#and my worst illnesses happen in winter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

helloalycia · 5 months

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𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐒 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍

summary: when Katniss gets sick and doesn't show any signs of getting better, you fear the worst and have to do whatever you can to make sure she does.

warning/s: mentions of dying + usual warnings that come with writing for the hunger games.

author's note: thanks to everyone who voted on my first lil poll yesterday haha, here’s the katniss one that won! there’s 2 parts and it was written after i just reread all the hunger games books and became hyperfixated on katniss again lmao

i’ll post the jackie taylor yellowjackets one after this for anyone who voted that too :)

two / masterlist / wattpad

I tightened the woolly scarf around my neck, hoping it would do something to keep the cold, bitter air out despite its flimsiness. Winter in District 12 could be unforgiving, but by the look of things from the front window, it hadn't snowed anymore last night.

"I'm leaving, mum!" I called from the front door, grabbing my school bag.

"Have a nice day, hon!" she called back from the kitchen.

When I left my house, the first thing I stepped foot in was grey slush, and I wasn't sure if that was worse than a blizzard at this point. Nonetheless, I sucked it up and headed over to my best friend Katniss' house, not far from my own in the poor, ragged part of the district, the Seam.

We always met at her place before school since it was on the way and we could walk in together, but when I arrived, her little sister, Primrose, answered and looked worried.

"Hey, darling, what's up?" I asked, accepting the hug she gave me as I stepped inside.

"It's Katniss," she muttered. "She won't get out of bed."

Trying not to show my concern, I said, "I'll go check on her. You finish getting ready so we're not late, yeah?"

She nodded and I watched her go into the kitchen to finish her breakfast with her mum, the older woman offering a small smile when she saw me. I returned it before letting myself into the other room of their house, the bedroom that all three of them shared. Inside, Katniss was still in her bed, under the covers and blocking out the light. Whether she was awake, I wasn't sure, but this was certainly unlike her.

"Katniss?" I called, shaking her body slightly. "We're gonna be late, you've gotta get up."

She groaned slightly, not appreciating my interruption, and then seemed to realise what was happening as she rolled over, eyes squinted with confusion.

"Huh? What are you doing?" she mumbled, rubbing her face, and her voice was raspier than usual.

"It's time for school," I said knowingly, before frowning when I saw her cover her eyes with her hand. "Why are you still in bed? Prim has been trying to wake you."

"What...? I don't..." She stopped, before attempting to sit upright, but she squeezed her eyes shut and steadied herself on the bed.

"Hey," I said, much more concerned now, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "You're not okay. Is it your head?"

She clutched her forehead, breathing out slowly. "I don't know. It hurts, it– god, it's bright in here."

I frowned, taking in her pained expression and connecting all the dots. "You're sick. You should stay home today. Get better."

As if I'd accused her of murder, Katniss shook her head and pulled the duvet off her with determination. "I'm not. I'm fine, I–" But just on cue, a throaty cough rattled her.

"I can stay home if you want," I offered, already pulling the duvet back on her. "Help you."

The last thing I wanted was to leave her alone whilst she was ill. Technically her mother would be here, but she wasn't the most attentive since she'd lost her husband, so it was essentially like leaving Katniss alone.

"No, you don't need to," Katniss gave in with a sigh.

"I don't mind," I offered, resting a hand on hers. "I can–"

"It's one day," she assured me, before clearing her throat. "I'll be okay. Go. Please. Or you'll be late."

I sighed disapprovingly before nodding, knowing one day of rest would hopefully prove to be useful. I leaned forward to hug her, about to wish her well, but she shoved me back quickly.

"Don't or you'll get sick," she argued tiredly, making me rub my chest where she shoved me.

"Ow," I said with annoyance, before rolling my eyes and standing up. "Very well. Lay down at least."

Thankfully, she obeyed which was how I knew she must've really felt rundown. Pulling the duvet to her shoulders, I tucked her in before wishing her well and leaving the room. After letting her mum know what was wrong and to keep an eye on her, Prim and I left the house together.

"She's okay, right?" the twelve-year-old asked me as we trudged through the muddy snow.

"Oh yeah, of course," I reassured her with a smile. "It's nothing. Just that time of year."

This seemed to work, as Prim sighed with relief before smiling too. But deep down, a small part of me was a little worried. Firstly, Katniss never got sick, ever. And secondly, whereas a cold might not take some people out, it could be the difference between life and death in a place where it was freezing and had no electricity. I only hoped she'd be able to sleep it off and recover soon.

All day I was thinking of Katniss, unable to focus much at school. When the final bell rang and we were finally let out, I was relieved, only wanting to check on her and hopefully see some improvement. Our friend, Gale, accompanied Prim and I back home, since he lived in the Seam also, and we all went to the Everdeens to see if Katniss was okay.

When we reached their house, we saw Mrs Everdeen helping someone out as part of her job as a healer, so decided not to interrupt and instead headed straight for Katniss. When we walked in, Prim ran to her bedside whilst Gale and I took in the scene. Katniss was still under her covers, as if she'd not moved all day.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale said, hoping to lighten the mood and stir her awake, if she was even asleep.

An annoyed moan was the only response we got, so I settled by her bedside and pulled the duvet down carefully, revealing her face. Her eyes were closed, scrunched with discomfort, but she was sweating. I felt her forehead, surprised at how hot she was, and my worry was increasing.

"How is she?" Prim asked from behind me.

I cleared my throat, pulling my hand back. "Er, warm. But it could be nothing."

Clearly I wasn't the best liar, since she pushed me out the way and felt her sister's forehead before frowning immediately.

"That's not nothing," she exclaimed, before going for the door. "I'm getting mum."

I sighed, but knew it was for the best. When her and her mum returned, the four of us attempted to coax Katniss awake properly. She was reluctant, but finally opened her eyes when I closed the curtains, blocking out the light that was bothering her.

"You're burning, Katniss," I told her gently, taking her hand. Her mum rested a cold cloth on her forehead, moving her hair from her face, and I looked back to her tired eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just tired," she said dismissively, yawning. "A little cold."

I exchanged nervous glances with Gale, who was as concerned for her as I was.

"You need to listen to your mum and sister," I told her. "They're gonna help you feel better, okay?"

"I'm fine, I just need to rest," she tried to assure me, but she wasn't very convincing.

"Katniss, please," I said quietly, and she looked to me with dark eyes, softening. "Just listen to them."

She nodded, giving in, and I offered her a small smile before looking to her mum for the next step.

"You should both go home," she said to Gale and I. "You can visit tomorrow."

I nodded, not keen to leave Katniss' side but knowing the best care she could be in was her family's. Gale and I said our goodbyes before walking home.

It was supposed to get better after that, Katniss was supposed to get better. But none of it did. She was still bedridden when I visited her after school the next day, though a little more awake than yesterday and itching to get up and leave.

"My legs work fine," she told me with frustration. "Why can't I just get up and push on?"

"Because you're weak, idiot," I told her, giving her a disapproving look. "You've still got a fever, too."

She frowned petulantly, staring off at the wall instead of me. I sighed, resting a hand on hers, and thankfully she didn't pull away.

"Your mum is taking good care of you," I reminded her. "You're gonna be okay, but you need to rest."

"You shouldn't visit me meanwhile," she said after a moment, finally looking at me. "What if I'm contagious?"

I tried not to smile, the thought of not visiting her sounding insane. "I'll live, Katniss."

She exhaled weakly, not bothering to argue. I swallowed hard, taking in her expression. Circles were becoming deeper under her eyes, showing her struggle to sleep properly, and she was still glistening in a thin layer of sweat. Even now, her hand was hot beneath mine, and it terrified me. But I tried not to think of the worst, instead manifesting positive thoughts the best I could.

Enough positivity to make Katniss puke, that was the goal.

Unfortunately, it only got worse from there on out. It was getting colder the deeper we got into winter, which wasn't helping, and Katniss was missing more and more days off school. And then we finally finished school for the year, and Katniss was still unwell.

Unlike that second visit, she wasn't fighting her weakness anymore, unable to play it tough when her migraines were ruining her. Her fever would break, then return, then break again. I didn't understand what was wrong and I'd never been so scared in my life. Gale and her family felt the same, but her mum was surprisingly consistent with her care, doing everything she could to make her daughter better.

But we all knew what nobody would admit – Katniss needed real medicine, none of this herbal stuff.

One day, I was visiting Katniss, going over more and more now that school was done, but she wasn't always awake when I visited. Thankfully she was today, and when I walked in, her head turned to the door to see who it was. When she saw it was me, she shook her head, unimpressed.

"You shouldn't be here," she said as she always did, and I rolled my eyes playfully.

Ignoring her, I took a seat at the edge of her bed, aware of her eyes following my every move.

"Prim," she began, but I answered before she needed to finish.

"She's at Gale's," I reassured her, making her sigh with relief.

Having Prim seeing her like this always worried her, but I was making sure that the younger Everdeen wasn't always around. Of course, she was stubborn like her sister and sometimes insisted. Today though, she was content spending the day with Gale's siblings.

I looked down at Katniss, noticing how much weight she'd lost these past few weeks. She was already skinny, a consequence of living in District 12, but this was sickly, haunting. I'd never seen her so rundown before and I was seriously terrified that if we didn't get her real medicine soon, she could die. Nobody had a cold or flu or whatever it was for this damn long. She was struggling to eat properly, to stand at all, and she looked like hell. I couldn't just watch her deteriorate like this. Not my best friend. Not the girl I cared way too much for.

"Stop it," she said, an accidental whisper. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not doing anything," I defended, embarrassed I'd been caught.

She knew me too well though. "I'll be okay. In fact–" She paused, and then suddenly attempted to sit upright, but her arms were too weak to hold her up and she slipped right back down. The tears were quick to pool in her eyes, a matching scowl on her face, at her incompetence.

"It's okay," I said sympathetically, taking her hand in between mine.

She squeezed it tight, like a lifeline, but avoided my eyes. A tear slipped from hers, and I pretended not to see it for her sake.

"I need to hunt," she said with a hoarse voice, no doubt holding in her emotion.

"Gale has it under control," I said, only imagining all she'd been worrying herself with whilst stuck here. She was the sole provider for her family, and with her out of action, the responsibilities were piling up.

"He has his own family to worry about," she snapped, before catching herself, instantly feeling bad. Quieter, she said, "It's not enough."

She wasn't wrong, of course, but I would never let her know that. Gale barely found enough to feed his own family, especially during winter, and he was sparing what little he could to keep Prim and her mum afloat. I did the same with what scraps I got, but I was no hunter and couldn't offer extra game like he could.

"We're sorting it," I said confidently. "Your mum and Prim are okay, aren't they?"

She finally met my eyes, hers glassy and exhausted. "For how long?"

It was much harder to lie to her when she was looking right at me, so I cleared my throat and forced a small smile. "All the more reason to get better, right?"

She pursed her lips, looking away again. It was quiet as she laid there, me holding her hand and keeping her company. I knew how horrible it could be when you were sick and alone, so I made sure not leave her side, as her eyes began to flicker close, struggling to fight the tiredness. I moved closer, pushing the hair from her eyes and raking my hands through her roots, knowing she liked the feeling but would never admit it. I was proven right when she let out a deep breath, squeezing my hand in approval, and I smiled softly at how cute she could be when she didn't even know it.

Only when she was out of it did I feel my tears blur my vision, unable to pretend that I was okay. She wasn't looking any better, and I couldn't just watch her like this, unable to do a thing.

I leaned forward, kissing her forehead, and closed my eyes briefly, praying to whatever God was out there that she'd be okay.

Everyone had their special something, a skill they had perfected or a hobby they could get lost in. Mine? I hadn't discovered it yet. I suppose I was doing pretty well in school, so taking tests could count, though it was a shit skill to have, impractical. But hunting, that was Katniss' and Gale's thing. No, definitely not mine.

They'd taken me out once, letting me join them on their weekly escapade. Gale found it hilarious that I moved too loudly, scaring away the prey, or that I stepped in my own trap, getting my foot stuck in the rope. I let him enjoy himself at my expense, knowing it was inevitable. Katniss however, despite the small smile that would ghost her lips at something stupid I'd do, was adamant on helping me. She took it too seriously, showing me how to use her prized bow and how to sneak around better. I'd like to say it worked, that I learnt something, but it didn't. It was safe to say they never took me again.

So, when I found myself in the forbidden woods outside the District 12 fence, with Katniss' bow in hand, I felt like a foreigner. I wasn't familiar with these woods, especially not in winter when it was a completely different ballgame to what I'd 'practiced' in last summer. Katniss' bow was too big for me, and no matter how hard I tried to take her familiar hunting routes, my approach always scared away the prey.

I was out there for two hours, certain my fingers would fall off from the cold, but I refused to give up. I couldn't return empty handed. Gale hadn't been successful last week, and family responsibilities had kept him from hunting today like he usually did. So, I took it upon myself to do it, especially because Prim was so hungry, her little face shrinking the longer Katniss was bedridden. I couldn't let her down, any of them, so I pushed on.

But every arrow I let fly missed its target, and every squirrel I approached scampered off. The sun, hidden behind thick clouds, was setting and it was getting dark out, even though the afternoon was barely over. I had to go home, but I had nothing to show for it. I couldn't even pick any edible plants because everything was frozen. I was a failure.

I couldn't catch a thing; the one job I had, to keep Prim fed, was failing; Katniss was dying and I couldn't do a thing to change any of it.

Tears streamed down my face, hot against the cold of my cheeks, and I collapsed in the snow, unbothered by it melting into the cotton of my trousers. It didn't matter anymore.

She wasn't getting better. Every day I visited her, she looked worse for wear. If it wasn't her fevers, it was her migraines. And if it wasn't her migraines, it was her throat. I was losing her day by day and I felt powerless. I couldn't even shoot a fucking squirrel to help. Nothing was working.

I was going to lose her.

Admittedly, I wallowed in self-pity for a little longer, appreciating having somewhere private to let it all out. It was hard playing it positive and tough all the time, for Prim's and Katniss' sake, when the truth was I was scared shitless. Living in a world without my best friend, the girl I so deeply loved to the point that she'd laugh if she ever found out, was terrifying. I didn't even want to envision it.

It was dark by the time I returned to the Everdeens home. I would have much preferred to go straight home, but I couldn't not update them on my false promise.

"Y/N!" Prim exclaimed when she opened the door, before tugging me in instantly.

"Hey," I said, forcing a smile, and I was glad the redness from the cold disguised my red eyes from crying.

"You're freezing," she realised, before calling for her mum. "You were gone for ages! Come, sit in front of the fire."

I pulled back as she attempted to drag me to the fire, and then her mum appeared and noticed the same thing Prim did.

"Y/N, you need to warm up–"

"I will, at my house," I promised her. "I just came to tell you that I– that–" I paused, afraid of the shakiness of my voice. Swallowing thickly, I said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't– I'm not–"

Fuck, why was this so hard?

"I'm gonna figure it out," I changed my words, nodding confidently. "I'll get some food. I'm sorry. I–"

Prim suddenly hugged me, arms wrapping around my torso and squeezing so tightly that I could have snapped in half from how frozen I was. But I appreciated it nonetheless and returned the gesture, letting out a shaky breath.

"Don't do it again," her mum said gently, resting a hand on my cheek before hugging me too.

I blinked back my tears as I let myself relax in their comfort.

I couldn't just stand by and do nothing anymore, and there was only one thing that I knew I could do. None of us could ever afford the medicine Katniss needed from the doctor in town, unless we traded something valuable, like food.

If I used my tesserae, adding my name another time into the potential tributes for District 12, I would receive a year's supply of oil and grain. Participants could only apply once for themselves, and once for any of their family members if they were between the ages of 12 and 18. I'd used mine for this year, but I could still use it on behalf of my parents. They never wanted me to, but this was an emergency and they didn't need to know.

So, on behalf of them, I used my tesserae and traded that two years' supply of oil and grain with the doctor in exchange for the medicine that would make Katniss better. After describing all her symptoms, he explained how it was some complex form of a cold, rare but deadly. I was lucky I'd got to him in time.

Gale didn't approve of my plan when I told him, trying to talk me out of it. Just like Katniss, he cared about whether I used my tesserae without needing to. I could see it was killing him to watch me do it anyway, wanting to do it himself if he could, but he'd already used all his family's tesserae for the year. It was the first thing he did every time it was available, having no choice since he had a big family.

After I collected the medicine from the doctor, I was quick to return to Katniss' house, giving a rushed explanation to her mum about the medicine and what the doctor said about administering it and how it would save her life.

"Y/N, how did you get this?" she asked once I finished to catch my breath.

"It doesn't matter," I said to her. "But it'll help. We can give her the first dose now."

"Y/N–”

"Mrs Everdeen, please," I pleaded, and she must have seen the desperation in my expression because she nodded slowly and went to make Katniss some tea with the medicine in it. It was a syrup of some sort, so the mint tea should have made it a bit more palatable.

Eventually we both went to Katniss' room, where Prim was sat beside her, holding her hand and chatting quietly. When she spotted us both, she perked up and smiled a little.

"Hey, Prim," I said, returning her smile and joining her side. "How's the patient?"

"She's got a headache," Prim answered, and I looked to Katniss who had a wet towel pressed to her eyes, both cooling her down and also blocking out the light.

