#scott major esmp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetomorrowshow · 2 years

Text

out of aces

trust au masterlist

this one has been long in the works ksdhfjk (mostly bc i left it open as a tag for weeks on end while working on future parts)

cw: previously existing eating disorder, ptsd

It’s still early evening when Scott circles down over the Cod Empire, drawing his wings in tight to dive. Some of the citizens point up at him, one child waves. Cautiously, Scott waves back.

He’s had far too long of a day. Between three different meetings and hours spent poring over boring courting and marriage rituals whilst searching for some answer on how to handle Xornoth, it feels as though it’s been five times as long as normal.

He really just wants a good night’s sleep.

He lands smoothly in front of Jimmy’s residence, doesn’t bother knocking before coming in—the door, as always, is unlocked. Scott clicks his tongue, reminds himself to once again tell Jimmy that he needs to keep it locked.

The rich, warm scent of food hits Scott in a wave and he takes a moment to inhale. Jimmy’s house is always so homey, compared to his palace. From the kitchen, Jimmy looks up and awkwardly salutes.

“Bit early tonight,” Jimmy observes, glancing out the window. His brow furrows anxiously; Scott’s quick to smooth over the issue.

“My advisors think I’m here for the weekend on invitation from you for discussions on how to approach the House Blossom matter,” Scott explains, but the anxiety on Jimmy’s face only grows.

“I nearly forgot that was coming up,” Jimmy says quietly. Scott understands—this meeting with Katherine will end in the dissolution of the House Blossom alliance, no matter what side Katherine takes. Scott’s had quite the challenge keeping his kidnapping a secret these past couple of weeks, but he’d been advised to wait, see how other empires reacted to his clear war preparations. Now it’s time to confront Katherine and ask her to join him and the rest of the Codfather alliance in this fight.

He’s more than a little nervous. So is Jimmy, clearly.

“Well, good thing you’re here, because stew is ready!” The subject change is conspicuous, but Scott lets it slide. He notices a pot over the woodstove, now that Jimmy mentions it—and if Scott isn’t mistaken, what Jimmy is ladling into a bowl is the same stew Jimmy made last week: the first thing that Scott managed to eat from Jimmy.

Jimmy takes a bite out of the stew, making sure to scrape the spoon along the bottom of the bowl, and noticeably swallows before handing it to Scott. Most of the nerves that had suddenly begun bundling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of food are gone, leaving it rather empty. He tugs off his gloves and carefully maneuvers his wings out of his travel coat, which he hangs on the hook beside the door, before sitting down at the rough wooden table and digging in.

It’s a little chewier than last time, but otherwise a wonderfully savory beef stew that has a good ratio of vegetables to gravy. His bowl is empty in mere minutes, just as Jimmy sets a hot bread roll on a napkin beside him.

Scott’s eaten bread before. He actually had bread yesterday, but the difference had been that he had made it—and even then, he’d only eaten a couple of slices before he couldn’t trust it any longer. He’s never eaten bread that Jimmy made, and while he doesn’t believe that Jimmy would purposefully put something in it, it’s always a possibility.

He eyes it suspiciously, and with a little widening of his eyes, Jimmy picks it back up and takes a bite out of it. “You don’t have to eat it,” he assures, a gentle smile quirking his lips. “I was just already making rolls and thought you might like one. It’s okay if not.”

Scott contemplates it. Breaks it open. Sniffs it. Steam rises up to his nose. It seems . . . it seems fine. Like a normal dinner roll.

Still, the idea of eating it makes his heart jump into his throat. Already, the bowl of stew sits almost uncomfortably in his stomach, more food than he’s used to consuming in one sitting.

There’s no pressure to eat it. Jimmy told him so. There’s no expectation on him here, in the quiet of Jimmy’s home. There never is. Maybe that’s why Scott’s here every single night.

He just knows he’s looking particularly pale as he wonders what his council would think if they knew that he sneaks out nightly like a lovesick teenager to crawl into bed with his crush. Of course, there’s nothing romantic between them—and there never will be, if Scott has his way, he never wants to make Jimmy uncomfortable—but there’s only one way for his actions to be perceived.

