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zodiyack · 4 years

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Being Married To Henry’s Characters Would Include...

Requested by @cuisinequeen: Hi, I love your work. I was just wondering if you could do a headcanon for being married to Clark Kent/Geralt/Sherlock Holmes/Napoleon Solo

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Geralt of Rivia x Reader, Sherlock Holmes x Reader, Napoleon Solo x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some references, trashy writing lol

Note: This doesn’t include all of his characters, so my apologies if I misled you with the title. Not all that confident in the HCs so sorry about that too

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @simonsbluee, @darling-i-read-it, @fandom-puff, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @maan24, @beckster07890, @missihart23

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Clark Kent

You know he’s superman, therefore, you gotta expect the unexpected

Kiss: Level 100

helping him keep his identity secret isn’t always easy-

you wanna kiss him even when he’s superman but fuck you need him to remain undetected

but you manage

Little hc of the first few months after getting married:

Clark comes home late after a fight you see on tv

you turned it off before anything else happened, too worried already

he’s beat up

your eyes are red and puffy with tear stained cheeks as you stand and cross your arms.

you bet your ass there were cuddles that night.

Later into the marriage, he still scares you like that, but you’ve grown somewhat used to it and wipe the tears away

He’s protective of you too though

Aight sorry, but the gif is making me addicted to Henry kisses so Imma say it again,

best fucking make out sessions ever

yes, I’m gonna say that for all four.

fuck it, Clark!Kisses HCs

they’re soft half the time, needy the other half

if he comes home from superman duties or you have a run-in with a villain, so on so on, his kisses are rougher, needier, more possessive

bitch, he just needs you to know he’s still alive 🥺😢

Henry in glasses really do be hittin tho.

Stealing his glasses

Calling him a nerd because of the glasses

Probably making it a small joke about superman

Especially with oblivious friends

“I think superman’s a nerd.” “why??” “I just do.”

Having to stifle your laughs every time someone gushes about superman in front of him

Clark has to hold you back so you don’t unleash your wrath of fucking doom upon some oblivious woman who wrote about superman in a news article

She wrote things that would make you jealous, like talking about how she’s curious to his personal life *wink wink* and stuff- you don’t just have a raging fury because someone writes about him

Superman this hoe

You’ve made jokes about how he has to take his ring off when he’s superman, but he’s got a feeling that you’re actually not kidding at all

Exercising with Clark

Cursing him out in breathy pants for being more athletic and cheating with his “alien powers”

he just laughs at you

Ah, the difficulty have having a husband with two identities

When you rant about your husband, it’s so hard not to fuck up and say something about being married to Superman

Forgetting that you’re one of the few who knows his identity

Basking in pride because you’re one of the few who knows his identity

One time, Clark forgot to take his ring off and the person he rescued had known him personally.

He asks where he got the ring-

“What ring?”

“The one on your finger. The wedding ring.”

It felt like his stomach dropped...if that makes sense-

Clark ended up making some random story about finding it on the same plane the guy he rescued was on and that he put it on so he wouldn’t lose it.

The guy still thought he was pretty sus, “why was it on your wedding ring finger then?” but let him off after some time

The guy gave it back to Clark in person, but you had no idea what happened,

so when he gave him the ring, you were watching with the most confused look Clark had ever seen

thankfully, he played it off well and informed you later

He forgot to take off his wedding ring? You “secretly” fist bumped the air- ...he totally saw you though

Geralt Of Rivia

I don’t think Geralt really expected to get married

Jaskier didn’t either-

He’s the only one who stands when the priest asks if anyone doesn’t accept... only to ask how the fuck Geralt got lucky enough to get you

Everyone laughed but Geralt, he just grunted and looked away with a lil’ bit o pink tinting his cheeks

You demand he lets you go on adventures with him

You also wash him after adventures

wink wonk ;)))

Geralt is a stubborn thing

You’re a stubborn thing

Y’all love each other

When I say that Geralt is a confusing husband-

I mean that he confuses the fuck out of you

“don’t do that”

“okay”

few minutes later

“I thought you were doing that-”

“You told me not too...?”

“I don’t recall. Do whatever.”

Minutes later.

“What the fuck!?! Don’t do that!”

He’s hard to read and it bugs you

However, it makes a good game out of it

If he ever introduces you as anything but his spouse, you hold a bitter glare while internally plotting

Before you marry, Jaskier hits on you without realizing that Geralt is interested in you

He gulps nervously as soon as it hits him

You might just use that mistake as a way to get back at Geralt for not saying you’re his spouse

Jaskier pleads you not to

like for real

He’s in tears

CuDdLeS!

Congrats, you have a stubborn manbaby for the rest of however long y’all shall live

Kithes

Geralt is a little distant when it comes to admitting his feelings for you at first

When you’re dating, you’re all over each other

Marriage is that but amplified lmao

Braiding his hair

Teasing him not the wink wonk and getting away with it because you’re his spouse

If Jaskier said anything remotely close to the shit you’ve said, Geralt would probably choke him out

But then resuscitate him cause they’re bros

Seeing the softer side of Geralt

Sure, sex, but getting to know each others bodies? Yes.

Soft!Sleepy!Geralt

His deep n husky morning voice telling you to “get your ass back in bed”

Having the excuse of “because I’m his spouse” anytime you do stuff people are too afraid to do

Jealous bb 1 and jealous bb 2 aka Geralt and Y/n

I think Geralt’s the kind of guy to just pick you up, ignore your flailing limbs, and move you out of the way

He takes shit from no one...well, from you SOMETIMES

Gives in to your requests with a sigh and roll of his eyes most of the time

He was protective of you at first

now he’s PrOtEcTiVe so uh

Basically, number one husband, number two bodyguard

you put yourself first for the bodyguard part, but Geralt doesn’t know that

Sherlock Holmes

He asks your family for their blessing, then asks you-

I can imagine Mycroft just ranting away and Sherlock drops to his knee

“What are you doing?”

He ignores his brother and proposes to you

Mycroft is confused and upset because he wanted to rant about meaningless things and Sherlock decided to change the topic

rude

Being married means constant visits from Enola

Probably being the “second parents” to Enola

Gossip with Enola and Eudoria about Sherlock and him as a kiddo

Kicking Sherlock out of the house for sleepovers with his sister

bet

Helping Sherlock with cases

Dealing with Sherlock telling you it isn’t safe

still being upset when he’s right you know it

Finding Enola and Eudoria with him

Snapping at Mycroft for how he treats the girl and everyone else

Threatening Mycroft by just being a badass bitch and telling him to fuck off every now and then

Long story short, you make Enola laugh and Mycroft scoff as he walks away

He’s a stubborn bean, which now that I think about it- aren’t all Henry’s characters?