"Y/N?" Katniss whispered, though unmoving.

"Yours truly," I said playfully, needing to disguise the permanent concern that was in my voice. "We brought you some tea, Katniss."

She groaned quietly. "I don't want it."

Her mum glanced at me, unsure how to proceed, so I took the mug from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.

"It'll help," I promised her, before gently pulling her duvet down. "Can you sit up for me, please?"

She sighed but thankfully obeyed, allowing me to help her sit upright. She leaned against the bed frame and let me remove the towel from her eyes. I smiled when I saw her blue eyes, though they were fatigued as they had been since she'd gotten sick. Not for long, hopefully.

"Drink up," I encouraged, offering her the mug.

She silently accepted it, blowing on the tea before taking the first sip. Her face scrunched up with disgust. "What is that?"

"New herbal remedy," her mum answered before I could struggle to.

Katniss wasn't impressed, but managed to drink the whole thing, probably because she knew I'd let her go to sleep if she did. After laying back down, I pulled the duvet back over her and pushed her hair behind her ear, smiling reassuringly.

"You should feel better with that," I told her with certainty.

She didn't reply, eyes avoiding mine, something I'd noticed she'd been doing for a while now. It was like she knew she wasn't getting better and was scared to admit the truth, but this was different. This would finally work.

Prim and I stayed by her side until she fell asleep, and that was when I told her about the medicine. The pure joy and relief on her face was enough to let me know I'd made the right decision, and she hugged me so tightly that I almost lost my breath.

"I told you she'd be okay," I said with a small smile, accepting her hug. "And so will you."

"Thank you," she muttered into my shoulder.

I squeezed her gently before we stayed there, sat side by side. She didn't want to leave Katniss' side, and neither did I, but it was getting late and, at some point, Prim had dozed off on my shoulder. Only after I had tucked her into her mum's bed did Mrs Everdeen politely kick me out, forcing me to get some rest of my own at home. For once, I didn't argue it, my exhaustion catching up to me. Plus, I could sleep well knowing Katniss would already be doing a lot better tonight.

As soon as I woke up and remembered the medicine the next morning, I headed straight to the Everdeens place, hoping to see some sort of improvement with Katniss. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into her room and saw her sat upright in bed, eating an actual breakfast on a tray.

"Katniss!" I said with disbelief, before rushing to hug her. "You're eating!"

She returned my hug and I pulled up a chair beside her bed, studying her curiously. She'd looked like she'd had a better sleep than she usually did, and she was actually holding up her own weight which was an achievement in itself. The medication was working!

The sight of her looking a lot healthier and actually improving from her poor condition brought tears to my eyes, but I willed them away. She'd hate to see me crying over her, but I genuinely couldn't believe it.

"I'm not stupid," she said with a raspy voice, eyes narrowed my way.

I furrowed my brows. "What?"

She frowned. "You think I don't know that you gave me actual medicine last night? There's no other explanation for why I'm feeling better. And I know it's not because of a damn herbal remedy. I was doomed, Y/N. So, what the hell did you do?"

"So you do feel better?"

"Y/N!"

I sighed as she raised her voice. "Okay, look, I'm sorry for lying to you, but you wouldn't have taken it if I'd told you."

"Damn right I wouldn't have!" she snapped, glaring at me. "We can't afford that! Which brings me to my next question. How the hell did you get it?"

I shook my head, looking down at her breakfast tray. "It's not your concern."

"Y/N, I swear to God I'll–"

"What?" I cut her off, meeting her hard stare with my own. "You'll what?"

Her eyes flickered between mine before softening. "Y/N. Please."

I could have given in so easily, just from a simple glance, but I refused to let her bait me. I ignored her instead, shaking my head and returning my gaze to her breakfast tray.

"You traded something," she guessed, back to her irritated self. When I didn't answer, she said, "What? What did you trade?"

Again, I said nothing, neither confirming nor denying, but she wasn't having it.

"Goddamn it, Y/N!" she shouted, but her voice was still weak so it was more of a broken yell. "You can't just sit there in silence whilst I–"

"Stop it!" I raised my voice too, glaring at her.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

I frowned, eyes pooling with tears. "I was thinking that I couldn't just sit here and watch and not do anything! I was thinking that I was terrified that you would die! That you were getting worse and worse every day, and that I would lose you, Katniss!"

Her eyes were glassy as they met mine. "How many times?"

I scoffed, looking away. "Katniss, not now."

I expected her to yell again, but she said in a quiet voice, "Please. How many times is your name in there?"

I clenched my jaw, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. But when I glanced at her, she was watching me like a little girl who'd just lost her puppy, and I couldn't not respond.

"Not a lot," I tried to sugar coat it. "Only twelve times." At this, she released a sharp breath. "I traded two years of food with the doctor. It was enough to get the medicine."

She pushed the tray off her lap before pulling her knees to her chest, hiding her face between them. She was shaking her head and I knew she was crying, the sniffling giving it away. Feeling insanely bad, I sat on the bed beside her and pulled her in for a side hug the best I could.

"It's okay," I told her, rubbing her arm. "I chose to do it, Katniss. And I'd do it again, over and over, if it means you'll be okay."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have," she said with a muffled voice, her head still tucked between her legs.

"You shouldn't have got sick," I tried to joke, but she only looked up at me with red eyes and quivering lips. I lost my smile, admitting, "I wasn't going to lose you. You don't get it."

I love you, I wanted to add, but I couldn't.

"Neither do you," she mumbled, before shoving me off her childishly.

I didn't get to question her because she pulled the tray back onto her lap and tried to finish off the remainder of stale bread in her plate. I returned to my seat next to her bed, watching as she sulked, ate and gave me the temporary silent treatment. I didn't care too much, as long as she was eating.

Once she finished, I took the tray and put it to the side momentarily, flashing her a supportive smile.

"You finished every last bit," I pointed out. "I'm proud of you."

She rolled her eyes, but that only made me smile more because it meant she had the effort to be annoyed at me, which was something she hadn't had for a while now.

"Did you have your morning dose of medicine?" I asked reluctantly, but needing to know.

She nodded, crossing her arms. "My mum gave it me earlier."

I relaxed. "Good."

Before I could say anything else, the door to the bedroom opened and Prim ran in, a bright smile on her face. Despite Katniss' annoyance with me, she couldn't resist returning her sister's smile, accepting her onto the bed and hugging her.

"You already look so much better," Prim was saying with amazement. "I was so scared."

"Well, there's no need to be," Katniss reassured her. "You didn't struggle too much without me, right?"

Prim shook her head. "Gale and Y/N have been helping. Y/N wouldn't leave. Mum had to kick her out a lot."

I facepalmed, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. It only deepened when Katniss glanced my way with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah, she has a tendency to not listen," she said, making me roll my eyes.

"She saved you," Prim said to her.

Katniss licked her lips. "I know."

I felt awkward, definitely not wanting the credit, I just wanted her to be okay. But then Prim changed the subject, catching Katniss up on all she'd missed, so I was able to sit back and witness it all, chiming in whenever Prim needed.

For once, Katniss was able to listen and actually hold a conversation. It was heartwarming to see, and if this was what she was like after one dose, I couldn't wait until she'd had the full thing.

#katniss everdeen #katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen imagine #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games #jennifer lawrence #katniss everdeen x you

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mxtx-ships · 1 month

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What was supposed to be a regular night hunt leaves Lan Wangji mysteriously ill and Wei Wuxian scrambling to save his life.

💚BingQiu💚

Wife Plots: SQH Approved, SQQ Beloathed by airplanelanding (TheCourtSorcerer)

a sort of bonding experience by airplanelanding (TheCourtSorcerer)

“You’re wrong about many things, I need more than that,” he said flippantly.

Shang Qinghua took on a vaguely offended expression and his mouth opened, as if to retort, before he slowly shut it again after a moment of thought. Shen Qingqiu smirked behind his book.

"Ignoring that,” Shang Qinghua finally opted to say, clearing his throat.

Luo Binghe gets himself and his husband in a bit of a predicament when Shen Qingqiu wakes to find him a cat one morning. Luckily, Shang Qinghua is always available for Shen Qingqiu to force help out of when something goes wrong.

(aka Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua team up to make Luo Binghe not a cat again.)

sixty nine SEXY seductive ways to seduce your husband with your ankles (and more)!! by dearly_anonymous

Let Binghe go alone, defenseless, into the claws of the enemy? What if something happened and Luo Binghe fell into the demoness' ample cleavage? What if she, perish the thought, k-kissed Shen Qingqiu's husband?!!

Or, a diplomacy visit gone wrong. Also known as, Shizun Wears a Cheongsam for Airplane Bro Shitty Writing Reasons, the Fanfic.

eyes on me by orphan_account

Shen Qingqiu loves to travel with his sticky husband. The world of Proud Immortals Demon Way was full of wonders and monsters, and unfortunately, the rest of the Original Luo Binghe's many wives.

Luo Binghe pays these women no mind, especially with Shen Qingqiu by his side, but with one, his eyes begin to linger, and Shen Qingqiu takes matters into his own hands.

Shen Qingqiu will seduce his husband, and teach him a lesson.

Luo Binghe, eyes on me!!

5 Ways to make your Shizun pay attention to you! (Do not try at home, it doesn't work) by Shireyaki

Asking Shang Qinghua for dating advice was probably the worst thing Luo Binghe could have done.

Too bad he didn't know it yet.

...

.....or did it help after all?

(Shizun would say no.)

Hush darling, it's you that I love. by Ramune7655

SQQ's body gets de-aged on a monster hunt, to his distress. To save face, he leaves town with Binghe for a while, and of course, where there is not a sharp, elegant, and imposing adult SQQ beside Binghe, he will inevitably be swarmed with women.... Not a problem. Binghe is loyal, and he has no interest in others anyway. SQQ doesn't mind. That's right; he doesn't care at all....

(When Binghe's jealousy and insecurity accidentally caused SQQ's jealousy)

In Sickness and in Health by TheCaptinofSirius

In which Shen Yuan gets sick. He begins to worry that The System has somehow dragged his illness into this world. Binghe helps put his mind at ease.

End Racism in the OTW -- The Golden Furred Sword Trapper by pallas_rose

Post canon, Luo Binghe plans the perfect date: delicious food, beautiful scenery, and a rare Abyssal monster.

Little did he know that The System was also planning a celebration.

Can Shen Qingqiu avert disaster?

a separate homeward way by Miss_TeaDDK

"Luo Binghe has a dream that takes him to a black, shallow lake. Just as he starts to think he's alone, different versions of his husband start rising from the water and staring at him one by one, each body showing a different cause of death. As he hears these bodies calling for him, he starts having more and more trouble trying to return to the waking world."

When Shen Qingqiu is caught offhandedly expressing a longing for his unknown past, Luo Binghe fears that perhaps his Husband still does not consider him part of the home and future he himself has always dreamt of.

Husband to the Rescue by SheiraScar

Shen Qingqiu was assigned to an emergency mission to Haian city, a city with no cultivator and a huge trauma of demons. However, his-demon-lord-husband insisted on coming along. Ever so weak to his tears, Shen Qingqiu finally agreed. When things took unexpected turn and Luo Binghe was in danger, would Shen Qingqiu come to rescue him?

Lessons in possession by some_hag

But in the night time...

Oh, in the night time his face changes completely. His warmth turns into smoldering hot flames and sweet words are dripping with sin, he’s beautiful and blasphemous in a way that makes Shen Qingqiu’s face burn. (Shen Qingqiu tries not to think about it too often, but it’s just so much, too much, one does not simply push away vivid whole-body memories like that.)

A Vision Dressed In Red by straightforwardly

In which Luo Binghe is really, really hot for how Shen Qingqiu looks in red.

a silly question by azunshi

“Husband, do you love me?”

Sometimes, Luo Binghe needs a little reassurance that his husband loves him so.

Self-Care is Getting Bent over the Desk by your Demon Husband by TARDIStime

Being Qing Jing Peak Lord is a lot of work. However will Shen Qingqiu cope?

Binghe has an idea (or several).

Breaking The System by justkillthetitan

Shen Yuan is kicked back to his original world.

Luo Binghe wants to find his beloved Shizun.

lavender honey by forestsongs

"Binghe was so good to him, he thought. As caring and attentive as always, putting up with Shen Qingqiu’s fussy moods. Sometimes, Shen Qingqiu felt almost bad. Most of the time, it was Binghe touching him first, Binghe using his honeyed words to coax him into bed, Binghe taking place between his opened legs. What did he even get out of it?

It was unfair!"

or; Shen Qingqiu tries to be a good husband.

I can't say no when you look at me like this by Speechless_since_1998

“Shizun, no,” Binghe sighed wearily, while Shen Qingqiu held a demonic beast large enough to crush a child's head with its paw.

“But look at it, Binghe. It's a puppy!” he told him, showing him that horror in black fur and red eyes, which wagged its tail happily.

It must be said that, if he too were an animal, he would be more than happy to be in Shizun's arms. But that wasn't the point.

The demon said, “That is a hell tiger. It's not a puppy."

(In which Shen Qingqiu has a little too much fascination with monsters and the like and Luo Binghe can't resist her husband's puppy eyes.)

Can't Sleep Without Your Warmth Next To Me by HiyoriTomioka

For a while now, Shen Qingqiu had been wondering whether Luo Binghe would have fallen in love with him if he still looked like Shen Yuan, like his original body.

Familiar Stranger by GooseRot

After accidentally killing one of the most powerful criminals in the country in a tragic, ice cream related mishap, Shen Yuan is spirited away by witness protection to a foreign country.

There he meets a sweet stranger who, as the years pass, grows more and more familiar.

Or: Shen Yuan’s would-be assassin becomes his (extremely) overprotective boyfriend.

A Strong Need by TheCaptinofSirius

Shen Yuan wakes up horny, and Binghe is aroused and confused. So are all of the other people in the throne room.

Red Robes by TheCaptinofSirius

Shen Qingqiu braces himself for his wedding night. The next morning he is treated to warm cuddles with his new husband.

The Termination of Bliss by TheCaptinofSirius

"One word could bring disgrace and the termination of a bliss.”

― Ali Ibn Abi Talib A.S

Shen Yuan snaps at Luo Binghe, and finds himself doing the chasing for once.

Still Beautiful to Me by TheCaptinofSirius

Shen Yuan was no stranger to body issues. After having his son, they return with a vengeance. Luckily Luo Binghe is there to help put his mind at ease.

🦋HuaLian🦋

i will wait for you by toaster_mommy

It was just a normal morning.

The night before went the same as usual, Hua Cheng and Xie Lian holding each other as they drifted to sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary.

They braided each other's hair before going to sleep, hopefully to eliminate wasted time in the morning spent brushing each other's hair.

Nothing new, nothing different. Just a normal day. That’s why Hua Cheng spent the majority of his morning watching his husband sleep.

He watched his beloved’s chest rise and fall. He caressed Xie Lian’s pretty face as he slept, thankful his husband was a heavy sleeper when they laid next to one another.

He was so entranced by his husband's beauty he didn’t even notice the absence of a certain piece of cloth over his non-existent eye.

Hua Cheng isn’t as sure of himself as he looks, and truly is just a coward that hides behind an eyepatch.

But his Gege is there to prove him wrong.

Why Worry When You Love Me? by Edward_The_Vampire

Xie Lian thinks about how lang waited so long for him and his devotion starts to feel unworthy. A new god ascends and is upset he is no longer pure and “princely” which makes him feel useless and unworthy of ruling the heavens as well. He forgets the day and ends up having a mental breakdown where Hua Cheng comforts him.

safe by iJoke

xie lian has a nightmare about his first banishment and hua cheng is there to help him through it

Next time, bring a napkin by beesonvenus

Pei Ming has a sudden urge to drink, and he goes to Ghost City to sate it. Something he will regret later on.

The Sun Behind My Eyes (And The Mouth On Mine) by starry_stan

Xie Lian gets kidnapped. When he thinks it can't get any worse, he's put in a situation that sends his mind straight back to being buried alive for 100 years. Luckily, he has a husband that would burn the world to save him, and save him he does.

The Exploits of a Prince, and His Forbidden Love Affair by debwriting

Prince Xie Lian and Royal Guard Hua Cheng have known each other since they were young. Though the two were raised in entirely different worlds, their connection deepens as they grow older. Until eventually, a simple crush transforms into an all-consuming love affair.

Watch the two lovers as they navigate their forbidden romance, and a war that threatens to sever them apart.

Unfold My Desire by nuttinonice

When a new god ascends, he's shocked to find that the pure and virginal Dianxia he once worshipped is now the very much sexually active husband of a demonic ghost king. Xie Lian deals with the fall out of being shamed for the sexual confidence he's worked so hard to build.

Alternatively, Xie Lian struggles to kickstart his slut era.

transfer my tragedy by nobirdstofly

Hua Cheng has had centuries to worship him, to show his devotion, but to see it reflected in Xie Lian’s eyes is staggering. Like this, Xie Lian is a barely leashed guard dog. A beast that smiles up at Hua Cheng with all the love in the three realms and blood in his teeth.

Xie Lian will do anything to protect Hua Cheng, and Hua Cheng can't help but be into that.

like sailors swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces by namelessflower

"Don't ever leave me again," Xie Lian whispers against Hua Cheng's lips, fists clenched in Hua Cheng's robe, voice quivering.