He doesn’t want to think about that, though. Thinking about how much he likes Jimmy with Jimmy right here is sure to lead to him doing something embarrassing. So, he clears his throat and asks the first thing he can think of.

“Any trouble from Sausage?”

“Not really,” Jimmy says, now sitting opposite Scott, his own bowl full of stew and two rolls beside it. His gaze turns troubled, though, and he adds slowly, “I did catch him and fWhip sneaking around real early this morning by the border, but they left once I arrived.”

Scott’s shoving back his chair and standing before he even realizes it, heart skipping a beat. No, if they were here—if they—

“Did they hurt you?” he asks frantically, and Jimmy’s reassurances that he’s fine do nothing to hide the way he brings his left hand to cover a bandage on his right forearm.

Scott grabs his arm, ignoring the way Jimmy flinches back as he turns it this way and that, scanning his skin for damage. There’s nothing recent aside from the bandage, and he reluctantly lets his arm fall.

“Really, that’s it,” Jimmy says, rubbing his arm. “It just . . . fWhip shoved me over, and I landed on a sharp rock. They were . . . they were in a hurry, I think.”

“That’s suspicious,” Scott says instantly, wracking his brains for any reason that they might’ve been here. The obvious answer is that they were looking to antagonize Jimmy, but they had left as soon as Jimmy appeared, implying that their intentions had been less than honorable. It’s very possible that they had been attempting to sneak through the Cod Empire on their way to scout out the Ocean Empire, but Jimmy had either thwarted them or caught them on their return trip.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all.

“Has anything changed?” asks Scott, glancing around, though he knows that nothing would be missing from Jimmy’s home. “Did you alert Lizzie? Was there anything—”

“Scott.”

He looks back at Jimmy, who is eyeing him with a—a strangely fond look. “Yes?”

“I’ve dealt with them for years,” he says, raising his hands placatingly. “All things considered, this was a good interaction with those guys. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll look around in the morning and ask my guards if anything suspicious happened.”

It does make him feel better, so Scott nods his agreement and accepts that there’s nothing more they can do at the moment. In all likelihood, everything’s fine and he’s making a big deal out of nothing, so it’s the least he can do to stop asking Jimmy to worry about it.

He doesn’t end up eating the roll. It’s a disappointment, even if Jimmy doesn’t say so. Scott watches him toss the roll into the composter out back, shame licking at the insides of his stomach.

He’ll eat breakfast tomorrow. He has to.

The shame is mostly forgotten as they while away the evening talking, and for the moment it feels like it did before Scott was hoarding these awful, taboo feelings for Jimmy—casual, friendly, light. He manages to laugh at a joke and tell one in return, dry teasing that turns into a fit of giggles when Jimmy goes red and starts sputtering a weak rebuttal. The jokes wind down into general discussion, gradually getting deeper (as conversations are wont to do) until both of them are yawning and barely keeping track of what they’re talking about.

It’s nice, and the air doesn’t lose its friendliness when they crawl into bed together and turn out the light.

Scott wakes late the next morning alone.

He can't breathe for a second, he’s alone and he doesn’t know why because Jimmy was here when he went to sleep and he’s supposed to stay—

Scott forces himself to breathe against the imagined bands around his chest. Jimmy’s a busy emperor who has the right to go wherever he wants whenever he wants, and Scott can’t expect him to hang around when there’s work to be done.

It takes far too long for the bands to loosen, minutes that Scott spends cursing himself for not having a better handle on his emotions—it’s just Jimmy, and Jimmy’s just another person. Scott doesn’t need another person there to stay in control.

(The irony of him sitting on Jimmy’s bed while telling himself that does not escape him.)

He rolls out of bed once he feels like he can properly breathe again and slips into the casual clothes he’d brought for today, pointedly not looking at the ornate official set he’d brought to wear to the Overgrown tomorrow. He can only imagine all the horribly diplomatic things he’ll say in those, trying to save both an alliance and a friendship.

He wanders out to the main living space and finds it empty and quiet, the only sounds the gentle lap of water at the shore and a bird chirping through the open window.

