his own mind, that it startles him back into some measure of wakefulness. Once he has it, it rests on his tongue like a buzzing insect, begging to be set free. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest since Molly died, and Caduceus wouldn’t read the same implication into the question as others might- But it’s too late to ask for that now. It’s all too late.

When they first got this house, Beau and Jester claimed a room together, like there was no question that one would stay without the other, and he really had wanted his own space back then, he had wanted it, had been desperate for it, because it was safer to be on his own - less time he had to spend hiding the salt-water stains, and the accent slips. He wanted it, and he can’t complain now about loneliness when Caduceus is already gone and settled into his own private sanctuary on the roof, when it’s all been decided and laid down in stone. The sheer neediness of the request chokes him. He can’t always be the one asking for help. He can’t be-

Fjord-

He can’t-

Fjord…

He can’t-

“Fjord.”

They’re at the top of the stairs.

How did they get there?

Caduceus is still at his arm, still talking. “Will you be alright?”

“Always am,” he says mechanically, because it’s true. He’s kept going this long.

There are blankets being handed to him, hands guiding him into bed, hands smoothing back the hair from his forehead. His mind leaps about, springing from one thought to the next with alarming speed, and the one incredulous thought at the center of it all: that he used to want something like this, in the years before he taught himself not to want anything from parents that were never coming back.

“I could stay, if you’d like.” Did Fjord say it after all, then? He doesn’t think so. He would have remembered - but the trip from kitchen to bedroom is still rather hazy. “Do you want me to stay, Fjord?” Caduceus asks again, uncertain, like he doesn’t already know the answer to his own question. That’s a first.

“M’ fine,” he mumbles into his pillow. Now that it comes down to it, the prospect of having someone else there when he wakes goes back to being terrifying, though the reason why eludes him, lost somewhere in the sparking cavalcade of exhausted thoughts. Maybe there isn’t a reason. Maybe he’s just scared of everything. That tracks.

“... alright.” Caduceus isn’t pleased with his answer. That tracks too. He’s not usually good at giving them. He’s not usually good...

“Sleep well, Fjord.”

And he does, for the hour or so before another dream comes, and when he wakes it’s to the visage of a yellow eye burnt into his eyelids. But somewhere beyond that, in the periphery, there’s another sight too: the memory of two pink irises, and a soft hand against his throat, so different from Avantika’s sharpened nails or Uk’otoa’s slithering grip.

It’s been a while, since someone has touched him there, and not meant for him to choke.

—-

It’s fitting, he’ll think many years later, that the end of it all came in a dream too. That he should have woken again in the ocean’s embrace, but safe on dry land as well. The kelp that embalms his limbs protects rather than pulls: warding against an icy death, rather than dragging him to it. There is no struggle to reach the surface - no call to fight, to destroy, to dominate, to consume. There are only gentle words, gentler warmth, and an ever-greening light - not a promise of salvation, but a path towards it.

He dreams, for as long as it takes for his friends to pull him from his cocoon. Once he’s finally found his feet again, his legs are stronger beneath him than they’ve ever been. When he reaches out to summon the sword, his fingers are steady. No hint of a tremor in his wrist.

It feels like being awake, for the first time in a long time.

—-

They take a long, long rest in Halas’s armory, or what’s left of it. Honestly, Fjord would have rather kept going. He’s all too cognizant of the time that’s passing in the outside world. The last time the group went on an indefinite sojourn into the unknown, they came back to find Felderwin in ruins, destroyed in their absence. He hasn’t forgotten how Nott could have lost her husband and child for the sake of his stupidity, his hubris. How they all could have brought about the end of the world if he’d just pushed it a little farther. How even now that he’s left that life behind, even now that the Wildmother has - somehow, impossibly - deigned to make him her paladin, he still has a lot to make up for.

The rest of the party is already asleep, all pressed to the edges of the dome like fish in a barrel, circling Caleb’s huddled form beneath the apex. Even in the faint light from the glowing runes of the two magical ballistae, Fjord can make out the beginnings of an angry bruise at the base of his throat, where the golem’s collar snapped shut and bit into the flesh. Caleb’s hand twitches every so often towards the injured spot, worrying the absent collar even in sleep. He understands; Fjord doubts he’d be able to forget something like that any quicker than Caleb.

From his perch in the gunner’s nest, there isn’t much to see - just a closed door to the tower, and the still-smoking remains of the golem at its foot.

Off.

Who knew it could be that simple? One word from Caduceus, and the lights go out. If he’d known, he thinks with more humor than bitterness, he might have asked Caduceus to try it on him months ago, just to see if it stuck.

Fjord told the others that he didn’t need to rest with them, that he felt fine. And it was true, truer than it’s been in a long time. He’ll be tired when the party wakes, but not deliriously so. That’s the thing - when you get enough sleep on the regular, missing a night or two here or there isn’t unbearable.

And funnily enough, he has been. Sleeping, that is.