“I will never leave you,” Hua Cheng answers fiercely, with the ardent devotion of a lover, the unyielding conviction of a believer. “I will never, ever leave your side again, Dianxia, I swear it. Believe me.”

After Xie Lian has a nightmare about losing Hua Cheng for good, Hua Cheng holds him until he is able to fall asleep again.

Can’t Be Alone by Gigglemite

Hua Cheng has a bad morning. Xie Lian is more than willing to spend all day in bed cuddling his husband until he feels like he can get up.

nobody else but me by nikkiRA

Often, if people were to stare, it would be at Hua Cheng (Xie Lian couldn't blame anyone for it—he understood). But today, perhaps amplified by the high quality clothes he was wearing, Xie Lian's beauty was shining through for everyone to see. And everyone did see; whether Xie Lian had noticed or not, people were staring.

Hua Cheng had certainly noticed.

🤜FengQing🤛

Poison and Flame by DAY_DREAM

Buried feelings are brought to light when Mu Qing gets injured by a mysterious creature. Can love find its way through a vicious curse? Will it get burned by a flame of awakening desire?

Make Me Forget Myself by Gigglemite

“Tell me,” Feng Xin urged, the worry in his gut only building in intensity the longer he stares at such an emotionally raw Mu Qing. “Tell me what you need.”

Mu Qing’s eyes only opened wider at those words, more tears welling up. He couldn’t speak, he could barely even move from the position he had lodged himself into before going stock still.

“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin had to forcefully swallow down the words that almost spilled off the tip of his tongue. Saying, ‘I would give you anything you ask for’, probably would not go over too well in this situation. “What happened?”

“Am I unloveable?”

Can you tell who my favorite is??? I'm new to reading fanfiction of these characters so please give me recommendations as well!!

73 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 1 year

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

2 - Mouth of the Lion's Den

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 11.2k

Warnings: Slow Burn, strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, injured/sick child mention, slight canon divergence

Notes: We're in the thick of the plot now. Based on the show but will include direct book elements. Previous Chapter Here.

You used to not travel very well as a child. The first time you left Dragonstone was right at the crux of the seasons change. Summer had ended, and it was a quick Autumn which felt far more like winter the more North you sailed. The sea was always cool, and the north was cooler. When you returned to Dragonstone some months later, Maester Cressen had said that the mix of seasons being the first time you left home is what caused you to get so ill.

What a meeting it was. Lord Stark had told you that it was halfway through your first meal with them when you collapsed. Barley touched anything on your plate which they first thought you just weren’t used to the food. That was until you collapsed onto the floor just as you stood from your seat as you burned up.

Whatever it was, it went through you fast and terrifying to the point where Maester Luwin had told Lord Stark to prepare to send a raven in case the worst happened. It didn’t though, you slept through the fever and by the time you awoke, you remembered none of it. You assumed you fell sick before arriving at Winterfell that’s how little you were really aware of anything.

It wasn’t like that anymore, but as you had sat in your room at the Inn days ago it did make you wonder what could have possibly hit Lord Arryn faster and harsher then that. Despite his age, he was more healthy as an older man then you were at the age of eight. Yet you had survived and his sickness burned through him in one single night.

Perhaps you had too much time that night to think on it, no one really was in any mood to converse after what happened. Once Lord Stark had put Lady down, he had you go find Jory. “Tell him to choose four men and have them take the body back North. Bury her at Winterfell.” He had taken the girls to their rooms, and even in the muffled quiet you could hear Sansa crying through the walls. Arya’s cries would be too quiet to hear, but you were no fool to think her chasing off Nymeria just to save her life wouldn’t leave the child in tears of her own.

So the Inn was silent, save for the low tones coming from Lord Stark’s own room. One where he laid the truth out, what Lysa has sent her sister, what it said about the Lannisters. He asked you what did you notice from before he died, and you were honest. Very little.

Your lord father had kept you away on purpose. He and Lord Arryn distant and secretive, and you had suspected you were sitting on small council meetings not just in his place but as if it would keep you preoccupied from their doings. Which it worked, but it also was not enough to dull you. Lord Stark agreed that it all worked out too seamlessly, Lord Arryn dies suddenly from an unknown illness, Stannis Baratheon urgently marries his firstborn daughter off to a far northern house as he himself flees to Dragonstone.

They both knew something, and what that was, sent your father away on his own accord. Shutting himself back on the grim island and leaving you to the wolves and the lions.

“You’re our family now. You are as good as one of my own daughters, and we protect our own. You stick by me once me get to Kings Landing. Work by my side, you’ll stay in our quarters with the girls until we learn what it is Jon Arryn died for.” Once again, that lingering feeling sat in your gut that walking out of the capital wasn’t going to be as easy as walking in this time around.

Now, sitting atop your horse once more you felt even less happy about being back then you had leaving the north. Your face flat and cold like stone as you rose through the crowds welcoming the King and his company once more. The cart behind you carrying the girls, Sansa no doubt bright eyed and taking in the awe of a place she dreamed would be for her. Arya you knew no doubt, was already wondering just how much she would explore when left to her own curious devices.

Just ahead of you, a page awaited everyone’s arrival. Calling to Lord Stark for a small council meeting at Grand Maester Pycelle’s request. You dared not move an inch thinking about how typical it was that such a meeting wasn’t called by the King himself, despite no doubt arriving before you all had. Oh the many matters of your King Uncle to attend too. So much wine to drink, and so many whores to fuck.

Lord Stark calling back, “Jory, get the girls settled in. I’ll be back in time for supper.” Calling your name, you climbed off your horse as he beckoned you. “You’re with me.”

The Page glancing over his attire and yours as you approached, “If you’d like to change into something more appropriate…” The combination of yours and Lord Stark’s unmoving stare causing him to stammer and backtrack. Any other time you may have considered it, but now you were here in place of your fathers position and spending time dolling yourself up once more looked more and more like a waste of time.

Renly had once told you every time you return to Kings Landing, you seem to be more and more of a splitting image of your bore of a father. He might be onto something in truth.

The Red Keep had not changed, and nothing passed your mind to care to think about it until the doors to the Throne room opened and right at the top looking up at the Iron Throne was just another face you wished not to see so early in the morning. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and twin brother to the Queen, he certainly held all the superior smugness of such titles in his very posture had seemed to arrive far earlier then yourself.

A little nod did not suffice as you wished it did, as he saw fit to open his mouth as soon as you came even slightly close. “Lady Baratheon- or, I suppose it’s Stark now isn’t it? Already quite adjusted to the northern boys afterall, aren’t you?” Barley managing to muster up the weakest of half smiles he only grinned more, leaning in to give a fake too-loud whisper in your ear. “I do hope you weren’t too broken in for your new husband, would hate to break the boys heart before he even had a chance.”

Biting your tongue, you were sure had he not found victim in Lord Stark behind you, the pressure would’ve drawn blood. You didn’t wait, making your way into the small council chamber with little care of greeting those already present, for the most part.

“Ah, the newly named Lady Stark. I must congratulate you on your marriage, always nice to see the young love flourishing. Shame to be torn apart so early on.” Nodding, you managed more of a smile this time. You didn’t particularly trust Lord Varys but considering he was the man who likely knew so much he could tell you what you had for breakfast three days ago, playing nice was better then not playing at all.

“Thank you, Lord Varys. But, he has Winterfell to run and I have my work here. I’m sure Robb understands.”

Passing to the table, you nodded to Grand Maester Pycelle, and saw fit to ignore the other party in the room without any shame in doing so. Not that you would be aware of, but to the others it really was as if Lord Stannis had walked in like normal. The man having no patience for Petyr Baelish as well. If anyone lit your gaze up slightly, it was the smirk of the younger man already waiting by the opposite end.

Renly had no qualms about approaching you with a casualness, and no need to pretend as if either of you cared to be formally civil. “I can’t tell if the north suits you my dear niece, or if it’s just being around this lot making you so much more droll.”

Arms crossed in front of you, an eyebrow quirked up as he held a smirk. You’d hit him later. “Shame you were so busy Uncle, would have been nice to have at least one other family member there to share the festivities with.”

Hardly a secret anymore, most in the court knew of Renly’s private preferences but you might be the only one who knew it without any doubt. The only one it seemed, that he trusted to know as well. Not that his brothers would despise him for it, but certainly the King a bit too crass to not be offensive and well, least to say your father was not exactly a comforting kind of man. He wouldn’t care and he certainly would make you feel as such for it.

“What can I say, so much work, so many laws to look into.”

Your eyes glint, passing right by with a tone only audible enough for him, “Swordplay isn’t a law, last time I checked.” You’d be a fool to think Renly didn’t take advantage of so much of the royal court being away, not to lock himself up in his chambers with a certain flower for as long as he could get away with.

Not that you were in such a position to dare judge.

Your father used to get annoyed constantly by the lack of work Renly was properly given, but it might be he expected too much. Renly had a tendency to be handed easy tasks and get more credit then the nights your own father spent buried in papers in his office would accomplish. Leaning your hands on the top of what was now your seat, you watched the others greet the now approaching Lord Stark.

“We are all praying for Prince Joffery’s full recovery.”

Oh the rewards the gods should bestow upon you for how little you changed your expression. He gets one bite from a barley grown Direwolf and he has the realm on it’s knees pretending to sob at the tragic wounds. You had more scars on you from being hit with sticks and practice swords over your childhood before the spoiled Prince ever reached that age.

Even in Winterfell, you watched him get angry and frustrated at how often Robb would hit him in the courtyard simply beacuse he had no idea what he was doing. The Hound having to remind him even that he demanded they spar just to show off, and he can’t stand there and whine blaming Robb for doing exactly what he asked.

Besides, not that anyone had asked, you’d have to admit that not all bites from a wolf were entirely bad. At least it took as long as it did to get back to Kings Landing, those marks having healed over by the time it became too hot to cover them up then in the northern cold.

Renly’s voice from beside you, “You look tired from the road, I told them this meeting could wait another day but..”

“But we have a kingdom to look after.” Looking over you saw a strange smile on Lord Baelish’s face and so did everyone else if the uncomfortable air in the room was honest. “I’ve hope to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me.”

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”

If Lord Baelish could have purposely made things more uncomfortable you think the room might have melted away just to escape it. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard whispers of his affection for her, but it was brazen of him to be so open about it in front of her husband of over twenty years.

Settling in, you sat beside Lord Stark as Renly pulled out a paper, explaining to the council that the King wasn’t exactly a common presence at the small council and most of these matters were left without his input. “My brother has instructed us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Didn’t take being Master of Coin to know the money wouldn’t be coming from the surplus of the Crown. Grand Maester Pycelle’s frail voice piping up, “Can the treasury bear such expenses?”

As if ordering food from a servant, Lord Baelish waved the concern. “I’ll have to borrow it. The Lannisters will accomodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand.”

You felt for Lord Stark beside you, “Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?”

Looking firmly at the table with an irritated grimace, you corrected him for the worse. “Actually, he’s telling you the Crown is six million in debt.” Lord Stark, was in shock at the state, demanding to know how this could happen and once again, Lord Baelish acted like such debt was easily forgiven.

“The Master of Coin finds the money, the King and the Hand spend it.”

Lord Stark beside you sounded as annoyed as you felt on the inside but he was still tinged in disbelief as he looked at the man. “I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm.”

The Grand Maester for all his slowness, had the grace to speak the truth instead of washing it away like the other Lord in front of him. “Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

Sitting up straight, you nor Renly were quite sure if it was his voice that came out of your mouth, or the unimpressed voice of your father who held the same opinions. “The King loves tournaments and feasts, but not the conversation of money that follows. ‘Counting Coppers’ he calls it.”

You admired his determination to reason with the King. Even with both his blood brothers at his side, neither man could settle his indulgences the way Lord Stark may have the ability too. Even now you could hear the ramblings and angry ravings of your father in his office, going about how he was born the wrong family if he were to ever make his brother listen. Many had thought that Lord Stannis would take over as Hand of the King, and you would take his place as Master of Ships in the immediate aftermath of Lord Arryns death.

Your father had been sat on the small council for almost ten years at that point, and had been home less and less as those years passed. The only letters he exchanged anymore were with some of his closest men, and of course, Shireen. You envied her in that sense. Not that she was loved in the way she was, but that she had such a happy innocence about her.

Once Maester Cressen had said she was the saddest girl he had ever met, that he considered that part of his failure to cure her. But she had been cured, just not by him and clearly he took it hard, but she wasn’t sad, not in the way some assumed. She loved learning, and your father had been determined to give her the same education as he had you. Everyday she would run to him once he was in his own quarters, jump onto his lap and go on about what book she was learning to read, and were he not there, she’d scramble to write a letter to tell him.

Few people adored Lord Stannis, but she was always his biggest supporter.

As you entered the very bottom of the tower of the hand, you wondered how much she knew. Did she know Lord Arryn was dead, did she know you were acting in your fathers place, did she even know you were married? She’d be upset to learn she wasn’t there for your wedding. One day when she was just barley older then a toddler, you had been sitting on the edge of a cliff on Dragonstone with Shireen sat in your lap.

Going on about what a highborn lady would do, who she’d marry and what the wedding would be. You planned hers and yours, just two little girls by the waters edge and it saddened you to think that she wasn’t there to see yours. Childishly, you wondered if she’d like Robb.

Walking through the door, you passed some of the Starks household guard, regarding you with a familiarity as you passed. As if you really were family, not just a guest. Maybe it was for the best that she had father with her again, at least he still felt like one to her.

The chambers were quiet, and as you saw what was left of easy food on the table you hadn’t the stomach for it. Sitting down regardless, you lifted some of the plates out of your place, pouring yourself water as you stared at the little flame the light on the table wickered with. Pulling out a small slip of paper from a small pocket, you slipped the seal off, a small direwolf. Looking over the words as you sipped at the water.

Sending a raven was risky for what he was trying to say, but Robb was smart enough to not say anything of anything. Telling you of Bran, and your heart broke at how devastated the boy feels of not being able to walk again. More he tells you of how he has no idea what to even say to make it better, that Bran just needs time to get used to things but watching his little brother be so miserable and not being able to fix it just makes him angry. You knew exactly how that felt, watching your little sibling suffer and being completely useless to them for it.

A slam shook you out of your focus, pulling the letter back suddenly and tucking it away before you looked up to see a somewhat grumpy Arya now at the table with you. “I know my face usually looks like that, but what’s got yours in such a put off state?”

Sighing, she draped her arms over the top of the surface to gently lay her head in them, turned enough to still see you. “I don’t know how you stand it, being here all the time.”

Leaning forward, you mimicked her posture, looking back at her now from a tilted but even eye level. “I’m here because I have to be, not because I want to be. I have a duty, and that needs to be upheld regardless if it makes me miss home or not.”

Pushing up suddenly, Arya’s eyes were bright and bordering on an intense curiosity. “You’d rather be home? At Dragonstone?”

Moving back yourself you paused as you opened your mouth. Closed it for a second, before sighing out as you crossed your arms over your chest. Leaning back against the chair behind you looking at the nothing of importance on the table. “Honestly? I’m not sure where that is anymore.” Her brows narrowed in confusion, “Where I feel at home I mean.”

Were there not such a heavy weight in your heart you may have smiled at how quickly she reacted, and the finality of her tone. “You’re one of us now, Winterfell is your home.” Just as something crossed your mind, it clearly did hers too. Shoulders deflating as she lost the shine in her eyes. “Or, it’s supposed to be.”

Heart reaching out to hers, you knew comforting wouldn’t make it better, or change what hurt in the first place. “You won’t be in Kings Landing forever.” Her eyes flickered to you and then back did they focus into her mind. “Eventually you’ll go back to Winterfell, get restless there too and you’ll either insist someone take you there or you’ll be old enough to just head out to visit on your own. He’ll always want to see you.”

Arya grumbled out, quiet and filled with a twinge of guilt as if she couldn’t decide should you be able to hear her or not. “Not just me he’ll want to see.”

Leaning forward, your back sat straight for the most part as you leaned your forearms against the table again. “There’s five of you, Arya. You have to share your brother with all of them at least sometimes.”

Quieter so much this time, you weren’t sure if you even actually heard her speak but there was a faint sound like, “Not just us,” that you choose to ignore. As Arya herself pushed passed it as well. “Sansa won’t care. She barley ever even calls him her brother.” There was a bite to her tone, and you knew all too well that it wasn’t just about this.

She didn’t find out until the next day about the butcher’s son, and she still hadn’t taken it very well.

You tried softly calling her name, but Arya got louder. Her arms swinging a bit as she gestured in her expressiveness. “She always calls him our bastard brother, not even half brother or anything like he’s not been her brother since she was born. She doesn’t respect him, she doesn’t respect anybody who isn’t herself or the stupid prince.”

Anywhere but the safety of her own walls, you’d scold her for so freely vocalizing her insolence. But she was in her new home, and Joffery certainly was a stupid, vile little creature who got Arya’s new friend killed. People could claim it was the Queen, but you unfortunately knew her well enough that she was far more clever of a monster then that. No, that was Joffery’s angry, immature rage which sent the Hound out against a boy not even in his teens.