Jimmy must have been called away early. Not that it isn’t okay—it’s Jimmy’s empire, after all—but it does worry Scott.

There's no breakfast set out on the table and no dishes in the sink, so to distract himself, Scott goes through Jimmy’s cupboards and icebox before deciding to fry up some eggs with a couple of pieces of pork he found lying around. The milk and the bread have been delivered, so Scott puts the milk in the icebox and the bread on the table and cooks, trying not to think too hard about where Jimmy might be.

Soon enough the eggs are fried and the pork is sizzling, so Scott sets out two plates and the required silverware and some salt and pepper for seasoning (not that he’s going to be using it, but Jimmy tends to over-pepper just about everything).

He’s just sliding the pork out of the pan when the front door slams open.

Scott drops to the ground before he can even think, fear shooting through every limb. Something’s wrong, something bad has happened, they’re here to take him back there—

“Scott! Scott, it’s okay, I just—well, it’s not okay, but—”

And then Jimmy’s there, helping him up, and Scott can blink past the sudden static of fear and focus on Jimmy.

Jimmy’s smiling, but it’s tense, forced, and Scott knows right away that he’s trying to hide whatever’s wrong so he can help him feel safe.

Jimmy’s too good for him, Jimmy’s wonderful, Jimmy’s the best person in the world and Scott is in no way worthy of him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands, extricating himself from Jimmy’s hold. He corrects his balance when he stumbles, wings fluttering behind him, and the stumble makes Jimmy bite his lip a bit and reach out, but pull back. His hands shake.

“The Codfather head. It’s gone.”

Okay. Not nearly as bad as the emergencies his mind had already conjured. Thoughts of invasion, torture, had filled his head, but here the worst case scenario is robbery. If his crown had been stolen, he would’ve been miffed about the lost history, but it ultimately wouldn’t matter too much.

It clearly means a lot to Jimmy—his eyes are going all watery—so Scott swallows down the last of his fear and gestures to the table. He can be the comfort this once.

“I made breakfast, how about you sit down and—”

“Scott, you don’t—it’s gone, Scott, it’s gone, and—”

“Sit down,” Scott says again, pulling out a chair, but Jimmy doesn’t sit, hands curled in his hair, as he begins to pace.

“I don’t know—there’s nothing—”

It’s—

It’s just a crown, isn’t it?

“Jimmy, please explain,” Scott asks, and he fights to keep his constant level of irritation (useful vocal habit to develop as an emperor, far less useful as a friend) out of his voice because if this is actually something important, he needs to know why—but he doesn’t want to agitate Jimmy any further.

Jimmy freezes, turns back to face Scott. A tear has escaped the corner of his eye, slowly traveling down his cheek. “The Codfather head,” he says, his voice trembling, “holds the claim to the throne.”

Oh.

Oh no. That’s not good at all.

But it still isn’t terrible.

It’s certainly a bad thing to occur, but the empires aren’t savages. One can’t just steal another’s crown and declare themself king—there’s a royal lineage and the crown is merely the birthright, not the declaration. With a bit of luck, they can actually manipulate this in their favor with their meeting tomorrow, sow seeds of dissent against Sausage and fWhip—because of course they must’ve stolen it, Scott hadn’t forgotten yesterday’s mention of them at all.

“That’s bad,” Scott agrees, maintaining the note of calm, “but not insurmountable. We should be fine—everyone knows you, so if we announce now that it’s been stolen then you cannot be accused of creating a counterfeit if someone tries to steal your position—”

“No, you don’t—you don’t understand—” Jimmy’s back to pacing, hands no longer pulling at his hair and instead wrapped around himself in a self-hug. “I need the head, Scott, I need it—”

“I know, but as long as you can prove your royal heritage, you’re going to be fine. I mean, a lot of extra paperwork, I bet, but . . . Jimmy?”

He trails off, because Jimmy—Jimmy has gone utterly still, tension in every line of his body.

Scott takes a moment, tracks back his entire sentence, before it hits him.

His heart sinks.

He can barely force himself to ask the question. “You . . . you can prove your royal heritage, can’t you?”

