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happyhauntt · 5 months

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prologue, the burning sky — star wars.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: prologue; the burning sky. some tragedies will always happen, like a story you've always been unable to rewrite. but you still try.

─── warnings: star wars au, canon divergent. character death, vehicle accidents, blood & injury (nondescriptive), child loss, grieving.

─── notes: this is the prologue to a series i'll be posting following my ocs. this is a whole rewrite of the star wars sequel trilogy featuring ocs and focusing largely on family, grief, what you would do / how far you would go for family, haunting the narrative. the whole point of this story is family. are there love interests?? yes. but the core of it is 'what would you for / because of family?' you don't have to like this, but if i receive any rude feedback i'll just block you because the star wars fandom already fuckin terrifies me, let me just post my sad shit.

─── word count: 2.5k.

━━ the beginning.

The sun rises, as it always does, a burning orb cresting over the horizon, painting streaks of pink across the silvery sky. Dawn leaks in through the windows of a newly-broken home, reaching across the room with long yellow fingers to raise a house full of heartache.

Dory wakes with itchy, saltwater eyes.

For a moment, she wonders why the skin around her eyes feels tight and sore, her nostrils stinging. She winces as the sunlight bleeds through the blinds, casting the room in a happy yellow glow. Her stomach twists violently as she remembers what happened the night before, each painful memory crashing back into her mind; bile burns the back of her throat, and she has to choke it back down.

A sob racks her shoulders, sudden and vicious. She presses a hand to her mouth, trying to keep it in as tears rise in her eyes again, blurring her bedroom into one sun-drenched mess.

Something heavy lays curled at the foot of her bed. Blinking her tears away, she peers over the edge of the covers, finding her younger cousin Marya sleeping there. She must've crept in in the middle of the night.

Gently, she nudges Mare, and the younger girl stirs. Dory pulls back the covers and pats the space beside her. Blonde hair stuck to her face, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, Mare pushes herself up onto her elbows and crawls into bed beside her cousin. Dory pulls the blankets back up over their heads, and wraps her arms around Mare, pulling her cousin as close as she can.

"My room was too quiet," Mare whispers into the fabric of Dory's shirt, fingers curled and clinging tightly to it. "I wanted to stay up to hear any news, but I couldn't stay in there."

"That's alright." Dory's voice comes out cracked; she runs her fingers through the tangled strands of her cousin's hair, trying not to wince as Mare hugs her, pressing into the bruises that are spread across Dory's torso like a gruesome abstract painting.

She has never been the most affectionate person, not even to her own sister ━ but things can change in the blink of an eye, and people get lost when you thought they would live forever, and things bleed when they aren't supposed to, and Dory just wants to hold onto Mare for as long as she can before she has to let go again, no matter the pain it causes.

"Mum hasn't slept, has she, Mare?" asks Dory.

Mare shakes her head a little. "Not since I last checked. She was sitting in the kitchen when I left my room earlier... my mum was sitting with her. Uncle Luke went to be with mama in case something happened with Rion, and I don't think they've come back yet..."

Dory swallows at the mention of her other cousin.

When she stumbled in last night, stained with blood and reeking of smoke, with Mare hanging onto her arm, her father had folded them both into his arms. He'd sat with her as she screamed and raged for hours, held her when she sobbed until there were no tears left, and never said a word.

No one else had been there waiting for them; her mother had gone straight to the medical centre with Aunt Ashka and Aunt Leia when she heard what happened, and only returned in the early hours of the morning, pale as a ghost and clinging to Ashka as if she were the only thing keeping her standing.

Dory had never seen her parents like that before. Yve Cybele was the strongest woman in the galaxy, and Han Solo was always smiling, laughing as if everything were easy.

Last night, though, Dory watched her mother shatter into a million pieces, and her father had no way of pressing them back together again.

Last night, her sister died.

When Dory closes her eyes against the sunlight, it all comes back to her in sharp, jarring flashes.

She recalls the events leading up to the accident with perfect clarity; she, her parents and her little sister, Clarya, had come to visit their family for a month, as they had done every year for as long as Dory could remember. The visit, at least, had gone reasonably smoothly ━ she always worried about growing apart from her cousins, when they spent so much of the year on separate ends of the galaxy. She and Rion, especially; Rion had been absent their last few visits, training at their uncle's re-established Jedi temple, and this was the first she and Clarya had seen him in such a long time.

But it had been fine. Clarya and Marya, both fourteen, had stuck together like glue from the moment they arrived. Dory and Rion, too, had gotten over their initial awkwardness and bonded once more. Rion, one year younger than Dory at seventeen, had delighted in showing off all the things he'd learned at the temple. Clarya had laughed and wished she was Force-sensitive, and Rion had lifted her in the air, saying that flying was far better than being a Jedi, anyways.

Last night, Clarya had wanted to go racing. Rion had a landspeeder he'd hardly had the opportunity to use since getting back from the temple, and Clarya desperately wanted to try it. She was their father's daughter entirely ━ with the wind in her hair, she could do anything, be anything.

And nobody had ever been able to say no to Clarya.

Memories of the accident are more fractured, flashes of blinding light and sickening noise. Dory and Mare had gone along with their siblings, not wanting them to get into any trouble. Rion had been driving... too fast, Dory had thought, but she'd never been a thrill-seeker like her little sister, so she hadn't been too concerned.

Until Rion lost control of the speeder.

Dory woke up on the ground. Mare was screaming, covered in blood that didn't belong to her, clutching Rion to her chest. He'd been unconscious, too, the jagged cut across his head leaking crimson into his hair. The air crackled around them, heat from the speeder rolling over them in waves from where it lay burning nearby.

Clarya had been lying next to Rion. Her eyes, wide and blue as the dusk sky above them, stared blankly at nothing at all. She'd been impossibly pale, her leg bent at a strange angle, her hair stained pink. Dory had dragged herself over there, an unbearable pain digging claws into her chest, and only after a moment had she realised that her sister was dead.

Mare holds tighter to her now. It is too warm beneath the blankets, and her lungs ache for fresh air, but salty tears flow silently down her cheeks and Dory cannot bear to face a world without her sister in it.

"Where's dad?" she asks, careful to hold her voice steady, so she doesn't upset Mare anymore than she has to. Last night, Dory had been a howling beast, pounding fists against her father's chest, a cataclysmic explosion barely-contained within a fragile teenage girl.

But Mare's brother, her closest and dearest friend, is still unconscious in the medical centre. The doctors fear he may never wake up. While the cruellest, most spiteful parts of Dory pray he never does ━ he took her sister with his recklessness, and Dory has always seen the world in -black-and-white, and eye for an eye, his life for her sister's ━ she knows it would destroy her aunts the same way it has destroyed her parents, left them a burnt-out wreck the same as the speeder that crashed.

It would destroy Mare like it has destroyed her.

Gently, Mare shrugs, sniffling. "He wasn't with Aunt Yve and mum. I think he left... Maybe to check on mama and Uncle Luke? I hope he comes back with news..."

Dory has to fight to bite her tongue.

Later, when the sun is higher in the sky and Dory is done being angry with it ━ how dare you rise on such a dark day? she wants to spit at it, bloody fingernails grasping for the sky in a bid to tear it down ━ she peels herself from her bed, showering away all the blood and smoke from the night before, though the pain remains.

She passes the guest room her aunts had made up for Clarya during their stay. The door is cracked open a little, and peeking inside, she sees the room is exactly the way Clarya left it. Clothes strewn across the floor, a pile of her favourite books on her bedside table, the ones she brought just for this trip, in case Aunt Ashka and Aunt Leia didn't have any she wanted to read.

Reaching out, she pulls the door closed sharply, as if she can trap her sister's ghost in there forever.

Her mother and Aunt Ashka aren't in the kitchen, but the living area. Yve looks as if hell descended on her in the night, and left her nothing but a living corpse; her blonde hair, patches of silver creeping in at the roots, is a tangled mess, her eyes bloodshot. Ashka looks little better, her own blonde hair kept in a long braid thrown over her shoulder. She smiles at Dory as she enters the room.

"Mare is sleeping in my room," says Dory quietly.

Her aunt nods, hands folded carefully before her, every inch a politician. "I don't think she slept a wink all night, worrying about her brother."

"I don't think any of us slept, really," Yve says. Dory's eyes dart to her mother, who pats her knee. Soundlessly, Dory pads across the room and curls up in her mother's lap, in a way she hasn't done since she was a little girl. Her mother wraps thin, strong arms around her, stroking her hair back and rocking her like she is a baby again, and Dory doesn't mind.

Quiet sobs wrack her body as the tears flow once more. Her sister is dead. Sweet Clarya, her little sunshine sister, born in the summertime. She used to weave flowers in her hair and dance on the balcony when she could, and their father would let her stand on his toes even when she grew too old for it, just so he could hear his little girl laugh.

Her sister wasn't an angel. Clarya could be a brat when she wanted to be, when she didn't get her way, but she was the brightest flame of them all, and in the end, she was only a flickering candle, snuffed out far too easily when she should have been a star, burning forever.

Her mother is crying, too. Her tears flow into Dory's hair, making it damp, but she doesn't mind at all. There is enough ache here to drown the whole room, if they truly wanted to. Dory wants to open her veins and let it all spill out, let her ocean of hurt drown the world. She wants to take everyone down with her into this agony. She wants everyone is the galaxy to feel as awful as this.

It was her fault.

She should've tried harder to stop them going. Clarya wanted to go, and Rion wanted to show off for his cousins and sister, but Dory had known it was a bad idea and she'd let them do it anyway. She was the oldest. She should've stopped them. She should've known better. She should've told Rion to slow down, to stop...

It's Rion's fault, too.

"Have we heard anything?" she wonders aloud, her raw throat burning.

There are a million other questions she'd rather ask. Like why did this happen, or how did this happen, or where has dad gone? All of them feel like ticking bombs, each designed to inflict maximum damage, so she sews them into the lining of her tongue and keeps quiet.

Asking about Rion is normal, and safe, even if she doesn't care at all.

Her mother's arms stiffen around her. Aunt Ashka frowns, the gentle lines of her face deepening slightly. When Dory looks properly, she sees her aunt's eyes are bloodshot, too, and there are dry tear tracks staining her cheeks. Her too-thin fingers weave together.

"We didn't want to wake you," she says quietly, her gaze falling to the ground. Her shoulders droop slightly. "Leia called and told us about an hour ago... Rion woke up in the night."

Dory swallows her bitterness like poison. It festers in her gut. She wanted him to die instead. If she could trade her life for her sister's, then she would, but she would trade Rion's first. Her cousin is lovely and good, and she hates him still for what he did. For what she let him do.

It's his fault, and your fault, too.

"Is he alright?"

Ashka picks at a loose bit of skin on her thumb. She seems so unlike herself that Dory has to blink, in case she is dreaming. Her politician aunt, a former princess, married to another politician and former princess, has always been the smiling kind. Even so, Dory has always been able to pick out the similarities between Ashka and Yve, aside from their shared blonde hair and shining blue eyes.

She sees the similarities in the harsh edge to their smiles, the mischievous glint in their eyes, the sadness that settled into their bones over thirty years ago which hasn't ever gone away. Ashka may be a politician, but she has always been easy-going in equal measure, determined to balance her stoic facade with something happier.

Today, Dory isn't seeing Aunt Ashka. She is seeing Ashka Cybele, the politician, sharp-angled and cool, channelling her emotions into being someone else, to control the situation.

"He's alive." Ashka offers a small, slightly-relieved smile, but Dory doesn't take the bait.

"And?" There's something else. Dory can tell.

Ashka hesitates for a moment, and then sighs. "He doesn't remember what happened. The accident. Or..." Her lower lip trembles. Something inside her breaks free, and a single tear rolls from her eyes and drips from her chin. She doesn't bother swatting it away.

"Or anything at all."

For Dory, her fragile world, held up with cracked pillars and broken columns, comes crashing down in that moment. Her damned cousin, Rion, who caused the accident and killed her sister, gets to blissfully forget about what he did. Her lovely cousin, Rion, whom she still loves because that's how awful the world is, gets to forget.

And she has to remember. If, in that moment, Dory had known what would come for them all ━ what the memory of Clarya would make them become, how they would fill the void she left, how they would take the ache and learn to make it feel like home ━ she would wish to forget, too.

#star wars fanfic #star wars oc #poe dameron oc #poe dameron x reader #rey star wars fanfic #* fic: beautiful ghosts.#* chapter update.

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 2: Dolls

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. You attend your very first tourney in celebration of your brother or sister’s impending arrival.

Hello! My apologies for the wait. There was a whole mess of stuff that killed my drive to write for a few days. BUT, I’ve managed to write this one, featuring baby!Babey as a POV character! I’ve tried hard to keep it in a ‘small person’ voice, which got real old real fast, lol. Keep in mind that she’s around 3 years old in this one, so she’s not hella mature or anything. My thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading this asshole over, lol.

TRIGGERS: child doing child things, child narrating Episode 1 of HotD, character death.

“Ah,” Mama says. “Rhaenyra!”

From your place on the floor in the corner, right in the middle of a patch of sunlight, you see that ’Nyra has come. It’s not nice to have your story interrupted, but ’Nyra’s visits are always fun, so you don’t mind. She is dressed the way she does when she goes to visit Syrax, which means she will smell funny and make Mama cross.

“You know I don’t like you to go flying while I’m in this condition,” Mama adds.

“You don’t like me to go flying while you’re in any condition.”

Alicent, ’Nyra’s best friend, stands in the doorway. She is very very pretty, you think, with red hair like Hana’s and a blue dress that makes her look like a girl from one of the old stories you like to listen to.

“Your Grace,” she says, smiling.

“Good morrow, Alicent.” Mama sighs. She sounds very tired. She has put her coat back on, even though it’s so hot in the room and she’s fanning herself to try and dry the sweat on her cheeks and her brow.

“Did you sleep?” ’Nyra asks.

Mama laughs, quick and soft. “I slept.”

“How long?” ’Nyra takes a seat on the stool beside Mama’s feet.

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

That is when Mama’s eyes go to you. “I have my own right here, so there is no need to fear.”

’Nyra turns to look, too. Her frown goes away and she smiles, wiggling her fingers at you to say ‘hello’. Even though she’s your sister and that means you love her, you don’t go over to her. She is older, so she doesn’t care very much about dolls or stories or little sisters who don’t have dragons.

Mama keeps talking to ’Nyra while you listen. “You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.” None of it makes sense, but you like the sound of their voices.

’Nyra makes a rude noise. “I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

Mama laughs. “We have royal wombs, you and your sister and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Why would a child’s bed be a battlefield? My bed is nice and big. And what is a stiff lip? Is it something that Maester Mellos should give his herbs for? Are there bones in a lip? Can those bones break like big bones can?

You have lots of questions, but you don’t say what you’re thinking out loud, of course. The maester only said you could be in here if you were good, so you mustn’t talk unless Mama asks you something or starts saying things to you.

“Now,” Mama says to ’Nyra, “take a bath. You stink of dragon.”

’Nyra stands up and bends down to kiss Mama on her head. Then, she comes over to you and gets on the floor so she can give you a hug and a kiss, and she is warm and smelly like Mama said she is. You like the smell, though, because it is what ’Nyra always smells like.

’Nyra leaves with Alicent, and for a while it is very calm. Mama takes a nap by closing her eyes and leaning with her head back, so you make sure to be very quiet when you continue telling yourself the story.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl called Hana. Hana was the prettiest girl in the whole kingdom, and she wore fancy dresses with gold and silver necklaces and rings, and she had a pearl hairnet in her red hair. There was also another girl called Marya who was very pretty too, but not as pretty as Hana. When Hana and Marya were little, they were best friends, and they played dolls and sang hymns and learned their letters together. But when they became older, they started to fight.

Marya was jealous of Hana. Lords from all over the kingdom wanted to marry her because of how pretty and how kind she was. That meant that not many lords wanted to marry Marya, even though she had lovely dark hair and knew all the names of the houses and could sing even better than Hana did! So, Marya thought and thought about how she could make more lords want to marry her. She decided to hide all of Hana’s nicest dresses and shiniest jewels.

Naughty, naughty Marya. That’s not how proper ladies act. It was very nasty of you to—

“What are you and your ladies up to?”

You don’t like being interrupted for a second time, but it is Mama who is asking. Everyone’s been using soft voices since ’Nyra came to make a fuss and then left to wash the dragon-stink off. Mama’s question is louder than them all, so it must be for you.

Turning your head, you see that she is looking at you with a small smile.

“Marya hid Hana’s dresses and her best necklace and rings,” you say, holding her up high so Mama can see. You frown at the doll. “She needs to say sorry, so I’m telling her to.”

Mama laughs, but you don’t know why. “Oh, dear. How unkind of her! Why did Marya do such a thing?”

“All the lords want to marry Hana,” you say, “and not Marya. She’s very angry, but—but it’s not Hana’s fault. So I’m going to tell her that, too.”

“My, my.” Mama looks tired, like she has ever since baby Baelon-or-Visenya started growing in her belly, but she still seems happy that you’re here. Her eyes are warm the way they get when she sees you. “Quite a responsibility, you have.”

You nod. “I’m her mama, like you’re mine. I have to teach her to be good.”

This makes Mama smile even wider. She holds her hand out to you, so you put Marya down beside Hana, making sure they’re not too close together. It would be bad if they started fighting after you’ve been busy telling Marya off so much. Making sure your skirts are neat like a proper lady, you go to take Mama’s hand, letting her pull you close-close so that you have to get up onto the daybed with her. Her skin is hot like fire is when you get too near it.

“Are you going to teach your little brother or sister to be good, too?” she asks, bringing your hand to her belly. When you touch it, you feel the kicking. It’s like a tapping from under a very thick blanket.

“Yes, Mama. I promise. I’ll sing all the hymns so they learn them, and make sure they eat all their supper, and—and say ‘no running’ and ‘no hitting’ and give them lots of hugs and tell—tell them they are naughty if they don’t liste—”

“Well,” she says even louder, smiling so wide you can see her teeth, “you already sound like a wonderful big sister, my dearest.”

Then, a new voice speaks out from the doorway, catching your interest. “Hakorje mandia kesā, sīlāvose.”

It’s one of your favourite people in the whole world.

You scramble out of Mama’s hold, nearly tripping over your dress. “Kepus!”

He chuckles as you race toward him, arm out so that he can catch you and lift you up. Mama hasn’t been able to do that since her belly became big, and Papa is too busy now. Oh, how you’ve missed it!

Uncle Daemon sits you on his hip so that you can stare straight at his face, at the way his eyes scrunch up with how much his mouth stretches. “What about you, princess? Have you been a good girl since last I saw you?” he asks.

“I’m always good, kepus,” you say, pushing out your bottom lip to show how rude you think his question is. “But—but you haven’t. You’re naughty. You’ve been gone for so, so, so long!”

Even though his brow raises, he sounds like he finds you funny. “Ah-ah. A moon’s turn, nothing more or less, is all the time I’ve spent away. I was here for your name day celebrations, was I not?”

“That was ages ago!”

There were lots of people in the keep for the party, and you don’t think you really knew most of them. But, because Papa is the king and you are a princess, they were invited to come and wish you a happy name day and give you gifts and eat and drink lots. It was nice at first, but the more they ate and drank, the louder they got, and soon you had to sneak off and find Uncle so that he could take you back to your rooms where it was quiet. He sang a song in High Valyrian, the language that your house has spoken for thousands of years, so that you could fall asleep even after eating so many little frosted cakes. Soon, you had to say farewell to him because he had to go back to Runestone and visit his lady wife, the one he hate-hates but Mama says he has to see.

Thinking about High Valyrian makes you stop. You can’t speak it, but there are some parts you know. Kicking Uncle in the side for being rude, you say, “And—and I’m not ann—annoying. I’m good!”

He looks sorry when you say that. “Of course you are. And I hope you’ll forgive me for returning after such a long time.”

Behind his back where you can’t see is his other arm. He brings it out, showing you what he was hiding in his hand. Oh! A new doll! And this one is special because it has pale hair and purple eyes just like you!

“Please accept this as a token of my apology, sweetling,” Uncle Daemon says, offering it to you. “Perhaps—Marya and Hana, was it?—could do with another friend.”

“Thank you, kepus!” Keeping your new doll pinned between you and Uncle, you wrap your arms around his neck so so tight and squeeze so he can feel how happy you are! You kiss him on the cheek, wiggling very close and smiling when he squeezes you back just as tight. “Thank you, thank you! I missed you so much!”

“Silly girl.”

Uncle pats you on the back once, twice, and then crouches down so that you can stand on your own two feet again. Sometimes, this makes you sad, because his hugs are your favourite and you wish they would never end. But he has to say ‘hello’ to Mama, too. Besides, you have a new lady to introduce!

“How about you play,” he says, “while I speak with Mama?”

“Okay!” You’re already thinking about it anyway.

When you go back to Marya and Hana, you can see that they’ve been good girls and not moved at all. You rearrange them both so that they are sitting, and place your new doll—Alysanne, you decide, after Papa and Uncle’s grandmama—between them, fussing with their hair so that it lies neatly. They are very pretty, you think, red and dark and silver all together.

“And how is Lady Rhea?” Mama is asking, brow lifting.

Uncle makes a noise and curls his lip meanly.

“Who the fuck—who cares?” he says, rolling his eyes when you gasp. He said a bad word. “It’s not as though we spent any time in each other’s presence. Think I’d rather the company of sheep, anyway.”

“You were there for an entire moon’s turn, Daemon”—Mama frowns the way she does when ’Nyra says something rude, and ’Nyra does that a lot—“and you refused to even speak with her? She’s your wife.”

“Not one I chose. You would know that all too well, cousin.”

Mama goes quiet, looking to you. Uncle does, too. Then, she starts whispering to Uncle, and Uncle whispers back, and you return to your game.

Dolls make far more sense than people do.

You don’t like tourneys. You don’t like them at all.

It’s loud, and hot, and there are too many smells—of different perfumes all swirling around and clogging in your nose, of dirt and manure from the ground below, of something sharp that clings to the walls that box you in and shield you from being able to see anything interesting. The horns ring out and so many people cheer that it feels like a buzzing in your head. It makes your teeth hurt.

“Be welcome!”

Papa looks happy today, so much happier than he was the last time Mama said a babe was in her belly. That babe was dead, she told you. It went away from inside her and never came back. That’s what death is, and everyone is very, very afraid of it all the time. But you didn’t know that babe like you know Mama and Papa and ’Nyra and Uncle, so you weren’t sad or scared. You wonder if this babe will go away, too.

The sound of clapping is like thunder. “I know many of you have travelled long leagues to be at these games,” he says. “But I promise, you will not be disappointed.”

You watch from beside Papa as ’Nyra sneaks to her seat, but she is not so sneaky because she is wearing a bright red dress that looks beautiful. She sits beside Alicent, her friend and Lord Hightower’s daughter, and tries to make herself small in her chair so that Papa won’t get angry.

After a pause, he keeps speaking. “When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share—Queen Aemma has begun her labours!”

There is so much noise that you have to hold your hands over your ears to quiet it just a little bit. Brella pats your shoulder, trying to make you feel better.

“It’s alright, princess. We can play in just a moment—how about that?”

“I want Mama,” you say sadly, your bottom lip wobbling and your eyes feeling hot like they do when you really want to cry.

Mama has been locked in her chambers since last evening, when the maester said the babe was nearly ready to come out. You asked and asked Papa, but he wouldn’t let you in to see her. When the door had opened and you tried to go inside, you were too surprised to move at the sound of her yelling. You think that the babe must have been hurting her very, very much. It makes you afraid. But then, Uncle took you away to your rooms and read you a story in High Valyrian, which sounded nice even though you didn’t understand it all.

“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!” You are not listening to Papa’s words very closely.