Glancing at the door you knew to be both Lord Stark’s room, and if his work ethic was consistent, scribbling away on the too many tasks the King left to his Lord Hand, too busy to come out and hear you. “Do you want my honest opinion? About that night?” Her head nodding fervently, brows narrowed in a manner that looked so strikingly serious like Jons. “It doesn’t matter what Sansa would have said, as soon as Joffery showed up to the Inn bleeding, the Queen already made her mind up. Sansa could’ve told the complete truth and they still would’ve blamed you and Nymeria.”

A flash of sorrow in her eyes made your heart tighten painfully before covering it up with an easier to swallow emotion, “The she shouldn’t have lied! If it didn’t matter she could’ve told the truth about Micah and-”

“And the Queen would’ve done everything the same. And she still would’ve blamed you.” Leaning forward, your voice lowered to something much more serious. “People like you, like us? We don’t do well in places like this. You’re too honest and headstrong, and you haven’t been here long enough to learn how to hold back. And people like the Queen? Joffery? We are exactly who they want to take advantage of.”

You could hear the condescension even now, “She’s as wild as that animal of hers,” And it made you mad all over again. After some time when father brought you here, he ended up being the one to help you with your sword lessons alone in his own quarters, not wanting people like the Queen, or his brothers to have any more reason to look down on you. He wasn’t a popular man, he knew it, but he wouldn’t have these people mistreat his daughter, especially as a young teenager.

“I’m not saying you have to change, or pretend to be something you’re not. But I am telling you, this place has eyes and ears everywhere. Me, your father, Jory, people like that you can trust. You can be angry, and honest and upset around.” Glancing once again to Lord Starks door, you felt ashamed for what came from you next but mincing words was not a trait of the Stannis Baratheon variety of stags.

“Sansa wants to be here, and she wants to be apart of this because she’s naive. As long as the Lannisters give her pretty smiles, and soothing words she will bend to them because she thinks they could be her family some day. That doesn’t make it right the way she threw you and your friend to the wolves,” Arya quirked an eyebrow with a smirk, and you shook your head with one of your own. “Lions- shut up.”

Sighing, she leaned back into her seat. “I don’t hate her, not really. I just..”

“Don’t trust her.”

Glancing up with a bit of a stun, she seemed shocked you didn’t tell her to do anything otherwise. In a sense, you knew what she was feeling.

You loved Renly, he was closer to your age and the two of you always felt more like brother and sister with how easily he could bring out your more playful side in this pit of a captiol. But you didn’t trust him one bit. Not with your secrets, not with your work, and not with the particular companions he had been keeping as of late.

Renly and you were as close of friends as you had in this city, but at the end of the day. It was Stannis who was your father. It was the brother which both others looked down on, the daughter which had far too much of Stannis in her blood and personality to be seen as one of them. Robert didn’t care much for his brothers, but best be said he is lying to himself if he thinks he doesn’t show preference to Renly.

Stannis had always felt he was cheated of Storms End. The ancestral seat of House Baratheon, his by rights. Many times even in your tenure here at his side, he had gone to King Robert singing the same song. Anytime it was mentioned, your father would clench his jaw so tightly, you thought his teeth would shatter. You once had brought it up to one of his men, back on Dragonstone that he seemed to take it as a slight.

Ser Davos Seaworth had just looked at you with a somber look, one that was as sympathetic to his lord as he was offended on his behalf. “I think, my little lady, King Robert had meant it as a slight.”

It was the same here. Arya suffered, was threatened and attacked, her own direwolf having to be sent away just for protecting her master, and her new friend murdered for just agreeing to play duel by the river. Sansa had lost Lady in the Queens injustice, but she still got to walk the capitol and be treated like the princess she dreamed of being. While Arya was looked at as wild, untruly, and thought less of without being given a chance.

Falling back into the present, you sighed deeply. “Why do you think my Uncle Renly fits in here, when I stand out as much as your father does?”

Arya too, glanced at the closed door. “Because he plays along?”

“And I do my duty.” Sipping at the water once more before continuing. “Sansa is your family, and you shouldn’t forget that. You need each other, but I’m not asking you to trust her. Not the way you do your father, or Jon-”

“Or you.”

In those two words, your heart missed Shireen. She and Arya were alike in a lot of ways, Shireen a little more reserved but the same eager and honest spirit. You smiled, unsure if it was warmth of how Arya saw you, or yearning for the little sister you barley had seen grown up so far.

Silence between you was comfortable for a moment, until of course, Arya found something to blurt out. “Father caught me with Needle.” Raising your eyebrows, she slunk down a bit. “Needle’s my…it’s my sword. Well sort of a sword, it’s small and thin, but it’s supposed to be for my size. Anyways, he knocked on my door and I didn’t really notice that I didn’t bother hiding it. Or maybe I didn’t care if he saw me with it. He let me keep it, but he says I shouldn’t play with swords.”

Shrugging one shoulder, your voice was strangely casual. “They aren’t toys.”

“I know that!” You laughed at how defensive she got. You had a feeling you weren’t the first or even second person to tell her that. “You can use a sword, why shouldn’t I?”

Smiling to yourself, you refrained from specifying that the only reason you started to be trained on how to use one, is beacuse a certain dark haired, grey eyed boy had snuck up behind you and hit you with a practice one when no one was around to scold you two for it.

“Will you teach me?”

The letter in your pocket begin to weight you down, you needed to ask Lord Stark about it before morning. You had another small council meeting early on and you didn’t fancy being kept out of the dark again. Standing up, you ran your hand playfully over her hair as you passed. “That’s up to your father. It’s late, go get some sleep.”

Turning to approach Lord Stark’s room, you missed the feeling glance from the small Stark watching you leave. Something in her eyes that knew things which you couldn’t have guessed she was privy too, but just added to her growing admiration all the same.

As you guessed, the man was sitting at his desk writing away when he called for you to enter. Shutting it gently behind you with a polite, “Lord Stark.”

Chuckling, his hand paused before shaking his head slightly and continuing. “You’re allowed to call me my name, you know. I think marrying my son gives you the right to at drop the titles in private.”

Nodding once as you approached, “I’ll try to remember that.” He knew you wouldn’t.

When you hesitated, he looked up at you with a questioning look. “What is it?”

You stood unsure for another moment before quickly moving to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk, pulling out the letter. “I heard from Robb.” Lord Stark- Ned, leaned forward curiously. “Nothing new, just updating me about Bran, how he’s fairing as Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’m assuming you’re not just here to make small talk.”

Well it certainly wasn’t your skill that was true. Inhaling a slow breathe, you looked straight at him to just ask what you needed to confirm. “Lady Catelyn was here, wasn’t she?” His brows narrowed deeply as he reached a hand out, taking the letter from you.

Skimming over, he smiled amusingly as he reached the end. “You two talk in code often?”

You failed to prevent the smirk on your lips before you had noticed it was even forming. “Only when we’re talking about things we’re not supposed to.”

“And how often is that, exactly?”

You only shrugged. You, Robb, Jon, and later Theon, would get into trouble a lot when you were younger. But when you would leave, you and Robb figured out a way to talk about things that would certainly get you punished if your father ever found out. So you started writing in almost childish imagery. Hence the end of his letter, saying to ask his father about “some stray kitten I saw running around the halls the other day.”

Folding the letter, he handed it back to you. “Clever. But he’s right. I shouldn’t keep this from you, and Robb clearly doesn’t want me too.” Leaning back he pulled something from his desk, what looked like a blade with a rich ornate handle to it. Placing it on the desk you leaned forward to look closer as he explained. “A man came into Brans room some night after we had all left Winterfell. Told Cat no one was supposed to be there, that it was a kindness.”

The bite in his tone was angry and spiteful even if his face remained steadfast. Like he was lost in thought, he seemed to trail off in his head before coming back. Telling you of the man trying to kill him, how he had almost killed Lady Catelyn in the process, and the direwolf which ripped the assassins throat out. “Bran’s wolf had saved his life..”

Leaning forward you felt a horror bubble up inside of you, Bran was a boy of ten who would do such a thing? Voice weaker, cracking a bit at the look of almost shame or guilt in his eyes forming. “Lord Stark?”

Head shooting up to look at you, like those words, that specific title speaking of the wolves clicked something in his head that he didn’t know how to feel. “The direwolves, when we found them in the woods…Jon had said something. That my children were meant to have them..”

Jon hadn’t included himself. There were five pups, two girls and three boys and Jon had purposely not counted himself as one of Lord Stark’s children in order to prove they were meant to go to them. He had found Ghost off to the side all on his own, so quiet Jon wasn’t even sure how he had heard Ghost’s tiny cry when not a soul other had.

Lord Stark still lost in his thought, “If the Gods sent those wolves…I killed Sansa’s..” Just as fast as he lost himself in a spiral, he took back the reigns and pulled right back out of it. “Everything adds up but I don’t know to why. Lysa telling her that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn, Jaime Lannister being the only man who didn’t join the hunt the day Bran fell and strands of blonde hair in the tower when I could tell you for a fact no one had been in there for a very long time.”

He tapped his fingers at the blade and you felt a weight in your throat trying to fight against the words. “The blade?”

Lord Stark laughed meaninglessly. “The blade belongs to Tyrion Lannister.”

For all that you knew him, and for as different as he seemed, you couldn’t find it in your heart to see such traits past the blood of who he was and who his family was. “How do you know?”

The answer, you liked even less. Lost in a bet to the Lannister during a tourney, the previous owner knew who it now belonged to without any doubt, beacuse it’s previous owner was Petyr Baelish.

You were finding it increasingly hard to figure out who you didn’t like more in this city. Luckily for Tyrion Lannister he in fact, wasn’t in the city so he found your newfound anger towards him unobtrusive. Not as lucky for you, sitting at the small council you found too many men in the room you didn’t trust as far as you could throw.

Lord Varys avoided much interaction with you has he did your father, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fully aware of every step you had taken in this city and no doubt others. You dared not think about how much he really knew, not that it mattered much now, but you didn’t appreciate the concept of lording information over another head to make them dance.

Lord Baelish was as trustworthy as he was kind, meaning none. A self serving worm who had no care for anything or one that didn’t give him either money or power. Though, you did consider him to be the less offensive to look at only if in comparison to the bloated faced man standing before the council.

Lord Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch was nothing short of an insult to the eyes. Patchy facial hair that didn’t quite sit well over the slight pudginess of his face that wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t also always plastered with a high and mighty look as if he knows better. Standing before you, speaking of his struggle to keep the peace in the streets.

His voice covered itself in slime. “It’s the Hand’s tournament that’s causing all the trouble, my lords.”

An exhaustion sat in Lord Starks shoulders, his tone annoyed as his posture to the idea. “The King’s tournament. I assure you the Hand wants no part in it.”

Your father didn’t care for Lord Stark personally, but at least they would agree at such a waste of expenses. Being Master, or in your case, acting Master of Ships didn’t mean you were not painfully aware of how much spending your assets should be restricted of just to amuse the growing relentlessness of the King.

Slynt continued. “Call it what you will Lord Stark, the city is packed with people and more flooding in everyday. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings, and a drunken horse race down the Streets of Sisters.”

Your eyes narrowed, voice loud and yet even with little emotion behind it. It unnerved many how similar you were to the unwelcoming and bluntness of your lord Father. “Discipline should lie with the capabilities of a commander. If you cannot keep the King’s peace during something as innocuous as a tourney, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone whose ability we can rely on.”

Oh the fire in his eyes as he glared at you, spit coming from his mouth as it did his worse. His chest and cheeks puffing like a frog. “I need more men.”

Lord Stark had the final decision however, and you would never dare go against or even speak up against it. Such a thing was not your place, nor would you let it be. “You’ll get fifty, Lord Baelish will see it paid for.” Your own harsh gaze, bordering on a glare peeling over to the Master of Coin seemingly surprised by the notion. Lord Stark’s order firmer then ever. “You found money for a champions purse, you can find money to keep the peace.” Turning to Slynt, “I’ll also give you twenty if my household guard until the crowds have left.”

Giving more men to the one who didn’t know how to command them with fairness was not quite how you felt about such actions, regardless of how the rest of the council didn’t agree. Was it too harsh of a stance, or was it a firm position influenced by what you already knew was incompetence. Janos Slynt was not someone trustworthy, but as long as he got paid he would do the bare minimum.

You and Lord Stark sharing a glance as he relaxed somewhat. “The sooner this is over the better.”

Lord Varys leaning forward, tone as even and light with hope as he could paint it. “The realm prospers from such events, my Lord. They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”

Legs crossing over the other you sat back in your seat. “It’s not glory those men need more of, Lord Varys I can assure you. They have quite enough of that to go around.”

Lord Baelish leaning far too close to make eye contact with a sly grin. “And yet it puts coins in many a pocket, my Lady. Glory has filled every Inn throughout the city, and the whores are walking bow legged with every step.”

Grin growing more detestable as you looked from him with an uncomfortable glare. Your dear Uncle did not help the matter as he spoke up, a laugh in his lungs doing so. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember when he proposed to outlaw brothels? Robert had asked if he’d like to outlaw eating, drinking, and shitting while he was at it.”

The force to not roll your eyes tested your every power of will. Every sense of faith in a man like your father that they assumed he had suggested or done so on Dragonstone for the superficial. Many Lords in the capital were keen on keeping your father at an arms length and you couldn’t help but speculate how much was truly just his personality, and what was fear deep down.

Afterall, he had two living children, and four which had passed before they could become your brothers. Clearly it wasn’t sex itself that was what he disliked about the premises.

Lord Stark looked to you instead of bothering to even entertain this discussion, calling your name. “You haven’t heard from Lord Stannis have you? He has not formally passed is place on the council to you, I’d have to guess he intends to return from his visit at some point?”

Neither of you said it to the current company, but Lord Stark didn’t quite appreciate the treatment of his new daughter by marriage. Sending you off to be wed out of nowhere, not accompanying or letting your mother or sister come to see you married, and then dragging you away from his son after one night to act on the council in his unexplained absence.

It was unfair to you and Robb, and it also sat rather suspiciously that you had been kept so terribly in the dark with this, and whatever your father had been investigating with Lord Arryn.

Lord Baelish’s tone was as mocking as ever, looking right at you. “No doubt he’ll return as soon as we’ve scourged all those whores into the sea.” You could hear Renly laugh somewhere to your left.

Standing abruptly, you smoothed down your skirt and nodded stiffly. “Until tomorrow, my lords.” As you stepped away you muttered uncaring if you were heard or ignored. “I’ve heard quite enough about my father and whores for one day.”

Renly’s laughter bothered you the whole way out of the small council chamber. You and Lord Stark had business to inquire of Grand Maester Pycelles but you found yourself perfectly content with waiting out of ear from mocking of your lord father for one day.

Words from the night before long since burned in the light of one of your rooms candles, in your pocket now sat one of you own writing and a new one sent to you. A raven from Dragonstone had surprised you only as long as it took to see the neatness of the letters.

Shireen was outraged that she missed your wedding. Had asked a million questions, what did you wear, who attended, did Winterfell have a nicer sept then they? That one you were going to have to explain another time that in your new life, you found more peace in the way the Starks followed that of the old gods. More questions of what is the capitol like with the new hand, was Robb as handsome as she was picturing. A question which even in the privacy of your own room, made you fluster a bit.

Only your dear sister could have you ready to spill about a man your married too, in ways like you were still a girl her age with a petty crush. Her letters always long, and always excited to hear what her well travelled big sister was doing regardless of how little you ever wanted to tell the truth of it anymore.

She was just a child, a rather innocent one at that. You wondered what father told her of the reason behind his sudden return home. Thinking to the two girls you returned to the city with, they too, were too young to have to be around this den of masks and liars. At least Arya’s needle was a bit more of protection then that of Sansa’s naivety.

Grand Maester Pycelle’s office was unbearably stuffy. The scents, the thick air and the mixture of whatever liquids sat both around the surfaces and tucked away into cupboards did not make the heat of summer any easier.

His frail voice seeming having gone on for far too long, “The smallfolk say the last year of summer if always the hottest. It is not often so, but it can feel that way does it not? On days like this, I envy you northerners and your southern snows.”

Both you and Lord Stark standing by his desk, it felt as if he was ready to dismiss before why an audience was requested in the first place. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn.”

To his credit, the Grand Maester had the patience to look surprised by the subject but not suspiciously so. “Lord Arryn? His death was a great sadness to us all. I took personal charge of his care, but I could not save him.”

Eyes narrowing slightly with a tilt of your head, you considered back to your own insights. “Did he seem sickly to you before the fever hit him? He hasn’t seemed like himself for some time but it never struck me like a physical ailment.”

Considering the idea, the Grand Maester himself looked a tad shamed. You doubted there wasn’t much he could do, and yet you could see similar feelings of confused failure in like your own once Maester Cressen. “His sickness truck him very hard, and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Arryn often came to me for counsel.”

Lord Stark bluntly asking, “Why?”

Your insides rolled over at how indigent and offended the man instantly became at Lord Stark’s mere question. Nothing but worry over pride and image for such people. “I have been Grand Maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice since-”

Voice raising enough to speak over him, you cut his tongue back down with the sharpness of your own tone. “Why did Lord Arryn seek you out, the night before he died? What did he want?”