At Jimmy’s miserable shake of his head, Scott is rendered speechless. For several long moments, all he can do is stare at Jimmy in disbelief as his shoulders begin to shake, head ducked.

“What?” he eventually says, and he can barely comprehend that Jimmy— “You—you don’t have a right to the—you’re a usurper?”

“That’s the issue,” whispers Jimmy. “I don’t know.”

They’re sitting in Jimmy’s living room now, breakfast left forgotten on the table. Jimmy had pressed a cup of tea into Scott’s hands that he knows he’s not going to drink, but he holds onto it for Jimmy’s peace of mind.

“How much do you know about the Cod Empire’s history?” asks Jimmy, fingers tapping anxiously against his knee. Scott casts his mind back to what he’d learned from his tutor in childhood—not much, in this regard.

“It’s been around for a while?” he hazards. “It formed as an off-shoot of the Ocean Empire, as far as we know—but both empires were entirely underwater for centuries. They’ve only surfaced in recent history, but I was told that we didn’t have any contact with the Ocean Empire until Lizzie joined House Blossom close to thirty years ago. Everybody sort of—” he grimaces— “We all ignored the Cod Empire for decades because it always looked like it was made of . . . lesser . . . people, I suppose.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you lot thought we were savages, I know. We were normal, just . . . fighting a long war. Or, they were.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Scott’s stomach as he hears the pronoun change. Jimmy doesn’t count himself as a citizen of his own empire. That can’t be good.

Jimmy sighs, sips his own tea. “Scott, when was the first you’d heard of me?”

“Ten years ago,” Scott replies instantly. He remembers the meeting like it was yesterday. “Pixl came to the House Blossom meeting one month to announce that he’d reached out to the Cod Empire and made contact with a new ruler who was looking to make alliances and open borders for the first time. But what—”

“Ten years ago,” Jimmy interrupts. “No knowledge of me before that? No knowledge of any predecessors?”

“Well, as I said, we didn’t exactly pay any mind to the Cod Empire—”

“There was a royal family. But the Cod Empire was engaged in a war for many, many decades without help. About twenty-some years ago, the last member of the royal line was killed in battle.”

“So you’re a conqueror?”

“I—I don’t think so?” Jimmy winces, sets his tea down to scrub at his face. “Scott,” he explains patiently, “the first thing I remember is waking up on a beach and not being able to breathe.”

Weird direction to take, but all right. Scott frowns. “As a child?”

“Ten years ago,” Jimmy corrects. “I was quite a bit more—er, fish-like, then, and my on-land lungs hadn’t grown to the capacity I needed for full-time land breathing. And there was this temple nearby, and—” he swallows, and his eyes are shining with tears that Scott wants nothing more than to wipe away— “and inside was the Codfather head, and I put it on—to see if it would help, and it did, and—here I am.”

The last bit comes out as a whisper, so quiet Scott can barely hear him.

“I don’t remember anything,” Jimmy says shakily. “Nothing before then. Where I came from, who I am. I’m not—I’m not a salmon, obviously, but I don’t have the right to rule. I’ve just been—doing my best.”

Jimmy finishes, hangs his head. And Scott. . . .

If he weren’t already sitting down, he’d have to sit down.

This is—this is so much information, this is enough information to start a war with, and here Scott is in the middle of it trying to make sense.

He has so many questions—starting with why and how and everything in between, but without his input, the stupidest one falls from his lips.

“You have amnesia? But you don’t act like it.”

Jimmy gives him a dry look. “And what on earth do amnesiacs act like?” he challenges. “I can’t remember anything before ten years ago. How else am I meant to act?”

Scott swallows, his face going pale in embarrassment. Stupid questions and all that. “Right. Sorry. But—you’re cod, aren’t you? How do you know that you aren’t some long-lost descendant of the royal line?”

“I could be,” Jimmy shrugs, “but—I can’t prove it. There are other cod hybrids, you know, the empire’s practically made of them. And—there’s another thing, Scott.”

Another thing? This is already a giant issue, how could there be more?