While he doesn’t say it much, he loves you

You get paranoid with this character too, as he does work that can be very dangerous as well

When he returns, he doesn’t say much aside from that he’s there now and that he loves you

cuddles with him whispering softly,

“I’m here now.” “I’m safe.” “I’m okay.” “I love you.”

Kisses in public either be quick pecks or minute long for goodbyes, but greetings-

especially after being apart for a while?

HC TIME

He comes home on the train and you’re at the station with his siblings

As soon as he spots you, he sets his stuff down because you’re already running at him

You jump into his arms and kiss him hard, not caring in the slightest about the other people at the station

It makes you smile every time he introduces you as his spouse

You’ve heard it so many times yet it still makes your heart flutter every single time

Napoleon Solo

The amount of times you’ve just dropped everything and walked away because he was being ‘too serious”-

You say something, he takes it seriously, you groan and stomp away

But then you know you can do the same back to him

Napoleon is an all around awesome husband but he’s not going to just pretend to agree with stuff

Will correct you no matter how embarrassed you get

Makes up with kisses or stuff idk

Let me be honest, I don’t know much about writing for Napoleon but he is an icon...sometimes

He’s protective

by that I mean he’s stubborn but really it’s his way of keeping you safe

Would probably lock you in your room even though you’re a, a grown ass adult, and b, his spouse for fuck’s sake?!??!

Doesn’t tell you when something’s bothering him unless he feels the need to

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader, Solo!”

“Neither am I but I still manage-”

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, he just- emotions and him aren’t the best of friends

Emotions aren’t exactly friends with most of his characters

He’d much rather just speak with actions than admit anything

Sometimes you worry that he’s just fucking with you

When he proposed, it scared the shit out of you ‘cause you thought it was a joke

Never admits to anything willingly...?

Yeah sorry...Idk, that’s all I got :\

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assaily · 3 years

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I thought about saving this one, but i’ve been sharing it around for a while, so i may as well share it here, too.

Context: Allison and Diego borrow some empathy powers and use them to try and gain some insight on Five

Allison sipped her coffee for lack of anything better to do. She dallied for a time, unsure how to proceed, suddenly aware of the heavy weight that clung to them, and wondered if this was normal. It could have been exhaustion, considering the dark shadows beneath Five’s eyes. It felt deeper than just a bad night of sleep. This was what she’d been afraid of, what she was fully expecting to find and now found herself feeling diminished beneath.

“You hungry?” she asked when Five finished his coffee.

“No,” Five answered, the question hardly a blip on his radar.

“I could eat,” Diego said. Five usually said no to the offer of food unless it was put in front of him. He couldn’t resist once it was there, thankfully, so this little dance of two siblings pretending to cook for each other and secretly cooking for Five was not new. If Five himself noticed, he never said anything about it.

Allison got up from the table, snatching Five’s mug from beneath his fingers. He had been mindlessly tracing the rim and was genuinely startled from his thoughts when Allison took it from him. He said nothing, attention suddenly on her like a scalpel. She wasn’t sure if it was the power or her own imagination that made his scrutiny feel sharper than usual. She set a skillet to heat and refilled Five’s cup before taking it back to the table for him.

Suspicion burned at the hairs on her arms and she took a step back to meet Five’s piercing gaze. “What?” she asked.

“You’re being nice,” he muttered, an observation and a question rolled into one. He wanted to know why, he wanted to know what she wanted.

“Nothing,” she reassured without thinking. “I mean,” she corrected quickly when Diego gave her a sharp look. “I’m just feeling weird and you look tired. I miss my daughter,” she admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

Five blinked, something swirling around them at her admittance, a little like irritation, a lot like muted affection. “I’m not your kid, Allison, you don’t need to dote on me.”

She smiled around the confusing mix dusting the room. “Refilling your coffee is hardly doting,” she replied in a daze.

He shrugged, eyes falling down from her, the sharp focus softening at last. He took a sip of the coffee and it tasted like acceptance. She turned back to the fridge, fighting a smile as she pulled the sausages from the top shelf and added them to the pan. Soon the kitchen was filled with the sounds of sizzling and the smell of food; the anxiety had eased into something quiet and tired and easy to ignore.

She whisked eggs in a bowl, added milk and cheese and cooked it in the same pan as the sausage drippings once they’d finished. She divvied the food up on three plates and set them on the table. The whole meal took her less than twenty minutes, hardly any trouble at all but it felt good to do something for them. It soured when a flood of dread and disgust spilled across the table the moment she put the plate in front of Five. Her movements stuttered, taken by surprise, hesitating to watch him spear a sausage with the fork and nibble on one end like he hadn’t felt anything.

She exchanged a look with Diego, who’d paused mid-bite to watch Five as well.

Irritation suddenly simmered between them, a striking indecisiveness between anger and the urge to flee, anxiety washing over them again. It happened so fast, her and Diego nearly drowned in it. She put her own plate down before she dropped it, and moved to sit. The scrape of the chair on the floor was like someone physically hitting her.

“Five,” she said, her voice swimming.

Diego put down his fork, food untouched, and reached across the table to put a hand on Five’s shoulder. The old man vanished in a pop of light and reappeared by the counter next to the coffee pot. He poured himself another cup, his body lax and his movements smooth in sharp contrast to swirl of indignant rage pounding at the walls.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you too, but I don’t want to be involved.” He took a long slurp from the coffee, turning to regard them over the rim of it. “Play your games with someone else.” And with that he disappeared in a pop of light, leaving behind the traces of bitter irritation.

“Maybe it was breakfast?”

“What was wrong with eggs and sausage?” Diego asked.

Allison had no idea. Five was a bit weird about food, but she supposed surviving a few decades in an apocalypse could mess with someone’s ability to have a healthy relationship with eating. He was so skinny, and seemed to get skinnier every day. It was a challenge getting him to eat.

“Maybe he doesn’t like them.”

“Does Five like anything?” Diego asked. “Besides coffee.”

“Fluffernutters,” Allison said. It was the only thing she’d ever seen him choose for himself, besides the time he pilfered all the canned peaches from the cupboards and Klaus found them stashed under his bed. “Fruit?”

For lunch Allison asked Mom to chop up a fruit salad. Five emerged from his room around eleven a.m. like clockwork, usually for coffee. He arrived in the kitchen through one his rips, immediately splashing the room with an emotion that tasted like gunmetal. Allison couldn’t describe it other than dark, sardonic, and irritable. It twisted with the bleeding rawness she had felt earlier.