The answer, only brought more questions.

Bringing you and Lord Stark closer in his office to a shelf, many large tomes sat across them as he shakily dragged one onto his desk. Landing it down in front of Lord Stark with a thud. “The lineages and histories of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms. With descriptions of many high lords, noble ladies, and their children.”

Watching Lord Stark pull off the metal clasp and tossing it down, the book was loose and not well made but the pages inside were vast on thick paper filled to the brim with words in many styles of writing in many degrees of faded letters. Flipping through multiple pages until he landed on one at random, Lord Stark begun reading out one of the passages.

“…blue of eye, brown of hair, and fair complected. Died in his fourteenth year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt.”

Head tilting as he sat back down, “As I said my Lord, a ponderous read.”

“Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?”

A slight shake no, of his head. “He did not, my Lord. And I did not presume to ask.”

Skimming the pages, you barley glanced at them before looking up to meet the Grand Maesters eyes but did not find him hiding much behind them. Nothing pertaining to the conversation at least as Lord Stark continued his inquiry. “Jon’s death, did he say anything to you during his final hours.”

Instinctively he denied, “Nothing of import, my Lord.” before pausing his hand raised as if to collect his thoughts within them from his older mind. “There was one phrase he kept repeating. The Seed is Strong, I think it was.”

Your eyes narrowed, “The seed is strong? What does that mean?”

No curiosity in his eyes, “The dying mind is a demented mind, Lady Stark.”

Whatever he said right after, was missed in the brief second of childish notions, much like what Shireen always tried to dish from you. Some familiar just called you by your name, others stuck to the simple My Lady, others such as Ser Jaime Lannister only switched between names in mocking as if there was something usual about a highborn lady taking on the House of their husband.

But hearing Lady Stark so casually, shouldn’t have clicked such a second of girlish glee as it had. You pulled yourself together though, hoping neither noticed your stammer of formality. Lord Stark beside you continuing, “And you’re quite certain he died of a natural illness?”

Grand Maester Pycelle seemed taken back, alleviating guilt at how quick his confusion at such a suggestion was at least ticked a name off your list. “What else could it be?”

Lord Stark seemed like he however, knew what his answer was. “Poison.”

Unwilling to think of such a crime, he shook his head in denial. “A disturbing thought…I don’t think it likely. The Hand was loved by all, what sort of man would dare-”

Your eyes and Lord Stark’s flickered to the other for just a moment, your voice without accusing if only in pure read of your words. “I’ve heard it said poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“Yes. Women, cravens…and eunuchs. Did you know Lord Varys is a eunuch?”

The spinning of mistrust once more, not the game neither you nor Lord Stark cared to get involved with now or ever. Enough was on your plate as it was. There was no conceivable thought of what Lord Varys would gain from murdering Lord Arryn in your mind. Then again, Lysa had named the Lannisters and yet you too had no idea what would be gained by that either.

Nor what trying twice to murder an innocent ten year old boy wold gain. But the signs all pointed to the golden lions.

Finding Arya near the top of the steps balancing on one foot, you smiled. Taking the tome from Lord Stark to his office for him so he could inquire what her dancing teacher had her practising now. Earlier he had commented to you that it felt like everyday Arya came back with new bruises or scratches with a worried furrow in his brow.

You simply had held back a smirk, “If I recall that’s exactly how everyone found out I was learning to sword fight when I was her age.”

Lord Stark had laughed much easier, running a hand over his stubble. “It took us that long to find out because you and Jon would sneak out at night so neither of you would get in trouble.” The first few lessons did have a lot of Jon hitting you harder each time until you got fed up and learned to block properly. “You should be thankful it was me who caught you and not Cat.”

You were twelve at the time, Jon fourteen and even all those years ago still far stronger then you. You couldn’t have imagined how much trouble he would’ve gotten in were it now your own father who caught you two one night.

Sitting now at Lord Stark’s desk, you had been mindlessly flipping through the book. Pausing at random pages before coming across the current accounts of Baratheons. The King first, and his children, then your lord father and his. Including all four which never made it, and a sickening description of Shireen as “disfigured” from her greyscale.

Renly when he thought neither or your father in ear had often referred to Shireen as “that ugly daughter of his” and you hated it. She would’ve been far worse had your father listened to the other Lords. Send her off to old Valyria to be of the stonemen before she infected the whole of Dragonstone.

Dancing over her name with your tapping finger, you told yourself not to. Biting your tongue before your weakness overtook and flipped to the pages of the current Starks. Glancing down to Lord Eddard Stark, then that of Robb did you pause. Shireen asking if he was handsome and certainly the drollness of a Maesters documents did nothing to answer that.

But your eyes skipped down. Looking to the description of Eyes of Grey, black of hair and the beginnings of the letter ‘S’ coming into sight did you slam the book shut with an angry huff. Your best friend for so long, and now his memory tainted with feelings which you both were forced to tear away from.

You’d love to just think of Jon the way you could Theon. Fond memories that weren’t anything more, and none which made the flutter in your stomach getting used to your new husband feel shameful. Hearing Lord Stark’s footsteps you stood up from his seat, leaning against the wall to the side with your arms crossed your chest.

Closing the door behind him, “Do you know a Ser Hugh of the Vale?” Head jolting back you found nothing with such a title and name until Lord Stark elaborated. “He was Jon Arryns squire.” Your lips parting in recognition you turned to look back at him confused. “He was knighted after his murder.”

“Knighted for what?”

Tilting his head he almost smiled. “That’s what you’re going to find out.”

Ser Hugh as it turned out, was exactly the kind of glory seeker you knew didn’t need more cheers and gold bolstering his ego. Down in the open field where they set up the tourney, you recognized him at least while he was in much more average attire. Still nicer then what you recalled he wore as a squire.

“Ser Hugh?”

Your footsteps towards him quick and long, your voice not shouting and yet projecting enough to startle those around as the man turned annoyed towards you. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

Busy taking steps, yes a task needing great concentration to a man of his calibre. Your eyes narrowed in the bright sun making you look far less tolerant of such an attitude. Renly once had said that between the flowing dresses, the light fabric of an equally as long cardigan with hair that looked far nicer unrestricted by whatever styles these girls in the capital pretended were fashionable, you might actually attract a suitor once in a while were it not for you being a perfect copy of your father’s morose and drab glare.

“I’m here on behalf of Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King-”

Not giving you a second chance, he waved you off. “Well run along and tell your master if the Hand wishes to speak to me, he should come himself. Knights don’t have time for a servant girls questions.”

Turning and stepping along the path you resisted the urge to see his head smash into the wooden railing he walked beside. There was no point in arguing, he seemed unlikely to be honest if he did answer any questions, and you and Lord Stark had a much more promising visit far down in the streets of the city.

“He said he’d only be willing to talk to the hand himself. A knight such as him.”

You and Lord Stark glancing at the other with a vapid smirk, of course how could you have been such a fool to dare ask anything of a well seasoned warrior such as Ser Hugh of the Vale. Intrepid Knight of Half a Day.

“Ah, a knight. They strut around like roosters down here. Even the one who’ve never seen an arrow coming their way.” The armoury Lord Baelish had directed you towards approached quickly. Sounds of yelling and barters all around and children play fighting in every direction.

Many eyes looked towards the pair riding down the path. Either such a sight was unusual to them, or perhaps all too similar. The Lord Hand and Master of Ships travelling down the poor city streets looking in the same places for the same people, only months after the last pair did the same to no known success.

“We should be careful out here alone, my Lord. There’s no telling which eyes belong to who.” Glancing at him, he seemed unaffected by the idea. Climbing off your horse as he did too, you both steeled in a natural air of cold confidence. Working beside Lord Stark for you was easy, you couldn’t however imagine such an easy pairing in Lord Arryn and your own father.

“Let them look.”

Tobho Mott greeted you both with upmost respect, seemed to be much more relaxed with your presence then he did mention of your lord father. Lord Stark beside you prompting the conversation moreso. “What did Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis want?”

“They came to see the boy.”

Lord Stark saying he’d like to see him as well, Tobho nodded and turned into the forge where the consistent smashing of metals stopped banging. “Gendry,”

Easy to see from his demeanour, it was clear he was likely either incredibly lowborn, or even a slave must to your dismay. He didn’t look at either you or Lord Stark in the eye, standing straight and respectable, but did not think he had the right to make eye contact.

You stood still, trying to see what it is that would be on any interest to the lords before. Not just that, what was seen which scared your father back to Dragonstone, and Lord Arryn into the grave? The three men went back and forth for a while over the ornate bulls helmet which he had made himself, easing the pair into the inquiry.

His voice didn’t give much away, but a tint of attitude which wasn’t unfamiliar. Taller then, you, his hair was dark to the point of a deep brown and by your guess would be a a little younger then you. Lord Stark changed subject, “When Lord Arryn came to visit you what did you talk about?”

Not looking still, your eyes narrowed as something pricked at your skin. “Just as me questions is all, milord.” Next asked if your father had ever questioned him, was a rare moment that made you break a smirk and eyes lit up with an amusement not often seen of you in Kings Landing. “No, he never said a word. Just glared at me like I was some raper who done for his daughter.”

Mott turning and raising his voice. “Watch your tongue boy. This is Lord Stannis’s own daughter you’re speaking too.” Turning to you with sincere apology in his eyes you couldn’t seem to look away from Gendry. He apologized, but you only found yourself looking at him with a more scrupulous gaze.

You tried, but whatever pricked at your skin settled over every corner of it until you wanted to twitch with unease. Lord Stark spoke for you, sensing that you were seeing something close to what he was slowly putting together. “What kind of questions did Lord Arryn ask?”

“About my work at first. If I was being treated well, if I liked it here. But then he started asking me questions about my mother.”

You spoke up before you could stop yourself. “Your mother?” Gendry specifying he meant just who she was and what she looked like, you continued to speak first unable to keep the intensity away out of your gaze on him. “What did you tell him?”

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, she’d sing to me sometimes.”

You couldn’t say why it clicked, but it did. Stepping forward you were sharper with him then you may have intended, “Look at me.”

Meeting your eyes, you felt that sensation shiver through your body like you had just been tossed in a river. There was no denying what it was you were seeing. Had you not known better, you could’ve mistaken Gendry for your own brother. The green eyes wide and bright, hair so dark and thick, the strength in resemblance of his facial structure and all linking back to why the snark of attitude pinged at you.

Almost in shock you leaned back, glancing to Lord Stark who briefly flickered to meet your eyes with an unsettled understanding of what you were seeing. You didn’t like what you were feeling in any way. Lord Stark handed him back the bull helmet, “Get back to work, lad.”

Diligently, he left further into the forge and the hammering started once again as Lord Stark spoke quietly to Mott. “If a day ever comes that boy would rather wield a sword then forge one, you send him to me.”

Coming up to Renly’s quarters, your head was in a spin and something told you to go anywhere that wasn’t where all your questions had laid. Knocking on his door, you almost jumped back in surprise by the one who actually answered.

Taller then you with a darkish dirty blonde hair rung up into curls that most girls you know envied with passion, Ser Loras also stood before you shirtless in a manner you amusingly knew a certain young redheaded Stark would’ve had her cheeks turn just as red at the sight off. Luckily for you, the shock on his face and the smirk on yours already knew the story better.

Walking in as you brushed past him, you raised your eyebrows at your Uncle now rushing to cover his own chest as if you were stupid enough not to know. “My Lady, apologies we were just-”

Turning to Loras beside you, you smirked wider with a playful squint in your eye. “Ser Loras, a word of advice. If you wish your private affairs to remain private, maybe don’t answer my Uncle’s door when you’re both still shirtless and this one’s still in bed.” You nodded over to the annoyed Renly.

Loras couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or horrified, but left as soon as he could be considered half way presentable. Door closing behind him, you walked in further, leaning against Renly’s desk. “I know discretion isn’t your strong suit Renly, but maybe if he’s trying to keep it a secret at least pretend you two aren’t locked up in bed half the time.”

Rolling his eyes, he reached passed out to pour himself wine. “Aren’t you missing your tournament?”

Shaking your head at his offer of a glass to you, “Oh am I Hand of the King, now?”

Glaring, he rested beside you against the desk as he sipped. “Spending enough time with him, it’s easy to mistaken I suppose. Much like my dear brother seemed.” Glancing beside you, you said nothing as he continued with mocking joy. “Jon and Stannis spend an increasing amount of time together only to stop when one of them dies and the other runs away out of reach. Only difference is the Hand this time is a wolf, but the Stag stays the same. Or are you a wolf now too?”

Pushing off smug with himself, you crossed your arms. “I married into a house of wolves, my name is theirs now, I suppose yes dear Uncle I am a wolf now if such a distinction matters.” Titling your head you were far less amused now and much more openly accusatory. “Does that make you a rose, or just a stag stupid enough to let roses tie themselves around him?”

He glared at you, “My relationship-”

“I’m not talking about Loras. Not for that. I’m talking about the less time you spend doing your duty the more I seem to find you spending time whispering with the Tyrells.” The guilt on his face grew tenfold as you slammed more to the open air. “You didn’t hide very well what your plan for his sister was, Margaery was it?”

Oh you hit a wound. Renly face twisting into a snarl unbecoming of someone like him. “Plan?”

Crossing your arms you didn’t move an inch but your eyes trained on his with scrutiny. “What was it my father said you planned, trying to make dear Margaery, Robert’s whore?” He paled but you didn’t let him blabber. “Everyone in the seven kingdoms knows he’s got enough of those, so I have to ask why exactly try to send the pretty girl from Highgarden into the bed of our well rode, drunken King, and then you yourself having the same ride by her own brother?”

He shrugged, but did not do well at hiding his anxiety. “You and Stannis are missing out, Tyrells are quite interesting in bed.”

You raised your eyebrows. “So are wolves, I’ve found.”

“Did you come here for this or what?”

Pushing up you walked more to the middle of the room. “No, actually I came here to ask if you’re going to the tournament tomorrow.”

Renly’s eyes flickered side to side, “Most likely. Why?”

You shrugged, losing all pretense of suspicion for now. “Just wondering if I’ll have someone to talk to who doesn’t make me want to tear into my palms.” Renly laughed, telling you this was the wrong place for that.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, for a brief moment he looked actually concerned. “I know I joke about it, but the capital doesn’t suit you does it?” He smiled when you shook your head no. “You know every time you came back from Winterfell you looked miserable. You hated coming back here and each time you come back a little more fed up then the time before.”

You said nothing as you looked blankly at him. There was nothing to deny, coming back here was always the worst and it never stopped being the worst until you were back with the Starks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to your wedding.”

You shrugged. Not the answer or even emotion he expected, but you were just looking at him.

The wide bright eyes, the shape of his cheeks, jaw, the colours in those eyes and the darkness of the thick hair he was so bad at letting grow out just like your father. All you could think of was what in those looks scared your father out of the city.

What did he find in those looks that was so bad it got Lord Arryn killed. You and Lord Stark had many clues but no hints except for one glaring one. You had returned to the horses, nearby where Jory had been waiting.

When he asked if you two had found anything, you hadn’t been quite the same since realizing what Lord Stark had. All you could see when looking at Renly now, was what Lord Stark told Jory then.

Something that had no right being a clue to such a dark mystery and yet here you were, standing before water as murky then ever only this time it was your own kin that was being told as the dangers to look out for.

Gendry wasn’t just a tiny clue of no meaning, somewhere in Lord Arryn’s death was a page about finding King Robert’s bastard son.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine

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utilitycaster · 2 months

Note

In the end, it is misogyny but in the form of that Imogen (and most of the female cast, if we are being fair) gets reduced to just being a woman to the point that criticizing any real flaw, wrong doing, or "hey i personally maybe perhaps don't like that she did this" is turned into an attack on her because she is a woman, because after all, all women are perfect and so so dainty they must be protected (sarcasm)

Without mentioning the attacking real women in the name of the fictional one

It really is the "God forbid a woman do anything" but in it's worst form

Sorry for venting, been having thoughts about the fandom for the past 5 years

YUP. I do recommend Unlikeable Female Characters by Anna Bogutskaya which I devoured in like, one sitting over my winter break and posted a bunch of excerpts from but this discourse is extremely not limited to the CR fandom. I mean, think about all of the endlessly churning nonsense about the women of Gone Girl and Midsommar. I am going to see Love Lies Bleeding tomorrow and have steered well clear of really any discussion because I simply would like to see buff lesbians in a crime drama but apparently the discourse is rancid.

Of course there are people who assume ill of female characters while excusing men. That is absolutely a big problem. But again, we can barely talk about that. I recently made a post about how Laura is not a particularly chaotic player, and indeed is one of the most cautious players in actual play, and again I think there is a serious and important conversation to be had about how there's probably a reason why, say, Travis and Taliesin are more likely to make extremely bold moves, because they didn't get raked over the coals during C1 for stealing a cool broom from a guest character! I actually think Marisha has managed to hang on to some of her boldness and it makes her a stronger player but I would not have been surprised if she retreated after the hate she got from Keyleth. But yeah, in actual play, bold moves are pretty important. We can't even talk about how real-world misogyny holds back the actual actors without some moronic wretch being like "FIGURES THAT A MISOGYNIST CUNT LIKE YOU LIKES A MALE ACTOR."