Jimmy looks like he’s about to cry again when he speaks. He looks around, as if to double-check that they’re alone. “You can’t tell anyone this. But—me being in danger puts Lizzie in danger.”

“Because you’re siblings,” Scott realizes as Jimmy says it. Aeor above, this is a mess. “And she doesn’t—?”

“Nothing before thirty-odd years ago,” Jimmy confirms. “The only thing we’ve managed to figure out is that we’re siblings, so the amnesia must run in the family.”

Scott sits back, processing just . . . how much information he’s received. Jimmy is not only a usurper to the throne of the Cod Empire (and a rather good one at that, seeing as he’s managed to pull it together for the first time in centuries), but also amnesiac and . . . possibly more than a simple cod hybrid, given the implications of his body so quickly evolving to fit his needs. That’s not exactly what’s important, though.

He should report this to the House Blossom council. Years of tutoring and training are screaming for him to immediately cut all ties with Jimmy and make certain that everyone knows he’s a false ruler, an imposter who could catch them all by surprise at any moment.

He really oughtn’t interact with Jimmy or Lizzie ever again.

“You need to hide, then,” Scott says instead, and that’s it. He’s more committed to Jimmy than he is to his common sense, and maybe that’s a good thing and maybe it isn’t, but the facts are that fWhip and Sausage likely have the Codfather head (he knew he was right to be more concerned last night) and Jimmy needs to get out of here as soon as can be arranged. “We can go to Rivendell—it’s near impenetrable, we can—”

“Scott, I can’t go to Rivendell,” Jimmy shuts him down, voice firm. When Scott raises an eyebrow, Jimmy continues, eyes down, cheeks coloring pink. “I—we’re new allies, we’re young, we’ve been spending a lot of time together—I mean, people have been gossiping ever since we danced together twice at the wedding. It would—me, going to Rivendell? It would be a scandal.”

Jimmy’s fully red in the face by the time he’s done speaking, and he ducks his head to try and unsuccessfully hide it. Scott can feel his own face pale at the implications—of course Jimmy can’t stay in Rivendell, of course that would be inappropriate—he’s such an idiot sometimes—

“Right,” he blusters, trying to cover his mistake. “Uh, Lizzie’s, then? It’s fairly—oh, but—”

“That puts Lizzie into the public eye,” Jimmy finishes, standing. “And her people know me too well—they would be confused if I never appeared publicly and they would notice—”

“Joel?” Scott throws out, standing as well to pace the length of the room. He sets his teacup down beside the now-cold breakfast on the table. “Mezeleans are—well, they’re strange folk, surely they won’t ask—”

“Scott, Mezelea’s too hot for you, you’d get sick,” Jimmy butts in, an adorable little crease between his eyebrows.

Scott blinks a couple of times. “I—Jimmy, this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Well, yeah, but I figured you’d still be coming over at night.”

Maybe it’s stupidity, maybe it’s innocence, maybe it’s the open selflessness that’s always been such an essential part of Jimmy, but those words leave Scott gaping. Jimmy’s rule—Jimmy’s life is in peril, and he’s still thinking of Scott first.

His heart wants to shatter.

He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter, though, does it—Mezelea might work temporarily, but it’s too dry for you, isn’t it?” At Jimmy’s nod, Scott continues. “Pixandria is far enough to put you out of mind, but there’s the same dry heat problem—”

“And Katherine’s still allies with all of them, I can’t go there—”

And there’s no one else. That’s all of their options, neatly exhausted.

There’s nowhere. There’s nowhere they can hide Jimmy, short of some hut in the forest—but that would be just as bad as ceding victory to fWhip and Sausage, they could declare Jimmy a traitor or dead and take his throne—

Whatever they do, they’ll have to find a loophole in the laws of the land, something that allows him to remain closed-off from investigation—but he’s an emperor, what could apply to him? Most laws are built to apply to everyone but the rulers, so they’d have to find a law that either encompasses all or focuses on royalty, as unlikely as that would be.