“Soon, princess,” Brella says, stopping for a moment when the horns echo out again. “You must wait for the babe to be born, first. How exciting—a new little brother, all for you!”

You don’t want a brother if it means that Mama has to be in pain. Papa would be very happy—you are three whole name days, but you still know he wants the babe to be a boy and not a girl, that you were supposed to be a boy and he was sad you were only a second daughter—but you are happy with the way things are.

It would be very rude to say so in front of Papa, so you keep quiet and nod, letting your nursemaid bring you off your seat and down to the floor so that you may sit amongst Alysanne and Hana and Marya.

It has been very difficult to teach Marya to be nice to Alysanne, because she doesn’t like it when Hana makes new friends and Alysanne is a very pretty new friend. But she has decided she rather likes Alysanne after all, and so you can serve their tea without being scared of anyone being silly or bad to each other. Brella is very helpful in braiding Marya’s hair to look like ’Nyra’s does, and then she pins Hana’s back like Alicent’s. You decide that Alysanne should have hair that looks like yours because you look nearly the same, like she is your baby and you are her mama.

You are interrupted very quickly when Septa Marlow bends forward to speak straight into Brella’s ear. “It is unseemly to coddle her so. She is nearing the end of her infancy—you ought to be preparing her to pass over into my care, not indulging in frivolities!”

You shiver. Septa Marlow is mean. The last time that ’Nyra said something rude to her, she was rapped across the palm by Septa’s willow switch. It left a bright red mark that made you cry when you saw it, but ’Nyra only muttered something nasty under her breath and smiled in a not-very-kind way. You wish you could be as brave as her.

“When she is five summers old, she will pass into your care,” Brella says. It is polite, but the way she looks at Septa makes you think she is not being so nice after all. “Until then, I shall do as I see fit. And that means allowing the princess to indulge in these frivolities while she can.”

Septa wants to say something rude back, you can tell—but then, the whispers start. It makes you look out onto the field so that you can see what’s happening.

“… of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!”

Uncle rides out on his horse—a great stallion named Varlet that you sometimes give apples to if he is very, very good and doesn’t buck anyone out of the saddle—wearing his nicest armour with the tail of feathers that comes out of the helmet. You think it makes him look a bit like a bird from one of those old books in the library. Uncle takes Varlet up and down the line of men on their own horses, but you don’t know why. You cannot see his face.

Your dolls don’t seem very exciting anymore. You pass them back to Brella and move past Papa to where ’Nyra sits at the very front. Even though there is an empty seat next to Alicent, you go to ’Nyra anyway.

All you have to do is hold up your arms to her and she smiles. “Do you want to see Uncle’s bout?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. You can hear the sound of hooves on the dirt, which means you are missing it, so you stamp your feet and wiggle. Maybe she will hurry up if you do. “Please, please!”

“Oh, alright.” She rolls her eyes and lifts you up so that you can sit on her lap, tucking her head next to yours and wrapping her arms tight around you so you don’t fall off. She is warm like Caraxes and Syrax are, like a dragon, only this time she doesn’t smell like smoke and rotting meat but like flowers and soap. “Can you see?”

You look down. Uncle is at one end of the field and the man he has chosen—Ser Gwayne, you think, from the green he has on and the funny shape of his helmet, like a tower—on the other, their jousting poles held out in front of them. “I can see,” you say.

When Uncle and Ser Gwayne start riding, you really do try to keep your eyes open. But, as they get closer and closer, you cannot help but shut them because you don’t want to see anyone get hurt, or worse—the horses. Sometimes, it happens. All you can see is the insides of your eyelids when a big CLANG happens, but ’Nyra doesn’t clap so you think it might not be finished yet. Then, you hear a horse neigh and a big thud, and lots of applause. This time, ’Nyra does clap, so you open your eyes and see that Uncle is still on Varlet but Ser Gwayne is on the ground.

Your sister stops clapping when she sees Alicent with her hand over her mouth. Ser Gwayne is her brother, so she must be very worried for him. You reach out and pat her arm, which makes her stop and stare at you for a moment before giving you a small smile. ’Nyra grabs at her hand, too, which seems to help.

Uncle brings Varlet right up to the balcony with his jousting pole all the way up high, so ’Nyra puts you down and grips onto your shoulder to steer you forward. You are still very small, so the railing is too tall for you to reach, and that means you could fall very easily if you lean too far down. You grab onto your sister’s skirts.

“Nicely done, Uncle,” she says, holding onto the rail.

“Thank you, princess.” Uncle looks at you, and his face changes—he is friendly now where he wasn’t exactly when he was looking at ’Nyra. He doesn’t say anything to you, but he does wink, which makes you giggle and him smile. He turns to Alicent. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favour would all but assure it.”

She goes toward the table where two wreaths lay, one for her and one for ’Nyra. You are not old enough for your own yet, or so Papa says. Taking the green one in her fingers, she comes back to the balcony. Instead of putting the wreath on the jousting pole, though, she holds it out to you. “Perhaps your niece would like to give you my favour?”

Beaming, you accept the wreath and let Alicent pick you up under the arms. It doesn’t feel very nice, but it makes you tall enough to put the favour over the pole and watch it slide all the way down to the bottom, near where Uncle is holding it. He grins, then rides away to have another bout.

’Nyra takes you back to where she was sitting, placing you back on her knee. “Are you going to thank Alicent? She was very nice, letting you give Uncle her favour.”

“Thank you, Alicent,” you say.

She brushes some of your hair out of your eyes. “You’re welcome, princess.”

You find it strange when Papa rises from his chair after something Lord Hightower says in his ear, a troubled look on his face. He was the one who had been the most excited about the tourney, so why is he getting up to leave?

’Nyra doesn’t notice, holding tight to you when you start squirming. For a while, you stay with her—but the jousting starts to get frightening. When the knights knock each other off their horses, they start using swords and axes and maces and trying to really hurt each other, striking and kicking so hard that it makes your heart race really fast in your chest and your belly rock like it does when you need to be sick. To take your mind off it, you start listening to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys talking to each other.

“… and we expect them to act with honour and grace,” the princess is saying to her husband. The sound of her voice makes you shiver a little. Whenever she stares at you, it is unkind. You don’t think she likes you very much. “It’s a marvel that war didn’t break out at first blood.”

Everyone gasps when the knight below brings his axe down on the man below him, hitting him over and over so that blood sprays everywhere. The man twitches at first, then goes still, the dirt below him turning dark red very quickly.

You cry and cry, loud and ugly. You don’t like it here anymore. You want to go back to the keep and find Mama and let her hug you until this cold, awful feeling goes away and warmth and happiness comes back.

“Nurse!” ’Nyra says, but you aren’t really listening. You can see that people are pointing at you from the stands and whispering, which makes you even more upset because you truly tried to be good and quiet and not make a fuss this time.

“Oh, princess.” Brella lifts you off of ’Nyra’s lap and carries you to the back of the royal box, past Papa’s councilmen and all the lords and ladies that are gathered, heading toward the stairs. “Come now, my sweet. Time for a nap, don’t you think?”

“I want Mama,” is all you can say. “I want my mama!”

It is darker than normal when you wake up from your nap. Usually, the sun is still up, the colour of Papa’s crown as it shines through your window, hot and blinding even though supper is not far away. But now, you have to blink a few times before you realise that you cannot see because night has come.

Your chambers are empty, save one other.

“Papa?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. You can just barely see him through the shadows. “What—what—”

There is a sharp clack and a fizzle of orange fire, which Papa cups in his hand and takes to the candle beside your bed. As he lights a small flame, you look at his face. Even in the darkness, you can see how sad he is, the shine that forms lines down his cheeks and the red puff of the skin around his eyes.

Oh, no. Something bad has happened. Something… something terrible.

“Whe—where’s Mama?” you ask, voice wobbly. It feels like a hand has reached down through your throat and your stomach to peel your insides out, to turn it all over so that you’re bleeding and broken where the maester cannot see. “Mama—”

“Sh, my girl.” He is trying to sound soft and kind, but you hear how he cracks a little, how the words seem almost stuck on the tip of his tongue. “Listen to me. Come here.”

You still don’t know why it is, but the rule of life is that you obey ’Nyra who obeys Mama who obeys Papa, which means that you have to obey Mama and Papa even when the others aren’t there. So, when Papa asks you to do something, you have to listen. You’re a good girl, after all.

Kicking away the covers that have made you too-too warm, you crawl on your hands and knees to the edge of the bed where Papa sits. He is solid and real under your fingers, smelling like the maester’s medicines as always, but also like something sour. Like metal.

He grabs you and puts you on his knee like ’Nyra did before, during the tourney, only the hand on your back is large-large, almost covering from your neck to your bottom. You can feel his thumb moving up and down as he speaks, up and down, up and down.

“Something… something has happened. To Mama,” he says, taking lots of pauses and shaking under you like he is cold. You reach up to pat his face. Your hand comes away wet.

“Is she okay?” you ask. That horrible feeling comes back, and you have to swallow so that you don’t get sick all over Papa. “Where is Mama?”

“Mama… she couldn’t bring the babe out. A boy—Baelon.” This time, you can hear him cry, but it’s quick, not long and loud like yours.

A brother. I have a baby brother. It doesn’t feel very special or interesting. Maybe meeting the babe will make you more excited?

“Where is he?”

Papa cries more. “He… he lived for three hours. Three. Then he—”

“—died.” That’s the word for when someone goes through death. Papa didn’t look like he could say it, but you can. “Sorry,” you tell him quietly. You know how much he wanted a boy. “Mama must be sad, too.”

“She—she—Mama didn’t survive the birth.”

You frown. What does that mean? “So… she is sick?”

Papa shakes his head, eyes scrunching. “No.”

“Where is she, then? I want to say ‘sorry’ to her, too.”

“She—died. She’s dead, my girl. Only, she passed before Baelon.”

You have to stop and really think, think so hard that your head hurts and you feel dizzy from holding your breath. Being dead means going away and never coming back. Mama is dead. Which means…

After Papa says those terrible, awful, horrible words, he pushes his nose into your hair and hugs you so so tight until you feel his tears sliding over your head. You hug him back, pressing your face to his chest and letting his shirt soak up all the crying from your eyes. You don’t know if you understand it all—but you know one thing for certain, one thing that makes you cold and sick and afraid.

Mama went away. Mama will never come back.

Mama is gone.

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morganayenneferburnham · 3 years

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Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Hey there! So this took me a bit longer than expected but here it is! I should probably mention that it's an angsty one. Sorry. I hope you guys enjoy it. I'd love to get some feedback :)

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

She woke that morning wishing she didn’t have to leave her room for the rest of the month. That was going to be difficult, however. Kaz would come to drag her out himself if he had to. She knew he would. It was probably best to avoid angering him any further. He had made his anger quite clear the night before.

---

Kaz had sent everyone away for the night after having heard their reports and studying the plans for a few more minutes. His gloved fingers had wrapped themselves tightly around her wrist when she’d tried to slip past him.

“Can you get the job done? Or do I have to worry I’ll lose my corporalnik to a king?” His voice had been heavy with disdain.

“Of course, I can do the job, Kaz! How long have I been working for you?” she’d felt panic rise in her, making her nauseous.

“I’ve known Jesper even longer. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t disappointed me.” He snickered. “You haven’t answered my question, Y/N.” The way he’d said her name had sent a shiver down her spine. It had been a barely hidden warning.

“Kaz…” her voice had broken. Would he send me back to Tante Ingrid? She simply couldn’t tell.

“Start tailoring Nikolai and yourself back. I’ll see you in the morning. Do not be late.”

She’d spent the next 3 hours tailoring the king, who threatened to ruin her life by occupying her every thought, and then herself. Nikolai had at least had the decency to stay quiet this time around. She had been far from done when they’d called it a night, but she’d judged it would be enough to keep Kaz off her back.

---

Y/N got ready quickly, keeping Kaz’s warning in mind. She shrugged off her nightgown. She’d slept terribly. She pulled her white shirt over her head, tucking it in the pants she’d chosen for the day. Her mind kept travelling back to Nikolai’s kiss and Kaz’s terrifying fury. She loosely tied the strings at her shirt’s collar, letting the delicate bow rest on her chest. Her brain seemed to be stuck playing both moments repeatedly. It was ridiculous. Nikolai had only kissed her to keep up the act. There was no reason to jeopardize her place with the crows over something so meaningless. So why couldn’t her mind stop bringing it up?

When she finally reached the music room that currently served as their boss’ office, Inej sent her a look of pity from her perch on Kaz’s armchair. Great, she thought, Kaz is still mad.

Jesper and Wylan were lounging, limbs tangled, on a small couch. She nodded to them, returning their greetings, making her way to the opened glass-paneled doors leading to the garden. She watched Marya Hendriks paint while they waited for Nikolai and Zoya to join them. The older woman was working on a beautiful landscape of the Geldcanal. Y/N focused whole-heartedly on the paintbrush strokes letting them erase the memories of the previous night from her mind as they went. She knew it wasn’t permanent, the problem would still exist once Marya stopped painting, but it brought her comfort for the time being.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your royal highness” Kaz’s raspy voice brought her back to the present. His rage and disdain were barely leashed. She turned in time to catch the surprised look on Nikolai’s face. She might have thought it was funny if she wasn’t so scared of what Kaz could do.

“Good morning, are my general and I late?” Nikolai schooled his feature into a charming grin. “Though, you know, I was under the impression that Kings couldn’t be late, everyone else is simply early.”

Just when Y/N thought it was impossible, Kaz’s eyes darkened further. Nikolai had managed to make him angrier somehow. Kaz sneered, “You are late.” They were in for a horrible day.

The air felt colder than it had a few minutes prior to the Ravkans’ arrival. Kaz continued, “The first part of the job was a success. However, that was the easy part.” He sent a pointed look her way. “The next part will require everyone to follow the plan to the letter.”

She flinched. Kaz isn’t mad. He is livid. She moved away from the open doors opting to take place on the arm of the couch where Wylan and Jesper were still lounging. Jesper reached for her, letting his hand rest on her thigh, giving it a small squeeze as if he felt her distress. She was thankful for that small gesture. It would help her endure Kaz’s wrath.

“I still need time to figure everything out. These blueprints do give us the layout of the factory and the warehouse, but we still don’t have the guards’ rounds schedule. We’ll also need to find out the shipment schedule.”

Inej interrupted him “I’ll take care of that. Just keep planning, I do quite enjoy your scheming face.” Y/N always loved getting a glimpse of their relationship. It was always subtle, but they clearly did love each other. It was endearing how much they did.

Kaz’s features seemed to soften a bit at that. “Of course, my darling. Perhaps General Nazyalensky can be of some assistance.”

Zoya nodded. “Sure, we’ll get you the information. Just make sure we have a way out with the plans and the prototypes we need.”

Kaz nodded and turned back to Y/N his gaze cold and hard. “You’re not done with your tailoring.” It wasn’t a question, it was a critic. She felt a chill travel down her back. “You have to finish this morning before either of you can leave the house.” He considered her for a moment. “Use your room. We can’t risk a servant seeing you like this.”

-----

They’d left the room a few minutes later. Y/N leading the way to her room at the Hendriks mansion. She had been quiet, practically ignoring him the whole way. Only turning to him once to check if he was following her. Her brows were furrowed. Nikolai wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or scared. Scared of what? Me? Or Brekker?

Nikolai now watched her from his seat at the end of the bed as she readied her tailoring kit. She had tailored her body back the night before, but she still had ways to go before she was sporting her beautiful features again. She had her back turned to him, her olive pants hugging the soft curves of her hips just right. Nikolai’s mind kept travelling back to the night before and the outfit the Grisha had chosen for the day wasn’t helping him at all. He wanted to rest his hands on her hips and pull her body to his. He wanted to feel her comforting curves pressed against him, closer than they had been the night before, the fabric of her skirt no longer in the way.

He watched her finally settle in front of the mirrored desk, raising her hands to her face. He was glad she was starting with herself. It would give him time to gain full control of his brain again. He observed the careful movements of her fingers for what felt like hours. He was grateful for the time she’d bought him, until he saw her face as she made her way to him. He couldn’t help but glance at her full lips. He wondered just how different it would feel to kiss her now. Saints, I forgot just how naturally gorgeous she was. The urge to pull her closer was threatening to overwhelm him.

“So, I guess I’m only undoing my own tailoring? Not Genya Safin’s? You still need to look like Sturmhond.” She sounded guarded.

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle how handsome I really look.” He saw her jaw tick. Saints, what a stupid thing to say. And why did I wink at her again? She’s obviously uncomfortable.

He watched her carefully as she came to a stop, standing between his thighs. Nikolai could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She was standing so close he worried she could hear it. If she did, she made no mention of it. “This is gonna hurt. Tell me if you need a break.” She sounded determined; all traces of her previous insecurity gone. He only nodded, not trusting his voice with her standing so close to him, her floral scent drifting his way due to the soft breeze coming from the open window.

Her fingers were surprisingly cold against his skin. He felt the familiar itch of tailoring as she started before the pain of bone remodeling fully settled in. He tried to stay as still as possible, focusing on the concentration etched in the girl’s features instead of the pain. He felt her set his jaw back, making sure Sturmhond’s characteristically pointed chin was just right. She had made a few adjustments the night before, but she hadn’t done any major alterations. He kept watching her as she set the rest of his face back. Her shirt had slipped dangerously lower on her chest as she worked. The small bow coming lose. It was driving Nikolai completely crazy. He wanted to reach out and finish untying the damned strings. He didn’t think he could take much more of this absolute torture. She was almost done with reworking the bone when he saw her bite her bottom lip, completely lost in her work. He was about to finally lose the last sliver of decency he had been holding on to for the last hour when she straightened up suddenly. She backed away to take in her work.

“I think that should be it for facial structure. I’ll work on your eyes next, and I’ll finish with your hair.” She seemed more at ease now. Whatever had been bothering her almost forgotten.

She took her place back between his legs reaching up to his face once more. Her fingers came to rest on his cheek.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a mistake.” Nikolai blurted out. He could’ve sworn he saw hurt flash in Y/N’s beautiful green eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He must have imagined it. He saw her straighten her spine, her shoulders tensing up.

“Whatever, we got out. We got the job done. It doesn’t matter.” Any scrap of ease she’d gained was gone as she turned her back to him, taking a few steps towards the mirrored desk. Why did you have to open your mouth? Nikolai Nothing. Nikolai the Bastard. Pretender. Nikolai the fool. He had clearly upset her.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you. Brekker told me you worked at one of the pleasure houses before… I just – I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

She whirled back towards him. Fury burning in her deep green eyes. “He had no right.” she hissed. Her rage melted quickly however, leaving her looking panicked. Nikolai saw her hands start to shake before she clenched her fists.

Another blunder. “He only told me because I asked about your tattoo.” Her hand flew to the bare skin of her arm hiding the iris burned into her skin from him. I am only making it worse, he realized. I should really learn to stop talking so much.

She lowered her head. “He’s going to send me back.” Her voice was trembling. She sounded absolutely terrified at the idea. Nikolai wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her. Why would she think that? Surely Brekker wouldn’t do that. She’s a corporalnik. If Brekker is actually stupid enough to part with such a gifted Grisha, she could have a place with the Second Army. She could have a place in Ravka… She could have a place with me.

“You could–” Nikolai didn’t get to finish his sentence. Inej had opened the door and walked in carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

“Figured, you two were probably hungry!” Her warm smile faltered when she saw Y/N’s expression. “Everything alright?”

“Thank you Inej. You are absolutely right!” She laughed; all traces of her panic gone. “I’m starving. I could eat a stack of waffles as tall as you!” A talented corporalnik and actress, Nikolai thought.

-----

tagged: @power-of-words23

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fic #kaz brekker #the crows #six of crows #inej ghafa #leigh bardugo #grishaverse #nikolai series #my fic #ari's fic #have i known you 20 seconds or 20 years #chapter 5 #fic update #all i know since yesterday is everything has changed

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abacus-and-paper-money · 3 years

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Comet Theory Thursday: Character Analysis; Helene Bezukhova

It was a reeeeally close vote this week but Helene won out! Thank you to everyone who voted ^^ I did an extra long one this time! Content under the cut!

Character Analysis: Helene Bezukhova*

*(It’s important to note that this is ONLY an analysis of Great Comet!Helene, not W&P!Helene, as I have not read the book yet.)

Elena “Helene” Bezukhova is without a doubt, one of the most complex and layered characters in Natasha, Pierre, & The Great Comet of 1812. Both smarter and nastier than her brother Anatole, Helene is a cunning woman who knows how to wrap people around her finger. So much so that she’s been dubbed “The Queen of Society.” Everything that Helene does is intentional. (Possibly with the exception of her bad French.) Almost Every. Little. Thing. Right down to the way she carries herself. The tone of her voice. The things she wears.

However, underneath the master manipulator, there’s a little soft spot. If only a small one. For her brother, and maybe even for Natasha. But more on that later. First, let’s talk about Helene herself.

I believe that Helene is the smartest character in Great Comet, or possibly second-smartest, it’s a tough call between her and Dolokhov. But I digress. The point is that she’s incredibly smart. Seriously, if she was a D&D character, she’d have the Wisdom and Charisma stats maxed out, which is a deadly combination. That was another tangent, sorry, bear with me here.

So, how does Helene get people to like her? Like I said before, it’s a combination of everything. It’s all intentional. First, her voice. Helene slurs her voice slightly, possibly because she’s a little drunk, but possibly just to evoke the feeling of intoxication in others. (Not even to mention Amber Gray’s insanely gorgeous singing)

Next, how she carries herself. Helene has a very fluid way of walking, interspersed by some occasional harsh movements. Watch her in The Opera, prancing around with her head held high as she’s introduced. Almost like a snake, with her graceful foot, but then a sudden movement of her arm or head. (Like how she raises her glass in The Duel.) Additionally, Helene is very expressive with her arms, often reaching out towards people, and/or gesturing to them with both arms outstretched. She does this a lot with Natasha.

The things she wears. Helene is always seen in the highest of fashion. Feathers in her hair during The Opera, the high waistline that was so in style in the 1810s, and high-quality fabrics from all over the world. She wears green throughout the whole show (I made a wholeass post about this so I’m not gonna restate all of it here.) Her CONSISTENT wearing of green gives her a ‘thing,’ something visually iconic. Think like Ariana Grande’s ponytail, or Heather Chandler’s red scrunchie. No matter what, you can find Helene in green.

And finally, how she interacts with others. Helene is a master of hyping people up. And because of all the aforenoted things, she makes you feel special and important like no other could. You’re being told how beautiful you are by the queen of society. That’s gotta be like the biggest confidence boost possible. She gets you to love her by making it seem like she loves you. Of course, we also can’t discount Helene being the seductress that she is, her unashamed sexuality makes her seem yet more confident. And confidence is widely regarded as the most attractive quality in a person. Not even just sexually or romantically attractive, attractive in all ways. People want to be around confident people, especially people who make them feel confident too.

Alright, now that we’ve got that covered, let’s look deeper into Helene’s actual character. Like how she is as a person and shit. Her flaws, her redeeming qualities, her soft spots. I’m not going to pretend that Helene is a super great person or anything, she’s #3 on my asshole ranking, but she’s certainly not two-dimensional either.