When a character who is a man - or in some cases, characters who are not men but are played by men - does something people don't like we can say "wow, I didn't like this, but it was an interesting choice by the actor!" but we aren't allowed to either talk about the reasons why a real world woman might hesitate to play a character who does ugly things - because of the misogynistic backlash that will land specifically on her as a real person - nor can we compliment her for going for it and playing a complex flawed character, because how DARE you say a woman is anything less than some kind of Divine Feminine ideal. At best you're allowed a two-dimensional caricature of She's So Sweet And Good But Sometimes Gets Angry (this also happened to my friend Keyleth).

And this might reveal my own biases but like. I as a woman don't love being called self-centered, but that, personally, would probably lead me to some reflection. If you call me a girlfailure, even jokingly, I am going to break your nose. It's really telling that like...one of the absolute no-brainer "hey stop calling grown women girls" feminist tenets has gone by the wayside particularly with the set of people who think that meta that fails to put women on so high a pedestal they are untouchable is misogynist. They are awful towards women, fictional and real.

A line that always stuck with me from, bizarrely, a book about wordplay, was that Victorian men would treat women of their same classes as their superiors, but never their equals - they would coddle them and protect them but they wouldn't actually engage with their thoughts and foibles. (This happened to my friend Jester).

Anyway my personal solution is to keep going. On some level, as my previous post indicates, while I don't want the harassment it also only underscores my point, that a lot of these people are way more invested in being a dick to women on the internet than writing meta about the pretend women they think they like. I have to imagine they're doing this because either think they're entitled to meta they like from people who can actually fucking write it because god knows most of the people making this complaint have the most "if you can't dazzle them with brillance, blind them with the most purple-prose bullshit you can muster" attitude; or because they literally are just champing at the bit to attack women online with the ostensible veneer of "but it's FEMINIST to call THESE women cunts because they said my blorbo wasn't saintly and flawless." However, again, I know that I'm pretty bullheaded and forcibly unlearned the uh, patriarchal idea that women should not be confrontational. I do not blame people who look at this whole situation and say "I'm going to keep my thoughts to myself because this is so unpleasant."

#answered #Anonymous #i got a ghost message too that i only assume is for the same reason as my previous anon #and like. ngl. i'm THIS close to naming suspected names. like i have tried to keep quiet but *rashinna voice* can we take out the trash #i'd love to see more meta about imogen but again i don't blame the people who are like nope not worth it.#cr tag

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 8 months

Text

In the air, In the Moon

Inspired by My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski

Joel Miller x Ghost!F!Reader

Summary: She was the first to go. Joel is learning to cope without his love. And then...

WC: only 4.6k warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (Reader mid 20s, Joel late 50s), bit of canon divergence, MAJOR DEATH (Reader), Reader is called ‘lovey’ by every one, Joel Miller crying a lot, TLOU PART 2 Spoilers, Ellie and Joel angst, Reader has long hair, domestic!Joel, husband!Joel, smut (ghost sex/handjob), suicide due to injury (Reader), hurt/comfort, murder hosue type beat (AHS SEASON 1), joel's suicidal thoughts, fluff, abuse (reader was a victim not form Joel), description of corpse, yooo sarah makes an appearance, i have poor knowledge of medicine, joel is a cat person, a little frank sinatra, religious imagery AN: Let's kick off October with angst, fluff, and smut. I'm sorry for what I wrote. playlist imagery masterlist

'Save who you can save'

He lost his head when Joel first saw you collapsed right outside of Jackson on a patrol trail. He expected someone older not so young and beautiful. You were a fallen angel coming into his life, you arrived alone and sick with the flu. He will never forget the whimpers when he picks up your body burning with a fever.

"Shh, it's okay, angel, you're gonna get ya' some help," He gently picks up your body, and Tommy helps him get you on Joel's horse, setting up front so he could hold you up. Joel looks at how pale your skin is, the bruises scattered on your hands, and how ill-equipped you were to be out in the bitter winter conditions in Wyoming.

Tommy and Joel came back with you sick, knocking on heaven's door when they had you rushed to the infirmary; rushed as in, Joel carrying you directly there and grabbing the town's doctors right from his office.

"Found 'er out on patrol. Now listen here," His southern drawl comes out when he has tunnel vision on getting you well again.

"You will give her the best medicine, remember I know whatcha got," Joel lets go of the poor man and watches him assess your state. Checking your temperature and finding you new clothes. When the doctor comes back with the set of dry clothes Joel brings him to a halt with a hand to the chest.

"I want Nurse Cadence to dress her," Joel demands with a huff. The doctor nods and quickly goes to the nurse doing a check on the other patients. Cadence an older woman who was a nurse back before the outbreak. She comes with the set of clothes and a wrinkled smile. Joel nods and steps out of the room waiting for the door to open again.

When Cadence opened the door, her face was in a frown and her eyes were welling up with tears.

"She's been abused..." She weeps before wiping away the tears. Joel closed his eyes and bowed his head, he knew how heinous people were. He starts imagining the worst happening with you. Questions start bulleting in his head.

Joel could feel his benevolent side come out when he walked in seeing you asleep with your eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. The doctor comes back with a wet cloth and drapes it across your forehead.

"She needs sleep. I'll notify you as soon as she wakes up." Doc walks Joel out of the room to the doors. Joel waited for a moment before stepping back outside to the cold. Winter always made him nauseated and he really could sense it once images of your body in snow being left for dead wouldn't leave his fatal mind.

Winter was brutal, Joel tried to think about Texas and how it would get freezing but never snow and the sun would still come out. When was the last time he saw the sun? It's been cloudy and snowing for so long. He huffs out, his breath dances in the air like a ghost. Just another reminder that he is still kicking and screaming 50 years later.

Joel would wake up every morning before patrol to head to the infirmary. You wouldn't wake up until 2 days later. You woke drenched in sweat, your chest feeling sticky, and your muscles all over your body just wincing in pain with every move you made. The day that you first woke up, you sat up straight in the bed and hyperventilated. Nurse Cadence had you calm down by breathing with your belly.

You were shaking after your breathing evened out. Brain fog and general confusion were a mist in your brain. A tall gruff man stood at the doorway with flowers, where could you get flowers in winter? He was tan but fading to pale tan, had salt and pepper hair, and a leather coat that looked so warm. The nurse greeted him with open arms, maybe he isn't going to kill you? Where even are you?

"My love, this is Joel Miller. He was the one who found you at death's door." Nurse Cadence ushers in Joel and takes the flowers from his grasp. Joel's eyes were dancing around your face, taking in how the color of your skin was coming back, your flushed cheeks and nose, doe eyes full of fear. You froze in place, your heart slamming against your chest.

"Howdy," Joel didn't know what else to do but stick out his hand. You quickly tucked into yourself and held up your hands for defense. You waited a minute before letting yourself look at Joel, he was at the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets.

"I-I'm sorry," Your voice was still horsed from not talking about days on end.

"It's fine, just wanted to see how you were getting by?" Joel gives a half smile not knowing how to display his relief of you being alive.

"I'm alive...I don't know how I can ever pay you back for saving m-my life," You bring your knees to your chest and wipe away the onset tears. Yes, you have been sick but he saved you from ever being found by your captor. It's been a long winter just as much as for you as it was for Joel.

"Sorry, I don't mean to cry in front of you," You cleared your throat and blinked the salt water from your eyes. You giggled and that caused Joel to just fall to the ground and never your side like a guard dog protecting their favorite girl.

That small giggle from your pale pink lips was the butterfly effect to the end of your life and the start of Joel's suicidal thoughts again. But we aren't there yet in the story.

That small giggle got you to where you were now, about to move outside of Jackson gates with Joel and the 3 kittens you recused. The farmhouse on the hill with a barn adjacent to the house. It was perfect Joel was getting his dreams with a few additions, you, his young beautiful wife, and 3 kittens that he didn't have the heart turn away from when you carried them in the house like a child.

You were always trying to save others, which has caused you a lot of pain. Finding puppies and kittens on the brink of death, hoping you could cure them with the warmth of your heart. But it was like you were a living and breathing Grim Reaper. But these kittens were more than 4 months old and seemed to be living off mice and different kinds of rodents.

When Joel asked you to be his love forever, it was a spring day and he took you outside of the walls of Jackson. He wanted to show you an abandoned home with a lot of land. You were excited to see the world again for the first time in a long time.

The hike to the pasture of land with a house that looked small until you got closer it got bigger. White paint chipped on the siding. The roof only missing a few shingles. A beautiful porch that wrapped all around the home.

Joel watches your eyes grow wide and a smile paints across your face. You giggled and ran up the steps to the porch. Your hands glide along the railing, bumps hitting the ridges of your fingertips.

The giant columns towering over you, imagining having Joel install a hanging planter for the flowers that you love, maybe a few more for vines. You could see the cats liking to sit in the sun in the mornings and just sleep on the porch swing. A whisper of child-like giggles flows through one ear and out the other and a cold chill runs through your body. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

"Do ya like the place?" Joel comes up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You smile and nod trying to not show you were just stunned.

"I love it," You turn around, and wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the end of his hair. He looked at you like he was in heaven and never had suffered through anything. The sunlight tinted the white sundress you had on, hugging your curves and complimenting your complex just perfectly.

"I brought you here because there's different about you and well, my love, I want...I want this til' death do us part," Joel nervously rubs your back, and another chill shudders through your body, skin prickling all over. Maybe it was just hearing Joel saying forever or another set of invisible eyes watching you getting proposed to.

You met his gaze and just drained from all color, seeing a little girl in the window just smiling at you. Joel watches your eyes flutter closed and you lose all strength in your body.

"Lovey, are you okay?" Joel holds up your weight in his arms, you shake your head to bring yourself back to reality. Your hands slide down his built arms and intertwine your hands in his. You stand on the balls of your feet to reach his lips. You melt in the taste of mint and coffee on his tongue.

"Til' death do us part," You whispered against his lips.

Husband and Wife. Just like that. When you got back in town, Joel surprised you again with a small party at Tommy and Maria's place with Ellie and Dina in tow. You were always awestruck when Joel would pull romantic gestures. Your heart soared even more when Ellie approached and hugged you and kissed you on the cheek.

"Congratulations, lovey." Ellie tried to sound happy, you could tell she meant it by her eyes screaming excitement even if she and Joel weren't on good terms.

"Thank you, Ellie." You squeezed her when you brought her hand in yours. Joel nodded and looked away not knowing if he should hug Ellie. Maybe it's okay because this a celebration of Joel and you tying the knot. Ellie drops your hand, stands in front of Joel, and quickly rushes in for a hug. Without thought, Joel wraps his arms around the girl and kisses the top of his head.

"Thanks, kiddo," Joel whispers to her. You move away from them, hoping they would have a moment to talk but that would be the last time they would ever talk.

You started to help Joel fix up the house, and that meant getting up just before sunrise and not getting back into town after sunset. Always travel there and back with Joel. Never by yourself.

"I'll be back a bit after noon, wait for me, lovey," Joel talks to you who was briefly awake to say bye to Joel. You groggily say bye and fall back asleep. He didn't know that you had a plan to take Ellie and Dina to see the progress going with the house.

When you woke up, it was a race to get out the door and meet Ellie and Dina before they got there. The sun was giving warmth to the earth, morning dew wetting your shoes when you walked through the overgrown grass. Chirping echoing from tree to tree, you loved how the air was crisped and filled up your lungs.

You stepped into the house and felt a sense of pride bloom in your chest. It was like the world never fell apart, and you and Joel bought a home to make your own. You walked into the kitchen turned the faucet on and saw actual water come through. You bit your lip and smiled at the thought of Joel being knowledgeable and how he still thinks like a contractor (his words).

Having a man who knows what he is doing brings you such security. You turned off the water and went to the back shed to gather the paint supplies to hopefully lure Ellie and Dina to work with you today. Painting was the thing to do in the home.

You hummed to yourself and heard a twig break from the woods. Your mind didn't set off an alarm, Joel always told you that this was safe. So that meant you were safe.

Right? He wouldn't let you be in a place that jeopardizes your safety. You quickly gathered the supplies and then went back into the house. Ellie and Dina were at the screen door talking about Jesse.

"Hi girls," You greeted them and opened the door. They quickly saw the paint buckets and rollers. Dina was more than happy to pick up a brush and start painting the living room. Ellie followed you around like a lost puppy when you poured the paint into the pan. You handed a roller and showed her how to properly paint like the way Joel taught you.

"He won't be here until later," You said casually to Ellie, the tension in her shoulders relax. You helped Ellie get into rhythm with her painting then you suggested putting on some music, no old country a request by Ellie. So you settled on some 50s and just listened to the jazz and classical mix together and created a dream state.

Later came sooner than expected, Joel slamming the screen door and stuttering to a close. You jumped and bumped into the record player. The music stopped and Joel's heavy breathing took over the silence. Joel looks at you and only at you, Dina grabs Ellie and they walk out the door quickly. No goodbyes. Just the thuds of their shoes.

Joel walks up to you and pushes you against the fresh eggshell paint. His breathing fanning your face, never seen him this angry since you first told him about the world you lived in before he picked his snow angel up from the ground 2 winters ago.

"What did I say this morning?" Joel asserts, you opened your mouth but he held up his hand.

"I said wait for me, lovey," Joel softens together, his tone, and his eyes and he stops grinding his teeth.

"I wanted to show the girls the house, and they helped us get a start on painting," You smile and him hoping to thaw his soft side more. Just so prettily, he nods and lays a kiss on your forehead.

"And you were late, it's the end of sunset," You smirked and nodded to the window, casting a deep orange through the windows, he shook his head and a breathy chuckle. You always had to be right. He was late because the patrol Tommy wanted to do, was a bit further out from the original trail.

"I'm sorry my love, what can I do to make up for it?" Joel leans his arm against the wet paint, you giggle and push him back from the wall. His hand grips your waist and pulls you into him. His hand-painted the clothes you had on.

"I think you owe me some Frank Sinatra and a dance," You were drunk in love with Joel, it was nice to be with someone who had experienced the world and who knew how to be romantic even if you had brought it out of him.

'Over and over, I keep going over the world we knew'

Joel pulls you in close, his one arm around your waist, and the other one with your hand in his. Swaying to the beat and when the violins harp and the trumpets blare he would spin you around each time, so effortlessly, feeling his body against yours. The broadness of his frame makes you feel small and so safe. You pressed into him and kissed his jawline while he kept you both swaying

'And the sun and the moon seemed to be ours'

You opened your eyes and could see the moon hovering in the sky and the sun was finally giving a wink before leaving the sky. It felt more right to be together in the moonlight. Joel was sweet talking to you in your ear, making you giggle and smile so much your cheeks started to strain. Joel spins you one last time and dips you back to plant a tender kiss on your lips.

You pull on the collar of his flannel and guide him to the ground. He hovers over you and cradles the back of your head in his hand. Joel tasting your skin, taking in your scent like this was the last time.

It would be the last time. The last time he would make love to his love. His wife. Joel thought if you got to the home by yourself then you can do it again. You did do it again, but a stray infected had found its way into the property.

You woke up early and made the plan to have Joel meet you there to work on the fencing while you stayed inside working on decorating with everything from Joel's home in Jackson. You didn't think to bring a gun with you since Joel said there hasn't been infected around in months.

You were trenching through the tall grass trying to make it to the house with snarling falling you. It was like you were running in slow motion through the dense prairie grass. Your mind racing with your feet and tripping, falling down and the infected following your motions.

Screams scaring the birds away from the trees, and squawking almost intimating your pained cries. You grab the knife stab the infected in the jugular and spray blood across your face. The limped fungus falls in the grass next to you.

The pain runs through your body, there was the mark of death with tendrils of Cordyceps etching over your veins. The birds echo again your cries, and you see a murder of crows flying away with your screams mimicked in their caws. You crawl to the steps of the porch and drag the pocket knife across your throat. You sputter out blood and it flows out your mouth like molasses and paints the white sundress you know that Joel loves.

The crows fly over the town, still cawing your screams. Ellie looks up and to see them flying away from the direction of the farmhouse. Her feet were picking up and going to find Joel, he was riding back into town. She was rambling about how you might be in trouble and tears running down her face. Joel was confused trying to catch what was flying out her mouth.

Ellie gets on her horse and Joel follows behind her. His heart sinks to his stomach, and his heart beats sweat running down his neck. The run-down grass leads right up to the scene. Joel hops off the horse before it stops. He is scrambling for balance.

Ellie gathers the horses and ties them to the tree, comes to see Joel on his achy knees holding you in his arms. Your skin is drained of color and cold to the touch. Eyes glazed over with a light film then dead infected a few feet away. The sun comes out from the cover of the clouds and shines right down you.

Ellie felt her blood run cold and dropped next to Joel, watching him put pressure on your neck like it would make you comeback. Her eyes danced across your body and saw the bite mark on your left arm. She doesn't say anything but sit in the hot sun. Joel rocks back and forth crying into your hair, smelling the strawberry soap you had used the night before.

'save who you can save'

Joel spent that night with your body prepared for burial. He stares at the table dressed in flowers surrounding your body, your hair brushed and curled with baby's breath pinned throughout your locks. You saw your body from the living room across from the dining room. Candles burning giving a romantic glow. Joel sits and pours another whiskey. If your dead heart could break again it would've when you watched the tears fall from his eyes.