Scott’s been reading a lot lately, spending long hours each day in the library, perusing book after book in search of any ancient laws of any land, any way he could restrict the demon from being freed—it’s where he’d learned that the Ender Dragon imprisons Exor’s heir—and in those stacks he’d found—

He’d been so tired yesterday, but there was time for one more; he cracked open a book on sacred Rivendell customs and law, and he’d found himself boredly skimming through a section that he hadn’t paid much mind to in school, one that everyone knew because it had always been—

Oh.

Oh no.

There is one law that he knows of. One that could keep Jimmy safe for quite some time.

“Jimmy,” Scott says after a moment—he doesn’t want this one, doesn’t want to do this to Jimmy, but there’s no time, his heart is racing and his mind frantically searching for any other option but there isn’t one— “Please—please don’t take this as indicative of my respect for you nor my typical chivalry, but—Rivendell is safe for you on one condition.”

Jimmy sighs, stress and exhaustion and adrenaline all dripping from the sound. “Scott, we can’t—it’s dangerous enough that—”

“Agree to marry me,” Scott says over him before he can lose his courage, “and I can promise your safety.”

Jimmy stares at him.

The house is suddenly eerily silent.

“Are—”

“I’m not trying to coerce you into a marriage, I promise, I’m not taking advantage of your vulnerable position, I just—” he cuts himself off as Jimmy doesn’t do so much as blink, and dear Aeor this is the most embarrassed Scott’s been in years— “Forget I said anything, let’s—what if you stayed indoors at Pixandria the entire time, in a pool or—”

“Explain,” interrupts Jimmy, then, softer, “please.”

Where does he even begin?

“There are laws,” Scott decides on after several long moments. He’d just been reading over those laws, it’s true, but they’re rather complex and he doesn’t think he’d have been able to easily understand them without having grown up with them. He’ll have to simplify this the best he can. “See, elves live quite a bit longer than most races—I’m very young for a ruler, most of my advisors are well over eight hundred years old—and because of that, there are sacred laws and customs around marriage. They want to make sure you’re committed to your partner, see,” he adds, perhaps unnecessarily. “So the betrothed couple, by ancient law, must live in seclusion for an entire year before marrying. They are not permitted to be seen by anyone during this period.”

He doesn’t look at Jimmy now. He turns away, fiddles with the ties on the front of his shirt. He’s honestly just trying to help, but he knows if Jimmy turns down his plan he’ll be utterly crushed. It’s not meant to mean anything. It’s just to protect Jimmy. Yet to some selfish part of Scott’s mind (possibly the part to suggest it in the first place), it means everything.

“You’re the emperor, though,” Jimmy says behind him. Scott can’t tell what he’s thinking, voice flat and emotionless. “I’m one, too. How will we do our jobs?”

“Well, the law’s been adjusted some with modern times—they’ll likely give us veils, gloves, the like—but Elinus alone, not to mention the other members of my council, would fight an entire army to uphold these laws. No one would see that you don’t have the Codfather head. Most people wouldn’t even be able to speak with you—we’d both be practically locked up in my palace, which, I know, sounds terribly boring—but you’d be safe,” Scott stresses, “and as soon as we have the Codfather head back, we can break off the engagement. I swear it.”

There. His piece is said, and now it’s time to think of a real solution. One that doesn’t force Jimmy to pretend to be engaged to him. Scott falls back into one of the kitchen chairs, head in his hands. This is an utter disaster. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, they have to get Jimmy out of here, they have to do it now he isn’t safe—

“I’ll do it.”

Scott whips around, sees the pink dusting Jimmy’s cheeks, the determined gleam in his eyes. “You don’t have—” Scott begins, but Jimmy cuts him off.

“I’m an emperor, aren’t I? This is for my people. You’re right. It’s a good plan, it’ll keep them safe and keep suspicion off me.”

Surely there’s another way. Surely there’s something they haven’t come up with.

But there’s no time to try and find it. Every minute they spend discussing is another minute that fWhip could be spending bringing this to the attention of the House Blossom council.

This is going to break his heart.

Scott nods. He moves almost mechanically to go into the bedroom, gather his things, but Jimmy catches him by the arm, lips turned in a bit of a pout.

“I expect a good ring to make up for this proposal,” he teases.

Dear Aeor.

111 notes · View notes