First off, and most obvious of her redeeming qualities, Helene clearly loves her brother. They appear to be very close. They’re the classic double-trouble siblings. Throughout the play, she’s not even acting in her own self-interest, she’s helping Anatole win over Natasha. Although the “Thought of throwing them together” does amuse her. We can see her being protective of her brother in ‘Find Anatole,’ where Anatole is devastated, as he’s just been chased off by Marya for being an absolute SCOUNDREL and therefore unable to pick up or even see his beloved Natasha. “Anatole, come Anatole, Anatole hush, Anatole.” She reaches out with both arms, then and embraces and comforts him while they sit on the stairs. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a total asshole, but Helene seems to truly love and care about him. She also hypes him up to the audience while introducing him in The Opera, kinda being like ‘hell yeah that’s my brother he’s fucking stupid but cool af’

But then, we obviously get to the other side of this. Helene plays people like a fiddle, with no thought of how other might be affected by her actions. She’s actively hostile to Pierre, who she only married for his money in the first place, telling him to keep drinking during The Duel because she knows it’s dangerous for him. Also in The Duel, she somehow manages to get Pierre and Dolokhov, people who are FRIENDS, to duel over her. While it’s way more about honor than her love, it still happens. There’s really nothing anyone gains out of this, so it really seems like she set this up for her own amusement. After the duel takes place, she comments “What can I say? It’s a gift.” In response to Anatole saying that she “Certainly brings out the beast in men.”

There’s a possibility that she genuinely likes Natasha as well. She compliments her even before Anatole shows up. She probably compliments everyone, but still. I don’t think she’d bring over a wholeass evening dress and give away her pearls to somebody she didn’t actually enjoy hyping up. Also, the thing with the dress swishies near the end of Charming is fucking adorable and I will stand by that until I die.

Unlike Anatole, Helene seems to be aware that she’s kind of a dick, and like she enjoys that. She might consciously choose to keep being an asshole for a number of reasons. Like maybe she feels inadequate, though that doesn’t seem the most likely. Maybe she feels like she should make use the ‘gift’ she has. Maybe she’s afraid of being hurt (Again?) and has resolved to stay one step ahead of everyone else. Maybe she has a hard time controlling herself and her actions (ADHD?) so she controls other people just to have control over something. Maybe she’s just a shithead. You could make arguments for all of these, and I’m sure for other things too.

So, all in all, I love Helene. She’s an incredibly interesting character to analyze, and I hope you enjoyed reading this. I might dive even deeper in the future, if that’s something people want. Hope you enjoyed this very special (late) Comet Theory Thursday! (Friday) As most of you know, yesterday was my fifteenth birthday, so that’s why I didn’t get it out earlier- thanks for bearing with me! New topics to vote on will be up a few minutes after this gets posted!

#comet theory thursday #great comet #helene bezukhova #character analysis #literary analysis #great comet analysis #npatgco1812 #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #the great comet of 1812 #the great comet #helene kuragina

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madamebaggio · 4 years

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Notes: Previously...

I also find very funny that I said Jon would take care of Sansa in the next chapter and everybody’s mind just went straight to the gutter. Honestly guys... This has a M rating... LOL

***

Chapter 3

Sansa woke up feeling confused and groggy. Her body felt heavy and she was convinced someone had given her poppy milk the day before. She remembered having a headache, so she’d probably had some before going to bed.

But… Why couldn’t she remember doing that?

Sansa sat up on her bed, and noticed she was alone. Jon must have left for his morning training, even though she couldn’t remember him coming to bed.

She looked out the window and saw it wasn’t as early as she’d thought it’d be.

How long had she slept?

That was when she remembered! She’d fainted the day before.

Oh Seven, how embarrassing.

She’d been dealing with that headache and then she argued with Jon and fainted! It’d been before the midday meal… Had she slept all this time?

The door opened and a maid entered. “Your Grace!” She smiled at Sansa. “I was coming to wake you up.”

“How long have I slept?” She wanted to know.

“Almost a whole day.” The maid told her simply.

“What?” Sansa sprung from the bed. “A whole day?”

“Almost.” The maid pointed out again. “It’s hardly an hour later than you’d normally awake, Your Grace.”

“Oh no! I have so many things to…”

The maid seemed uncomfortable now. “You see… Your Grace… The King…”

Sansa’s head snapped in the girl’s direction. “What has he done?” She asked.

“He asked us to prepare you a bath and breakfast.” The maid hurried to explain. “And that after that he’ll come see you.”

“But I have things to do.” Sansa insisted.

“The Maester and Lady Arya have divided your morning tasks between themselves, Your Grace. They’ll take care of it.”

“Sam and Arya?” What was going on? “Can you tell…” Sansa took a deep breath in. “Can you ask the King to come to see me as soon as possible?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The girl left and Sansa took a deep breath in. What were they all doing? Sam and Arya were now doing her work? What was Jon even thinking?

She needed to calm down. Besides, a bath did sound like a good idea; she still felt a bit groggy.

The water was deliciously hot when she entered the bath, and it smelled like lavender. The bath did wonders for her, especially when one of the maids came back to help her wash her hair.

When she was done, she went to her sollar to find a meal waiting for her, full of her favorite things.

Sansa wasn’t sure what this was all about, but she sat down and started eating. Jon arrived a bit after that.

“Sansa.” He sighed in relief, a small grin on his lips. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. What is going on?”

Jon cleared his throat and pulled a chair to sit down. “You fainted yesterday. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Sam said it was because you were exhausted.” Jon explained to her. “And it makes perfect sense. You’ve been acting as my hand and mistress of the Keep. You should’ve told me you were overloaded.”

“I’m not.” She protested. “I can do both.”

“You don’t have to.” Jon insisted. “I know you’re doing your best, but I don’t want you to do this at the expense of your health. I would like you to consider working solely as my Hand, and passing the running of the keep to someone else.”

That gave Sansa pause. “You want me to remain as your Hand?”

“Of course.” Jon’s tone was serious. “I need you by my side. I know you were raised to be the lady of the house, but I’d rather you work solely as my Hand.”

Sansa lowered her gaze. “I thought you’d prefer the other way around.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Sansa.” Jon sighed. “If you want to stay as my Hand, I’d like that very much. However, if you’d rather take care of the keep…”

“No.” She was quick to say. “I do prefer being your Hand. It’s been… Difficult doing both.” She confessed.

Jon reached out and held her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You also have many things to do.” She explained, eyes on their hands.

“Even if I do… I’ll always worry about you, Sansa.” His thumb was making circles on her hand. “Especially when you faint and I have to grab you.”

She blushed. “Oh please. Is this what happened?”

Jon chuckled. “It was very heroic of me. You should’ve seen it.” He teased lightly.

She laughed. “I’m sure it was.”

They sat in silence for a while. Jon cleared his throat and got up. “Sam and Arya are taking care of your duties for today. Your only work for now is to think of someone that can take over the managing of the keep. Besides that, try and rest. Do whatever you want.” He paused. “Unless it’s more work.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that an order, My King?”

Jon leaned over the table, plating his hands on its surface, as he looked into her eyes. “Aye. That is an order.”

After he left, Sansa sat there, completely shocked and more than a little bit excited.

***

It had been a long while since Sansa had been able to enjoy an idle day. Her first business was finding someone else to run the keep, but it turned out to be way too easy. Davos’ wife -Marya - had come to the North and she was really competent. Sansa would pass to her these duties.

After that was done… Sansa still had a lot of free time.

At first, she’d thought she’d have nothing to do and would spend the day bored.

It wasn’t the case.

She embroidered -something she loved doing and hadn’t been able to do for a while -and talked to the women around the keep.

It was nice talking and just being around other people.

In the end, the day passed fast.

It was as if she’d blinked and then she was supping with her family.

Jon had arranged an intimate dinner for them. While they normally supped in the main hall with others, tonight it was only the Starks, Sam and Gilly, Davos and Marya, and Tormund.

They were laughing and talking and things were great.

Sansa wondered if she’d been so tired lately that she hadn’t been able to enjoy simple things like this moment. After everything they’d been through, it’d be a waste to not appreciate these moments to the fullest.

She’d almost forgotten why they’d fought so hard to protect the North. They’d done it for their family, the people they loved.

Sansa didn’t know how long they were talking and drinking, but at some point she rested her cheek on Jon’s shoulder.

“Sansa?” His thumb caressed her cheek. “Are you tired?”

“I didn’t do anything the whole day.” She pointed out.

“I think Sansa’s drunk.” Arya commented, looking amused by the idea.

“I’ll take her to bed.” Jon said getting up and helping Sansa do the same. “Thank you all for the help today.”

“It was our pleasure.” Marya smiled at the King.

Jon guided Sansa through the hallways as she laughed for no reason.

“You look happy.” He commented, a fond smile on his lips.

“It was a great day. I didn’t know I needed this.”

“I’m glad you had the chance to rest.” They’d reached the door to their room. “I’ll get someone to help you out of your dress.”

“There’s no need.” She told him as she dropped her cloak on the bed. “If you can just untie the back for me, I can take care of the rest.”

Jon paused. “Are you sure? Because…”

“I don’t want to wait. Come on, Jon!” She gave him her back, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “Just do this.”

Jon could do this. It was a really simple task. Once he loosened the ties he’d wait somewhere else for her to finish getting undressed.

He took off his glove and started pulling at the laces of her dress.

“Jon?” Sansa called softly.

“Sansa?” He called back, a grin on his lips.

“Thank you for today.” She told him, her voice low and intimate. “I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

“I didn’t know anyone needed this.” Jon admitted. “We’ve been working non-stop for so long, Sansa… And you… You’ve done so much, sacrificed so much for us.” Jon had finished his task and it was time to leave, but… She was there and the night was so quiet… “I wish I could give you the world, Sansa, but -unfortunately- this is all I have to give.”

Sansa was quiet for so long, that Jon feared he’d said something amazingly stupid and she was wondering why she had to…

Sansa turned to him suddenly, arms going around his neck. Jon realized her intent a second before her lips were on his and she was pressing her body against his.

Jon couldn’t believe she was kissing her like this, with all the candles still burning and because she chose to.

And he knew all her kisses, the sweet ones, the careful ones and the hungry ones. When she kissed him like this -open mouthed and urgent - Jon knew they’d have a long night, because her desire fueled his and they would end up stuck on this never ending circle.

Jon really liked those nights.

However, she’d never kissed him in the light like then; Sansa never allowed him to even touch her before the candles were blown out. But she was kissing him, pulling at his clothes and biting his lower lip.

Her urgency made Jon lose his control and, before the thought had fully formed on his head, he was pulling at her clothes.

They’d never been this clumsy before. Clothes got stuck halfway and Jon almost fell down trying to take off his boots. They were both in an insane hurry, like they feared this would end if they didn’t get it done. As if it was a spell that would end by midnight and they’d never know what could have been.

Jon hadn’t even finished taking off his clothes when he picked Sansa up and dropped her on the bed -less charmingly than he’d have wished for. Sansa herself still had some clothes on, but he just had to do this, because he was terrible with words, but maybe like this she’d know how much he loved her.

She had to… Right?

He peeled her stockings and small clothes down her legs, before he kissed the inside of her thighs, brushed his beard against the sensitive skin.

He felt Sansa’s fingers grabbing at his curls as he drank from her, his name a prayer on her lips.

He’d have spent another hour -or three -doing just that, but Sansa pulled him up, bringing his lips to hers, uncaring that her taste was still on them.

Jon’s shirt was thrown away, his pants merely lowered enough to be out of the way, since Sansa wouldn’t let him get too far.

Jon pushed inside her, feeling her hot body receiving him.

“Jon…” She mewled sweetly.

Jon grabbed her waist and rolled them both, so he was on his back and Sansa was on top of her. “Jon!” She screeched, making him chuckle.

He sat up on the bed and cradled her face as he brought her in for a kiss. “Today you can have whatever you want.” He promised against her lips.

Sansa caressed his cheek. “Even you?” She asked.

“You always have me, Sansa.” He assured her.

There were tears in her eyes when she kissed him and Jon was mesmerized by them. Even after he helped her out of her shift, he couldn’t look away from her eyes.

That night, as Sansa took him, Jon had the mad hope -for the first time ever -that Sansa might love him as well.

***

Notes: Next one is the last one ;)

#madame baggio #crackship #AU #gifs not mine #fanfiction #posted on AO3 #game of thrones #Sansa Stark #jon snow #sansa x jon #sansa stark x jon snow #jonsa #A Whisper in the Dark

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carelessgraces · 3 years

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but i’m also thinking about grishaverse astoria and thinking a lot about the degree of isolation she can experience upon reaching ravka? she’s fjerdan, through and through — she’ll joke mostly about the climate being different, or about the differences in accent and language, but she’s fjerdan.

and i think it would impact her in really interesting ways — for instance, astoria is, at her core, proud and bold and demanding, and that’s not something fjerdan women are allowed to be very often. but, growing up without a father, she and her mother are ostracized to some degree; veronika is unmarried, her child is a bastard, and astoria’s not likely to end up married either. she wears the braid and the unremarkable clothes, and she chafes under this, because she’s only ever known a woman as a breadwinner and a protector and a caretaker, and it clashes pretty strongly with the ideals she’s meant to hold regarding gender. so there’s a lot of internal conflict there, and it’s one of the first things she wants to abandon when she reaches ravka: she takes her hair out of the braid and refuses to braid it again, preferring instead to twist it in a knot if she’s training or she’s on the volkvolny. the kefta covers a fair amount, if she’s in the second army, but she prefers hers form-fitting, and she’s thrilled by the bold colors and how they look against her hair. wherever she ends up, she’s very quick to start up a series of short little romances, and it’s not the first time she has sex but it’s the first time she’s able to be a little louder while having sex, and it’s just this immensely freeing experience for her, when she realizes that reaching ravka means that she can abandon a lot of the shame she’s carried, about her power, about her body, about her gender, about her history.

on the flip side — it makes her reckless. not being permitted to do anything potentially risky in good fjerdan company means that astoria ends up something of a daredevil in ravka. she’s not physically strong, even if she has a fair amount of power, and her power is pretty raw and undisciplined. she doesn’t know how to style her hair to wear it down, and i imagine she and genya spend some time together at first so she can learn. the first time she has a good night’s sleep because she’s been doing something physical, whether labor or training, she nearly weeps with joy, but she also has a hard time moving the next day. she forgets too often that her body has limits, and she has a strong tendency to way overdo things.

and funny enough, she’s desperately homesick. she’s a fairly devout believer, and it’s hard being so separate from her faith. nobody talks about djel, and everyone looks at her a little strangely if she does. she does start sort of patching together a hybrid system, folding the ravkan saints in, and the number of grisha saints gives her pause. she’s especially comforted by the number of fjerdan saints, and sees them as carrying out djel’s will. she keeps icons in her bedroom, if she’s at the little palace — sënje ulla, sankta vasilka, sankt mattheus, sankt demyan, with sankta marya at the center. she sleeps with her window open when it’s cold. she daydreams about going back to fjerda someday, even though she knows she never could, and it hurts, to know that this place that was her home for twenty years is unreachable to her now, and always will be. she has a hard time explaining why it hurts so badly, because fjerda is not safe for her and fjerda is full of people who would love to see her dead and fjerda, as she reminds herself very often, is awash in grisha blood. but it’s still her fjerda, her beautiful fjerda, and she’s always going to hope she can be buried in the fjerdan earth when she dies, even if it’s only just past the border.

#v. life is sly and unscrupulous. in service to itself it will commit any offense. ( grishaverse | second army )#v. but if you must be clever‚ then be clever. be brave. sleep with fists closed and shoot straight. ( grishaverse | volkvolny )#i. you never hear of anyone storming a castle on a wednesday. ( character development )#(not to sound like a hozier song but she wants so badly to decompose in the land that gave her life and like)#(the knowledge that this may never be possible is desperately painful to her)#(i need... astoria hanging out with other fjerdans)

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januarywren · 4 years

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I was inspired by the stansa story, ‘A Lady in Waiting,’ by the wonderful @the-red-wulf and wrote ‘Winter’s Princess’ from Shireen/Stannis’ POV. 🦕💙

I’ll post the fic below as well (sfw!). It made me happy to write - almost as happy as when I read Red Wulf’s work. Every fic is so earnestly sweet and romantic, they make me want to fall in love. 🤍💙

Ever since she could remember, Shireen knew that she was loved.

She had never known what it was like to be without a warm presence beside her or have no one to confess her hurts and her wishes to. Shireen only had to trace the stags and daisies embroidered on her sleeves and know that she wasn’t alone – she never was, with Davos, and Patches, and her parents beside her.

Shireen loved them all in different ways and would never choose a favorite between them; though she knew Davos was the best with her secrets, Patches was always able to amuse and uplift her, and her parents would always be there. Her mother always had a sweet word, and a comforting embrace, while her father could advise her as no one else could. Davos’ wife, Marya, made her happy too, though she was often busy with her sons, who Shireen found too rough to play with.

She knew that others weren’t as fortunate, the thought making her heart tremble. She prayed for many things to the Seven, her thoughts revolving around her mother and the swell of her bodice, and her father who had never looked so happy.

(“He was like this before, when you were just born,” Sansa, the only mother that she had ever known confided. It wasn’t often that Shireen thought of her blood mother, Selyse, though she dutifully included her in her prayers. “He loves you very much, darling. He always has.”)

Her slipper-clad feet slapped against the marble as she ran, heedless of the guard that followed her. Shireen clutched her gift near, knowing she would be devastated if she dropped it. She and her father had wanted to do something special for her mother’s name day…

“Papa!" Shireen exclaimed as she slipped into his study. He looked up from his papers, his scowl vanishing as he saw who it was. "Look! The roses bloomed!"

“Indeed,” Stannis said, as he rose to his feet. The warmth in his tone was one he reserved for only a handful of people, namely his wife, and their daughter. Shireen beamed as she presented the crown of roses that she’d weaved.

“Do you think mama will like them?” Shireen asked, her eyes growing wide as her father took the crown from her. He handled it gently, his eyes softening as he thought of his wife, Sansa. She was a princess of the North, his constant companion, and the only woman that he had dared to adore.

And love, as he never had before.

“I do,” Stannis murmured, handing the crown back to her.

Shireen worried her lip, her brow knitting for a moment. “Do you think it will make her sad, papa?” she asked, her tone quiet. She often heard stories of Winterfell before bed, leaving her with thoughts of swirling snow, a sacred Godswood, and the ghosts that haunted the castle walls within.

“Mama says that she misses Winterfell very much, though she would never leave us. She – she promised me,” Shireen added, her cheeks flushing pink.

The blue roses that Stannis had grown with his daughter were the only secret they kept from Sansa, one they intended to reveal on her name day. Davos had found the sole trader in King’s Landing who possessed the rare seeds, and the palace gardeners had carefully cultivated them, tending them much as they would at Winterfell.

(The sole gardener who claimed it wasn't possible was quickly shoved aside by the others – their winter queen was adored by many, including most of the palace servants.)

She was nothing like Stannis’s first queen, Selyse, who had spared little kindness for the servants, nor for the nobles alike. Her name was rarely spoken, as overshadowed by Sansa as she was. For Sansa was Selyse’s opposite in every way; delighting in balls and fetes, bestowing her smile on countless, and loving both Stannis and Shireen as Selyse never had.

Stannis ruffled his daughter’s hair, something he would have never dared before. Sansa had changed him in ways he had never fathomed, causing a warmth to spread throughout him as if he were the same as any Stark. (Had her brother Robb not married for love? He was a foolish boy, a reckless man, yet Stannis found he could understand.)

“She will love them, Shireen,” Stannis said, as Shireen looked up at him with thoughtful eyes. Shireen was the only reason Stannis never regretted his marriage to Selyse, as cold as their marriage was. It was nothing like his marriage with Sansa, one made for love, and domestic bliss. Sansa would never break her word to him nor their daughter, and their coming child, her thoughts and her promises as steady as the sun.

There were times when Stannis felt pity for the man that he once was, rigidly following his duty, and Selyse, who never knew true happiness with him. They were betrothed before they left the cradle, and the thought of breaking their betrothal had never occurred to them. They married out of obligation, and nothing had ever occurred between them that they wanted or asked for. It would be different for Shireen when the time came for her to marry, neither Stannis nor Sansa desiring her to sacrifice her heart and her body, for the sake of politics.

“Just as Sansa loves our home here, and you.”

He meant every word and was glad for it. He knew that he could be harsh, even cruel to the ones that followed him as he thought of little beyond facts and figures. Yet when it came to his daughter or his wife, he found himself wanting to be more than dutiful and solemn.

“She loves you too, papa,” Shireen replied, her braids bobbing as she nodded her head. After seeing the pretty braids that her mother wore, Shireen had never stopped begging for the same – and in the privacy of their apartments, Stannis allowed his daughter to look like a northern princess, the same as her mother was.

Neither he nor Sansa could deny Shireen, not when she asked so sweetly, and had such an earnest soul. “She said so -”

“Did she?” Stannis asked, his tone light. Davos would have laughed, had he overheard, for he warned his friend that he was softening. (“You’re becoming a father in truth, Your Grace,” Davos told him, shortly after witnessing him watching as Sansa played in the gardens with Shireen. “Do you see why I can deny my boys nothing? Nor can my wife, who wears a similar look like you, when she sees our youngest... “)

“Yes!” Shireen cried.

Stannis smiled, for how could he not?

Sansa had changed his life, as well as Shireen's, for, since her birth, Sansa had raised her as a mother would. She had raised Shireen as if she were her daughter in truth; singing to her when she cried, holding her hand when she learned to walk, and mopping her brow when she was sick. Shireen was never far from her, their laughter filling the palace halls, and at times, even sharing the same bed.

And when Selyse had passed –

Shireen’s life hadn’t changed at all, as Sansa was the only mother she had ever known. Nor had Stannis wept, as he mourned the loss of a woman that had never wanted him, nor the daughter she had borne. There was little change in the palace, as Sansa remained in charge of Shireen, and remained in his company.

Her smiles, her laugh, her hesitant touch on his sleeve –

It was everything to Stannis, and he had only one thought after Selyse passed: Sansa could be his.

It delighted and terrified him in turn, as he glimpsed what a life with her could be. She would have all of him or none, and in the months that followed, Stannis found himself exposed, as he never had before. Sansa knew him more than he knew himself, and he often wondered whether he was enough.

For he wanted her by his side, as his queen, as his wife, and the mother of his children. There was no one else that Shireen took to as she did Sansa, who was unfaltering in her kindness and patience. There was true love between them, as they giggled at Patches’ the fool’s antics, and coaxed the surly royal chef into making lemon cakes for them. Shireen learned kindness and manners from Sansa as if she were truly her own daughter, and Stannis found himself wishing to learn everything that Sansa would teach him.

And so, after he put away his black garments, and was free once more; he asked her the question that could change both their lives. (“Will you be mine?” he asked, his tone hesitant as if he were a boy once more, “My wife, my queen – “

‘I would do anything to make you happy,’ Stannis wanted to add, he needed to add –

He would force his sword through his doublet before he hurt her, the thought of her fearing him make his blood freeze. He wanted her as he wanted nothing before and wished with every fiber of his being that theirs would be more than a dutiful marriage. He wanted to adorn her with his love and see her swell with child while wearing the crown. He wanted her heart and her soul.

The words spilled from his lips before he could swallow them, and her smile was like the sun. It was blinding and warm, and he stepped closer to her.

“I want nothing else,” Sansa whispered, as he pressed her hand against his cheek. He wanted to keep it there, greedy for her warmth, her love, and she seemed to feel the same. Her blue eyes held his, utterly absent of fear. “I dream of nothing else, Stannis.”)

It was the best day of their lives, as Stannis and Sansa both wept, with Shireen between them.

Stannis guided Shireen to the study door, content with leaving scrolls behind on his desk. “Should we go surprise her?” he asked, chuckling as Shireen shrieked in response.

It was their first secret they’d shared, the first surprise they both thought of. Sansa brought them together in more ways than one, something Stannis would never be able to thank her enough for.

Shireen beamed up at him, with a toothy-grin and bright, wide eyes. “Yes, please!”

#stansa #stansa fic #game of thrones fanfic #stannis x sansa #a song of ice and fire #stannis baratheon #sansa stark #shireen baratheon #game of thrones #a song of ice and feels #got au #the red wulf #fluff #so much fluff #archive of our own #ao3

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crowsandkruge · 5 years

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Knives Drawn, Pistols Blazing

a/n: The fic I wrote for @grishaversebigbang is finally done! Yay! It was so much fun to participate in this event! I hope you like it!