Five stopped in the doorway, dread spilling forth when he saw her and Diego waiting for him. And he knew they’d been waiting, she could feel him realize it, suspicion mixing with the dread. He scowled at them, a classically abrasive Five expression that she wouldn’t have blinked twice at yesterday.

It was surreal feeling the tumult underneath it.

Five went for the coffee. “Is there a reason you two are still here?”

“We live here,” Diego said.

“Don’t you have a job?” He said to Diego, voice and intonation both sharp and accusing.

“It’s my day off.”

“So you spend it sitting around the kitchen? What a productive use of your time.”

“Oh yeah?” Diego asked, temper flaring predictably. “What do you do around here all day? Huh?”

A bitterness, dark and sharp, encased the room like tar, bubbling with frustration and a delicately muted rage that felt utterly ancient. There was something there Allison wasn’t quite seeing, something deeper than whatever foul mood he was in.

“Why are you mad, Five?” Allison cut the tension like a knife, going against the grain.

“I’m not angry,” Five said, most definitely defending himself.

“You came down here and immediately started picking a fight,” she pointed out, watching his eyes dart from her to Diego and back again, caught out.

He scoffed, glancing down at the coffee cup in his hand, and she felt him switch at the realization. “Oh,” he said, folding inward on himself. Anger still shimmered off him, but it felt like he was trying to pull it back in, drink it down with the bitter burn of coffee in his throat. “The math is being uncooperative,” he gestured above his head in the general direction of his room several floors above them.

“Well you don’t have to take it out on us, you ass,” Diego said, his voice forgiving despite his words.

Shame descended like a fog, settling like an ache against her breast bone. She gestured at the table, desperate to dissipate that cloud. “Mom made fruit.”

Five glanced at her from beneath his bangs but latched onto the change in subject. “Made, huh?”

“She didn’t ‘make’ the fruit, she cut it up though. Do you want some?”

There was a bubble of emotions that came up in the form of hesitation, it was old and complicated and Allison didn’t know how to sift through it fast enough to make any sense of it. Five pursed his lips, shrugged one shoulder and stepped over, holding his coffee in one hand casually. He considered the medley, genuinely perusing the selection, which was more than she could say for breakfast. He chose a pitted peach, cut in half, pulling it from the mix with slender fingers.

“That’s all?”

“Hmm?” he paused, dropping the peach-half back into the salad.

“You can take more,” she felt compelled to inform him.

“I know,” he said, which struck her for the lie it was. She had to swallow that quickly lest it show on her face.

“Get a bowl, take as much as you want.” He could take the whole damn thing, if it pleased him, and none of them would stop him or even admonish him.

The prickle of suspicion resurfaced, and he withdrew his hand away from the bowl, staring at her. His eyes flicked to Diego, mistrust wafting up like a foul smell. He leaned back, straightening to his full height and it was like a veil descended over him, and him alone. A muting of everything, like a layer of cloud, fog, or smoke that socked him in, pushing them out. He took a sip of his coffee, still watching them, before vanishing again in a pop of light.

Diego sighed, deflating next to her. “You can’t push directly, you keep spooking him.”

She groaned in frustration, pillowing her face on her arms on the table. “And here I thought this would be easier than trying to guess.”

She startled up when a returning pop announced Five’s re-arrival. He landed inches from the table wielding a knife from god knows where, which he used to spear several large pieces of fruit. He vanished again without pretense, leaving her stunned and blinking.

From somewhere upstairs, peach flavored delight bloomed on her tongue.

#tua fic #tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #number five #fanfic #this one wanted to be so much more #and i had more ideas for it #please enjoy it in its tragically incomplete form

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thepremedthatwrites · 3 years

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Insufferable (pt.2)

request: Hi lovely, can you do Peter pevensie x reader imagine, please? The reader meets Pevensies in Narnia, but from the beginning she and Peter can't get along together, lots of arguments, while secretly and slowly developing feelings towards each other they don't want to admit, lot of sexual tension before smth happens but eventually they'll end up together. you can include some smut stuff. Thanks xx

part 1 | part 3

I woke with a start as someone pulled back the blanket. A pair of warm brown eyes were looking back at me, a soft smile on their face and their curly brown hair hanging down freely. “Who are you?” I asked, pushing myself up and away from the person. As I took them in, my eyes caught sight of two small horns sprouting on top of their head and just peeking out of their hair. “What are you?” I added, my eyes now wide in shock.

“I am Daisy, a faun,” she said, a soft smile on her face. “High King Peter has requested that I prepare you for breakfast today.” She put out her hand and I slowly took it as she led me out of my bed and towards another section of the room closed off by deep red curtains. My shock grew as I saw a pair of goat legs attached to Daisy’s human-like top, her hooves clicking on the stone floor. The faun grabbed a bucket of water that sat next to a tub that was already halfway filled with water. “Get undressed,” she commanded as she poured the rest of the water into the tub.

I hesitated, not wanting to expose myself to a complete stranger, especially a stranger that wasn’t human. “No,” I said, crossing my arms. The faun let out a sigh as she put the bucket back on the floor. “I can wash myself.”

“That is not what the high king wants. He specifically ordered that I wash and dress you.”

“Then I will take it up with him,” I said before turning around and making my way to the door. Daisy hurried to follow me as I entered the hallway, trying my best to remember the way to King Peter’s room.

“Miss, you don’t want to do this. The high king will be very upset,” Daisy started as I reached the double doors that were guarded by two men. The guards watched the scene unfold as I banged on the wooden door.

“I don’t care how he may feel. He has no right making me get naked in front of a complete stranger,” I replied. The door swung open to reveal King Peter who was only wearing brown pants, his top half naked. I did my best to avoid his toned body, but my brain still subconsciously noticed his strong arms and tight abs. I focused my eyes on his blue ones as I spoke, doing my best to concentrate on my anger.

“How dare you!”

“How dare I what?” he asked, an amused smile pulling at his lips as his eyes studied my face.

“Do you really think that I would be willing to undress in front of a complete stranger when I hardly even know where I am? I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“There’s no need to be so angry, darling. This is only routine for visitors of the royal family. And if your hair is any indication of how you take care of yourself, I do not think your claim is as true as you believe it to be.” My hands flew to my hair, combing my fingers through the knotted locks. King Peter let out a chuckle at this before leaning on the side of the doorway, his arms crossed. We were only inches away now and I could feel his body heat radiating off of his bare skin.

“Well I,” I started, getting slightly distracted as I felt his eyes watch me intensely. “I don’t need someone to help me take a bath. At least let me do that by myself.”