You wander next to him, causing the candles to blow out and a cold breeze by him. The blue moonlight shines on your body, and he sits up straight and holds his breath for a second and you quickly light the candles again. You don't want to spook him but to show how you're here and not really gone. Joel sobs out again and rests his head on your cold and stiffened arm.

You gently a lay kiss on the top of his head, he shakes off the touch and buries his head into the flowers and just thinking about what he should've done. He should've gone with you, he should've built the damn fencing before even starting to work on the home. But he was too excited to start a life with you. Even have a baby with you.

Joel buried you under the tree and planted flowers around it to mark your grave delicately. He wouldn't dare enter the bedroom, the bed was made up and he could feel your presence when he would open the door and just stare at the smallest things. The lotion bottle that you bought from Cadence in Jackson, rose hip oil and shea butter always making you smell and feel heavenly. He swears it lingers in the air, almost suffocating his lungs.

Joel slams the door shut every time you saunter to him, taking how his eyes were always bloodshot, his beard was getting unkept which was not like him at all, his hair more grey than before. You want to make yourself known but he isn't ready yet.

You didn't want to overwhelm him and put him in an early grave. You watch him every day, not leave the house, barely eating, talking to himself about you then start speaking out loud about Ellie not knowing what to do with her. You continued to watch him suffer until you worked up the energy to open a book of poems that you had cherished when Joel gifted to you.

The book is laid open perfectly on the dining table, Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe. Joel woke that morning and thought he opened the book when he was in a drunken haze the night before. He sits down at the table with a glass of his morning whiskey (what he calls it).

'But our love it was stronger by far than the love'

The line was underlined in pencil which laid next to the book and your signature heart that you always added to your notes. That morning Joel poured out the whiskey bottle and settled for water.

You felt more energy as Joel began to accept your death. You kept up with the poems, Joel never denounced the dead lingering on the earth. He wanted you to be there physically and hold him while he would bury his face in the crook of your neck, tasting the shea butter on his lips when he would lay a sweet kiss right below your ear always earning a sigh from you and smile on your face.

Joel finally walks into the bedroom and sits on your side of the bed, swearing it was warm like you had been lying there waiting for him to come home. You were there, caressing his thigh like how you always done. He loved it, he basked in your phantom touch.

Joel flutters his eyes shut and moans out, he unzips his jeans and pulls down his underwear, and his hard cock springs out, resting heavily on his stomach. You reach and wrap your hand around him, stroking lightly Joel falls on the bed, letting memories of you and him in bed together.

He is falling into a dream state when you appear in front of him straddling your lap. You smile and just continue pleasuring him. Joel whimpers thinking his imagination is running wild. Having you in front of him, you fist his cock and feeling the warmth of his skin in your hand once again.

"Always been so good, lovey," Joel moans, gripping the comforter in his fists, sweat beading at his forehead and an ache in his stomach blossoming to his balls, pulling tight. Your hand moving up and down squeezing him a bit hard when he releases his seed, coating your hand and his lower stomach.

You bring your hand to your mouth, feeling how warm his cum is and the musk and salt hitting your tongue. You moan out, Joel breathes heavily and reaches out to touch your hand but you disappear in front of his eyes. Sleep taking over his eyes and shuts out the bright moonlight.

Joel sat with poems and read the new poem of the day well night now since Joel slept through the daylight, just absolutely heartbreaking.

'Remember your hands; how did your lips feel on mine?'- Love, Pablo Neruda.

The book slams shut and is thrown at the wall, knocking off your favorite painting of horses running in the scene. The candles blow out and the record player starts playing Frank Sinatra. You were trying your best to calm him down. You thought you were helping him to get over your death. Joel stands up, walks over to the record player, and moves tonearm off the record, but you quickly put it back on. The record scratches and continues the song.

"Lovey, it's so sweet but I can't," Joel speaks out in the open, you wanted to show yourself but again he isn't ready.

But when will he ever be ready? When he's dead?

You bowed your head and just watched him leave the house. This is the first time in months, he's been off the grid from everyone since the day of your burial. He thought he could wander back to the old farmhouse and die there too. Every day hoping death will come. He lost you and lost Ellie. Abandonment took over that night.

Joel would spend the rest of his days back in Jackson. Keeping an eye on Ellie until his dying breath. The last sight he would see with Ellie with blood flowing through her nose and her pleas falling on deaf ears.

When the world goes dark and cold, the fade-in is just so warm and bright. He is back at the farmhouse, you on the porch swing with the book in your lap wearing the white sundress he had you buried in. He walks through the prairie grass with the sage green button-up and clean pair of dark wash jeans. You shut the book and could see that he was in the best health ever.

"Joel!" You scream out maybe this isn't real and this is all a bad dream. This is life and you two have a happy ending.

"I'm here lovey," Joel wasn't crying, he was perfect. Like God just stitched him up in a few places. He sees you. He's here with you...finally. You run to him and he picks you up without the grunt he always makes. Heaven is a place on earth. With Joel and the farmhouse.

Can the dead mourn the dead?

You smile and bask in his touch and feeling him in this other side of life. The little girl that was in the house before still peeks around the corner to watch you and Joel find each other once again.

"Joel, I'm sorry," You started to cry. You have never cried before. The wet tears stream down from your cheeks to your neck, Joel brushes his finger through your hair, looking how beautiful you looked, just a bit more perfect.

"I'm home forever," He smiles and seals the words with a kiss. Death do us part isn't true when he's back with you in the ground. Joel looks at the house and sees the young girl, and his eyes grow wide when he sees that it was his first love, Sarah waiting for him to notice her.

You smile a nod to him, the young girl introduced herself to you when you first showed up the house that first night after your death.

Joel bends down to her height and brings her to his arms, smelling her scent again. That scent he would've moved mountains before. Familiarity comforting him even after death.

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

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rabbitenn · 6 months

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Nagi, Tenn, Mitsuki and Yuki with an s/o who's feisty and quick to want to fight other people (especially when someone disses their boyfriend)?

SHINGEKI.

Shingeki. Jp. Advance/attack on the enemy.

ft. Rokuya Nagi, Kujo Tenn, Izumi Mitsuki, Yuki x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff mostly, some crack. Use of the word “girlboss” meant in a gender neutral way.

hello, nonnie ! I hope you like this <3 I’m sorry it took me so long to post it.

♡ ROKUYA NAGI

— Honestly, Nagi is your biggest hypeman.

— Obviously he wants to protect you when a fight arises (it is clear he knows more than just a little self defense. Besides, what kind of prince doesn’t gallantly defend his lover?)

— But, alas, you’re quicker than him to jump into action.

— Ice so cold it burns in flames of blue settles on your gaze the moment someone pisses you off.

— Fists out, you have no reservations about grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, your grip knuckle white, teeth clenched.

— The same excitement Nagi feels while watching anime palpable is in his wide eyed stare now as his gaze follows your moves.

— Nevertheless, he is ready to separate you from the offender.

— One, to keep you safe and unharmed in case they happen to resort to violence too. Nagi’s priority will always be your wellbeing and safety (plus, he definitely more than knows how to throw a punch).

— And second, because if you’re the first to swing your fists, you’re likely to get in trouble.

— As bubbly and carefree as the princely idol may seem, he is a smart guy and knows nothing good will come out of you picking a fight.

— But oh, if someone dares to trash-talk your boyfriend.

— Then you have already told them off, as you advance towards them ready to throw hands.

— If worse comes to worst and the other person dares to put a hand on you, though, Nagi is mad.

— Like a sub zero breeze, apparently calm. But eventual death follows the freeze.

— “Let go of my partner, please.” Your boyfriend utters, tone steely, akin to the edge of a royal longsword. His fingers close around the wrongdoer’s arm with vice-like strength.

— Because as cool as you are when you put disrespectful people in their place, and as much as Nagi would enjoy an action anime with you as the main character, he’d never forgive himself if you ever got hurt.

♡ KUJO TENN

— I mean, it’s not like Tenn can’t effortlessly roast whoever displeases him.

— We see his sassy, “or your devil” side in several occasions (remember the elevator scene? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about).

— But when it is from your lips that venomous words come out, well, he thinks it’s kind of hot.

— And honestly, someone save whoever decides to bother you two, because you and Tenn together can be pretty scary when combined.

— Your vitriol comes out especially after Tsukumo spread rumors about TRIGGER. Whoever dares to speak an ill word towards your boyfriend is screwed.

— Your gaze turns tempestuous, much like the skies were on that night when TRIGGER had to sing beneath bitter rainfall.

— You don’t need to bother much with getting physical, oh, no. The drop in your voicetone, the death dancing in your stare, and the way you advance towards whoever had the audacity to criticize your beloved Tenn, are enough to send them packing.

— Needless to say, you couldn’t care less if they call you a weirdo or scary. In fact, your smile is sharp, snake-like, in the face of their insults.

— There’s a part of Tenn, whoever, that inevitably beats himself up over you defending him like this.

— You are his precious lover, and he’s supposed to keep you safe, to make you happy; not to drag you into the rumors and evil eye of the masses.

— So, in that aspect, I think perhaps you would have to comfort him a little.

— With your hands cupping his face, you ask your angelic idol to look at you.

— With uncertainty, he does; pools of a melancholy trapped in infinite sunrises lock with your eyes, akin to the pink hues of a winter morning that’s yet to dawn.

— You give him a tender smile, thumbs running over his porcelain skin.

— The fleeting kiss you plant on his lips lets him know there’s no other place you’d rather be than by his side; and you’d fight to the death to protect him. No matter what.

♡ IZUMI MITSUKI

— He’s another one that may feel guilty it is you who jumps in for him instead of him fighting for you (we’re talking about the guy who took on some thugs picking on IDOLiSH7 and got injured himself in the process).

— It should be him punching that disrespectful person the moment they lay hands on you. Not you, throwing them over your shoulder and whispering into their ear that if they want to keep their face a color different from bruised, they should stay far away from Mitsuki and i7.

— That aside, though, Mitsuki thinks your rather feisty temperament is very cool.

— You’re such a girlboss for putting anyone in their place when they’re just causing trouble.

— However, because he’s gotten hurt himself defending those he cares about, Mitsuki’s heart breaks a little when he sees your knuckles getting bruised.

— Carefully but with enough force to stop you, your boyfriend takes ahold of your wrist, effectively stopping you from further admonishing the offender by force.

— “Get lost.” He spats to the individual in question, his usually sunshine-like expression hardening in a frown.

— And sure enough, they run for their life.

— Meanwhile, Mitsuki’s hands gently take yours, his fingers carefully running over your swelling knuckles.

— He looks at you with a sad smile, a sigh escaping his lips before bringing your hands to them, brushing a feathered kiss over them.

— “I’m fine, Mitsu.” You assure him, trying to hide the way you flinch at the contact.

— He’s not having it.

— You can be sure once you get back to the dorms/to your home, your lover will be disinfecting any possible cuts and bandaging them for you.

— If he’s in a fiery mood himself, however, then you two can be quite a force to be reckoned with.

— Because neither one of you is the type to back down when it comes to fighting for what you think is right.

— And because this time, you’ll have each other’s backs to prevent either of you getting hurt.

♡ YUKI

— It’s the way to fluster him, to be frank.

— Really, as much as he isn’t exactly fond of you diving headfirst into trouble with his metal bat in hand, Yuki can’t help the intense blush that spreads through his cheeks as you intimidate those who bother you, and especially those who pose a threat towards him.

— Re:vale’s songwriter can be pretty intimidating himself without having to try much. And yet, something about you being the one with a devious grin on your face and lightning in your eyes is oddly distracting… hypnotizing even.

— And honestly? If you are there to defend Yuki’s honor, you have Momo as your partner in crime.

— While it is true he promised his groupmate he wouldn’t do anything reckless for his sake again, that doesn’t mean he can’t hype you up (and stand close by in case something serious were to happen).

— If you decide on a more witty approach, then it is a similar case as with Tenn: your presence alone is pretty daunting already.

— In these instances, you need to do very little to get whoever was dissing your lover to fall silent.

— You just have to take a couple steps forward, palming your baseball bat, and they’ll be stumbling away as you and Yuki watch, amused.

— However, in a similar way to what he made Momo promise, your boyfriend will try to get you to act less recklessly.

— Yuki could never forgive himself if something were to ever happen to you, just because you got into a brawl for his sake.

— He won’t hesitate to hide his metal bat, even confiscating it from you, while he steals a kiss in the process.

— Now it is you whose face heats up at his charms.

— So, be careful and ponder things a little more before acting, please :( For Yuki’s sake, he worries a lot about you (and loves you a lot).

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madhatterbri · 14 days

Text

Bond Beyond the Battlefield | Wardlow

Summary: Just wondering if you would write an historical AU, with wardlow, about the story I told you about my 3 x great-grandparents and the civil war?

Author's Note: Squealed when I got your request. Thank you for entrusting me with your family's story and for their service. ❤️

Requested by: @plentyoffandoms

Y/N's house shook from the force of the cannons that shot out of the ironclads in the river. Her hand clasped over the rosary that hung from her neck as she prayed. A quick end to another senseless battle and the safe return of the brave men to their families, that was all she asked. With a sad glance, her eyes locked on the picture of her husband killed in battle in 1861.

Michael Wardlow sat on his horse, lost in his thoughts. His mother warned him about getting involved in American business. Always reminded him that money isn't worth a life. He didn't listen.

He was denied enlistment the first time. Dismayed, yet not defeated, he was able to sign up with the New York regiment. Adjusting to life away from home was hard, yet he managed to make it work. Life in the army camp was a different story.

The lack of resources and basic care made injuries near fatal. He lost countless friends due to illness and injuries. Many letters were sent home to their families with the grave news of their loved one. Michael would always offer his condolences in the end. He vowed never to get injured and make his mother know of his passing with just a letter.

A loud whistle from a cannon caused the horse to get spooked. He whinnied loudly and started to stand on his hind legs. Michael petted the horse and urged that they were okay. When he knew the horse wasn't going to calm down, he grabbed the reins and prepared for the worst.

The rider remained in his saddle to not lose his horse. Horses were hard to come by, and many were lost in battle. The horse stood on his hind legs once more and fell over. It happened so fast that Michael could barely register what was going on until it was too late.

He yelled in pain as he lay on the cobblestone ground. The horse stood up on his own accord and took off running. The now injured rider laid back on the ground. He was done for. He just knew it. No amount of strength could help him stand up.

His vision started to darken. Deep, shallow breaths forced from his lungs as he felt himself start to lose consciousness. Michael placed his hand over his heart and prayed. He hated that he wouldn't give his mother grandchildren of her own to spoil and love. There would be no woman to call his own. As his vision tunneled down, he saw a group of people looking down on him.

"Mercy," he pleaded with his head raised. His heavy head fell back to the ground as the darkness engulfed him.

"And that is how you met Mama?" His eldest son asked while he sat on his knees. A toothy grin appeared on his face. A warm fire burning in the fireplace to keep warm from the harsh winter. His two other children sat around his feet. Michael bounced the fourth youngest on his lap while Y/N held their youngest in her arms. The smell reminded him of the same stew she made when they officially met.

Y/N stared at the man who lay in her bed. He was unconscious the moment the townspeople helped bring him to her home. The man appeared malnourished despite his long stature. There was a lack of food in the camps, no doubt. She stayed by his side and waited for him to wake up.

The smell of food stirred Michael from his slumber. He shook his head slowly from side to side. His eyes were too weak to open until his body registered the pain radiating up his leg.

"What? What happened? Who are you?" Michael asked in a panic. He tried to move, yet the pain proved to be too much. "Where are my men?"

Y/N stirred the spoon in the pot. She turned to look at him. The glow from the fireplace is the only lighting in the tiny wooden farmhouse. His brown eyes were completely on her, but at least he calmed down. She seemed to be kind.

"My name is Y/N. You fell off your horse. I had some men bring you here to take care of you. I mean you no harm good sir," she assured him. He visibly relaxed at her comforting words.

"Where are my men?" He asked urgently. His platoon needed their leader just as much as he needed them. Michael couldn't leave his men to die.

"The Union surrendered to the rebels. They suffered many casualties," she spoke in a grim tone.

"Those damned rebels," he sighed and balled his fists.

"Dinner is ready. You must be hungry. Do you want me to assist you?"

Michael paused for a moment and nodded. His body was too weak from the injury and life at the camps. He took comfort of the aroma of the meal. The smell reminded him of home and his mother.

"What is your name?"

"Michael Wardlow. Proud officer of the 12th New York regiment,"

Y/N sat on a chair by his bed. He watched with interest as Y/N took a spoonful of the contents of the stew and blew on it. A small smile cracked the serious mold of his face. His eyes gleamed. She noticed him watching her.

"What?" She asked with a blush. "Do I look a fool?"

"No, my mom does the same thing back at home, in Canada. Your generosity reminds me of her," he smiled.

Y/N smiled in return. Michael admired the glow from the fire behind her. She appeared like an angel. An angel sent from above to watch over him during his greatest time of need.

The rest was history. They fell madly in love during his time there. Once he was fully healed, he had to go back to fight for the Union. Michael promised to return to her once the war ended. He kept his promise.