Corporalki: my wonderful editors were @mybitchyoc @jesper-faheyyy and @kaz-aelin-and-jace-are-badass

Materialki: the artists in this gang were absolutely incredible!! they all made really cool pieces you should check out!! You can check out their art: @chaosvvolf here, @n8sue here, @zaleart here, and @evilfriendofmine here

Summary: Roeder’s a good enough spider, but Kaz feels his intelligence network is lacking since Inej left to go hunt slavers aboard the Wraith. To supplement his information, Kaz has taken to eavesdropping in bars across the Barrel. When he overhears two Dime Lions bragging about catching Brekker’s Wraith, he must gather old friends to get Inej back.

[without further ado, Knives Drawn, Pistols Blazing is under the cut!]

Kaz

Kaz hadn’t had a particularly good day. The cold had moved in the night before and every step made his leg scream with pain. It was early in the year for Ketterdam to be this cold, and Kaz’s breath clouded in front of him as he made his way through the narrow streets of the Barrel. The echo of his footsteps resounding against the cobbled streets. He’s inconspicuous tonight, wearing a roughspun coat and gray scarf. He left his cane at the Slat, which he sorely regrets now, but he knows it was for the best.

In the year since Inej left, a lot had changed. Kaz had risen to prominence in the Barrel. He’d opened two more gambling parlors and had plans for a third. The biggest change, however, was Roeder becoming his new spider. He’d done a good enough job, but compared to the intelligence Inej could gather, good enough didn’t really cut it. A couple months ago, Kaz had begun to seek out his own intelligence, and besides torture, no one talked more than a drunk man.

Kaz approached The Opdrin, a dirty but fairly reputable bar located between the central area of the Barrel and the Warehouse District. It was a popular spot for sailors and gang members alike. The drinks were good, not watered down like most bars in the Barrel, but the information Kaz could gather was better. He changed bars frequently, but The Opdrin was one of his favorites. Not to mention the walls were insulated, keeping the bar building warm. So despite the near emptiness of most other bars, The Opdrin had gathered a nice crowd and the cheerful buzz of conversation could be heard even before Kaz opened the door. He got a small table in the back corner, gloved hands wrapped around a cup of whiskey. He stretched his bad leg out in front of him and settled in for a night of gathering secrets.

An hour passed with little to show for it. The Blacktips and Razorgulls were planning a parley for the next night, and rumor had it that the Menagerie would only be able to support itself for another month. Kaz afforded himself a wicked smile at that.

People continued to come and go, but by midnight the crowd had begun to thin. Kaz was about to call it a night, when two burly men entered and took a seat at the bar, not far from Kaz’s table. Both seemed to be in good spirits and quickly ordered several drinks. The one with an old scar across his cheek from some long-ago brawl shucked his coat and his shirtsleeve raised, revealing a crown tattoo with a lion curled up inside. The Dime Lions. Now that Kaz had context, the man looked a little familiar. Sem, maybe, one of the dealers at the Kaelish Prince.

Neither of them were very high up in the gang from what Kaz could recall. Initially when Pekka Rollins had run off to the countryside, there had been a power vacuum and many of the older members had tried their luck running the gang. Each thought they could do better than the last and ended up wiping each other out. Only the Kaelish Prince remained as testament to Rollin’s empire, but even that was long past its glory days. The customers were few and far between, and Kaz doubted it would last through spring.

Nevertheless, Kaz’s ears perked at the possibility of learning what new low the Dime Lions had stooped to. It wasn’t long before the liquor took affect and the two men’s cheeks turned rosy as they loudly talked and laughed.

“We’re back on our way to the top, Markus.”

“The Dregs won’t know what hit ‘em,” Markus replied. Kaz leaned forward at the last comment, curious what the Dime Lions had in store. But if he’s learned anything from long nights eavesdropping, it was that patience always pays off.

“Hell, the Dregs won’t dare mess with us again once they learn what we’ve got. Van Eck said it was his biggest weakness. I’ll bet you 20 kruge Brekker will come personally, on his knees, begging once he hears. That’ll teach Dirtyhands a lesson,” Sem said with a chuckle.

Kaz set his jaw and sunk a little further back into the corner, trying to escape their notice. It was rare that Kaz heard news about himself.

Dirtyhands didn't have many weaknesses, none people knew anyway, and certainly none that would put him on his knees. Kaz is intrigued as to what these two Dime Lions thought might do the trick.

“After all the stories I couldn’t believe how easy it was to get her.”

“Musta gone soft out on the sea”

Kaz’s stomach tightened. Inej. They have Inej. There was a rushing in his ears and his vision tunneled on the two men at the bar. Before he even realized he was moving, he was out of his chair and making his way over to them.

He saw the recognition dawn on the men the moment they see his gloves, a step before he’s right in front of them. He didn’t really have a plan, just information he needs to get.

The two men were sluggish from their drink and he landed a solid right hook on Markus. Kaz felt a satisfying jolt as his fist connected with his jaw. Markus stumbled back, bringing a hand to his face. Kaz turned briefly towards Sem. He grabbed him around the back of the neck and slammed his face into the bar.

The bartender backed away nervously. The Opdrin was in a nice enough part of town that bar fights didn’t happen often. Kaz grimaced at the attention he’s drawing.

Sem was knocked out cold and crumpled to the floor blood gushing out of his, likely broken, nose. Kaz turned back to Markus, who threw a sloppy punch at him. Kaz dodged it easily and grabbed him by the collar with one hand, pinning him against the bar. He can smell the alcohol on Markus’s breath. With the other hand he flicked the oyster shucking knife out from his sleeve. It was one of the several knives he always kept on his person. A small and wicked looking blade, it glinted in the light. He vaguely registered the bartender slipping out the front, but didn't bother going after him.

“Where is she? Where are you keeping her?” Kaz asked, his voice like a knife on stone.

Markus, for all his bravado, spit in his face. Kaz wiped it off with the sleeve of his free hand, knife flashing again dangerously.

He made a quick, deep cut, mirroring the scar on Markus’s other cheek.

“I won’t ask again. Where is she?”

Blood ran down Markus’s face, staining his teeth red as he opened his mouth to speak.

“The Kaelish Prince. Top floor.” Markus grunted.

“Too bad you won’t get those 20 kruge.” Kaz replied. Another quick cut. This time across Markus’s throat. Kas turned away and limped toward the door, leaving Markus to bleed out. Given the sound of him choking on his own blood, it wouldn’t be long.

As he left The Opdrin, Kaz turned right. But before he even got 10 paces, he saw the purple uniforms of the staadwatch led by the bartender. He let out a curse under his breath.

With bloodied knuckles under his gloves, Kaz Brekker turned the other way, and like the monster he was, disappeared into the shadows. It was going to be a long night.

Wylan

Wylan had missed Nina more than he realized. She was in Ketterdam for a week with the Ravkan embassy, and Wylan had invited her over for dinner. Here she was, dressed in a bright red kefta, with her hair tied back in a long plait.

“Nina, it’s so good to see you,” he said finally, face breaking into to broad smile.

“Good to see you too, Wylan,” she replied, hugging him.

“You look good. It’s been too long,” Wylan commented as he led her into the dining room.

Marya was already seated at the head of the table. She has that far away look in her eye. It had gotten better since she’d come home, but despite the time, she was still not all the way back to herself.

“Mum, this is Nina,” Wylan said gently, not wanting to startle her.

Marya came back to herself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nina. Wylan’s told me so much about you,” she replied, smiling softly.

“Only good things, I hope,” said Nina, shooting Wylan a conspiratorial smile.

Wylan took a seat next to Marya and Nina sat across from him.

“Jesper should be here soon. I don’t know what’s taking him so long,” Wylan said.

A moment later, he could hear Jesper’s lanky gait coming down the stairs, and tried to stifle a laugh as Jesper entered the room. Nina was far less successful and immediately let out a giggle. Even Marya has a broad smile on her face.

“Sorry I took so long. Let’s eat!” Jesper said, walking in cheerfully.

“Jesper, you’ve had a lot of… colorful outfits, but this one might be too much,” Nina said, still grinning.

Jesper over exaggerated a pouting expression as he takes a seat next to Wylan.

“Jes, she’s right. You look like a walking sunset.” Wylan said, finally bursting out laughing. He was wearing a red and yellow checked suit with an orange shirt and blue suspenders. Each color more vibrant than the last.

“Good thing everyone thinks sunsets are so romantic.” Jesper grinned. “I figured I should look nice for our company.”

“I’m so glad you chose this outfit just for me,” Nina replies.

Nina’s eyes sparkle when the chef brings out a heaping plate of waffles. Wylan had requested them as soon as he knew she was coming for dinner. They spent much of the night talking and laughing, reminiscing about their time in the Dregs. The hour grew late and the talk turned more quiet. To the boy with the blond hair who didn't make it through the job. Marya looks on sympathetically and thought that these kids are all too young to deal with such loss. Wylan pours the drink and Jesper makes the toast.

Marya goes to bed soon after, and the three of them go to the music room. Wylan plays a jaunty, dirty sea shanty. Jesper and Nina sing along much too loudly and terribly but not for lack of effort. The smiles soon return.

Just then, Wylan hears a loud knock. Marya appears in the doorway a moment later.

“Who would be calling at his hour? Is everything all right Wylan” Marya asks, brow wrinkling.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll get the door, Mum. You go back to bed.”

Wylan approaches the foyer, startled to see the front door swung wide open. Kaz stood in the doorway, dressed in an uncharacteristic roughspun coat and noticeable absence of his crows head cane. His breath clouded in front of him and his eyes glinted something terrible in the light.

“You need better locks, merch. Is Jesper here?”

“Yeah. Nina too.”

“Good we need to talk.”

Wylan leads Kaz to the music room. It had been several months since Wylan had seen Kaz. He generally kept up with the Dregs activities through Jesper, who still visited the Slat about once a week, but since Wylan was a merch now, it didn't do well to be seen in that part of the Barrel.

“Kaz?” Nina asked as he and Wylan entered the music room. “What are you doing here,” her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“There’s a job I need your help with. It’s going to be messy and I can’t offer much in the way of reward.”

Wylan thought this seemed very out of character for Kaz, he never asked for help, not like this anyway. And Kaz never did something for nothing. Jesper beat him to the question.

“This isn’t like you. What’s going on Kaz?”

Kaz gives a one word reply, “Inej.”

“Whatever the job, I’m in. Inej has always had my back,” Nina replies immediately.

“I’m in too,” Wylan said.

Jesper nodded.

“Good,” Kaz says, looking around at the three of them. “Let’s figure out this job then.” He splayed his gloved hands on the closed piano as he looks at them.

Wylan, Jesper, and Nina share a look before chorusing, “Scheming face.”

“She’s being held on the top floor of the Kaelish Prince,” Kaz begins. Wylan shudders when he thinks of how Kaz got that information.

“The Dime Lions were hit hard when Rollins left for the country,” Kaz explains to Wylan and Nina. Wylan figured as much- Jesper hardly mentioned them anymore. Nina cocked her head at the news, though.

“I’ll have Annika and Pim keep watch on the place, we’ll plan to strike in two days time.”

“Two days? Why not sooner?” Jesper asks incredulously, Wylan can see the worry in his eyes. Jesper and Inej were together in the Dregs long before he joined, and Wylan knows how close they are.

“We need time to prepare, I’m not leaving anything to chance with this one,” Kaz said, eyes going dark. Not with Inej on the line is what he means, Wylan thinks. He wouldn’t either though, if it were Jesper. Saints forbid.

Wylan casts a glance over at Jesper sitting next to him. His eyes are dark, angry, and his attention is turned to Kaz, Wylan sees him reach to his hip, but he doesn’t wear his guns in the house; Marya doesn’t really like it. Jesper feels safe enough here that he doesn’t make too much of a fuss about it, but Wylan knows they’re a source of comfort for him.

“We’ll go in as two teams, one will break into the office. Make sure the Dime Lions know not to mess with the Dregs again. The other will come from the outside to the attic and get Inej. The second team should get in and out with as little fuss as possible. The sooner they realize she’s gone, the harder it’ll be to get away...”

He talks them through the plan slowly, taking their questions as they ask them. It’s nothing compared to the Ice Court job, but it’s important that they get this one right.

It’s late when they finish. The dark of the night is beginning to fade to the misty gray that precedes dawn. Nina has curled up on the small settee, and Wylan’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. Kaz, however, looks the same as always.

“You’re welcome to sleep here if you need, Kaz,” Wylan offers softly.

Kaz’s eyes are dark as he looks at Wylan. “I’ve got things to do. I’ll come around later with more for the plan.”

He rises from his seat at the piano bench, and makes his way toward the door. At the threshold he hesitates for a moment. Wylan is sure he is going to turn around and say something, but Kaz just gives a small shake of his head and continues out. Wylan can hear is uneven footsteps echo down the hall, the opening and closing of the door, and then the silence that ensues.

“C’mon Jesper. Let’s go to bed,” he says, shaking Jesper’s shoulder gently.

Jesper makes a dramatic show of getting up, and Wylan follows his lanky frame to their bedroom down the hall.

Inej

Inej was better than this. She was the Wraith, feared across Ketterdam. She hunted slavers on the seas who were much more formidable. It had taken no less than twelve Dime Lions to take her down, and only because… because what? She had seen Tante Heleen and turned into a scared 14 year old again. Foolish, Inej chided herself.

She didn’t know where she was being kept or how long it had been. They had been smart enough to blindfold her tightly and chain her arms behind her. She could feel a thick coating of dust on the floor, and every once in a while a loud burst of conversation would come up through the floorboards. The slats of the floor creaked loudly when the guards were coming, giving her ample time to situate herself so it didn’t look like she was exploring the room, looking for a way out.

She wondered if her crew noticed she was gone already. Inej had given them the week off. This was a job she meant to do alone. She sent yet another prayer up to her saints for a way out of this.

It had begun two weeks ago. Inej had been hearing rumors about a huge slaver ship coming into the Ketterdam ports. The information had been fleeting and fragmented. She never knew who the captain was or what ship it was. She hadn’t even managed to glean what country it was coming from. She only got the date and berth number for the docks. Nevertheless, her interest had been piqued. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity; these peoples stories were all to similar to her own. She shuddered at the thought of them bought and sold like livestock to end up in the Menagerie or somewhere similar.

She had given the crew the week off to handle the job herself. It was foolish, but they were on land and this was her home turf. With her knives and her saints, she had been sure that she could take the ship.

The first tip off should have been the lack of staadwatch patrolling around the birth. There had been no one in sight as Inej had silently scaled down from the shipping containers. She had padded silently across docks, the breath clouding in front of her was the only indication there was someone there.

The upper deck had been empty, too. That made Inej’s stomach tighten and cast a furtive glance. She considered turning back, calling her crew, but her pride had gotten in the way. She had unsheathed Sankt Petyr and Sankta Lizabeta, and sent up a prayer to the rest of the saints before continuing into the hull of the ship.

There was a faint glow coming from a cracked door, twenty feet into the hallway. She heard several male voices talking quietly and crept forward. Two heavily armed men came out of the door just behind her. She whirled around, knives raised, as their boots marched loudly toward her. She threw Santa Lizabeta, knife lodging in his throat. The other one let out a shout a moment before she stabbed him.

Inej sent another prayer up to the saints for their lives, and grabbed Santa Lizabeta. When she reached down, she saw the Dime Lion tattoo inked onto the man’s forearm. She had walked to a trap.

Thoughts flew through Inej’s head as she turned to face the onslaught she knew was coming. She had heard from Kaz occasionally; they shared information as often as they could but not as often as either of them would have liked. Last she heard, though, the Dime Lions had been a joke, on the brink of collapse, running penny-poor cons on street corners. Was Rollins back? She doubted it, but Inej was sure he hated her enough to pull something like this.

She didn’t have much time to figure out who was behind this, however, before the first wave of Dime Lions was on her, all armed to the teeth.

Inej moved like the shadows, like an angel of death, slipping between the Dime Lions, so that more than one ended up with a knife in their back. But there were too many. She took a heavy punch across the face, and a brutal kick to the stomach.

She began backing up toward the stairs, bleeding from a cut on her arm. She turned her head quickly to see if there were more of them blocking her retreat and froze.

Tante Heleen’s hair shone golden in the setting sun, as she was silhouetted in the doorway. Inej felt the gentle rocking of the boat beneath her feet, and felt fourteen years old, again coming to Ketterdam for the first time.

The moment of hesitation cost her, and two muscled Dime Lions pinned her arms to her side and took her knives. She struggled against their grip, but to no avail. A sharp blow to the head, and the world around her went dark.

Kaz

Kaz acutely knew the limits of his body. The way his leg would ache when it got cold. How his heart seemed to skip whenever Inej entered the room. So it was no surprise that he knew exactly how his body reacted to twenty-four hours without sleep.

The irritability was familiar. Mornings after long nights on watch had taught the other Dregs to stay out of his way, but the restlessness was new. He was having trouble focusing on his work and sitting still for more than five minutes felt like some kind of tourture.

After he had left Wylan’s house, he’d gone to the Slat to have Annika and Pim stake out the Kaelish Prince. He knew he was the one who set the two day period, and he knew that logically it was the right choice, but when it came to the Wraith, he seemed incapable of being logical. The thought of her up in the attic made him want to put someone’s head through a wall.

Most of the Dregs had, luckily, caught onto his sour mood and done their best to avoid him, which wasn’t hard. He had practically locked himself in his office, and tried to keep himself busy and distracted with the work of running the Dregs.

Kaz knew he should sleep before the job; it didn’t do well to go in distracted and not at his best. But his mind wouldn’t slow down enough for him to even try to get some sleep. He’d stayed up for longer before, anyway.

It was late the night after he’d left Wylan’s when he heard a knock on his door. He’d been trying to balance the Slat’s books, for his investors, and was vexed someone had come to disturb him.

“Come in,” he called, and a moment later, Pim appeared in the doorway. Kaz relaxed ever so slightly.

“What business?” Kaz asked, once Pim shut the door behind him.

Pim hesitated for a moment, choosing his next words carefully.

“We don’t know how involved she is, but Tante Heleen has been coming and going from the Kaelish Prince pretty frequently.”

Kaz gripped the armrest of his chair tightly before flexing his fingers, palm open. It made sense, then, how they’d gotten Inej. She didn’t have many weaknesses, but Kaz knew her time in the Menagerie still haunted her.

“Anything else?” he asked, voice grating across stone.

“We estimate there are twenty to twenty-five gaurds, but we don’t have clear sightlines on the upper floors, so it could be more.”

“Let me know if you find anything else.” Kaz said, turning back to the books.

Pim hesitated for a moment before Kaz heard him close the door and his footsteps recede down the hallway.

Kaz tried to focus on the books, but he kept going over the plan again and again, working out the knots. He would have to go to Wylan’s tomorrow and fill the rest of the crew in. The balances he usually kept so straight in his head kept getting jumbled, and eventually he slammed the book shut and picked up his crows head cane from where it leaned against his desk.

He needed some air, and he was itching for a fight.

Inej

Inej knew the sea. During the year hunting slavers, it had lent her its secrets. The boy’s name repeating in her head, like a prayer to her saints, sounded like the ocean during a storm, like waves crashing against the rocks, threatening sailors with a cruel death. Kaz Brekker Kaz Brekker kazbrekkerkazbrekkerkazbrekker. It was foolish to think he’d come for her now. He didn't even know she was back in Ketterdam. But still she clung to hope, almost childishly. What was it he once said? That he would come for her, that he would crawl to her. She raised another prayer to her saints.

The chains around her wrists and ankles were heavy. She floated in and out of time; Inej had no idea how long she’d been in the dusty room. The guards rotations weren’t timed, as far as she could figure out, and there weren’t any windows or vents that she could find. Inej knew the basics of lockpicking, Kaz had taught her, but she had none of the picks she would need. She didn’t really know how she was going to get out of this one.

She heard two sets of footsteps coming up the creaking stairs, and positioned herself in a defensive crouch. She could take out the guards. If she was lucky one of them would have the key. If her hands and eyes were free, Inej was pretty sure she could get out even without her knives.

The door creaked open and the heavier set of footsteps approached her. When Inej estimated that he was just over her, she sprang up, slamming her head into what she hoped was his nose. She felt a sickening crunch, and the footsteps receded coupled with colorful swear. Without missing a beat, Inej sprang forward toward the second guard. She overshot to the right, and caught a whiff of cloying perfume as she passed- Tante Heleen’s perfume. Inej crashed into the wall, and spun around leg sweeping out to catch Tante Heleen off balance. She would not be the scared little girl anymore. She was the Wraith, the hunter of slavers, the best damn spider in the Barrel. She was unleashed. She was Inej Ghafa, and she would not be afraid.

Her leg caught Tante Heleen’s around the back of her knee, and she fell with a crash that made Inej smile. The crash was loud enough that it must have been heard by the other guards because a moment later she heard footsteps running up the stairs.

It sounded like the first one tripped over Tante Heleen, but three others had Inej pinned despite her struggling. She smelled Tante Heleen’s perfume as she leaned close to her ear.

“You and Brekker will pay for this, girl.” Inej heard her footsteps disappear down the stairs, but the smell of the too sweet perfume clung to her clothes and skin.

Inej’s faint smile vanished as her mind began to race. Did they have Kaz? Was he somewhere else in the building? She still didn’t know where she was being held. After her little stunt, she was sure they’d post more guards too. She sat back against the wall, and tried to figure out how to escape.

Jesper

Jesper had been buzzing with restless energy since Kaz had shown up and told them the news a day and a half ago. He’d worked hard to stay away from the tables, but the grandfather clock’s ticking sounded like the spin of Makker’s Wheel. The pull in his gut wanted him to go to the Barrel, and if not for Wylan’s distractions Jesper’s sure he’d be deep in debt again. And despite how hard Wylan was trying, the pull never seemed to go away completely.

When Jesper heard the knock at the front door, he practically leapt over the table to get it. He reached the door quickly, hearing Wylan’s more sedate footsteps still in the hallway. Jesper grabbed the brass knob and swung the door wide.

It was Kaz; he looked like a wolf. His eyes glinted in the light, his hair was mussed, and his eye was already beginning to bruise. He bared his teeth as he entered the foyer.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jesper asked, incredulous.

“Is Wylan here? Pim reported back and there’s a couple changes to the plan,” Kaz replied, shrugging Jesper off. Jesper knew better than to push Kaz, but watched the other boy carefully as they made their way into the house.

They gathered in the dining room this time. Jesper and Wylan facing Nina and Kaz. The table was silent, anticipatory.

Kaz began slowly, his voice like cold steel, as he explained the new information Pim and Annika had gathered. None of it was too big; they could easily change the plan around it. Concern had crossed both Wylan's and Nina's faces when Kaz had mentioned Tante Heleen's possible involvement. Honestly, Jesper was worried about it too. Inej had never shared those details with him, but nevertheless he knew her time at the Menagerie haunted her. But Jesper was confident in the plan nonetheless. Compared to the Ice Court job, it seemed almost too easy.

Nina and Wylan would go in first since Tante Heleen knew Kaz and Jesper too well. Nina would cause a distraction on the first floor to try and divert as many guards as possible and then prevent them from coming to the aid of the upstairs guards. While they were distracted, Wylan would sneak back into the office and retrieve Inej's knives- likely locked in the safe. Kaz also suggested he let the Dime Lions know not to mess with the Dregs again. Wylan had just smiled.

While that was happening on the ground floor, Kaz and Jesper would come into a private gambling den through the roof. It was already rented out under one of Kaz's aliases. In it, there was a latch in the ceiling which revealed a ladder. They would sneak up that way, dispatch the remaining guards, and getting Inej out with as little fuss as possible. They were all supposed to meet back at the Slat by eight that night.