“Alright,” he said to my surprise. “You can do that by yourself. But let the faun dress you at least. You need to look somewhat presentable in public.”

“Fine,” I said. I turned around to face Daisy, taking a few steps toward her before stopping. “Daisy,” I said, turning my head to face King Peter.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“The faun’s name is Daisy,” I explained. “It might do you some good to know the names of those who serve you, your majesty.” I turned my head back around before following Daisy back to my room.

Daisy waited in the area of the room with the bed as I bathed behind the curtain. It felt nice to wash off the dirt and grime that had accumulated from the night before. As I got out, I grabbed the robe Daisy had laid out for me, tying it tightly around my body as I emerged from behind the curtain.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Daisy said as she brushed my hair.

“Do what?”

“Tell King Peter my name. I’m not important enough for him to know my name.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said as Daisy put down the brush, her fingers working on putting my hair into an intricate braid. She would pause every now and then to weave white flowers in with my hair before continuing with the process. “You are just as important as a guard or even King Peter himself. Without you, the castle wouldn’t function as smoothly as it does. Just because you don’t wear a crown doesn’t mean you’re less than.”

“Thank you, miss,” Daisy said.

“Please, call me (y/n).”

“Of course, (y/n).” Daisy stepped back, handing me a handheld mirror so that I could get a good look at her work.

“Oh Daisy, it’s beautiful,” I said, my voice soft as I admired my hair. Daisy only nodded, walking over to the wardrobe where I had grabbed the robe the night before and pulling out a purple dress.

“I’ll wait by the bath while you put it on,” Daisy said, already making her way towards the curtain.

“Thank you.” I waited till she was behind the curtain to take off the robe and put on the dress. It hugged my curves before falling down to the floor. The material was so soft and light that it barely even felt like I was wearing anything. I let out a small grunt as I tried, and failed, to tie the strings on the back. “Daisy,” I called out. She peeked her head from behind the curtain. “Could you help me tie the strings on the back?”

Daisy made her way to me, expertly tying the strings, her fingers brushing my bare skin every now and then. “Thank you,” I said as she stepped back. “Do I go to join the royal family now?”

“Yes, I’ll lead you to the pavilion.” I followed Daisy down the hall and out of a door that led out to a beautiful garden. Butterflies hovered over flowers and green foliage spilled out onto the stone path that led to a small pavilion where a round table sat. The table was small, only allowing around five people to sit comfortably at it. I saw Edmund and King Peter sitting there, along with two girls. Daisy led me down the path. We came to a halt as we reached the pavilion.

“Thank you for bringing her, Daisy,” Peter said. I felt my heart warm as I walked to the empty seat between Peter and the girl with long, brown hair.

“It’s my pleasure, your majesty,” Daisy replied, a large grin on her face as she curtseyed before turning around and making her way back to the castle.

“I was starting to worry you weren’t coming,” Edmund said, a large grin on his face.

“I would never offend his majesty like that,” I replied, matching his grin.

“I hope there weren’t any other complications with getting dressed this morning,” King Peter interjected. I felt my face warm as the grin fell from my face.

“No, there weren’t.” Edmund looked at both King Peter and I quizzically, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m Susan,” the girl I was sitting next to offered.

“And I’m Lucy,” the other girl said. “It’s so nice to see that you’re okay. I was picking flowers in the meadow to make flower crowns and found you laying in the grass. I was afraid you were dead and ran to get Peter who carried you to the castle. I apologize for not checking in on you last night. I was waiting with Peter for you to wake up, but it was getting late and Peter made me go to bed.”

“Thank you for finding me,” I said, offering a small smile. “And there is no need to apologize, I would hate to have been the reason for you staying up so late.”

“Peter said you are from Earth, is that true?” Susan questioned before taking a bite of a strawberry.

“Yes,” I replied, stealing a glance at Peter who was watching me. “I didn’t realize you were all talking about me.”

“You are all Peter has been talking about,” Edmund said. Peter shot him a look before turning to me again.

“I wanted to assure them that you aren’t a threat,” he explained. I nodded.

“Peter, the king of Telmar is visiting next month. I have been writing to him for a while, but it seems he does not want an alliance with us. Perhaps you could talk to him for us and convince him,” Susan said. I was thankful that the conversation had turned away from me.

“Yes,” Peter said. “I’ve been thinking of what to do with Telmar. Maybe a marriage would be the best chance of peace with them.”

“You mean an arranged marriage?” I interjected. I wanted to laugh at the idea. “Surely you are joking.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“Because marriage is supposed to be the joining of two people who are in love, not some political power move between two nations.”

“It’s politics (y/n). Not everything is going to be pretty in politics,” Peter said.

“It’s stupid is what it is,” I mumbled, playing with the food on my plate.

“Well then, let’s all be grateful that you aren’t a queen.” I glared at Peter who stared back at me. His bright blue eyes were slightly narrowed and a hint of amusement shone in them. Behind that amusement there seemed to be something else, though I wasn’t sure what it was. At first I thought it may be fear but that wasn’t it. No, it was curiosity. As a high king, nobody questioned him so now that there was a random girl in his castle questioning his every move he seemed intrigued, curious.

I looked away from his eyes as they had become too intense for me. My heart seemed to be pounding in my chest as my eyes flickered to his nose which was slightly flared, before traveling down to his full lips. They were a luscious pink and I subconsciously licked my own lips as I looked at his. I could feel his eyes tracing my own features as well, and I knew his siblings were still there but for a moment it was only me and him.

It was when I heard a fork clatter with a plate that I broke from the spell, ripping my eyes off of him, instead looking around the table to see both Susan and Edmund wearing large grins on their faces. “What is it?” Peter asked both of them. I turned to Peter to see his cheeks were a light pink. I then turned to Edmund and Susan, Edmund shaking his head as Susan took a long sip of her tea, her eyes darting between Peter and me.

“Nothing,” Susan finally said as she placed the teacup delicately onto the saucer.

#peter pevensie #high king peter #high king peter the magnificent #King Peter the Magnificent #peter pevensie fanfic #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie x you #peter pevensie x y/n #narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia imagine #william moseley

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years

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Wreck

By now Jiang Cheng isn‘t sure anymore if his hands are shaking because of lack of sleep or because of the amount of coffee he consumed and it doesn’t really matter anyway.

Jiang Cheng rubs his eyes again, hating how sandpaper-y they feel, but that’s also not going to change any time soon.

Ever since that last dinner with his parents he slept less than four or five hours a night and he fears it’s going to stay that way until finals come around and he inevitably fails. He’s not going to sleep much after that either, seeing as he will be homeless then, but at least the stress will finally go away.