At first, he thought the shift was Melora’s doing - a depth of dreaming she invoked to keep Uk’otoa’s eyes off him. He was alright with it being nothing more than her failsafe against his being taken back - anything for an extra few hours of shut-eye. But the change wasn’t all at once, a one and done thing. There are still plenty of nights that he tosses and turns, wakes sweat-soaked and exhausted, paces the length of his room while he waits for a socially appropriate hour to start on breakfast. Still, he’s found that not dreading the mornings to come is helping at lot with staying asleep. There are still problems and worries to face when he gets up, but far fewer that he has to handle on his own.

He didn’t really realize, until now, how much the facade was taking out of him.

Though he wishes he could, Fjord doesn’t meditate the way Caduceus does, at least not when he’s alone. He’s tried before, but he never seems to know the right words, the right rituals, the right state of mind. But he’s learning. He’s getting there. In the meantime, Fjord does what he can: he thinks the night away. He ponders lakes and dustlands and marshy swamps; all the places they’ve been, all the ones they haven’t visited yet. He hears her voice in the remembrance of crashing waves, and calls that close enough to worship.

He thinks, for him, it is.

When the rest of the party finally comes to, Fjord hasn’t slept a wink. Still, he doesn’t feel exhausted. He’s fine, actually.

And you know what? This time, he really might be.

—-

The girls have their tattoos finished by the time the three of them return to the ship, bellies heavy with greasy food and hearts a little lighter. Caleb goes to check on Nott, already asleep in their room, and a wincing Jester drags Beau around the middle and pulls her off to bed, both trying not to jostle the other’s fresh ink. Which just leaves Fjord and Caduceus on deck, and Orly, who’s in the process of wrapping up his tools into bundles and tying them off with leather twine.

“Your cabin’s waiting, Cap’tn,” Orly says, catching Fjord’s eye. “Finally got the last of Avantika’s things cleared out, if you’ll be wanting a bigger space.”

He’ll never quite be comfortable with that title, nor the privileges it seems to afford. “No,” he hedges, “that’s- my old room’s fine. Plenty of space for me.” Caduceus clears his throat and Fjord flinches, all at once reminded that he’s not the only one impacted by his refusal. “Unless you’d rather have the room to yourself, Caduceus? I could- or you-”

“Whatever you prefer is fine with me,” Caduceus says, pleasant but noncommittal, then heads for the hatch to the lower level. Fjord stares after him, not really sure what to do with that.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Orly says, finally breaking the awkward silence. “Night, Cap’tn.”

“Night,” he echoes back. Orly disappears below deck, and then it’s only him, left with nothing but his indecision to ward off the night chill.

It’s not like he has to make the choice right away - Avantika’s former quarters are on the way to the rest of the crew berths. He’s somewhat surprised to find that no one else has taken up residence there. Like Orly said, they’re far more generous than the typical room. But the way he had said it… it’s almost like they were keeping the space open. For the Captain, whenever she- whenever Fjord returned.

Fjord staunchly swallows past the lump in his throat, then turns the doorknob to Avantika’s quarters.

There it all is, just as they left it, if a bit more barren - a desk, a bed, a poorly sealed hole in the floor, an empty alcove where a shrine once sat. It’s a fine room, and well insulated from the outside world. With the doors to the balcony closed, he can barely hear the ocean’s rock against the hull.

Fjord sits on the double bed, presses a hand to the sheets. Still the same mattress as when- as the last time. He can tell. It’s not hard like a typical berth; Avantika had a taste for the richer things in life. She was particular. She was…

His throat closes up a little more, not from emotion this time, but a memory. He looks down at the pillow, and sees red hair spilling like silk from a careless hand, sees his own grip come up to match hers. Sees how easily a slender throat can snap, with enough pressure. If the mood is right. If it’s what has to be done.

Avantika never once asked him to stay.

He doesn’t know what it’s like, to wake up in this bed. He doesn’t want to.

...He doesn’t have to.

Caduceus is still awake by the time Fjord finds his way back to their old room. There’s a little kettle going on the dresser, which has to be against some sort of shipside regulation, but without an open flame he can’t find any reason to complain. Caduceus doesn’t comment on his tardiness, but he does offer Fjord a cup.

Fjord can’t help but notice that there were already two set out.

“So, how’s it feel?” Caduceus asks as Fjord takes a seat on the opposite bed.

“How’s what feel?”

“Being back here, on this ship?”

Fjord sips his tea - herbal, loamy, not bad - and takes the time to consider his answer. He wants to give an honest one. He’s been working at that. “Good,” he decides. “I missed this.” What this is is somewhat nebulous, even in his own mind, but it feels right when he says it.

“Good,” says Caduceus. “Glad to hear it.”

They sit a while in silence after that, drinking their tea, exchanging the occasional friendly glance over their respective cups. This feels… safe, in a way that Avantika’s chamber didn’t.

“Hey, Caduceus? Can I ask a question?”

“Mm?” Caduceus hums, setting down his tea and giving Fjord his full attention. “Sure.”

“It’s just… something that I’ve been wondering about.” He laughs, the old self-deprecation still creeping into his voice, though not as heavily as it once did. “It’s stupid... you probably don’t even remember this. But there was a night, back in Xhorhas, when you helped me clean up a broken glass in the kitchen.”