The remaining materials were distributed, and the four of them prepared to leave the house in two hours. They would go in two shifts to avoid suspicion, but because they were so far from the Kaelish Prince, none of them thought it was too much of a risk.

Nina and Wylan re-entered the parlor, now dressed for the event. Nina was wearing a satin, green dress that made her look just as much a mercher as any one else on Geldstraat. Wylan was wearing more casual clothes, typical of those in the Barrel.

“You should be heading out soon or it'll be too late," Kaz said, giving them both a once over.

Nina nodded, worry furrowing her brow. "No mourners," she said as she pulled open the door.

"No funerals," Jesper and the others responded.

Before he gave his body the conscious thought, Jepser's hand was reaching out to grab Wylan's wrist. Wylan started and turned around, blue eyes locking on Jesper.

They had spent this past year in relative peace. Both had separated themselves from the Barrel as much as they could, and life on Geldstraat had been good. The big house had become Jesper’s home, and he couldn’t bare to lose Wylan. Not like this, on a return to the life that still haunted Jesper on the bad days and made him long for it on the good.

"Be careful out there, merchling," Jesper said, voice thick and dangerously close to cracking. "You still owe me a trip to Novyi Zem."

"You too, Jes." Wylan replied quietly, before shutting the door behind him.

Jesper and Kaz were left standing alone in the silent parlor. Maybe it was because he was thinking about his life with Wylan or maybe it was because there was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t seem to shake or maybe it was just sheer stupidity that caused Jesper to turn to Kaz and ask, “Do you ever think about getting out?”

Kaz gave him a cool sideways look, and Jesper was sure he wasn’t going to answer. But Kaz turned his eyes back toward the door, flexed the hand resting on his cane, and said, “Where would I go? What would I do? My whole life has been carving out a piece of this town for myself. Why would I want to give that up?”

Jesper could do little else but shrug in return.

“C’mon it’s time for us to leave anyway.”

They were both dressed in modest, and to Jesper’s dismay, muted clothes. Kaz with his cane, and Jesper had the two Zemini revolvers slung around his hips. He had no doubt Kaz had nothing short of an arsenal on his person.

The two of them made their way toward the Kaelish Prince, and soon enough the quiet, austere merch houses gave way to rickety, lopsided buildings and boisterous gambling dens. They avoided the staadwatch easily, only seeing one patrol. Two streets before the Kaelish Prince, Kaz led them down a small alley to the back entrance of a theater. He picked the lock in a matter of seconds. Two flights of stairs later, they were on the roof, with an easy path to the Kaelish Prince.

They perched on the gabled roof that would give them access to the window entrance they planned to use. Like in the Ice court, they were keeping on schedule with the clocktower near the Church of Barter. Nina and Wylan were supposed to be inside at 6, Kaz and Jesper would enter a quarter hour later.

Their breath clouded in front of them as they waited, both anxiously awaiting the chime of the clock. They had no way to communicate if things went sour, and Jesper was worried about Wylan. He snuck a glance over to Kaz, who looked unfazed, but after another second, Jesper noticed the tightness in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. He had never known Kaz to appear anything less than cool and collected. This wasn’t a job they could afford to mess up.

Jesper rested a hand on his pearl-handled revolver as the clock struck ten past. He thought he heard a faint shout come from within, and hoped Nina was causing some kind of hell to the Dime Lions.

The five minutes seemed to move as slow as molasses, and Jesper’s restless energy was making it near impossible to sit still. After a short eternity, Kaz shifted and signalled to Jesper that it was time to go in. Jesper drew a deep breath and steadied his mind as Kaz unlocked the window.

Kaz

The locks on the Kaelish Prince were a joke; Kaz was almost insulted that they hadn’t even tried to keep him out.

He and Jesper slid into the empty gambling parlor. It hadn’t changed much since Rollins left. The gaudy green velvet still coated the walls and a gold filigree was on the crown molding. The circular table to play three man’s bramble was filled with chips, and Kaz considered lifting a couple as one more petty gesture against the Dime Lions. The yells from downstairs were louder here; Nina raising hell no doubt. Wylan should be wrecking the safe right around now, too.

It wasn’t hard to find the latch in the ceiling to pull down the ladder. Jesper easily reached the chord, and with a swift tug, the ladder dropped. It was rickety and disused and not entirely stable, but it’s a way up and that’s all they really need.

Jesper goes first, gun drawn, and Kaz follows closely behind, pistol in one hand, and the comforting weight of a knife up each sleeve. Jesper pauses at the top of the ladder, head cocked to the side, listening. They both waited with bated breath, but neither of them heard movement from above. After another agonizing moment, Jesper continued up.

They reach the landing and what appeared to be a small hallway. There was a faint smell of mildew and the old floorboards were covered in dust.

As soon as Jesper peered over the edge of the ladder, Kaz heard a loud shout, and the sounds of footsteps. Jesper ducked back down and began to swear under his breath.

“How many?” Kaz asked, already cocking his pistol. Jesper had his revolvers in each hand.

“One from the end of the hall, one coming out of a room, maybe more,” Jesper said. Kaz quickly maneuvered to stand next to Jesper on the ladder. It was cramped, but it meant they could fire all three guns.

Kaz gave a sharp nod, and he and Jesper ducked their heads above the floor. There were another two guards who were emerging from the room further room, bringing the total to five. Three quick shots and they dropped back down. Kaz heard one of the guards groaning in pain, and the footsteps coming toward them had stopped as the remaining guards took up defensive positions. A moment later, Jesper popped his head up again and got off two more shots.

“That’s all of them,” he said as he rejoined Kaz lower on the ladder. They climbed up into the attic, guns still drawn, as they surveyed the scene in front of them.

There was a door on the right about twenty feet in front of them and a second twenty feet beyond that. Nothing adorned the hallway, and it’s bareness was a shock after the gaudy gambling den they had just been in.

He’d been in this attic before, had wanted to map every inch of Rollins empire before he tore it down. Both rooms were functionally identical, a fair size with just the one door and no windows. The one closer to them had housed various clutter gathering dust; the other room held old furniture and trunks. Kaz wasn’t sure which room they would have been keeping Inej in, but the guards he had seen had emerged from farther down.

Jesper turned around to Kaz and gave a questioning look. Alright, Brekker. Make a choice. Kaz nodded silently toward the closer door, and they stepped over the bodies of the fallen guards. The two of them fell into the long ago pattern that had kept them alive through so many missions. Kaz stood to the right side of the door, Jesper next to him. He reached a gloved hand and grasped the brass handle, turning it ever so slowly. Kaz could hear Jesper drumming his fingers around the hilt of the gun, nervous energy too much to keep still.

Kaz gave another small nod as he flung open the door, moving with it so that his back pressed into the wood of the door. Jesper slid over and replaced Kaz on the right side. Both of them waited with bated breath. No sound was heard from inside. Slowly, Kaz peered around the doorframe. The room appeared empty. Kaz signalled to Jesper that he was going in, and Jesper quickly shifted to give him cover.

Kaz took a step into the room and looked around. The room was almost the same as it had been all those years ago. There were crates stacked along one wall and various clutter along another. Everything in the room was coated with a fine layer of dust. There was a disturbance in the dust near the door, and Kaz turned to tell Jesper just as someone moved from the entryway and swept his legs out. Kaz fell flat on his back, letting out a grunt as he hit the floor.

Jesper gave a shout while Kaz raised himself into a crouch. Finally seeing his attacker, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Inej?” he asked. She stood in front of him, hands chained behind her. Her clothes were ratty and torn, drops of what looked like blood stained one of the sleeves. She had a split lip and bruise blooming out from under her blindfold.

At the sound of his voice, she lowered her hands.

“Kaz?” she asked, suddenly looking unsteady on her feet. Jesper gave one last look toward the hallway and moved into the room.

“Jesper’s here too,” Kaz replied. Inej’s face broke into a small smile.

Jesper holstered his guns and undid her blindfold, and Kaz was shocked at how sunken her eyes were. Inej had always been small, but now he could see her collarbone protruding.

“Good to see you,” Jesper said, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“C’mon, with all those shots, I’m sure more Dime Lions are on the way. We don’t have all day,” Kaz said coldly.

“It’s nice to see you to, Kaz,” Inej replied. Kaz motioned for her to sit and produced his lockpick set from the depths of his coat.

Kaz knelt down next to Inej. The Dime Lions had certainly spared no expense on the lock securing her chains. It was a new Grendelen, notoriously tricky locks.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” His eyes were dark and dangerous as he searched her face.

“I’m fine, Kaz,” Inej replied, but he noticed again how gaunt her eyes look and her usual knife sharp posture seems to waver. Her hair was falling out of her usual braid; it hung limp around her shoulders.

Jesper knelt down on Inej’s other side, hands nervously fluttering over the chains.

He’s trying to break them, Kaz thought. He hadn’t realized Jesper had spent so much time practicing to be a fabrikator. A small black cloud slowly formed between Jesper’s hands. Sweat beaded along his forehead, and he didn’t look up from the chain.

Inej’s eyes sparked. “Kaz,” she said softly, then again more urgently.

The next seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Inej, still in chains, pushed him and he fell to the side, pain radiating up his bad leg. Then he heard the echo of the gunshot around the room.

Kaz turned his head to see where the sound came from. One of the Dime Lions had rolled over and gotten off a shot.

He turned his head back to see blood blooming from Inej’s abdomen, her face radiating pain.

Jesper pushed his hands forward and the cloud of metal shavings buried its way into the Dime Lion’s skin, rivulets of blood pouring from a thousand tiny cuts. He screamed and dropped the gun. Faster than Kaz thought possible, Jesper’s pulled out one of his revolvers and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the Dime Lions skull and the screaming stopped.

Inej’s laying with one arm pinned underneath her. Jesper pulls her up and she sways where she’s sitting.

Kaz managed finally to pick to lock, and the shackles on her wrists falling to the floor with a clang.

“Let me see it,” he said. He knows it’s bad because she doesn’t say anything in response, just shifts her body to face him.

He does his best to keep him face calm, but Jesper sucks in a short breath at the blood drenching Inej’s shirt.

Kaz quickly removes his jacket and using his ever present oyster knife, cuts the bottom into thin strips for bandages. It’s not the right material at all, but it’ll have to do until they can get back to the Slat. Kaz lets out a string of curses as the knife cuts the pad of his thumb. He’s being clumsy and careless and he knows it. There’s a feeling of pressure behind his eyes and his stomach is tying itself in knots. He hopes Inej is out of it enough not to notice. He should have checked the guards before the went in the room. It was foolish, and now his carelessness was going to get Inej killed.

He sneaks a quick glance at her, and her eyes look glassy and distant. Jesper’s secured the bandages around her abdomen well enough and they’ve got no other choice than to try and make it to the Slat.

“Jesper, run ahead and tell Nina. Get her to prepare whatever she’s got.” Kaz never got a new Grisha healer after Nina. It fell toward the bottom of his ever growing list of tasks, and now he’s kicking himself for not getting to it sooner.

“Kaz, she cant-”

“Just get her, Jesper.”

Kaz sees her eyes start to close, “Stay with me, Inej. C’mon, love, you were supposed to survive this city. Keep your damn eyes open.”

He picks her up, wincing at the feel of her in his arms. He flashes back suddenly to that night on the docks before the ice court job when he had to carry her to the schooner. He damn near sends a prayer up to her blasted saints for her to be as lucky as last time.

He doesn’t even turn to see if Jesper is following him as exits the room. He makes his way toward the ladder, and by some miracle manages to get them both down. He slips out the window, and makes his way across the rooftops. His leg is screaming and every uneven step, and it makes Inej bounce painfully in his arms. They’re not too far from the Slat. He just needs to get her home.

“C’mon Inej, talk to me. Tell me about the Wraith.” It’s the first thing he can think of to ask her.

Her eyes are distant and glassy, looking past his right shoulder. Her brow furrows as she processes the question and tries to formulate an answer.

“There’re so many,” she replies. Her words are slow and slurred. They’re still a couple of blocks from the Slat, and at the rate she’s losing blood, he’s worried she’s not going to make it.

Finally the familiar gabled roof comes into view. Kaz doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful to see it. He slides in through his bedroom window.

He never let anyone else take her rooms, even when they were running short on space. He never quite knew why, but the idea of someone else living in a place that was so her was wrong. He hadn’t been in the room since she left, and everything was exactly where it was.

His leg feels like it’s going to give out as he enters his room. There’s a pile of papers on desk he’s been meaning to get to and his bed is unmade- it’s not like he’s slept in it the past couple days anyway. He moves through the room quickly and braces himself for the walk down the flight of stairs.

Nina

Nina has no idea what the hell Brekker expects her to do.

Her and Wylan’s part of the plot had gone off as smoothly as could have been hoped for. They’d just made it back to the Slat fifteen or so minutes before a very panicked Jesper burst in and told Nina that she needed to gather any medical supplies she had and get up to Inej’s room.

She felt useless; Nina had never tried to heal anyone without her powers before. “Does Kaz have anyone else who’s more qualified?” she asked Jesper, exasperated.

Jesper held up his hands in surrender, “I’m just passing along the message.”

Nina closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Alright, what exactly am I dealing with?”

Jesper explained what happened as she gathered the supplies she thought she might need. She sent Wylan out to get some extra things they didn’t have around the Slat, and Jesper was busy heating more water as she made her way up to Inej’s room.

Nina anxiously paced the floor as she waited for Kaz to arrive. If she hadn’t taken parem, she could help Inej now. Or we’d all be dead in a Fjerdian prison she reminded herself. Still, Nina cast out her mind, searching for the feel of bodies in the Slat, the rush of blood, the beating of hearts. And felt… nothing.

She heard footsteps above her, and cast a quick glance toward the ceiling. Kaz must be back. She glanced around the room again, inventorying everything they had. She cleaned off Inej’s desk to use as a makeshift table. Bandages, water, a suturing kit. They didn’t have much in the way of pain meds; hopefully Inej would be out for most of it.

She can hear Kaz on the stairs and a moment later, he appeared in the doorway. He’s a wreck. His hair’s all mussed and his eyes glint with something terrible. Completing the scene, he’s drenched in, what Nina assumes is, Inej’s blood.

Inej looks worse than she expected. Her face is pale and her eyes are sunken. Her whole shirtfront is stained red, and Nina can smell the coppery stench from several feet away. Inej’s hair has come loose of her braid and hangs limply over Kaz’s arm.

Nina gestures to the desk. Kaz lays her down gently and takes a step back. Nina moves toward Inej.

“Did the bullet go all the way through?” Nina asks, trying to be as methodical as possible.

“Yeah, there’s an exit wound. I checked.”

“Good,” is Nina’s short reply.

Just then, Jesper enters the room, carrying a large bowl, steam curling off the surface of the water.

“Thanks, Jesper. You can put it down on there,” Nina says, gesturing to the wooden chair that usually accompanies the desk. It’s now full of bandages and medical supplies. Jesper sets down the bowl and looks around awkwardly.

“I don’t think I need anything else, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Jesper nods, uncharacteristically quiet, before leaving the room.

“You should go too, Kaz,” Nina says over her shoulder, already cutting off the makeshift bandages.

“I’m not leaving,” comes the reply.

“At least change your shirt. You reek and there’s nothing you can do now,” Nina says, giving him an up and down appraisal.

Kaz looks like he’s going to protest further, but he looks at Inej and storms out of the room and up the stairs.

Nina lets out a sigh; she’s so far beyond her comfort zone, but she’s got to keep it together and help her best friend. You’ve got this, Zenik.

The last of the makeshift bandages come off, and Nina almost loses her nerve again. The wound’s bad and still leaking blood. Inej’s is going to need a fair amount of stitches. Nina gets to work.

Kaz comes down fifteen minutes later and takes a seat on the bed. He’s changed into a clean shirt and props his cane next to him. Nina’s still bent over Inej, and Kaz doesn’t say anything. They stay like that for two hours. Kaz only leaves once to get her more water.

After what feels like an eternity later, Nina steps back from the table, and Kaz looks up at her.

“I’ve done everything I can, all she needs now is time.” A sudden feeling of exhaustion comes over Nina, and she sits down next to Kaz on the bed.

The world outside had long grown dark, and Nina could hear the loud cries of Barrel floating through the window. She should stay up and make sure nothing changed with Inej, but her eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds.

Kaz stood up and grabbed the chair by the table, now- mostly- free of medical supplies.

“I’ll wake you if anything changes,” he said.

“I only need five minutes,” Nina said, but she could already feel her eyelids closing. She fell asleep almost immediately.

When Nina awoke, the faint light of dawn was coming through the window. For a moment, she forgot where she was. She glanced around the room, eyes falling on Inej and Kaz. Inej’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, which was a good sign. Kaz, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t slept all night. He looked disheveled and, Nina thought, exhausted.

“She’s been the same all night,” Kaz said when he noticed Nina getting out of bed.

“You could’ve woken me up, you know.”

Kaz only shrugged a response and turned back toward Inej.

Inej

Inej was back on the Ketterdam docks and before her stood the ship she had been hunting for weeks. The docks were empty and eerily quiet. There were no dock workers shouting out shipment numbers or even the faint noises of the distant Barrel. Inej was alone.

She sent up a prayer to her saints, and carefully boarded the ship. There was no one on the deck, so she cautiously made her way down belowdecks. Her knives were drawn; their familiar weight keeping her grounded. The stairs seemed to squeak impossibly loud as she descended. There was no one in the hall, but she thought she heard voices from a room farther down. Shadows seemed eerily dark as she continued into the hull of the ship.

Some far away piece of her mind knew this was wrong. That she’d been here before but everything had been different. Inej wracked her brain trying to remember. But the voices down the hall beckoned her, and she soon forgot her momentary deja vu.

Inej listened at the doorway, but couldn’t make out more than indistinct voices. Cautiously, she dared to open the door. Inside she found her friends in chains. Their faces were bruised and bloody.

Inej ran into the room, dropping her knives. They clattered impossibly loud on the deck. She knelt by Kaz first. He didn’t react- just sat staring straight ahead. Her hands fumbled over the chains, eventually finding the lock. It was complicated. Nothing she could ever hope to pick.

“Kaz, you need to help me. I need you to tell me how to pick the lock,” she said, her voice urgent. Kaz’s eyes slid to hers, and recognition dawned on his face.

“Kaz, how do I pick the locks?” Inej asked again.

His eyes flicked past her shoulder, and grew wide. Inej tried to turn to see what he was looking at, but two pairs of strong, rough hands grabbed her biceps and hauled her to her feet.

Inej tried to fight against them, struggling even as pain bloomed across her abdomen. Tears were running down her face, but she couldn’t break their grip. She looked back towards Kaz.

“Inej,” he was screaming.

The two men carried her out into the hallway. She could still here Kaz’s muffled screams.

Nina

Nina woke with a start. She had gotten used to sleeping in Inej’s room. She and Kaz had been taking shifts watching Inej while the other slept. Inej had woken up once, briefly yesterday and managed to eat something, but for the most part she was still pretty out of it. Things had been pretty quiet, but Inej seemed to be improving. Nina untangled herself from the makeshift nest of blankets and pillows she had made on the ground at the foot of Inej’s bed.

“Inej! Inej you need to wake up.” Kaz was leaning over her bed, and Nina could see Inej thrashing under the blankets.

Nina sees Kaz reach out a hand and hesitate, fingers inches from her skin. He’s so still, he could be a figure in a painting. He draws a deep breath, clenches his jaw, and makes contact with her upper arm.

“Inej,” he repeats, his voice growing louder. Nina’s not sure what to do, she sits frozen in the blankets.

“No, stop. Let me go,” Inej protests and Kaz immediately retracts his hand. Her breathing comes in short, panicked gasps.

“C’mon Inej. I need you to wake up. It’s not real; you’re just dreaming,” Kaz says to no avail. Nina’s never seen this side of Kaz before. Maybe she’s mistaken, but he almost looks concerned.

Nina finally finds herself able to stand and moves over to stand next to Kaz. He gives her a look as she takes her place next to him. She doesn’t even know what she’s saying, words just begin to tumble out of her mouth. She tries to keep her voice calm and steady even when she sees spots of blood appear where Inej had ripped her stitches.

It feels like hours, but about ten minutes later, Inej begins to settle and drift back off into a deep sleep. As soon as Kaz sees that she’s okay, he storms out of the room to saints know where. Nina gets her suture kit and prepares to fix the stitches Inej ripped.

Nina’s just about to fall back asleep when she hears the door bang open and Kaz storm in. His shirt is drenched in red and there’s blood spatter across his face and neck. His eye looks red and swollen like it’s going to bruise. He’s also favoring his bad leg.

“Where the hell have you been? And whose blood is that?” Nina demanded, voice a harsh whisper.

“This city’s price is blood Nina, and they had to pay,” he replied. “Has anything happened?” he asks after a brief pause.

“No, I had to give her three more stitches, but other than that she’s fine.”

Kaz nods and looks over at Inej before leaving. Nina hears the stairs above her creak as he makes his way up to his room.

Kaz

Kaz doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep again. His blood’s still boiling from the fight. He hadn’t seen Inej that bad in years. When she first joined the Dregs, the Menagerie still haunted her, more than now. Neither of them ever acknowledged the nightmares, but on particularly bad nights he would go down and wake her up.

He washes the blood off his face and changes his shirt. Hands gripping the sides of the wash basin as he tries to settle himself. His chest has felt tight and coiled since he carried Inej back to the Slat three days ago. He’s slept maybe five hours total; he’s worried his body is just going to give out on him.

He manages to steady himself enough to make the trip down the stairs. His bad leg is screaming with every step. He collapses into Inej’s desk chair. Nina’s already asleep, buried in blankets.

From the chair he can see the steady rise and fall of Inej’s chest. There’s a little blood on the sheets, but her face looks calm, peaceful. So unlike an hour ago. Kaz tells himself that he’s going to stay awake, but at some point he’s lulled into a deep sleep.

He wakes up to the sound of crows cawing at the window. The crows left months ago. He never bothered to feed them once Inej left, and the sound is enough for him to force his eyes open. Sunlight is streaming in through the window and there is indeed a couple of crows perched on the windowsill.

More shocking however is Inej also perched at the window. She’s feeding the crows, hair redone in it’s neat braid, and her head tilted back, surveying the city. A soft smile plays on her lips as the crows continue to peck at whatever food she’s laid out for them. His chest uncoils and he finally feels like he can breathe again.

“You’re up,” he says, shifting in the chair.

Inej turns her head to look at him, braid falling over her shoulder as she does.

“Nina said we should let you sleep.”

“Where is she,” Kaz asked, noticing her absence.

“I think she went back to Wylan’s to get a change of clothes,” Inej says with a shrug.

They sit in silence for several moments. The crows and calls of the Barrel in the morning filling the gaps.

Inej eventually breaks the quiet. “Thank you,” she said eyes locking with his. “I am glad you came.”

“I told you I would come for you. Knives drawn, pistols blazing.”

Inej opens her mouth to say something as Nina burst in the door.

“I hope your hungry, Inej. I come bearing the finest waffles in all of Ketterdam,” she said.

Inej throws back her head and laughs. It sounds like liquid sunshine. Nina saunters into the room, bearing the plate of waffles proudly, big smile on her face. Kaz lets a small smile cross his face. It seems like it’s all going to be okay.

#soc #six of crows #grishabigbang #gvbbfic #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa

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lovemesomerafael · 4 years

Text

Others Like Me Chapter 15: Confidences

Chapters 1-10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 14 Read It On AO3

Both Barnes and Bucky are off the medical floor after one day, and back to normal after a week.