Or at least Jiang Cheng hopes so.

He gets up to make another pot of coffee when he reads the same passage in his text book for the third time and he retains nothing of it, and he grits his teeth against the intrusive thoughts that sparks.

Jiang Cheng damn well knows he’s shit compared to Wei Wuxian; everyone keeps telling him that anyway. There’s really no need for his own brain to turn against him like that, but that doesn’t stop it from happening anyway.

There’s really no reason to study like this, Jiang Cheng’s very traitorous part thinks. It’s not like you’ll ever do better than Wei Wuxian on the finals.

The thought makes his eyes burn—not with fatigue for once—because deep down he knows that voice is right.

It doesn’t matter what he does, Wei Wuxian will always be better than him. Jiang Cheng secretly suspects that even if he tells Wei Wuxian about the ultimatum his parents have set, and Wei Wuxian promises him to fail his own finals he would still do better than Jiang Cheng, simply because he is better.

It’s not even something Jiang Cheng can get mad about because Wei Wuxian is brilliant and Jiang Cheng loves him for it. Or he would, if he didn’t have to measure up to his intuitive brilliance. It’s something Jiang Cheng thoroughly lacks, and simply studying will never make up for that.

It is something Jiang Cheng realized a few years back when they were still in school, and he was fine with it, right until that last dinner with his parents.

Finals are coming up, so of course they are suddenly taking more of an interest in Jiang Cheng’s studies.

He just didn’t think they would—give him an ultimatum like that.

Jiang Cheng feels like crying just thinking about it again, but of course the thoughts are unavoidable now. He’s usually doing pretty well at pushing the conversation away—at least trying to keep himself focused on his studies—but every now and then the memory of the talk simply overwhelms him and Jiang Cheng is seriously considering just sitting down to have a good cry.

It should help, right? It can’t get worse than this, after all.

But every time Jiang Cheng tries, something stops him from fulling breaking down and it’s more tiring than he could ever have expected.

And the pressure is certainly not helping him to stay focused or even retaining any of the things he’s studying but of course his parent’s wouldn’t care about that.

They don’t care about anything but his final results and Jiang Cheng already knows that there won’t be anything but disappointment in his future.

Disappointment and homelessness.

His father basically just told him that he would make Wei Wuxian the heir of Yunmeng Jiang Corps if his grades are better than Jiang Cheng’s but that wasn’t a surprise at all.

Everyone at the table knew that that was just a very convenient excuse, because he has been training Wei Wuxian up as the heir for the last year now.

Jiang Cheng is under absolutely no illusions that he would ever get a higher position than he has at the moment, and he’s basically just working as a temp at his own family’s company.

But his mother—that one came as a surprise to Jiang Cheng. Usually she turns on his father when he says things like that, but this time Madam Yu fixed Jiang Cheng with her iciest glare and told him in no uncertain terms that if he should get a lower grade than Wei Wuxian on these finals then she will cut him off completely, as if he doesn’t belong to the family anymore.

That means no more housing, no more money and as it seems, no more family for Jiang Cheng in just a little more than two weeks.

Jiang Cheng didn’t tell his siblings about it, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell Nie Mingjue about it either but now he’s not only suffering, but doing it all on his own.

But this is what he decided to do, since it’s not like anyone can really do anything about it. Jiang Yanli would be all sympathetic and tell him that if he studies enough he will make it, Wei Wuxian will promise to hand in the worst final anyone has ever written, only to still ace it and it’s not like Nie Mingjue really cando anything about this, besides tell him how sorry he is about all of this.

And Jiang Cheng couldn’t do that to him, seeing as they haven’t been together that long yet. Nie Mingjue shouldn’t have to shoulder this. It’s enough that Jiang Cheng is suffering right now, there’s no need to drag anyone else down as well.

And besides. All of them will learn about this as soon as Jiang Cheng gets thrown out of the family.

Jiang Cheng will take these two weeks of reprieve even as he keeps all of them at arms lengths away at the moment.

Nie Mingjue has asked to see him a few times over the last week but Jiang Cheng always said he’s too busy with studying to see him. Jiang Cheng is not sure Nie Mingjue likes his excuse, but he hasn’t shown up unannounced and that’s all Jiang Cheng cares about at the moment.

Even though he’s dying at the moment to see him and to get a hug from him.

Though that will probably make Jiang Cheng break down then and there, so it’s better not to see him at all.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath because he hates the situation he is in, and he wishes more than anything that he could change it, but as always, he’s powerless and too stupid.

Story of his life, really.

When Jiang Cheng’s coffee is done brewing, he slaps himself just once, just to snap himself back into studying mode before he sits down at his desk again.

It’s going slightly better than before, but deep down he knows that it will never be enough. It’s not in his nature to give up though, so he powers through it.

When he finally goes to bed, his eyes are burning and at this point he’s not even sure if it’s out of tiredness or because he’s about to start crying.

Maybe a good cry will help him, Jiang Cheng thinks and turns over to curl up. Maybe if he just gives in for tonight he can go on for longer after that. Maybe he just needs to get it out of his system one night and then he can concentrate better than before.

Jiang Cheng figures it’s worth a shot, especially since he basically doesn’t sleep anymore and even when he does he has nightmares about sleeping on the streets and losing everything he ever held dear and if he could just get that to go away he would be happy.

So Jiang Cheng tries; he tries to give in to the hopelessness and the fear and the feeling of never being enough for his parents but he just can’t.

It’s not working at all. His eyes are still burning and it feels like he’s going to have a panic attack any time soon, but it’s just not happening.

Jiang Cheng lets out a bitter chuckle; he can’t believe that he actually wants to break down but it seems like this is where he’s at now.

Jiang Cheng lays awake for most of the night, staring into the dark, imagining how his life will be after the finals, but all he can see is himself on the street with nothing but the clothes on his back.

He wonders if he should just start packing his things now, to make it easier for whoever has to come and clean his apartment out, and that’s the thought he finally falls asleep over.

~*~*~

In hindsight Jiang Cheng should have figured that going for a run is the worst idea possible. But he didn’t think too much besides wanting to get out of his apartment for at least half an hour and since he can’t justify simply going for a walk or anything that would be considered taking time off but going for a run is exercise.

He can justify exercise.

So Jiang Cheng gets himself ready and starts to run with the intention of just getting it out of his system; to forget about his shit future for at least half an hour, but he has barely been running for five minutes when he starts to cry.

It’s probably due to the exercise and Jiang Cheng really should have expected that but it still catches him completely off guard.

And it’s not like he can stop the tears now that they started once and so Jiang Cheng turns around on his heel and runs back to his apartment.