“...I remember,” Caduceus says after a moment, expression unreadable.

Fjord’s heart is pounding harder than it has any right to.

“Did I… did I ask you, to stay with me?” Fjord ducks his head, knowing that his embarrassment, as always, shows too clearly on his face. “I mean- just because you said, you know- I wasn’t sure.” He cuts himself off before he can stumble back into the neverminds and forget its. They can only protect him so far, and he really does want to know, as much as he fears the answer.

Caduceus breaks into a soft smile. “Well, not in those words, no. But it seemed to me that you were asking for something, for a very long time. We just weren’t very good at hearing you.”

Fjord laughs again, rubbing at his neck. “You have to actually speak for people to hear what you’re saying.”

Caduceus watches him, rolling over Fjord’s self-effacing tone with painfully solemn honesty. “I don’t think that’s always true.”

Fjord stares at the walls, not really able to keep on meeting eyes that always seem to see right through him. “I wanted you to stay,” he admits - not quite a whisper, but not quite there either. “ I was afraid to.”

“Why’s that?” The question betrays nothing more than curiosity, but Fjord treats it with the seriousness it deserves.

“Vandren always taught me that there’s nothing weaker than saddling other people with your problems. I didn’t want... to need that kind of help. To be weak, like that.”

“Even if I wanted to give it?”

It’s Fjord’s turn to look at Caduceus, to really look at him. Insight has never been his strong suit, but Caduceus seems genuine, in the way that Fjord wants to be, has been trying to be.

“Why?” That’s the crux of his confusion, the one thing Fjord can’t wrap his head around. “Why would you want that?” What am I to you, that you keep on giving, when all I do is take?

“Because I care for you.” He says it like it’s true, like it’s what he really feels. I care for you . What does that mean? “You don’t believe me,” Caduceus states, impossibly understanding, but still disappointed.

“No,” Fjord is quick to correct him, not wanting to throw his words back in his face, “No, it’s just…” Why bother with me, of all people? “It just seems like it shouldn’t have to be your responsibility.”

“You make it sound like kindness is a burden.” Fjord shrugs. Caduceus leans forward, knees a breath away from brushing his own. “You are not a burden to me, Fjord.”

His eyes are burning again. Fjord grips the edges of the mattress, tries so hard not to hear those words for what they are, and what they mean, because the moment he does he knows something will break.

“You don’t have to believe me. But can I… may I show you?” The other mattress creaks, and then his own dips as Caduceus sits down by his side, waiting for an affirmation. When Fjord nods, he takes both hands and places them on either side of his chin. He turns Fjord until they’re nose to nose - breathing the same air, filling the same space. The pads of his thumbs soothe along the rabbiting pulse that courses beneath Fjord’s skin.

Fjord closes his eyes, overwhelmed, as Caduceus lifts one hand and traces it along the edge of his cheek.

“I wondered, for a very long time, if I was on the right path. Whether what I was doing was really what the Wildmother intended.” His fingers move to the line of Fjord’s nose, pausing over the scar that cuts a jagged crease over his eye. “You were the first sign, that I had found my destiny. I knew, from the moment we met, that there was something broken in you.” Fjord flinches, but Caduceus’s other hand squeezes his neck gently, keeping him from turning away but not forcing, never forcing. “But you found your way out from the darkness. I may have lit the way, but you pulled yourself out. And I am so proud of you.”

Fjord’s mouth parts involuntarily as the words seep into his chest, caught between a gasp and a whimper. The burning behind his eyes finally spills over. “You- every part of you, even the ones you hate- deserved to be saved. So if anything, it’s me who was selfish in all of this. Because I wanted to be the one to do it.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person. He’s not sure he ever has. He should be mortified. But as Caduceus’s thumbs smooth away the wetness from his cheeks, he can’t bring himself to feel any shame. The tears seep like poison from an old wound - too long held inside his chest, too long carried beneath his skin, and hidden away.

He lets his head drop to Caduceus’s shoulder. Lets himself be held. Lets himself hold on in return. And doesn’t feel guilty, for any of it.

—-

Crew quarters aren’t nearly as finely made as the captain’s cabin. Here, you hear everything - every groan of the hull, every buffett of wind, every shuffle of rigging from those still above deck.

Fjord wakes to all those familiar sounds, and some that are new - gentle snores, puffs of warm breath, a heartbeat slower than his own. The seagulls are just beginning to herald the dawn, their cries sharp and biting, urging him to get up and start the day.

A little longer, Fjord thinks hazily. Just a few minutes more.

He pulls one elbow out from where it’s fallen asleep beneath Caduceus’s side, then presses the tip of his cold nose back into the warmth of the silken shirt in from of him. Caduceus stirs, but doesn’t wake, and the arm that covers Fjord’s shoulders pulls him in a little closer. He lets himself be pulled. Lets his eyes fall closed.

Before he knows it, he’s asleep again.

#critical role #critrole fic #critrole angst #fjorclay #fjord #caduceus clay #cr spoilers #(only tagging because there are very mild ones from the last episode in this)#me: this is going to be a quick drabble #me (5000 words later | crying): oh no #my writing

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