It takes only a few days for Tony to replace the gym. It will be much longer than that before Tony stops complaining about having to replace the gym. He tells Barnes and Bucky that the new gym exists only because the other Avengers asked for it and need it, and that the next items they damage will be the last, because if they ever break anything in there again, so help him, blah, blah, blah.

The biggest change, however, is that after that, Bucky is no longer restricted to his cell. In fact, he’s moved into other quarters, real quarters, where he isn’t monitored and none of the walls is a transparent barrier. He’s still restricted as to where he can go in the tower, but his choices are much wider now and include the common areas of the residences and even the landing platform.

He knows this new freedom is Barnes’s doing. He also knows that neither Tony Stark nor Natasha Romanoff approve. For whatever reason, though, Tony has chosen not to use his authority to prohibit it.

Bucky doesn’t push it. Instead of trying to engage the team members, he waits for them to approach him. He hasn’t been invited to join any team meals, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone much. Sam, Clint, and Bruce have declared their belief that he is trustworthy, that he is who he says he is. They act accordingly. The four of them, usually along with Barnes, work out and have frequent meals together. They spend quite a bit of leisure time together, as well. Bucky’s told them about their counterparts in his universe, and they’ve confirmed that their lives are pretty much the same here, which gives Bucky a welcome, comfortable sense of familiarity. In fact, he’s becoming closer to them in this universe than he ever was in his. Than you ever bothered to be, he tells himself. In many ways, this feels like a second chance. A chance to get it right.

Still, he has a long way to go. Although Bucky is welcome in Bruce’s lab, both Tony and Barnes are blunt about the fact that, if he’s ever found in there alone, things will get ugly fast. The same is true of any of the places he’s still forbidden to go.

It hurts to be an outsider in this familiar setting, with these people he cares so much for. It especially hurts to be so close to Tony and Natasha again, but to have them openly mistrustful, even hostile sometimes. Bucky tries to be patient, to remind himself that they’re protecting themselves, and each other, as they should. He gives them all the slack he can. It helps to remember that he would do the same thing. In fact, he knows that he would be far more suspicious than these guys are. These Avengers never knew Hydra. Because they haven’t lived through the experiences that his Avengers have, they aren’t hard like he is. Like Steve was. Even Marya is hard, in her way. It’s a large part of the reason she still can’t believe he is who he is.

He doesn’t know what these Avengers will do if they decide he’s a threat. But knows that the team from his universe, including Marya, would kill him. They’d have to.

Bucky thinks that’s why Marya’s been so compliant with the restrictions on her ability to see him. Because he can see she’s struggling with them. She watches him. Although the Avengers make sure that he never gets too close to her, he feels her eyes on him constantly whenever they’re in the same room. Just as he’s entirely aware of her. And when she is allowed to talk to him - always with team members close by - she talks only to him. It’s everywhere in her body language and he can hear it in her voice: she wants to be closer to him. Only her loyalty to the team, and her deference to Stark’s and Barnes’s authority are holding her back. That, and her loyalty to the Sergeant Barnes she is in love with, whom she can’t be sure is the one now claiming to be him.

The new gym has some upgrades from the old. For one thing, the new equipment is even heavier-duty. Bucky thinks that might be a subtle fuck you from Tony, but he appreciates it anyway. He knows Barnes does, too. They both know the frustration of not being able to train full-out because no equipment can withstand the punishment an enhanced supersoldier can deliver. It’s nice to use a heavy bag that will actually survive an entire workout.

This morning, he and Barnes are side by side, punching and kicking at some new training dummies that are supposed to be the most durable ever made. It was a little hard, getting started, because they both kept laughing, thinking about how they’d destroyed the old ones during their calamitous sparring match, in what basically boiled down to a really strange version of jousting. One of the old dummies had ended up embedded in the ceiling, which Tony had threatened to leave there as a reminder of their bad behavior. The only reason he hadn’t was that they both wanted him to.

Jarvis is putting Barnes and Bucky through training drills, using a program that was designed especially for Steve and Barnes. Jarvis calls out the strikes they’re to deliver to the training dummies: crosses, uppercuts, roundhouse kicks, hook kicks... In this universe, both Steve and Barnes had been chosen for Project Rebirth, which means that they both had the same need for a training regimen that was simply not possible for an unenhanced person. This program delivers it. The serum Hydra gave Bucky and Marya was similar enough that both of them can do the program, too, although Bucky is working harder right now than Barnes is. Marya, as a woman, simply doesn’t have the strength the men do, but she has more stamina. She can’t destroy the training dummy as quickly, but she can keep going with the program longer.

Today, though, Marya is not training with Barnes and Bucky. At Barnes’s insistence, she’s across the gym with Clint, spotting one another as they do gymnastics. Which puts her behind Barnes and Bucky, so Barnes can’t see her greedily watching Bucky. But Clint can.

“C’mon, kid,” he complains. “Pay attention so I don’t fall on my pretty face.”

“I’m sorry, Clint. I’ll do better.”

Clint leans in and speaks sympathetically, too quietly for supersoldier hearing to pick up so far across the room. “You better. Barnes catches you ogling Bucky like that, he’s gonna forbid you to see him at all. You know that’s what Tony wants him to do.”

Little frown lines between Marya’s eyebrows deepen as she looks between the supersoldiers and Clint. “Actually, it’s not quite what you think. I was thinking that maybe I should spar with Bucky. My Sergeant and I used to spar; it could be a way to test whether it’s really him. I will recognize how he fights, things we taught each other.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You know, for an excuse, that’s not half bad.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“Sure it is,” Clint winks. “But I’m on your side. His side, too, for that matter. Let’s go talk to Barnes.”

“I don’t think so, Marya. Too dangerous,” Barnes says, toweling sweat from his hair.

“Don’t you think I can protect myself?”

“I know you can protect yourself. Not that kind of dangerous.”

Right on cue, Bucky watches that adorable stubborn look come over Marya’s face. “How, exactly, do you expect him to hypnotize me or seduce me or whatever, while I’m punching him and throwing him around?”

Barnes laughs, although he’s well aware she’s not exactly making a joke. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“C’mon, Barnes,” Clint urges. “Let them try it. What if she’s right? You said fighting with him is how you knew he was you. Maybe fighting is how she’ll be able to tell if he’s the right you.”

Barnes sighs in disgust, muttering, “When do I start having all this authority I was supposed to get as Captain America?”

“Good man!” Clint smiles hugely and claps him on the back.

“No talking,” Barnes growls at Bucky and Marya. “Just spar.”

“No talking?” Bucky mocks. “I never met anyone talks as much as you do during a fight. Well, one guy, but he’s just a kid.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll take it,” Marya announces, turning decisively toward the sparring mat as Bucky watches Barnes react to the “we”. Oof. Poor fucker.

Bucky follows her, more slowly, Clint and Barnes a few steps behind. They come to stand next to a padded wall, six feet or so from where Marya and Bucky square off.

“How do you wanna start?” Bucky asks, suddenly feeling a little awkward, although he’s looking forward to this. He takes a moment to re-wrap the low ponytail holding his hair back.

“Just start. Come at me.”

Bucky finishes with his hair, shrugs and, without warning, lunges at Marya. She jumps at the last instant, placing her hands on his shoulders and pushing off, so that he ends up grabbing thin air, and she vaults over him, twisting to land behind him, facing him. Before he has a chance to catch himself and turn around, she’s on him, tripping him with a foot around his ankle and grabbing his right wrist as he falls, so that he lands face down with her on top of him, one knee on the mat, the other on the back of his neck, and his right arm twisted behind him.

Barnes and Clint grin. Bucky laughs out loud.

“That’s new!”

“Yes, it is,” she smiles. “Clint’s.”

She lets Bucky up and he salutes Clint. “Nice.”

“Again,” Barnes grunts.

This time, Bucky tells Marya to attack. She starts with a flying kick, but he catches her leg, pushing so that her momentum goes to the side. He’s just about to grab her around the middle when she uses the momentum from his push to twist out of his reach. She lands, briefly, and jumps toward him, throwing all of her weight against him and knocking him backward. While he’s off balance, she sweeps his feet out from under him. She’s on top of him as soon as he crashes to the floor, kneeling on his chest, her hands around his throat.

Clint and Barnes once again chuckle, but Marya isn’t smiling. She’s mad. She stands and moves away, not even helping Bucky up. When he’s standing, she says, “Really? If I wanted a sparring dummy, I’d use one.”

Clint and Barnes begin to laugh, but recognize quickly that she’s not trash talking, because her posture is angry, and Bucky looks sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says. “Forgot how much you hate someone taking it easy on you.”

That answer seems to satisfy her, and she nods in acceptance. Her frown lines disappear, although she doesn’t smile. In fact, she cocks her head and smirks a little as she says, “You said you want to prove you’re my Sergeant. So, prove it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky says, and it’s anybody’s guess whether he’s needling her back.

“I’m not worried about it,” she responds, and that is definitely a jab.

He starts moving, stalking really, and she goes into a defensive crouch, waiting to see what he’ll do. She circles as they get close to the wall, and he continues to simply come at her. Barnes knows what he’s doing, but apparently Marya doesn’t, because she goes for what she thinks is a surprise attack, crouching low and trying to get under his center of gravity so she can knock him off his feet. He simply catches her and stands up. The next thing she knows, he’s holding her by her torso, one arm across her hips and one across her chest. She’s upside-down, and can’t really do much of anything.

She tries kicking her legs, using her weight to pull herself out of his arms, but he’s much too strong. Her position is undignified as hell, and he’s laughing, so she does the only thing she can do.

She kicks him, hard, in the face.

It would work on a normal man, but Bucky’s enhanced, and he’s also no stranger to pain. A bloody nose isn’t such a big deal. He’d prefer not to have her do it again, though, so he lets go with one arm and wraps it around her thighs, falling to the mat as he twists her right-side-up, and ends up lying full-length on top of her. It knocks the breath out of her with a hard grunt, and she struggles beneath him, but there’s nothing she can do to escape. She can’t breathe, and he’s simply too heavy.

After lying there just long enough to make it clear that she’s pinned, he lifts some of his weight onto his arms so that she can breathe.

“You OK?”

“You’re… bleeding on… me,” she gasps.

“Whose fault is that?”

“No talking!” Barnes shouts, and moves in. He kneels down to help Marya sit up, although she grumbles that she can get up by herself.

Bucky just sits nearby, smiling and holding the hem of his T-shirt to his bloody nose. Clint steps over, grinning, and hands him a towel.

“Thanks, man,” Bucky grunts.

Marya turns toward him, frowning at his smile. His stomach does a little flip-flop. She’s never been a particularly gracious loser, and he’d forgotten how fucking cute it is.

“You wanna go again?” He asks.

“Yes!”

Barnes puts a hand on her shoulder. “Marya…”

“Captain, don’t baby me. I’m not the one who is bleeding, am I?”

Barnes shrugs and stands, extending a hand to help her up.

Bucky and Marya go back to the center of the mat, while Clint and Barnes resume their places by the wall. Marya looks crookedly at Bucky then, a calculating gleam in her eye. “Drax the Destroyer?”

For a moment, Bucky blinks stupidly. Then, just as Marya’s face begins to fall, his mind clicks onto what she’s talking about. He realizes it’s a test, and also realizes, joyfully, that he’s about to pass it. Bucky cocks his head. “You sure? You never could defend that.”

She likes that answer. “Try it now.”

He goes down to one knee and extends his right arm. She grins maliciously as she steps over to him, circling until she is behind him with her left arm around his neck, taking his wrist and gently moving his arm until it is twisted behind his back. He wraps his left hand around her arm.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Whenever you-“

And with that, he twists to his left, into her, taking his left hand from her arm at his neck and plunging it between them to encircle her left calf. The twist yanks his right arm from her grip and suddenly, instead of her holding his wrist, he’s holding hers. From there, he simply pushes to his feet and he’s holding her by her right arm and her left leg over his shoulder. For a moment, it seems as though he has her in a hold she can’t escape, and can either toss her to the floor or simply carry her away, whichever he chooses. But his victory is short-lived, because he gets careless, thinking she still can’t escape this hold.

He’s about to make fun of her when she yanks her wrist as hard as she can. He’s made the mistake of relaxing his arm, but he’s not so unaware that he doesn’t immediately clamp his hand harder around it. It doesn’t matter, though, because she’s pulled their arms up far enough that she can get her elbow over his head. Since she twists her body as she does it, she ends up hanging with all her weight at an angle that means he can’t keep hold of her in his left arm. Essentially, she’s snaked out of his hold and is suddenly standing, with his hand holding her wrist, and easily gets under him to throw him over her shoulder and to the floor.

She moves to run a few steps, thinking to turn and resume a defensive stance but his hand streaks out, whip-fast, and grabs her ankle. She falls forward. He scrambles to his hands and knees and frog-leaps to land on top of her, but she’s had time to flip over, so his chest meets her foot, her leg bent between them. She pushes him back and to the side, off of her, and rolls away. Again, she leaps to her feet and tries to put some distance between them. He kicks himself to standing in one move. She’s faster, but he’s taller with longer arms, so he catches her only a few feet away, before she has time to get far enough away to turn around and defend.

He doesn’t stop once he gets hold of her, but keeps his forward momentum going, with both arms wrapped tightly around her torso, continuing on until she’s pressed between him and the padded wall. It’s an easy matter to slide his arms up her body so that he catches her arms, and pins them above her head against the wall. His knee is between her legs, pressing against the wall, and again his weight is too much for her to push off and escape. He’s been around this particular block, his other foot is far enough back that she can’t stomp his instep or kick his calf hard enough to hurt. Much.

They’re breathing hard, he’s pressing his torso full-length against hers, and suddenly he doesn’t particularly want to move. Ever. He leans his head down to whisper in her ear.

“Give up?”

“Fuck you,” she spits, and tries every kick, twist, and bend she can think of. Nothing works.

That feels pretty good, too, so he just keeps her there, letting her wriggle around and try to break his hold or push him off of her. Or whatever else she wants to do, really, as long as he can keep his nose in her hair and breathe in the achingly familiar scent of her, feel her gasping underneath him again.

“How about now?” He asks after a minute, smiling now.

“You are a terrible winner,” she grunts, still struggling to find a way to free herself, but he can hear the smile in her voice.

“And you’re a terrible loser,” he purrs into her ear. “Which is why I let you win so much.”

She has the expected reaction to that, and he enjoys a few more minutes of feeling her writhing between him and the wall. He starts to be concerned that, in a minute, things are going to make Barnes even more unhappy about this than he already is.

She stops moving and lets out a frustrated “Aaaaugh!”

“Is that a ‘You win’?” He can’t resist murmuring that, low and soft.

“Yes, damn you.”

He lets her wrists go and steps back, but only far enough so that she can turn around. When she does, she’s smiling ear to ear. “You fight like him.”

“I am him,” he says smugly, moving back in so they are almost chest to chest.

She cocks her head, looking into his eyes with a delighted expression. “Then you won’t be surprised when you look down.”

When he does, he sees that she’s holding a rubber practice knife to his belly.

“You still fight dirty.”

She shrugs happily.

Suddenly, without any intention of doing it, he takes her into his arms and lifts her off her feet, laughing and twirling them around, away from the wall. She throws her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly and laughing just as hard.

“Knock it off!” Barnes’s voice cuts through the moment.

In three long strides, he’s standing between them as they spring apart. He’s scowling at both of them with barely-contained anger. “Go take a shower, Marya,” he snarls.

“Yes, Captain.”

As Marya backs away from them, Bucky sees cold reality slam back down on her. She’s no longer joyful. Instead, she’s looking at him with, if possible, even more fear than on the day he’d arrived here. He’s just come very close to putting something over on her, from which Barnes has narrowly saved her, and the idea terrifies her. That look, by itself, would probably have been devastating.

But Bucky’s not devastated. Not at all. Because that fear doesn’t cover the desire that is equally evident in her face. Barnes sees it, too. It’s the reason he’s so angry. This time, Bucky does recognize hope when he feels it.

Both Barnes and Bucky watch Marya until she’s made it all the way across the floor and out the door, with Clint on her heels.

As they disappear from sight, Barnes turns on Bucky. “You fucking prick,” he hisses.

“What’d I do?”

“You’re supposed to be me, right? You think I don’t recognize my own moves? I’m not gonna let you use her for whatever your game is. That’s the last time you see her.”

“I don’t have a game. You know that. That’s not what you’re upset about. You’re in love with her.”

“Shut the fuck up. I ain’t talkin’ to you about that.”

“Who better to talk about it with? I’m you, dude.”

Barnes gives an ugly laugh. “You’re clearly not me. She loves you.”

Oh.

“So she doesn’t…”

“I told you to shut the fuck up about it.” Barnes starts across the floor toward the locker room and Bucky falls in beside him.

“I’m sorry. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Fuck you.”

“So what’s the problem? Is it because of Steve?”

“No, genius, it isn’t because of Steve. It’s because of you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Marya loves some version of me who ain’t me, and I got no idea how I’m supposed to compete with myself. What even is that? Why wouldn’t that mean she can’t help but love me?” It’s clear it’s not even close to the first time Barnes has asked himself these questions.

Bucky tries to be gentle. “I think you know the answer to that, Ace.”

“Because she’s the most loyal woman who ever breathed? Yeah, I figured that out. Doesn’t mean it makes any sense. She knows she won’t ever get back to her universe. As far as she knows, her Sergeant is with Steve, and that’s where he belongs.”

“I don’t think that’s how she works.”

“Tell me about it,” Barnes sighs. They don’t say anything more until they reach the locker room entrance. “I don’t know, man. Maybe it’s for the best. Not sure I’m ever gonna get over Steve, anyway.”

Bucky claps a hand on Barnes’s shoulder.

“I’m actually kinda surprised you can,” Barnes continues. “Yours left you. That’s gotta be worse, in a way.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just… different. Least I know he’s alive. Probably happy. That matters to me, in the short intervals where I don’t wanna rip him into bloody shreds.”

Barnes actually laughs at that, heavy with emotion though the laugh is. “Shit, do I know that one. Never been one minute where I didn’t wanna punch his lights out and fuck him senseless at the same time.”

They reach out simultaneously to open lockers, and Bucky gives a low, lascivious laugh. Barnes looks over to see Bucky’s cocked eyebrow and evil grin, and grins conspiratorially back.

“Yeah, us too. You gotta be the only person who’d ever understand that.”

“Hot as hell, right?”

“Damn straight. We broke bones a few times; still fucked him into the mattress.”

“Same,” Bucky says, and they laugh quietly, both falling into similar pleasant memories.

*****

Late that evening, Bucky’s lying on the couch in his apartment, a book forgotten on his chest while he stares blindly at the ceiling, remembering the way Marya felt against him, the way she smelled. The way she looked at him when they were sparring. It’s almost painful, the constriction he feels in his chest as he remembers her deep brown eyes, dancing with mischief, and the feeling of utter joy that washed over him as he picked her up and felt her arms clasp him. It’s not sexual. OK, it’s totally sexual. But it’s so much broader and deeper than that. Bucky realizes, lying in this Stark Tower that isn’t Avengers Tower, that he is not the same man who left that other universe. That man didn’t care if he lived or died, because he was already pretty much dead, anyway.

But he’s alive now. He’s alive and he wants to be a part of this group of Avengers. He wants to care again, and have people care about him. He wants to fight again, to be part of protecting good people from bad ones. And he wants Marya.

He knows it’s her when he hears a knock at his door. He smiles. He doesn’t know whether she’s there to kiss him or kill him. He’d prefer kissing, of course, but he’s got time. For now, he’ll take either one.

When he opens the door, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that she’s calm and, although not exactly smiling, she isn’t looking at him like she had in the gym, either.

“Everything OK?” He asks.

“Yes. I just came because…” She hesitates. “I would like to ask you for something.”

“Of course.” Bucky moves aside, inviting her in, and his heart beats just a little faster when he sees her accept. When he indicates the couch in silent invitation, Marya takes a seat and he sits, too, turned toward her but not touching.

She begins quietly. “I would like you to tell me about my brothers and sisters. I know it may all be lies, but you said that they were well. I’ve decided that I want to hear stories about them being well, even if they are lies. I want to know about my true brother.” She looks up at him. “Will you tell me about Dmitriy?”

“Marya, of course I will. And it won’t be lies. I know you don’t believe that yet, but it just… feels like I should say it.”

She nods and her lips lift a little in a small, regretful smile. “If you are my Sergeant, I can’t imagine what it is like for you, that I doubt you.”

“Doesn’t feel good, that’s for sure. But I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“It is hard for me, too. Very hard.”

“I know. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, it’s smart to be careful. You and I know better than anyone here how smart that is. We knew Hydra.”

“Do you suppose they will ever stop spoiling our lives?”

Bucky shrugs philosophically. “They say the best revenge is living well. We gotta keep tryin’ to give them the finger by being happy.”

Marya gives him a real smile this time. “Yes. Let’s do that. And tell me about my brothers and sisters giving Hydra the finger, too.”

An hour later, Bucky has barely stopped talking. He’s told Marya all that he can think of about the progress the Troops have made on their Compound, and in learning to live in the world. It’s gratifying to see her laugh, and the love and joy shining on her face as she learns how well the Troops, her only family, are doing. She’s also cried a little, too. These are the people she was raised with, people with whom she endured slavery and torture, and for whom she willingly sacrificed her life. She misses them fiercely and constantly, knowing she will never see any of them again. She loves them so much that she can only express through tears her happiness that they’re truly living now, enjoying and making full use of their freedom.

“I am so grateful, Sergeant. I am so grateful to Mr. Stark, and to Dr. Banner and Natasha, and all of you. I want so much to see their Compound. To see my brothers and sisters living free, without having to be afraid, I would give a lot for that.”

Bucky doesn’t miss her calling him Sergeant. But even though it sends lightning shocks through every nerve in his body, he manages not to react. Not yet.

“It’s not perfect,” he tells her. They have bad memories, and guilt… They deal with all of the things you and I do. But they’re making a life. And you’d be so proud of Dmitriy.” Bucky smiles and begins to tell Marya stories about her brother’s life as leader of the Compound, many of which lovingly make fun of him, but most of which are very complimentary. Bucky’s deep affection for Dmitriy is obvious as he talks.

At one point, Marya narrows her eyes. “Did you and Dmitriy…”

Her question is answered immediately by the look on his face and the change in his posture.

“It didn’t go very far.” To Bucky’s relief, she doesn’t ask why. For many reasons, he doesn’t explain, either.

“Good. I would be very angry with you if you fell in love with my brother.”

“In my defense, you were dead.”

“As you can see, I am not dead. And it would make me very jealous.”

“You weren’t jealous of Steve,” Bucky prods.

“Of course I was jealous of Captain Rogers! I am a very jealous woman, Sergeant. I didn’t try to stand between you because he was the one you loved. But if you don’t think I was jealous, then you are a fool. Besides, Captain Rogers is not my brother.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry. Dmitriy is a very good friend, end of story.”

Bucky notices the second time Marya slips and calls him Sergeant. He’s surprised she can’t see how that affects him.

“Marya, can I ask you a personal question? There’s something I don’t get. Me and Barnes, we’re the same guy. And we’re the guy you were in love with in your universe. So why aren’t you and he…?”

“Captain Barnes is very important to me. I love him very much.”

“Do you… are you in love with him?”

Marya’s eyes go distant and a sadness creeps into her expression. “No. He was married to Captain Rogers when I arrived. It was right, and they were so happy... And then, when Captain Rogers was killed… For a while, we took turns staying with him, because he was so broken. We were afraid for him.”

“I notice he’s especially protective of you, too.”

“Yes, he is. I like it. And I thought, for a while, that maybe we could… But no.”

“Why not?”

“He is not my Sergeant.”

“But if you can never get back to your Sergeant, and you think your Sergeant is with Steve, anyway…?”