Jiang Cheng manages to at least keep his sobs in until he closes his door behind him, but then he’s absolutely helpless against them.

And besides the all consuming panic there’s only one other thought in his mind.

He wants to see Nie Mingjue.

Jiang Cheng scrambles for his phone and he tries not to notice just how many messages he has missed over the last few days, which is relatively easy with how his whole vision is blurry from the tears.

He clicks into his chat with Nie Mingjue and simply types Please come over before he sends it off and then Jiang Cheng sinks to the floor right where he stands and curls into a ball, sobbing his heart out. He doesn’t even know if Nie Mingjue will come or if Jiang Cheng inadvertently pushed him away already, but there’s nothing Jiang Cheng can do about it now.

He simply has to trust that Nie Mingjue will come over.

Jiang Cheng isn’t sure how much time he spends like this and he startles badly when arms come up around him.

“My heart, what’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue asks him and he sounds scared, which Jiang Cheng figures is fair.

He would be scared as hell, too, should he ever find Nie Mingjue sobbing on the floor, but he can’t say anything to appease Nie Mingjue. Instead he just sobs harder and clings to Nie Mingjue when he pulls him into his lap.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jiang Cheng sobs out and he thinks that maybe he should be all cried out now, but it doesn’t seem like his tears are stopping any time soon.

“I’s okay, it’s okay,” Nie Mingjue tries to tell him, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, because nothing at all will ever be okay again but he can’t find his voice to tell Nie Mingjue yet.

“I’ve got you,” Nie Mingjue promises as he continues to hold Jiang Cheng through his break down.

Jiang Cheng isn’t quite sure how they eventually end up in his bed, or when he fell asleep, but when he wakes up he is in Nie Mingjue’s arms and he does feel a little bit better. His breakdown changes nothing about his situation, but he feels a little bit lighter now.

“Morning,” Nie Mingjue mutters and presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Hi,” Jiang Cheng gives back, but his voice is rough and scratchy and it triggers a coughing fit.

“Wait here,” Nie Mingjue tells him as he gets up but before Jiang Cheng can really feel bereft he’s back already, with a glass of water in his hand.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng croaks out as he takes it and downs it in one go.

“Better?” Nie Mingjue wants to know as he slides back into bed with Jiang Cheng.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng whispers but then it hits him that he just had a break-down in front of Nie Mingjue and he has no idea how to explain that one away. “I’m fine now.”

“Wanyin, you’re anything but,” Nie Mingjue says, though he does sound sympathetic about it. “You haven’t been for a while now, right?”

“It’s—nothing,” Jiang Cheng tries but he can tell by Nie Mingjue’s look that it’s useless.

“Won’t you tell me what’s going on?” Nie Mingjue prods and Jiang Cheng manages to stay stubborn for a full ten seconds before he starts to cry again.

“Oh no, my heart, come here,” Nie Mingjue says and he sounds close to tears himself, which is not something Jiang Cheng ever wanted.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll get a grip,” he says between his sobs, but it sounds like a lie even to himself and Nie Mingjue doesn’t even say anything to it.

He just keeps rubbing his hand up and down Jiang Cheng’s back and he keeps him close and allows him to cry into his chest and Jiang Cheng wishes he could stay here forever, safe and protected in Nie Mingjue’s arms where his parents can’t kick him out of the family for being too stupid and not enough like Wei Wuxian.

Nie Mingjue patiently waits until Jiang Cheng is all cried out again, before he slightly pushes him away.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t press until you’re ready to talk, but Wanyin, you’re worrying me. Please tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not—you can’t help,” Jiang Cheng whispers, but he knows that he can’t get out of this one.

“But maybe it will make you feel better if you just told someone,” Nie Mingjue whispers and kisses Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “You just have to talk to someone, Wanyin, please. Do you want me to call Wei Wuxian, or your sister?”

“No!” Jiang Cheng almost shouts and it only makes the frowns on Nie Mingjue’s face deepen.

“Did they do something?” he asks next but Jiang Cheng shakes his head before he even finishes his question.

“They don’t know, either, and they didn’t do anything,” Jiang Cheng mutters, looking down at his lap. “It’s just—me. I’m not enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“For everything, it seems,” Jiang Cheng bitterly spits out and he feels so ashamed when he starts to cry again. “I will never be enough and after finals everyone will know. I don’t know what I’m going to do, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jiang Cheng chants as he hides his face in his hands.

“Do about what?”

Jiang Cheng figures that at this point it’s pointless to lie to Nie Mingjue about this anymore and it’s probably easier to simply tell him now, but it’s still so damn hard to admit out loud that he will never be better than Wei Wuxian.

“My parents gave me an ultimatum,” Jiang Cheng finally admits. “During the last dinner. My father told me that he will only officially appoint me as the heir of the company if I get better grades on the finals than Wei Wuxian.”

“What the fuck,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and it almost startles a laugh out of Jiang Cheng because the really bad thing is yet to come.

“My mother—she topped that,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “If I don’t do better than Wei Wuxian on the finals she’ll cut me off. She basically threatened to throw me out of the family. If Wei Wuxian does better than me I’ll be kicked out of this apartment.”

“She’ll kick you out of the family? For bad grades?” Nie Mingjue asks and he sounds absolutely shocked.

“For worse grades than Wei Wuxian gets,” Jiang Cheng corrects, because it’s not like he really does get bad grades.

They are just not as good as Wei Wuxian’s.

“That is so fucked up,” Nie Mingjue says and pulls Jiang Cheng into another hug. “And I’m not going to let it happen.”

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng snorts out. “As if you can do anything about that.”

“My heart, I most definitely can,” Nie Mingjue says and squeezes him. “I might not be able to do anything about your parents, but they have lost the privilege of being your family. You’re going to move in with me, and I’ll have a chat with Xichen, I bet he and Lan Qiren would love to offer you a job at their company if you want that.”

“You—what?” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because this is not even close to anything he expected.

“I mean only if you want to,” Nie Mingjue backtracks immediately, and Jiang Cheng moves away from him, to be able to look him into the eyes.

“You would still—I’ll have nothing after the finals,” Jiang Cheng says and he forces the words out, but he can’t stop his hands from shaking. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“Oh, my heart,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and it’s hard to watch how Nie Mingjue’s face softens. “I will always stay with you, for as long as you want. It doesn’t matter if you haveanything. You’re still you, and that’s really all I want.”

“But I can’t—I won’t—I can’t even pay you back. I can’t even pay rent!”

“I don’t expect you to. I mean if you get a job with the Lans you can pay rent if you really insist on it, but it’s really not necessary.”