In April 1865, after the Confederates surrendered in Virginia, she was his first stop. His tales about the beauty of Canada convinced her to take the long journey up North. They married and made a little family of their own. Five sons and a daughter.

"That is how I met your mother," he smiled.

#fanfiction #aew fanfic #aew fanfiction #wardlow x y/n #wardlow x reader #michael wardlow fanfiction #wardlow fanfiction

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meteoritesystem · 6 months

Text

it really was all over when i was 11 and realized i could speedrun winter break by dissociating. i want to be here for winter i dont want ro have huge chunks of it misisng again but the second i go home ill remember exactly why i did it rhe fiest time and why my brain is so good at dissociation in the first place. and rhen the worst part is i wont even be super aware of it when it happens so i wont even know if im me or not until after IF i even figure it out. im tired

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marshmallowprotection · 10 months

Text

Trifolium

Pairing: Ray/Reader Description: Ray never suspected you could be dealing with excruciating pain under his watchful eyes, but as it turned out, it was possible. He won't let you suffer in silence if he can help it. Word Count: 4209 [Read on AO3]

TW: Emetophobia

Ray nearly dropped everything in his hands the minute he saw you in a crumpled mess on your bedroom floor. You had your face in your hands, one hand holding your mouth and the other clenching the sweater he picked out for you. He hated the sight of you, dazed and lost, but he knew there was nothing he could do for you to remove the pain.

"My flower," he strained, voice panicked with agony, unable to do anything but rush over to your side. "What's wrong?"

Regardless of his inability to save you from the same miserable feeling he suffered, he didn't want to leave you alone. The work he needed to do could wait for him to pick it back up. You could never be left alone in that state. He would be beside himself with fear if he left you like that.

There was no point in doing his job if you didn't have a single ounce of strength to do yours. If push came to shove, he would tell his Savior you'd fallen ill and they couldn't afford to lose the hard work that brought you here in the first place. Even if he was punished for it, he had no other choice. It would be worth it to ensure your good health. Your health was important. It was just as important as your happiness.

He wanted—

He wanted to do so much more for you and your happiness with the key to Heaven in his hands, but how in the world could he make that happen if you caught a virus while under his watchful eyes? How could he let something like that happen? He thought he had been watching you like a hawk for any risks and concerns, but if something like that slipped out from underneath him, he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. Ray knew there would be a possibility that he would miss something important but he never thought it would be like this.

He was a failure!

The Savior—

She couldn't scold him for trying his best to ensure your health and happiness. You were crucial to the success of the eternal party! It was impossible to have a paradise without a world of bliss for you.

She said that.

He said that.

They agreed on the subject.

There was no doubt about it.

But—if the Savior knew that you were in this condition, he thought. She would take you to her private chambers and that meant he might not ever see you again. His mind went to his worst fears as you sat in front of him, all the while holding back the painful urge to gag and spit up bile from the back of your throat. Your rosy cheeks were flushed in the worst way. It was as clear as day, you were in horrible shape.

His fears haunted him like the wildfires that tore through the mountains in the dry winter. He would lose you to the Savior if he failed to be good enough to take care of you. What she said would turn out to be correct, after all. The Savior warned him he would never be enough. How could he think about that at a time like this, he thought. Shameful. He didn't deserve to be close to you. He didn't deserve you. He could never deserve to be close to you. He let the misery of a sickness find you under his nose!

His hands hovered as he debated with himself about what the right thing to do was. Would he make it worse if he jostled you? Would he be able to do anything to help you feel better if he sullied your features with his insignificant touch? He couldn't bring himself to touch you, but he wanted to.

He wanted to hold you close until the pain left your eyes—

That would only make it worse. His panicked mind warned him just as soon as the urge to hold you grew more potent by the minute. Every time he got sick enough to taste stomach acid on the back of his tongue, it was too late to turn back. He would retch and gag in his hands until the sensation either left or he spent an hour over a trash can. Doing nothing but trying to empty a stomach that was already empty sans acidic flavors and melted candy.

Even though he didn't want the memory to spring up, it had been no different when he was a kid as far as he remembered. Back then, the only thing he could do for the pain to go away was to hold his hands to his chest as that redhead did, his eyes clenched shut as he muttered prayer after prayer to some deity he didn't understand to make the horrid feeling go away. It never did go away, though.

It clung to him like a fine layer of dust and he felt the ire burning inside of him. He would beg until his throat was hoarse. Nothing stopped that horrible feeling. He had to wait until his body decided it was time to do something about it. The last thing he wanted to do was cloud his mind with every sensation you felt. How could he be any help to you if he felt as bad as you did?

"Please, tell me what's wrong," he urged.

You wouldn't speak to him. Ray knew that wasn’t like you. You never ignored him when you felt alright. If you tried to speak up, that would only make it worse, he knew that as soon as you narrowed your eyes and buried your face in your hands, shaking your head as if to say you couldn't do it. You wanted to say something but you simply didn't want to make things worse on yourself. But without the ability to communicate what you were feeling, there was no way to know how to help you best.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn't treat you like he treated himself. There was no way he would allow you to treat yourself in that way, either. He couldn't imagine how much misery you would be in if you ignored your pain and continued to do things you wanted to do. If you pushed yourself to the brink of exhaustion then it would only be worse when you finally didn't have the strength to force it anymore.

He hurriedly looked around the room, but he couldn’t find anything that would help you as fast as he wanted it to help. "I'll be right back. Don't hold it back if you can't help it. If it isn't something you can help, then it's nothing you need to worry about."

Ray couldn't watch you suffer like that.

Reluctantly, he left your side to check the bathroom. There had to be something in there he could use, he thought. It wasn't like he gave you this room without things to ensure it could sustain itself as an adequate living quarter for you. He spent days trying to figure out what would make this room a comfortable place for you to live in. Even by the time he finished decorating everything, he still wasn't sure that he had done enough to satisfy you in the end.

He was glad he stocked the room with everything you needed, but the fact that he never accounted for the possibility you would be sick while you stayed with him like an anchor. He never planned on that. He never thought you would be miserable by his side! He spent so much time trying to create a luxurious space that he forgot about the necessities. What kind of moron was he! He told himself time and time again that he had everything to take care of you but he didn't. He didn't have everything!

What a moron.

He grabbed whatever he thought would help, pilfering the cabinets for all he could find, but that included a rag he wet for your clammy skin, a trash can, and a glass of water for when it was alright for you to bring your energy levels back up to speed. It wasn’t much but it was a lot better than nothing at all. These things wouldn't take your discomfort away but it would sustain you for the time being. That was the only thing he could do.

By the time he came back into the room, you were worse for wear, rocking back and forth to soothe what you could, and the only seconds away from hurling. He wasn't sure if you were holding yourself back on his account or not.

Was there information about you that he couldn't dig up? As impossible as it seemed, there was a chance that he missed information when he was doing his best to find everything that was about you. That thought kept repeating itself in his mind as he tried to force it back. He didn't want to consider that possibility if only because it meant that he wasn't deserving of somebody as perfect as you. If he didn't know everything and how to keep you safe, how could he ever deserve to be at your side?

He set the trash can in front of you to catch whatever came up if it inevitably happened, and you seemed grateful for that.

But, the misery didn't leave your face from his act of kindness.

He knew it wouldn't. You tugged your sweater off when he left the room but it seemed like it only made your condition worse. You shivered, body trembling now despite exhaustion just like he felt when his fevers grew too strong. The strangest part about it was that you had nothing to say. Even in his worst shape, he would still mutter to himself with as much energy as he could muster up.

Even if it made him feel worse.

Usually, he thought that when a person was sick, they would complain and do everything within their strength to beg for help but you seemed resigned. It was something he noticed whenever he interacted with believers after their cleansing ceremony. Some lashed out because they couldn't handle the aftershock of the strong medication and then some simply took it and slumped to the ground in a cold heap. Each reaction varied in its severity.

It took him a while to understand the difference had a lot to do with people's experiences.

People who weren't used to suffering and sickness tended to cry out for help a lot more than those who were used to it. Ray was used to it. Even if he had to scream and shout because of the pain, he was numb to it. He was numb to pain until the pain increased a little more than he was used to. He would only react when it was a hundred times worse than his body was accustomed to.

The implication of your actions implied that you knew pain like the back of your hand just as he knew it as the unclear, foggy reflection in the mirror stared back at him when he was miserable. Ray never wanted you to suffer but it seemed as though you knew suffering like he did. He did everything in his power to bring you to this place because he wanted to make sure you were never hurt again.

Yet, here you were, miserable and suffering in a place that wasn't supposed to allow such things. How successful would Paradise be if you could still suffer behind the safety of its walls?

The only difference between your misery at that moment and those who found themselves in the basement was that he could offer you kindness and empathy as the pain burned into your veins. You didn't have to wither on the dirty ground. You didn't need to cry for anyone who would never come for you. He was there for you and regardless of how useless he felt, he was glad that he could be there for you.

"Ray," your voice cracked as soon as you tried to speak. Those words were strained and stressed as if it took every ounce of your power to say them. He winced but held back so that sound didn't make you feel bad. "Get my bag. It's—It's over—"

He followed your eyes to the other side of the room. He noted your bag on the table and he moved to pick it up, placing it in front of you so you could get whatever you needed to find. He made a mental note of the few items that were abandoned on the floor in search of what you wanted.

You didn't come to Magenta with much, but what you did bring with you was guarded to your chest.

He didn't want to pry into your little trinkets, if you wanted the opportunity to share things with him, he had no problem with that. It would be easy for him to figure out what you had in your hands. It was all the sweeter when you decided to willingly share those things with him. That meant the world to him. More than anything, he wanted to be your friend of your own choosing. You didn't want to force you to like him.

He wanted you to like him because you liked him. Perhaps, that was asking too much from somebody as ethereal as you, but the tiny frog prince couldn't help but wish for something more. Even at this moment when you looked feverish and dazed, he still wanted to be the most crucial person in your life. He wanted to be the only one you turned to when you needed help.

You tore through the bag and found a tiny bottle of pills, which made him raise a brow, but he knew there wasn't time to ask you why you needed to take something. He cringed as you swallowed without asking for water to take it properly. You lifted your head, very tired eyes meeting his with a knowing look, "Nausea medication. I have to take it as needed."

As needed?

Ray shook the look from his face and quietly tugged the glove from his hand to attempt to take your temperature. You were clammy and warm but not burning up. If you had to say you were dealing with anything, it was the chills. A cold sweat was much worse. It wasn't a cold nor was it the flu. That would have made you feel different. It had to be something else in your body that wasn't feeling well.

"Can I help you to bed? Is it okay if I help you up? Would it feel better or worse in a more comfortable position? Do I need to help you adjust? Does it feel better on the ground? Do you need the floor time? It's not good for you but—"

"Bed," you whispered.

He pressed his hands against your arms, doing his best to guide you upright into a better position in your bed. As soon as you returned to bed, you sat down and remained upright. He couldn't blame you for that, though. The bile would always crawl back up if you didn't use gravity with you. He draped the blanket back over your legs and you breathed slowly, the tension in your brows never wavering for a second, but your hands relaxed against the sheets.

Did you… need help with nausea?

How could he not know that about you? Did he skip over something in the countless files he located about your life and history? How could he have missed something so important? He spent hours trying to locate everything he could find in town to ensure that you would have everything you needed. He spent hours deliberating every choice because they mattered to him. They mattered to him because he knew they would matter to you in the long run. That fact was simple.

Ray kneeled at your bedside as soon as he was sure you were as comfortable as you could be. He wasn't sure you could get any more comfortable than that. As long as he could grab what you needed at a moment's notice, that was the only thing that mattered to him at that moment. He rubbed the wet rag against your wrists, minding the area with gentle hands so as not to overwhelm your pressure points.

Of course, he slowed down as soon as you flinched when the fabric touched your elbow.

Ray could've never imagined you were dealing with something like this when you were alone, but more importantly, it stunned him to realize this was something you hadn't told him about. He knew there had to be a good reason why you didn't tell him about something important. What sort of reason could you have?

Why would you avoid telling him something this important about yourself? Was it because you couldn't trust him? Was it because you were afraid of telling him that you were having a hard time? Did you decide to hold your tongue when you realized that he was miserable in a similar way and you didn't want to bother him when he felt bad?

He never wanted you to avoid or ignore him but you had a destructive pattern of leaving him alone after he mentioned that he was having a hard time and couldn't focus. Ray knew the outside world didn't deserve you. It didn't matter what you were feeling, rain or shine, you put all of your thoughts and emotions behind you to care for everyone around you first.

You were the most stubborn person when it came to yourself and he wanted to break you off it so it would never hurt you again. He just never thought that habit of years included your physical health. Why would he? He never wanted you to feel as though there was the worst of the worst in store for you here. He wanted you to have nothing but peace of mind.

You didn't say much. However, as the minutes passed by, it seemed as though the color was returning to your face. He didn't have any complaints about it. Whatever you took seemed to be doing its job. He set the rag aside so he could better focus on you.

Ray had countless questions for you he needed to ask, but he knew it wasn't the time to try to force everything out of you. He didn't want to make you feel any more miserable than you already were. The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on him, though. There had been countless occasions where you did or said something that didn’t make sense. Plenty of moments where you offered advice that didn’t make sense given your education!

Ray grabbed your hand. You felt cold to the touch. "Is this... is this why you offer tips and solutions when I tell you I'm under the weather?"

You didn't meet his eyes, nor did you stop yourself from hastily confessing whatever was on your mind as soon as you had the strength. Tears blotted your vision but refused to fall just yet. "To be honest, I'm nauseous all the time, Ray. I'm not sure I can remember what it feels like to not feel this way. Normally, I don't have super bad days like I used to when things got rough. But, I can tough it out if it does get bad. I've learned one hundred ways to make it go away but there are times when I can't. That's when a little bit of medication helps…"

How couldn't he have realized it sooner?

Why didn't you tell me you were sick?

That miserable sob in the back of your throat didn't make him feel any better. Ray wanted... He wanted to give you the whole world, he never wanted to see you in pain that could have been comparable to his own. Why would you ever try to tough it out? You didn't deserve to feel that way!

Why would you try to tough it out when you can ask for comfort?

Were you miserable all the time? You put on a smiling face and laughed with him so many times and he never knew. Were you miserable that entire time? How could he not notice it? How could he not see what was in front of you? He knew how to hide his pain, but why did he expect that you couldn’t do the same? He was a failure. He was a failure who didn't know how to take care of you. How could he not know? How could he not ever know you needed him so much sooner?

Do you feel that way all the time?

Oh, his poor, sweet flower.

This was why you didn't belong in the outside world with the rest. You didn't belong with anybody who would ever think that you were a burden or a problem. He hated himself for not being strong enough for you to realize you could share everything with him. He should have done more work from the start, he realized.

What made you hide from him like that…?

Was it because you were afraid to confess how sick you felt? Were you afraid that what he might think of you would change if he knew about your struggles? Nothing about you would ever be disgusting or exhausting. He didn’t mind if he had to help you when you needed him to care for you! He wanted to take care of you no matter what. He made that promise when he saw your face at the very beginning of his search.

God, were you afraid of the same thing he was?

Was it possible that the reason why you didn't want to say anything to him had something to do with the same insecurities he felt? Was it possible when you found yourself throwing up everything in your guts, you thought you were the most disgusting person in the world who was unworthy of love and affection? God, he never wanted you to think of yourself that way.

Inevitably, he wanted to marry you, and that came with a promise to care for somebody in sickness and health. Even if you wouldn't look at his face, he felt worse for making you feel guilty about it. You were a person who didn't want to burden yourself. He knew that about you because you had admitted it in the same breath that you realized that he was the same way.

Whatever your reasoning was, he didn’t care anymore, he just wanted to hold you close as he could until your tears subsided.

Ray couldn't control himself. As much as he hated himself for not being good enough to take care of you and give you everything you needed, he didn't want you to feel miserable in any way. Without thinking, he wrenched himself from the ground as fast as he could and pulled you into his embrace. He needed to hold you and he needed to wash away the tears as soon as they appeared.

"My precious flower, I wish you had told me sooner about all of this. How many nights have you spent feeling this way without someone there to help? I wish I realized sooner. I don't want you to suffer through this by yourself. When I feel horrible, you're always there for me, please let me be there for you, flower. I’m begging you. Please let me be there for you when you need me. Please let me hold you when you become upset or sick. Please, let me be the one who holds you when you want to be held. I know I'm not the strongest, nor am I the best person to care for you, but I want to be there for you all the same. Please, let me do this for you...”

Despite everything, your trembling hands clenched the back of his coat, showing what you'd wanted from the start was just an inkling of discomfort.

“I don't care if you think you're disgusting or gross, I will hold your hair for you and clean up any mess that comes with it," his painted voice spoke through a wall of shame. Even if he felt like he could never be good enough for you, he would fight to be good enough for you. “I beg you to never hide your feelings so I can be there for you. Even if I’m working, I want to do whatever I can to help. You always put everything down for me, so let me do the same for you so you don’t have to cry by your lonesome.”

Ray would never let you treat yourself so abysmally ever again.

"Thank you, Ray," you muttered.

He would find the confidence to be what you needed as long as you clung to him like that.

He held you just as you wanted to be held, "I'll always be here to hold you when you ask."

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