“I know, but Captain Barnes… is not my Sergeant. Anyway, he is worthy of more than being some sort of substitute.”

They simply sit there together for a while, thinking their own thoughts in silence.

“It’s difficult, this being in a different universe,” Marya muses. “Some things are exactly the same, and some things are very different. I get surprised by it, still, sometimes. And I miss everyone very much.”

“There are good things, though. Here, Tony and Natasha are still alive.”

“Yes, they are gone in your universe. And if that is my universe as well…”

Bucky hears a catch in Marya’s breath and looks to see tears welling in her eyes.

“I know,” he says quietly and, as naturally as breathing, puts an arm around her to hug her to him. They both stiffen for a moment, but she doesn’t move away.

“I know that my Mr. Stark would do what yours did. He was heroic, even though he pretended not to be.”

“He was a lot of things. Complex guy, Tony Stark. But yeah. When it came down to it...”

Marya nods. “I think Agent Romanoff would be proud of herself. I am sorry for Mr. Barton, though. I think her death must have been very hard on him.”

“So he’s Clint here and Mr. Barton there?”

She flicks a somewhat surprised look at him, but all she says is, “He will not let me call him Mr. Barton here. And Sam will not let me call him Mr. Wilson.”

“Didn’t in our universe, either,” Bucky notes, and again sees something in her eyes.

“No, he didn’t. Was Mr. Barton all right, after Agent Romanoff’s death?”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to see it, Marya. Guy was heartbroken. Barely said three words to any of us after that. We were all glad he had his family to go home to, ‘cause the life just went out of him.”

“I’m sorry for that. I hope he is happy now.”

“I don’t know that he’s happy. Not yet. He doesn’t communicate with us, but Laura, his wife, sent word that he’s all right.”

“So much loss,” Marya whispers, then turns to look up into Bucky’s face. “No wonder you are so sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Bucky tells her, and his voice has gone as quiet as hers. “Not anymore. Not really.”

They look at each other for a long time, sitting next to one another with his arm still laid loosely across her shoulders. Marya sits up a little to move closer so that she can study his face. She’s frowning as she touches his forehead, running a fingertip lightly up and down the frown lines between his eyebrows. “You still look sad. And so tired. I can see that you have been miserable. That hurts me. I don’t want you to be sad.”

“No matter who I am?” He teases softly.

“I know that you are James Barnes. That is enough. Captain Barnes is not my Sergeant, but his unhappiness hurts me, too. I do not want there to be pain in that beautiful face.” She lays her hand full on his cheek, looking into his eyes.

“I wish you could believe that I’m your Sergeant. I wish I could help you believe that.”

“I do, too.” Marya’s breath catches again. “I want him with me. I miss him so much.”

Wanting to lighten the mood, Bucky cocks an eyebrow. “You have two of us right here, Marya. Gotta tell ya’, wanting another one, that seems kind of greedy.”

Marya doesn’t laugh. If anything, she’s closer to tears. “A room full would not be enough. I don’t just want any Sergeant Barnes. I want him. I want mine.”

“You got me, sweetheart,” Bucky assures her, pulling her closer. “I’m right here. I wish you could believe that. I don’t like to see you hurting, either.”

“I should know whether you are him or not! I thought that, no matter what, I would just feel it.”

“Well, you are right here in my arms. You can’t stay away from me, even though you’re under direct orders not to come here.”

“Yes, but that is just because I don’t know.”

“Is it?” Bucky asks, tipping her face up with a finger. “Or is it because you do know?”

Marya freezes, looking up into his eyes. There’s a flicker of fear in her gaze.

Bucky takes her hand, and she lets him. He lifts it to his lips, and softly kisses the tops of her fingers. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’ll wait until you’re sure, no matter how long it takes. I love you, Marya.”

Her deep brown eyes bore into his, searching the blue depths as though the answer is there, if she can only find it. She’s conflicted, that’s clear. The longing that he first heard in her voice the day he arrived, and that he’s been able to see on her face in unguarded moments since, is undisguised in this moment. Right now, alone together with his arm around her, she’s letting him see it, communicating it to him rather than trying to hide it. Asking him to help her give in to it.

Bucky tightens his arm around her, pulling her closer as he leans in, making it clear that he intends to kiss her. Marya tilts her head and he sees her close her eyes just before he does. His lips are so close to hers that he imagines he can already feel the warmth of them when she suddenly sucks in her breath and backs away.

“No, I can’t…” she gasps, pushing against his chest as, quickly and unsteadily, she gets to her feet.

“Please, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have…” Bucky reaches out an arm to her. “Marya, I promise, I won’t do that again. Just don’t leave. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, stumbling ungracefully to the door. He rises but she’s already got the door open and is rushing out before he reaches it. He can hear her ragged breathing as she goes.

Fuck.

Bucky stares down the empty hallway long after she’s turned the corner. He wants to howl and punch his fist through a few brick walls. Partly to vent his frustration, and partly to punish himself. He should never have pushed her like that! He can only imagine how he’s fucking with her carefully rebuilt life here, how upset she must be right this minute, after his selfish, clumsy, ham-fisted attempt to kiss her.

Then again.

She called him Sergeant at least twice tonight. When she talked about her Sergeant Barnes, she called him “you”. All night, whether or not she knows it or is ready to accept it, she’s been talking to him as though he’s the real Bucky. Her Sergeant.

#the avengers #Captain America #Bucky Barnes #Tony Stark #Natasha Romanoff #Clint Barton #Sam Wilson #Bruce Banner #Sebastian Stan #Robert Downey Jr.

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whoviandoodler · 5 years

Text

Kanej (part 2)

Please keep in mind this is completely unedited (for now), so there might be a spelling/grammar mistake or two.

Hope you enjoy, and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Love you x

PART 1: HERE | PART 3 | AO3 FANFIC

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Inej spit out blood onto the wooden planks of the ship, holding her bruised stomach. Threads of black hair stuck to her face wet with sweat and rain, but even without them obstructing her view, she couldn’t see from the tears that blurred the swaying floor below her.

“Do you not tire of this daily routine?” asked the man who stood somewhere to her left. She knew him as Derry Pollet, one of the most prominent slave traders in the True Sea. He caught whoever he came upon, regardless of their ethnicity and gender, which made hunting him down an almost impossible task. He not only had no pattern in prey, but also in which ports he stopped in, which pubs he visited, which places he frequented. Pollet sold his catch to whoever offered most, filled up on supplies and was back on the water in a matter of a couple days.

It took Inej two years and dozens of favors returned before she managed to find him, and even then everything went right to Hell. She didn’t expect him to have so many people, so many weapons, and she definitely didn’t count on the five Grishas he employed that no living soul knew of.

The next kick hit her broken arm and she winced, barely containing the scream in her lungs.

“Come now, Wraith of the Sea, I am sure we can come to an agreement.”

She wanted to tell him what he can do with his proposal, but didn’t dare open her mouth. She feared that if she did, she would either start shouting, or much worse, crying.

One of the ruffians, whichever got the task to abuse her this time, kicked her again. She would say nothing, and as became her habit when she wanted to escape the pain of reality, she thought of Kaz. The sharp plane of his face, those unreadable eyes that would every so often soften when they were alone, the way his hair just barely curled in the wind, the scars on his hands.

She didn’t regret going after Pollet, not one bit, but she did regret that she didn’t have more time to scout and think of a solid plan and two instead of jumping right into action. If she had, he may now be in custody, the poor people on this ship free, and she would be catching up with Kaz on how his operations were going, sharing information they had gathered on their respectable fronts that the other is in need of.

And maybe they could be sitting on the roof of Wylan’s home, fingers entwined, leaning on each other, watching the stars and slowly relaxing, getting used to the proximity after all that time they were apart. She would slowly press her lips to his throat then, breathing him in, waiting, until he either moved away if it got too much or, the outcome she preferred, he’d kiss her. Some days they would kiss for a few minutes, others one or both of them couldn’t stand any contact, but their slow progress seemed to bring both of them happiness.

Another kick, even though it was losing on intensity, shot Inej back into reality. She wasn’t sure how long she was already a captive on the Illion, Pollet’s ship, but from the days she managed to count it must have already been at least a month and a half, maybe two. She prayed even now, after so long, that her crew made it to land safely, along with the damaged Wraith and the few people that helped them in a previous job and asked for a ride back to Kerch. Dorian could fix the ship, Oliander would take care of the injured and Freya, the Grisha that insured they made good time when the winds weren’t on their side, could take them to where they needed to go.

If they survived the stormy sea, they’d get back on their feet, and Loe, her first mate, would take over the jobs they had already planned. She trusted her with the lives of all those people suffering right now, waiting to be reunited with their loved ones and freedom.

“Very well then. Jung, cut her up.”

Inej scrambled backwards, awakening terrible aches with every movement. She was starved, tired, beaten, and her body refused to cooperate. She urged it, begged, cursed, but no muscle moved anymore.

Jung yanked her healthy arm up painfully, flicking open a small knife and pressing it into yet untainted skin just below her elbow. The place tattoos would mark who you belonged too.

A new kind of panic set in, an old one she hasn’t felt in years. It shook her body, put her mind into a frenzy, awakening animal instincts that made her trash her body with new-found energy, a futile attempt at getting away. When Jung let her go, she curled into a ball, closing her eyes.

“You have time to think about how you are going to behave tomorrow. Then I afraid we are going to have to start doing this seriously- your feet, maybe, or fingers. I wonder which will go first.” She heard Pollet say, in a voice so similar to Tante Heleen’s that she tried to shut her eyes even tighter. It was that almost apologetic voice, like he felt sorry he had to do this but she simply left him no other choice.

Now look what you made me do, Little Lynx.

Inej wished with all her heart she had her knives now. Their familiar weight would ground her, running her fingers over them and naming them one by one, a silent prayer, would give her strength. But she only had the cold, receding steps of her captors and the slam of the door that held her hostage in this small, dark space. Soon her slow breathing - more like a wheezing really - , was the only company she had.

She didn’t know how long she lay there motionless, mind blank, before she crawled over to where the small bowl of water lay. She slowly gulped, taking breaks after each time she swallowed to give her stomach time to get used to it. She still held an annoying aversion to it ever since a week ago they tried to get information out of her by almost drowning her in a bucket of sea water.

She had to get out of here, and had to do it very soon. All the plans she had made when left alone were only half-finished, bordering with those of an amateur, but she had no choice. Pollet was going to start upping his game, and she couldn’t afford to lose what he wanted to take, or any chance of escaping would go down the drain.

She dug out a piece of glass she snatched from a pile when the boy who was bringing her food ‘accidentally’ fell down and broke his captain’s mug that shouldn’t even had been on that tray in the first place from a crack in the boards, along with a thin pick Kaz had gifted her that was weaved through her shirt for emergencies. There were supposed to be two, but the other must have fallen off during the fight.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Enough, if her Saints looked upon her.

Sankta Alina, Sankt Petyr, Sankta Marya, Sankta Anastasia, Sankt Vladimir, Sankta Lizabeta.

She rested her back on one of the walls and started thinking. She was Inej Ghafa, Wraith of the Seas, Hunter of Slave Traders, the Ghost Ship Captain, and she will find her way back home.

#kanej #six of crows #kanej fanfiction #the crooked kingdom #kaz and inej #inej and kaz #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej fanfic

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sidhewrites · 5 years

Text

April Showers, Part 1

Hoping to build a feeling of a studio Ghibli film with this. It’s very slow paced so far, but I think it’s evoking the right feeling of a sleepy, easy life where the smallest things are important. If not, then at least it’s some self indulgent niceness you all get to read instead. Approx. 2100 words.

Yarn over, pull through. Yarn over, pull through. Sunlight filtered in through the wide window, cracked open a few open to let in the early morning breeze. It played with the leaves on the plants, the petals of the flowers, all in various hand-painted pots, arranged so they got just the right amount of sun. Yarn over, pull through. A half-finished cup of tea sat on a side table covered with a small, embroidered cloth. Beside it, a portable radio announced the weather - humid but cool after last night’s rain. Yarn over, pull through.

Twenty stitches this way, then twenty more back. Soon enough, it would turn into a scarf. A small project, something anyone with a hook would be able to do, but Lise would be proud of it all the same. She worked slowly. Her hands were rarely without pain, especially on cold mornings like this, but she worked all the same.

The radio announcement ended, and a song took its place. Clouds passed overhead, and Lise turned the scarf over, starting work on the next row. She’d draped a crocheted shawl over her shoulders to keep warm, one of the first things Great-Aunt Marya had taught her to make, using heavy wool yarn dyed any number of greens and browns from just down the way.

Judging by the smell, Great-Aunt Marya was just now finishing in the kitchen. Eggs were on the stove, and bread in the toaster. From the other side of the house, Lise heard the kettle announce itself, and her ears burned with shame. She must have forgotten to keep the first one warm. Great-Aunt Marya wouldn’t say anything about it, but Lise hated to make a mistake in their routine.

She continued working, trying to focus as Great-Aunt Marya’s footsteps echoed down the hall, but there was no use in it. By the time the door clicked open, Lise had set the work down and looked out the window. Clouds passed by slowly. The sun continued to rise. Great-Aunt Marya entered the sun room with a tray of food and tea, and the usual, cheerful greeting of, “Good morning, Lisabelle.”

As always, Lise puffed up her cheeks with mock indignance. “You’re still the only one who calls me that, you know.”

“I do know, and I’m never going to stop.” Marya set a plate down on the side table besides Lise, shut off the radio, and took a seat in the other chair, dressed in woollen quilts, and a half-finished lace bridal veil. Eggs on toast, and sweet tea for breakfast, just as always.

Lise didn’t mind Marya using her given name. It wasn’t a deadname, not in the same way her best friend Cass’s given name was. But it was embarrassing. The sort of fancy, girlish thing her parents had loved, as if they wanted her very name to make people think of lace and ribbons when they heard it. No-one but family was allowed to call her anything but Lise, and Great-Aunt Marya was the only family she had left. They looked similar -- sleepy eyes, hair that was always braided back. But Marya’s had long since turned from brown to grey, and she wore glasses everywhere she went. Lise liked to imagine she’d look like Marya

“What did you dream about, Great Marya?” she asked, looking down to work another stitch into the scarf.

“Nothing particularly interesting last night, I’m afraid.” Marya paused to take a bite. “I’ll tell you if you put that down and eat.”

Lise sighed, but did as she was told, setting the scarf aside in favor of breakfast. She made a performance of the first bite, and swallowed with an exaggerated gulp, as if to prove she’d eaten anything at all.

Marya chuckled, and nodded. “I had a dream that I went to the ocean. I was a great scientist that the world loved. They’d just discovered a fish that they had thought was extinct for the longest time.”

Lise’s breakfast sat half-forgotten already. These were some of Marya’s best dreams, when she was a scientist, or when she found something fantastical.

“But there was something special about this fish, they said, and I just had to see it for myself. This time, though, it wasn’t just a talking fish. It was singing.”

“Singing!” Lise echoed.

“Eat your breakfast, Lisabelle, and I’ll tell you more.”

Lise pouted, but Marya remained firm. There was no fighting her though, not on matters of breakfast, so Lise groaned, and stuffed her face.

“Eat it slowly,” Marya warned, “or you’ll get sick.”

Lise groaned again. “Great-Aunt Marya, I know how to eat breakfast.” But, still, she did as she was told, and ate measured, sensibly sized bites. It was good food, after all. Everything Marya made was.

Only after Lise ate enough did Marya continue her story. “So this singing fish -- they’d caught it in one of the fishermen’s nets by accident, and they wanted me to see if I knew anything about it. And when I saw it, it was beautiful. With these shiny rainbow scales, and these big, sparkling eyes.”

“What did it sound like?”

“The most amazing thing in the world. Like…” She gazed out the window dreamily. “Like someone had given the wind itself a voice. Like all the orchestras and all the singers were mixed together in a pot and topped with honey.”

The breeze whistled outside, quiet but familiar. Lise looked outside as well, hardly able to imagine the fish’s voice. Her mind turned to far off dreams and the tiny, glittering strip of blue on the horizon. Her thoughts slipped out unintentionally. “One day, I’m going to see the ocean.”

“What’s that, Lisabelle?”

“Oh, uh--” Lise’s ears burned, and she stammered in search of the right thing to say. A faint barking saved her, and she set the nearly-finished plate aside. “Cass is here!” She pushed up to her feet, all but stumbling to the windowsill to look outside and wave. Marya rushed after her, one hand going to the small of Lise’s back instinctually.

Cass was only a little ways away, his bright red hair blowing in the wind beneath his sunhat. Mops hung off his broad shoulders like a child, tail wagging furiously. He shifted the sheepdog to one arm in order to wave and call out, only to nearly topple over from the weight. Mops barked, jumping to the ground and righting himself without an issue. Cass, however, fell to his knees with a yelp, getting mud all over his yellow pants.

Lise gasped, but wasn’t able to keep from laughing as she called out, “Are you okay?”

Mops was at Cass’s side in an instant, but he was laughing as well, frustrated and amused in equal measure, and waved again. “I’m all right! Stay there, I’ll come get you!” He hesitated, looking over at Mops and his now-filthy paws. “All right, I guess you’re walking the rest of the way.” He adjusted Mops’ little backpack, and brushed himself off as much as they could before resuming the hike up hill.

“Not a chance!” Lise backed away from the window and turned for the door. Her head spun, and she nearly lost her footing, catching herself quickly on the chair.

Marya moved to her side once more, helping her stand upright and taking most of Lise’s weight to ease her back into the chair. “You shouldn’t move so fast. You get dizzy.”

“I know, I know. It’s a good day, though, I thought it’d be fine.”

“Clearly it’s not.”

Lise groaned. Still, she waited for her head to stop spinning before she sat up again, putting a stitch marker into the scarf and tossing it over her shoulders.

Marya set it aside for her gently, and helped Lise back to her feet. “That’s looking great so far. Looks like you’ll be done in a week.”

“Yeah, I hope so. It’s been forever since I finished something.” Lise grabbed the radio, and made her way with Marya to the front room. She used the furniture and walls for balance, finally coming to a stop outside the mudroom. Cass grinned at her through the window in the door, here already.

Lise frowned. “I told you I wasn’t going to wait.”

Cass shook his head, and pointed to his ear, pretending he couldn’t hear.

Marya stepped forward to swing the door open with a polite, “Good morning, Cassius. Here for Lisabelle?”

Cass’s smile grew. “Actually, I thought I might take you out today, Ma’am. You’d fit right in with the group.”

Lise made a face and spat out her tongue, while Marya gasped with mock indignance. “How forward. When I was your age, a young person would never --”

Cass shrunk away, suddenly guilty and not recognising the joke for what it was. “I’m sorry, I only meant it as fun.”

Marya smiled and reached out with an upturned palm. “So did I.”

Cass hesitated, but nodded, reaching out to brush his fingers against hers, an unspoken apology and forgiveness between them.

Satisfied, Marya nodded and began making her way to the kitchen. “Wait there a moment. Let me get your lunches.”

Lise meanwhile down onto the small bench, and put her things aside to exchange her house slippers for hardy boots. Cass stepped inside to sit beside her. He gestured at Mops, signalling that he could stop working for a few minutes, and the dog’s patient demeanor changed instantly. He bounded in with a bark, tongue lolling out and tail whipping back and forth as he fell against Lise’s legs. She pet him obediently, running her fingers through his long fur with a laugh. “How’s your morning been?”

Cass shook his head. “Josephine cooked breakfast, if that tells you anything.” His youngest sister, nine and a half, had a particular fondness for jam on her eggs -- something Cass didn’t care for in the least.

Lise let out an exaggerated sound of disgust, sending Cass into a new round of laughter. “I hope she grows out of it by her next birthday,” he said, and shook his head.

“Is she doing any better in school?”

“Yeah. She’s doing long division now. It’s hard, but I think she’s getting the hang of it. Anyway, she still just wants to paint every day.”

Marya returned from the kitchen with two small boxes in hand. “If you ask me, you should let her. There’s nothing to be lost from spending the day making something. Lise, get your shoes on.”

“Tell the teacher. You know how important she thinks math is.”

“Math is important,” Lise insisted. “You can’t crochet properly without math, and you can’t build houses without math, and --”

“You can preach all you like, Lisabelle, but that won’t change how I feel. Get your shoes on.”

Cass gestured for Mops to begin working again. The dog lay down obediently while Cass packed the lunches his backpack, and grabbed Lise’s cane and cardigan off the hook for her. “Do you need anything from town today, Ma’am?”

“Otto should have our eggs for this week. Oh--” Marya rushed to the kitchen and back with a small parcel and a thermos. “And here’s Hattie’s shirt. Tell them to stop letting the kittens climb all over them, and maybe they’ll stop getting so many holes in their clothing.”

Lise pulled out her own small backpack out from under the bench, and put the parcel inside, alongside the radio and scarf. “What about this?” She gestured with the thermos before packing it.

“Leftover tea. Just because you let it go cold doesn’t mean I will.” Marya tut-tutted, but smiled. “I hope you enjoy it, Cass. I tried something new.”

“Any chance you used blueberries this time?”

“It’s berry tea,” Lise said, “but no blueberries.”

“That’s a good idea, actually. Here.” Marya pulled her wallet from her own bag on its hook and pulled out a bit of money for them. “Pick some up for me, would you?”

Now ready, Lise slung the backpack onto her shoulders, and let Cass help her onto her feet and up onto his back. He carried her weight easily, and turned around to nod at Marya. “If you need anything else, call the general store. Hattie’s working there today, so they can get me the message.”

With a few more goodbyes, Cass made his way out the door, past the front garden, and onto the winding road down to town.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #writing #original fiction #mystuff #if u like it pls comment <33 #april showers #april showers chapter

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destinymastered · 4 years

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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

repost, don’t reblog !

BASICS.

full name. Deimos Rhosyn pronunciation. DAHY-MOS HRAH-SIN nicknames. Dei or Mossy, when his sister wants to annoy him. Otherwise, Deimos doesn’t really do nicknames height. 5′5 age. 30 zodiac. cancer languages. Common, Elvish, Thieves’ Cant

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour. Dirty blonde, which seem brown from afar eye colour. Blue skin tone. Bronze, tanned body type. Ectomorph, with little to suggest much physical strength. This is accentuated by the fact Deimos prefers loose, black clothing. accent. Smooth, with words being dragged on as something was a constant slight annoyance to him. In terms of our world, his accent is reminiscent of the Californian one, albeit much more slight than his sister’s. dominant hand. Left hand posture. Often found leaning on one of his legs, leaning back, with hands crossed or on his hips as if always ready to be standoffish. When seated, Deimos naturally slouches down a little, as if to make himself smaller. Very rarely relaxed, though he stands taller when he is. tattoos. None. most noticeable features. Thin lips and up-turned nose, with unmistakable half-elf ears. Ironically for a rogue, the way he dresses tends to be very specifically his, all black and white and fashionable outfits.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. Voonlar hometown. Voonlar birth weight / height. Imagine here a healthy, average half-elf baby first words. Besides mum, dad, no, yes & up, his first proper word was “leather”, because it was the material of his favourite toy siblings. A younger sister and constant pain in Alaïs Rhosyn parents. Jeremiah Rhosyn and Meriele Ariessus, his human father and elf mother parental involvement. Minimal. Jeremiah was always more preoccupied about the “family business” (adventuring, an endeavour which made them lose money more than gain), while Meriele was very much a mother in passing, always preferring to focus on her bardic exploits and her elven peers.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. Bounty hunter, smuggler, thief, collector and reseller of artefacts not necessarily obtained legally. Hero-for-hire, though his sister is the one far more involved in any actual heroics. current residence. Travelling, so no specific town come to mind ( all small towns look the same after a while ). close friends. Alaïs, because she’d throw a fit if she weren’t mentioned. Otherwise, Deimos struggles to be close to others. He had friends in Skystead, but they don’t seem particularly interested in keeping in touch. relationship status. I Want to Know What Love Is plays in the background financial status. Decent, now that he is earning ( stealing ) his own money, though not nearly as extravagant as he would like driver’s license. No. Deimos does not drive, he is driven. criminal record. Accounts of shoplifting during his teenage years ( he hasn’t stopped, he just learned to not get caught ). At least two accounts of disturbing the peace during late night siblings fight between him and a drunk Alaïs, who refused to stop.