“But I have to give you something!” Jiang Cheng argues because relying on Nie Mingjue’s pity sits wrong with him.

“You can pay me back by relaxing. By being yourself. You’ve been so different lately, and it makes sense with how much pressure your parents put on you, but honestly, if you can smile at me again like you used to do, that’s all I really need. I just want you to be happy again.”

He sounds sincere enough to make Jiang Cheng cry again, but this time it feels cathartic. Jiang Cheng feels relieved for the first time since the last dinner with his parents and it is as if the whole stress of the past two weeks falls off him.

He still feels like a wreck and he knows it’s only a small reprieve, because finals are still right around the corner but if he doesn’t have to worry about being homeless afterwards, maybe he can even concentrate on them enough to get a decently high grade.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng gets out between his tears and goes in for another hug, which Nie Mingjue readily gives him.

“Not for that, my heart,” Nie Mingjue gives back.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Jiang Cheng eventually whisper.

“That’s alright,” Nie Mingjue immediately tells him. “To be honest, I’m just glad you finally told me what’s going on with you.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t—I tried to deal with it on my own,” Jiang Cheng admits, because that is how he learned to do things.

Never rely on other people and always power through without inconveniencing anyone else.

“That didn’t work out so well, huh?” Nie Mingjue asks, but it’s not mean and so Jiang Cheng simply shakes his head.

“I’m glad I have you,” he admits, because he honestly can’t imagine his life without Nie Mingjue and not even just because he offered to house him after finals.

Nie Mingjue just makes his life so much better and Jiang Cheng promises to never block him off like in the past two weeks again.

“And you always will,” Nie Mingjue promises him, kissing the new tears right off Jiang Cheng’s face

Jiang Cheng simply nods because he fears he’s going to burst into tears if he tries to say something, but he figures even that wouldn’t be too bad if Nie Mingjue holds him through it.

Jiang Cheng snuggles closer to Nie Mingjue, exhausted enough to fall asleep right here in Nie Mingjue’s arms and he vows to himself that he’ll study twice as hard after he wakes up, when he doesn’t have to fret about his future quite as much.

“Sleep, my heart,” Nie Mingjue lowly tells him and slides down on the bed, with Jiang Cheng safe and secure in his arms.

And Jiang Cheng has never felt better.

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loquaciousquark · 2 years

Text

8th Justinian. Cool today for the season, which means I’ve only had to change undershirts twice from perspiration

The first entry in a new volume is always one of my favorites. Something about the uncracked spine, the smell of clean parchment not yet grimed along all the edges, the spell of wondering what might happen to fill the rest of it. I tucked the last one on its shelf this morning after I closed it out and stood a moment admiring the row after, two dozen lovely little leather bindings all lined up soldierly, red and gold and brown and black and even Kirkwallian orange, thanks to a particularly generous moment from Aveline after her captaincy ceremony.

I had a shelf like this in Lothering too. I started keeping journals when I was—oh, I hardly know. Thirteen, perhaps? Fourteen? Old enough to form cogent thoughts, young enough that my terribly enormous fears barely spanned the fields to the creek behind the house. Young enough that I still pretended to be angry when Carver looked through the pages, though I was secretly flattered by the jealous attention (much easier to admit in two decades of hindsight). Mother encouraged the habit, thought it might improve my penmanship. It did, as it happened, though it also improved my tendency to practice witticisms in print first before testing them on my siblings. Poor Carver. Poor Bethany. However did we make it out of childhood together all under one roof?

That shelf is ash now, I suppose. We saw the house burning from the road, saw the darkspawn slithering over the waterwheel Da had set up at the creek. I know the curtains Mother made were alight—I watched the yellow print go black with char. I can’t imagine the rest of the house didn’t burn with them. We took so little with us...

I wish I could read them again. Bethany lived in those pages, if nothing else.

But! Wishes and fishes and an infinite sea; Orana’s brought tea and the dog needs a walk. Third shirt of the day, here we come!

12th Justinian. Evening. Stifling as a Fereldan oven on a feastday, and just as thick with the inexplicable odor of turnips and gravy

Lovely morning, quiet afternoon for once. Had a few jobs out on the Coast, nothing terribly onerous; more wonderfully, the sea was cool and salty and the spray was marvelous on our sweating faces after we tipped over the last of the bodies. I offered for us all to go swimming, but instead we just sat on a low black cliff and watched the water for a while, talking of nothing in particular. Merrill was weaving flower stems together to make a little green net; Isabela took it after a bit and started tying seagrass to its edges for a fringe. It was bleached by the sun and a touch stiff, but it still drooped magnificently when I held it over Fenris’s eyes like a little veil, like the ones the sisters sometimes wear on Satinalia. He must have been in a markedly good temper; he tolerated it for near half a minute before brushing me away, and even then he was smiling.

I can’t remember the last time he and Merrill shared in a joke, even something as small as this. Maybe several months ago at Wicked Grace, when Isabela dropped her hidden Angel of Death card by accident while she was fishing out her raise from her bodice, and Merrill puffed a bit of magic at it before Isabela noticed to send it flying across the table. Fenris caught it and tucked it into his cuisse quick as lightning, and by the time Isabela realized it was missing we were three hands in and drunk enough to reveal the secret immediately. Even Fenris’s stoneface gave way like wet clay when I plucked it out of his collar.

Even Anders laughed. Raucous, too, throwing back his head and tears squeezing out of his eyes. Was that the last time I saw him laugh?

Later—early?

Woke up from a dream and couldn’t sleep again. Fenris is still out like a doused torch. His arm was so heavy on my waist I couldn’t lift it and had to roll away from the weight instead, like a little Fereldan sausage on a turning spit.

It wasn’t even a bad dream, just—one of those quiet ones that make you rueful nostalgic. The little house in Lothering, curtains and all, and Mother and Da were there, and Bethany, and Carver covered in mud for some reason, and we were sitting down to table when the front door opened and Fenris came in to join us. Snow blew in with him, and he stamped his feet (booted), and Bethany laughed as she helped him with his scarf, and Carver dished him a plate and slapped him on the back as he sat down next to me. Da was smiling over his glass, and he winked at me as Mother chattered about the journey and the roads and grandchildren...

Funnily enough, it didn’t hurt at all when I woke. I thought it would. I lay there waiting for the iron clench, and it never came. It was only warm, a little candle in a window you might glance into from the evening street, a glimpse of a life that might have been, once, but has long passed by, and then you walk on your way again, gladdened for having seen it.

Fenris has at last mumbled a protest at the magelight. I think I’ll try to sleep again.