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. Pansexual romantic orientation. Panromantic preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch | unsure preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch | sex repulsed libido. Average to slightly low turn on’s. Intelligence, small acts of affection, intimacy, his ears being nuzzled, soft whispers turn off’s. Big public displays ( whether it be of affection or any other kind ), mentions of anyone other than him and his partner, sarcasm, socks, nature love language. Small meaningful acts showing he cares, physical closeness. Deimos is not one who needs a lot of intimacy or who would put on big public gestures of affections ( any big gesture he might plan, should his partner be into them, would be done privately ) but would rather make constant and consistent small acts of affection. relationship tendencies. Deimos tends to be perceived as unromantic and closed off due to his usual mistrust of people’s intentions and guarded nature. He wants to care ( and, in turn, wants to be cared for ), but is not quick to jump for anyone paying him this type of attention, and instead tends to wait to be certain the person he’s with is with him for the right reasons before letting himself fall in love or even consider it a relationship. Once he is in a relationship, however, Deimos is caring, and tends to look for small moments of intimacy in the middle of his and his partner’s life. He is also a firm believer in two lives coming together and supporting each other, even if their dreams might differ ( especially if their dreams might differ ).

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. Fake Your Death, My Chemical Romance hobbies to pass the time. listening to music, shopping for what he cannot afford or will not buy, reading, card and dice games, spending time with himself to relax, listening to intriguing stories mental illnesses. None diagnosed physical illnesses. Prone to iron deficiency and a slight near-sightedness, but otherwise in good physical health left or right brained. Right brained fears. failure, not being able to better his living situation, trusting the wrong people, bugs and spiders, being ridiculed or humiliated self confidence level. Abysmal, though Deimos thinks he is doing quite a good job at pretending his ego is actually inflated. vulnerabilities. Aside from the obvious ( being vulnerable to physical or magical attacks ), a big vulnerability for Deimos is his family, and how he was raised, and feeling like he still has to shelter Alaïs from it all.

tagged by: @hclyblood ! tagging: @hopelass ( for marya d ! ) ; @spiderpriest ; @fireruined ; @remugiient ( for emilia ! ) ; @mysteryprone ( for alina ! ); @lovehurried ( for helga ! ); @perfectlypunctually & anyone who might want to do this ! :)

#cut to me with 10 mins to spare; not doing drafts but doing tags #i love tags too much :')#didn't have a dime but I always had a vision ✦ ( deimos )#about ✦ ( deimos )#tags • ( ooc )#n.sfw /

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tyler-whoisleft · 5 years

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never recognized a purer face || tyler & marya

When Tyler was growing up, his birthday was a thing of tradition – one gift, picked out and presented with no shortage of fanfare by his mother, the single guardian in his life. His favorite dinner, cooked by the family’s aging elf and served over formal silverware. An extra hour of free time before it was lights out in the house, and the bookshop down the street always made the happy mistake of undercharging him severely for his wares.

These traditions, of course, changed with age and time; began to populate his years with drinks and friends and cold Russian winters that bit at his ears while Zoya, dark curls falling into her eyes, kissed him on the nose and teased him about being three weeks younger.

But even then, they were simple. Straightforward.

Until his eighteenth year—when money and power and reputation came to snap all of his old traditions over their knee and replace his life with a newer, shinier one filled with vipers—Tyler always knew what to expect on his birthday.

He’d been married to Marya over five years now, and still had no idea what to expect when it came to celebrating hers.

This year, there had been actual effort expended. He’d planned—following his better instincts, throwing his lack of skills to the wind in a way that only no lack of gold could account for—a truly elaborate affair. Travel was involved, white horses were involved, expensive vintage wines and custom made gowns and a truly unholy number of flowers.

And then the attack on Hogsmeade had gone horribly wrong. Not just for the Dark Lord and their organization’s aims, but for Marya, caught up in circumstance and left wandering without protection. If something had happened to her, he would not have been able to stop it; if something had happened to her, he probably wouldn’t even had known who to hold accountable. He’d lose his mind, many others would lose their heads...and it still wouldn’t have helped the situation, done the necessary reversal of time.

So the birthday had been called off. Not the day itself, but the festivities, Tyler sitting Marya down and explaining to her—in a straightforward way he normally used with anyone but her—that it was not feasible, not comfortable, not secure.

She was much better at these sorts of things; he was unsurprised when she took up the mantle and began to plan a replacement celebration, a dinner party indoors—in the realm of their control, more importantly—with less than a week to spare.

Tyler didn’t know how he looked, in Marya’s eyes, when he was stressed. Or came home injured, came home days late, held his head in his hands and wondered if he’d be able to get out of bed and go on the next morning, although of course he always did.

But he knew now how a stressed Marya looked, and he hoped never to repeat the experience. It was impossible to tell who it had been harder on. Marya, pacing and hammering out guest lists and florists and themes. Or Tyler – sitting, watching, heart hurting as he watched what could only truly be called a spiral.

That had been cancelled, too. Less deposits were lost, but more ground was. Not for the first time, Tyler worried that he was taking something away from her by being so concerned about her safety. But he couldn’t budge, he never did, no matter how much he wanted to give instead of take. He wanted to open doors for her, not shut and bar them. But if anything happened to her, if anything happened to Nathaniel...

An elaborate celebration had become a party for fifty had become a party for three.

One of the guests, a strapping Nathaniel in the best toddler approximation of a three-piece suit, had fallen asleep with his head on the table after a second helping of ice cream, and Tyler had scooped him up with a confidence that came from knowing this was for the best, and tucked him into bed not twenty minutes ago.

Next year, he promised himself. Next year, I’ll take her away.

It was true as he thought it. It was always true, until it wasn’t. He had no idea what the world would look like next year, if they would still be standing on top of it. Everything had come to him at once, so easily. Would he ever stop worrying about it disappearing the way it had materialized – overnight?

“He stayed asleep the entire time,” Tyler reported as he reappeared from upstairs, a wrapped box in one hand, and a fresh bottle of wine tucked under one arm. “I waited a bit, to be certain.”

Marya was still where he’d left her, at the dining room table – hair glowing like golden fire in the flickering candlelight, and face still carved as though some angel’s wings had decided to get creative with their feather-brushing.

First, he thought about picking her up, setting her down on top of the dining room table and hiking her dress up around her thighs while he kissed her neck—because he was only human, in spite of the way he acted in the shadow of certain alleys.

But mostly he thought about how beautiful she was, and how lucky he was, and how he’d ruined her birthday.

And so Tyler set the wine on the table and kept the box (unmistakably jewelry because why compromise a system that worked?) as a temptation, and extended a hand—his left, wedding ring shining in the same light that made her hair look like a halo—down to his wife.

“Then there were two,” he said, a smile pulling the corners of his lips. “I was thinking of wine in the new parlor—you said it was perfect for after dinner drinks, and you were right. A bit of music, maybe a bath before bed?” A hand slipped under her chin, thumb grazing the easy lines that shaped her jawline. “If you can keep your eyes open after a few more glasses of red. How does that sound?”

@marya-whoisleft

#chat: marya2 #chat: marya all

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years

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if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch3

AO3 link

Davos

Leaving Shireen again is the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Waking up in bed with Marya had been surreal enough, it had seemed decades since he had seen her. Going through the keep to encounter all seven of his sons, even Dale, too, had felt nearly like a dream. They’d come to visit, he remembered suddenly. Steffon’s name-day had just passed.

That whole day, he had tried to enjoy it.

When the older boys began to leave, is when he had to set his plan in motion.

Faking summons from Stannis was easy enough, turns out he had been planning to send for him soon anyway. Getting to Dragonstone was also shockingly easy.

Stannis had been his usual self, gruff and straight-forward. He had asked him to help him go over changes to shipping schedules what the effects of the late summer droughts on the tides. It had ended far too slowly.

Then on his way out, he had heard a small laugh.

“I’m supposed to be in lessons, but I had to come see you Onion Knight!”

Shireen was as small as she had been, her arms and legs had not yet begun to lengthen. Her face still bore the roundness of youth, her blue eyes shining.

Davos’s heart seizes as he allows himself to hug her tightly, without breaking. “Not having anymore dragon-dreams are you child?” he asks, remembering the nightmares that had plagued her.

Shireen looks confused. The comet, Davos remembers, her nightmares had begun with the coming of the comet.

“I haven’t dreamed of any dragons, I wish I did though, it sounds more exciting than the boat dreams I’ve had lately.”

He leaves her with just that single hug, trying his best to banish the image in his head of her burning.

Returning home, Davos recalls that Maester Cressen had once suggested betrothing Shireen to Robyn Arryn and sending her to the Eyrie, but Stannis hadn’t agreed.

Davos couldn’t imagine marrying Shireen off to that sickly, ill-tempered boy, but he wondered if he could somehow convince Stannis to let her be fostered somewhere else.

Renly, it hits Davos suddenly. Stannis’s brother had no children, but the court at Storm’s End was always bright and lively, fitting with it’s Lord’s showy and dramatic personality. And perhaps with his daughter so near, Stannis might not wish to lay siege to it.

It ended up, in the end, not truly being difficult at all.

“Storm’s End is the Baratheon ancestral home, it would be good for Shireen to see it. And I think having her around might put some responsibility into your brother, being that he currently has no heirs.”

Stannis’s eyes are hard to read, part distaste, part uncertainty.

“Last he saw her, Renly said she was ugly.”

Davos laughs softly in derision.

“Your brother may be thoughtless, but he isn’t needlessly cruel. Shireen may not be a great beauty, but she is a sweet, good child with a fine mind. She will win Renly over as easy as she won me over.”

He tries not to sound desperate, but Stannis is already speaking of the mystics, and he knows Melisandre may soon come to him.

And Stannis agrees, and Davos feels like maybe he’s won this time. That maybe they will win this time.

A week later, the agreement had been pounded out. Davos wonders if perhaps Renly simply saw a way to one-up his brother, but if it ends with Shireen safe, then it’s good either way.

Stannis asks him to accompany her. He would have offered anyway.

“Where are we going now, Onion Knight?” She asks him.

“We’re going on a quest.”

“Me too?”

“Well we’re going to need someone to read me all the books about all the old quests, so I know how I’m doing it right.”

There’s a touch of disappointment on her face. He takes her by the hand to help her into the wheelhouse.

“I have to go and rescue someone, then we have to ride north and try to stop some monsters.”

“Who are you rescuing? A princess in a tower?”

Davos laughs. Shireen did often have an affinity for the trapped princesses.

“A prince perhaps, though he would likely spit if he heard me call him that. I need to help him get back to his princess.”

Shireen wrinkles her nose.

“Not Prince Joffrey right?”

Davos can’t even imagine a laugh here. If half the stories he’s heard are true, the crown prince was more likely to need people rescued from him.

“No, this boy doesn’t even know what he is yet. But he will rise to greatness anyway. I’d like you to meet him someday, he’s one of your cousin’s actually.”

“What’s his name?”

“Gendry”.

He could remember the boy before, in his cell hopeless and ashamed. He could remember the man he became, who had wanted to help people even before learning he was of noble blood. Davos had believed Danaerys had intended to legitimize him for his heroism during the battle against the dead. She hadn’t had the chance. And part of Davos wondered if he would have even wanted that.

“Why does he need to be rescued?”

Davos sighs deeply.

“Because some people with a lot of power will want to hurt him, and he can’t save himself from where he is.”

A bastard boy on the streets of Flea Bottom. He was beholden to his apprenticeship unless released, and any route out of the city would be fraught with danger. Bandits, pirates, men who might try and sell him, all the worse if anyone got a good look and maybe figured out who he was. Ned Stark had figured out the Queen’s secret easily enough, but it would be a falsehood to say no one in King’s Landing ever questioned her fair haired children before.

“Do you know how you’re going to rescue him?”

That makes Davos smile.

“Do you remember why I told you your father cut off the tips of my fingers before knighting me?”

“Because you were a smuggler?”

“Which means I am excellent at getting things out of places and getting them where they aren’t supposed to be without being found out.”

He put his fingers to his lips to remind Shireen that she shouldn’t tell this to anyone, then taps her on the nose and shuts the door and moves to mount his horse so that they could leave.

He hopes he’s right.

Sansa

Sansa carries Lady through the hallway and into her chambers. When she turns, she notices Arya sitting on her bed and yelps, dropping Lady to the floor. The wolf, now the size of a regular wolf, gives her a look of disgust, and pads off, taking a step onto the trunk at the end of Sansa’s bed and climbing up to curl up and fall asleep.

Arya cocks an eyebrow.

“I thought you had more nerve than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Sansa asks her, slipping off her shoes and stockings.

“Can I stay with you tonight? I had a bad nightmare last night.”

Sansa sighs, slipping one hand up to undo the ties at the top of her gown.

“Can you help me undo my straps?”

Arya reaches out and yanks the strings, loosening them. Sansa slips out of her gown and into her nightshift with ease before speaking again.

“Should I even ask which one?”

There were so many to choose from that they were both having. The Long Night nightmares, the watching Father get beheaded again nightmares, the ones where going through the anomaly just put them straight back in Hell (Ramsey for Sansa, Harrenhall for Arya).

“The one about Hardhorne. I think I had it because Jon left yesterday.”

Damn. Neither of them had been at Hardhorne, but Jon’s stories were so vivid and descriptive. The piles of bodies being climbed by walkers before they too rose, the people who ran straight into the water, clawing their way towards the boats trying to run. They had both had this one too.

Arya distracts herself by petting Lady.

“You really shouldn’t carry her everywhere now, she’s getting too big.”

“I’ll carry her for as long as I can. It will make me stronger.”

“She’s going to be bigger than you soon.”

“Then maybe someday she’ll carry me instead.”

Arya is quiet after that, and pulls off the cloak she’d thrown over her night shift in case one of the servants came by. She leaves it on the trunk next to Lady.

“Bran told me the Reeds should be here sometime tomorrow.” Sansa tells her as she crawls under her furs.

Arya bites her lip.

“That means we’re going to have to tell everyone tomorrow.”

Sansa laughs hollowly.

“Jon was hard enough...I can’t imagine how we’re going to tell Robb or Mother.”

Arya feels her stomach tighten. She could barely look at Gray Wind when he followed along with Robb after having seen what had become of them before.

“I can’t believe you managed to have the eloquence to tell what we know to Tyrion in just a single letter.”

“Well it was pretty rambling and confusing. I told you, I told him I saw things in visions. That King Robert was in danger, that people would look more closely at Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. Not to trust a damn thing Littlefinger says. More politics, fewer ice zombies. Besides, I had that trump card to make sure he paid my words due.”

Arya frowns.

“I saw you give him the letter when he was leaving with Jon. What on earth did you tell him?”

She hadn’t been close enough to hear their conversation, But whatever Sansa had whispered in the Imp’s ear had affected him enough that his eyes had gone wide and he’d stood in the same spot, seemingly dazed until Uncle Benjen had prodded him and he’d tucked the letter into his satchel and rejoined everyone.

“I told him the name of his first wife.”

Arya’s surprised.

“I never knew he was married before you.”

“Most people don’t. No one outside his family should know anything about it. That’s why it worked.”

“What happened?”

Sansa smiles grimly.

“It’s not my story to tell. The only reason I think he even told me was because we were in the crypts sure we were going to die that night. Airing our sins and all that.”

Arya rolls over to face her.

“I guess I just don’t really understand your relationship with him. I couldn’t imagine you being so close to someone you were forced to marry.”

Sansa laughs. It is somewhat ludicrous, and her thirteen year old self would have screamed in horror had she known.

“He was forced into it as much as I was, and he was always kind to me. Beyond that, he tried to protect me, to make me feel better about things that happened. Though of course there was no way he could.”

Sansa turns suddenly pensive.

“And I got a front seat to exactly what his family thinks of him. Jamie aside, the rest of the Lannisters seemed to delight in tormenting him as much as they did tormenting than me. And it made me so incredibly angry. He once told me that people were going to spend a lot of time underestimating me, and that ended up being incredibly true too.”

There’s a long silence after, and Sansa really doesn’t want to have to talk about this anymore.

“Get some sleep Arya. Tomorrow’s going to be rough enough as it is.”

Laying all the way back down, she feels Arya shift beside her.

“Uhh, fair warning? I’ve been told I’m an angry cuddler.”

Sansa’s eyes pop back open.

What on earth was an angry cuddler?

She finds out the next morning when Arya has managed to migrate halfway down the bed and wrap both her arms so tightly around one of Sansa’s legs that she’s woken with the limb heavy and prickly, and entirely unable to stand up.

Bran

Bran wakes, his stomach already in knots.

He gazes out the window, noting the clear skies. He notices Summer isn’t sleeping underneath like he usually did, perhaps he had an early start.

He manages to dress himself, though he only has one pair of breeches that have been cut to fit over his cast. His boot takes the longest, but he laces it up tightly before reaching for the heavy metal crutches Mikken had made for him when it became clear that he was not up for staying in bed until his leg healed.

Hobbling on the crutches had been hard to learn. The splinted wrist was one thing, but he could hardly admit that it had been near on a decade since he had walked properly at all.

So at least he had an excuse for his staggering.

In the hallway, he bumps into Arya, who’s rubbing the back of her head.

“What happened?”

“Sansa pulled my hair until I woke up and let her leg go.”

He’s not going to question that.

Rather than join the rest of the family at breakfast, Bran has Arya slip in and grab them a platter of oatcakes with honey and sliced apples.

“Where are we going?” Arya asks.

“The stables.”

She makes a face.

“They won’t let you ride with the cast.”

“I’m not going to ride,” Bran tells her, “I’m going to see Willas.”

Arya’s stares at him confused for a moment before it hits her.

“Oh, Hodor.”

“That’s not his name,” Bran says roughly. “So I won’t call him that. He died protecting me, that’s the least I can do. Especially since the other is my fault.”

Arya is quiet most of their slow walk out to the stable. Bran has never been overly forthcoming about what exactly happened to everyone north of the Wall.

When they reach the stables Willas is finishing up with the morning chores. The other grooms have already gone down to breakfast, leaving the three of them alone.

“Hodor,” he says, upon seeing them.

“Have breakfast with us,” Bran says, and Arya offers him the platter.

The three of them sit and eat their cakes in silence. Arya licking a bit of honey off her thumb and Bran leaning over to steal one of her apples.

When they’re finished, Willas stands, and with a “Hodor,” leaves them to haul water for the troughs.

Bran chews thoughtfully on his last bite while Arya wipes off the tray.

Arya finally fixes Bran with a gaze while he chews.

“You’ve been weird since you told us the Reeds were probably going to arrive today, so what is it?”

Bran doesn’t say anything, and avoids her eyes.

“Come on, out with it. Sansa said Meera left almost immediately when you two returned to Winterfell, and you didn’t even mention her again. When you lead us down to the Neck, she didn’t even look at you. What in seven hells happened?”

“Nothing. And that was the problem. We were north for, gods it must have been two or three years. Meera helped keep us safe, she hunted to keep us fed. Underneath that tree, she did her best to keep me sane even though she seemed completely lost after Jojen died. After...Everything that had happened to us, everything I had felt...I suddenly didn’t care. I would have died a hundred times over without her, it didn’t matter“

He’s quiet for a long time.

“I remember, the way Meera was looking at me, before I touched the weirwood tree to see what happened at the Tower of Joy. If she had looked at me like that before...I probably would have died of a heart attack. That’s what she said before she left, was that Brandon Stark died in that cave.”

“Well you didn’t, and you’re alive again,” Arya tells him. “So quit acting like you did die. We all get second chances now, that’s sort of the point isn’t it?”

“All three of them have cause to hate me.”

“Well they definitely will if you stay this way when they all show up. So come on, and lets try and prepare.”

She helps him get back onto his crutches and they hobble back to the keep to try and head off the storm.

Jojen

Jojen Reed was not used to being confused. His prophetic dreams aside, he had always been clever, and good at his lessons. Feeling completely in over his head was not something he was used to.

But two weeks before when he had woken to his older sister running into his room and hugging him tightly he had been completely at a loss for words. Normally, he would have thought she was ill, but when she dragged him down to breakfast, their Father had been in a similar state. Both of them had looked incredibly tired, but somehow energized, with wild looks in their eyes, babbling on about things that didn’t make any sense.

Then they sat down, and tried to tell him, and it made even less sense.

And even after they had left Greywater Watch, it hadn’t stopped.

He wakes the last day of their travels with a feeling of creeping dread in his gut.

And for the first since she lost her mind, Meera seems as unsure as him.

They’re packing up camp, Father leading the horses to water when he finally brings it up.

“You seem anxious. You and Father were so sure we had to go north to Winterfell when we left, now it seems like you don’t want to.”

Meera laughs.

“We were both so sure we had to go north before. And look how that turned out.”

Jojen doesn’t really know what to say to that. She’d told him he had died on the journey before, which explained her exuberant reaction to seeing him again, but it didn’t really explain her despair. True, she had also mentioned that his body had immediately exploded, but still…

“I know you were probably upset that I died…”

“It wasn’t just you,” she cuts him off. “Everyone. The last time I left home, everyone around me ended up dying, you were just the first. We were under there for over a year, I didn’t even know why anymore, but I trusted the Children of the forest. Then the Night King found us and attacked, and they all died. All of that history, and they died. Then Summer died protecting us, and Hodor died so we could get away, and we ran. “

They’ve finished the packs, and so Meera just pokes at the ground with a stick when she finally continues.

“We got back to Winterfell, and it turned out even Rickon and Osha had died after we left them. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t feel like I could. I went to talk to Bran, and it was like he was gone too. Whatever the Raven did to him in that cave, his body was still alive, but what made him him was gone. He was little more than a shell.”

Father returns to the clearing, leading the horses. They begin loading the packs onto them, when Meera continues. Her voice goes quiet, with a tone in it Jojen’s not sure he’s ever heard come from her before.

“I thought what the two of us had gone through- as hard as it had been, I thought it was special. I thought it was important. I don’t know anymore, I still don’t know if it was worth it. The end of the world still came after all. I don’t know what I’ll do if we get to Winterfell and Bran is still...that thing.”

Jojen can’t really say anything to soothe his sister’s words, so he just listens. He supposes that must do some good too.

They ride for a bit in silence. They’re not far, could reach the keep by mid-day easily. Jojen can still feel Meera sitting stiffly in the saddle. They could have taken a third horse, but neither of them are good riders, having not had much way to practice, given that horses don’t suit bogs well.

As the day goes on, he suddenly feels Meera go still.

“Either of you hear that?” She asks, eyes staring straight off into the trees. When neither him nor Father reaction, she slides off the horse, and grasps her spear.

They aren’t far from Winter Town, it could just be another traveler or someone out hunting, but Meera’s muscles are pulled taut as though she expects this to end in a fight.

She’s still, still as a rock upon a cliff, when the leaves of the underbrush shift and a figure emerges from them.

Jojen feels his heart quicken when he realizes the figure is a wolf.

Meera, on the other hand, softens.

“Summer?” She calls out, in an unsure voice.

Both Jojen and their father watch as Meera kneels in the road, and the wolf approaches her slowly, carefully. Jojen watches in amazement as the beast rests it’s muzzle on top of her knees, and she reaches to rub the top of it’s head.

“You did everything you could,” She assures the wolf, “You were your best, you did your best.”

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #time travel fix it #gendrya #breera #fic

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