15th Justinian. Hot and clear, not a cloud for miles and miles. I bet I could see Amaranthine from the top of the Chantry spire if I tried

I should very much like to take a shovelful of nug dung and liberally coat the front door of every gossiping noblewoman in this city. Have they nothing better to do?

Word has spread, apparently, that the Champion has taken an elf for a lover. One would think his semi-permanent residence at the mansion & his attendance at Pelarie & Jule’s wedding hand in hand with me would have been clue enough, but these have apparently been heretofore ascribed to mildly inappropriate servitude. A natural assumption, it seems, given his master is a Fereldan doglord with no higher aspirations than an herb garden which doesn’t wilt in summer and blood-stain-less pants. Lord Stinton Fucking Forrester and his hideous mother came today to tell me—in essence, anyway—that the entire neighborhood had somehow seen me kissing Fenris the other evening at the wall that leads down into the Hightown market square, the one all covered in ivy and turned at an angle from the main stairs. Frankly, it’s rather private from prying eyes, especially when one is doing one’s covert kissing in the dark as we were, so I’m not entirely certain how we were so acutely observed unless Stinton lurks more in shadows than he lets on.

Thank the Maker Fenris was out visiting Sebastian. I don’t think he’d have been angry; for all his occasional acrimony, he can be remarkably diffident when it comes to his own social defense, as if he’s never entirely sure what he’s due. Worse, he might have believed them, even for the briefest moment, and all the wroth of the Maker I upended over their entitled, mercenary, cruel heads might not have undone the wound.

Stinton cried. Little boy that he is, soft-handed and soft-brained, his head full of his mother’s stuffing. I pitied him at the end, though I didn’t regret the anger. Lady Audrey sat cold as marble, her eyes wide at my language (or my general coarseness, possibly, given I was still wearing the stained house-robe from last night’s midnight stew snack), and when I at last told her I would no more welcome her advice on my bedfellows than on how to slaughter a dozen men with fire and a six-inch blade without their noticing, since she clearly was so interested in speaking of things she knew nothing about, she sucked in her cheeks so hard she looked like one of those little eyeless dolls Xenon keeps at the Emporium to dissuade theft.

She told me I was poisoning the streets of Hightown. I told her I was about to poison her right off my sofa if she didn’t leave. Stinton apologized in a whisper on their way out, though he didn’t say for what. Orana looked almost angry as she shut the door behind them.

Hm. Magnanimous as I am, I can admit that it was the most impressive flounce I’ve ever seen. Even the de Launcets were never so Orlesian in their exeunt.

16th Justinian. Early, steaming hot again, light clouds

I told Fenris an abbreviated version when he got home. We then spent the rest of the afternoon refreshing the lyrium of his tattoos (I was right; it took me significantly less time this go-round. Or—it would have, at least, if I hadn’t stopped to lick most of the tattoos as I cleansed them) and the rest of the evening refreshing ourselves with each other. I think I can write without blushing that the toy Isabela suggested to us is an unequivocal success.

Aha. It seems the blush marches on impassively, regardless of my wishes. Well, so be it. I will not be ashamed within these pages that my lover brings me pleasure, and I take pleasure in giving him his.

I worried at the start, you know. Oh, all the usual things: the fears that I might somehow remind him of Danarius; that he might not recognize the difference between an enraged mage sapping the lyrium dry and a mage caught up in the throes of—well, something infinitely more pleasant; that Danarius might have embedded certain cruel proclivities deeper even than I could reach. Everything which comes with taking a man who was a slave as a lover. I was more than willing to try, because—well, Maker, look at him—but what if—what if—?

I asked him last night where he learned to be gentle. He was quiet a long time; then he said he wasn’t sure. He said Danarius could be gentle when he wanted, when Fenris had pleased him, though it was still a selfish sort of kindness with no consideration for Fenris in the offering, if that makes sense. He said he saw slaves, sometimes, with other slaves, despite that it was a temerarious thing and as prone to pain as his own, though for different reasons.

I asked if the Fog Warriors had been gentle. He said yes, and his eyes softened the way they always do when he speaks of them, and he fingered the amulet we’d found together in Orlais. Shameless, too, he added, and laughed. My heart hurt it swelled so quickly, and I asked him if he would show me someday what he saw.

Someday, he promised, and then he kissed me and set the lyrium blazing, and I forgot quite everything else almost immediately. He knows so well how to distract me now, and I can hardly help but encourage it. I am in many ways a selfish lover myself, and I know he finds immense satisfaction in striking me dumb however he can.

Somewhere in these journals is our first meeting. It might even have been the start of the new set I began here in Kirkwall. I wonder—if I went back and read it now, could I know? Could I see all the ways it would wend together and apart again, all the ways it would be wonderful and all the ways it would hurt, desperately...

It was worth it. If nothing else, I know every moment was worth this.

25th Justinian. Still hot and flaring hotter, along with the tempers of every scorching templar and mage in this city

Orsino has written me. I wish he hadn’t. He wants me to come to the Gallows tonight and speak to him. He says Meredith has gone mad.

I don’t want to be part of this. Anders was with me when I read the letter and he hardly reacted at all; he’s been nothing but cold rage for weeks, and when I read the last line he gave only a bitter scoff. “He’s only just now noticed?” he said, and laughed. It was not a kind laugh, and it echoed on the rocks of the Wounded Coast like a bad copper that refused to disappear. Isabela just looked uneasy and Varric said we ought to get back to the city as soon as we could.

We passed a group of templars in Darktown on the way back. They all turned their heads in silence to watch us pass. They patrol now like guardsmen, though Aveline swears she stamps it out whenever she sees it and will not uphold arrests they bring to her. They watched us in silence, and I could feel the hostility in their eyes like the burn off ice.

I cannot describe in words how much I do not wish to go to the Gallows. This city is a maw, endlessly gorging itself on our pain, and everything in me says this meeting will tip a balance one way or another to feed the city further.

Fenris says he’ll go with me. Aveline, too, as she fears Meredith attempting to seize what’s left of the unclaimed power in Kirkwall. Varric just wants to watch it happen, I think.

There’s something tight and hot in the air, like a wire out of a forge drawn white as diamonds, and it’s been stretching and stretching for too long. For years, maybe. Something is going to snap tonight.

Well. What am I good for, if not helping people and killing people? Might as well see which will be most useful when Kirkwall comes collecting its due at last.

Later—

Elthina is dead.

Anders

The Chantry

Anders

I wanted to kill him.

I let him go. Sebastian left. He was enraged. I did that to him. He said he would

Oh, Anders, how could you have

We’re trapped in the Gallows with a dozen Circle mages. We ran through Lowtown and the docks—Carver is here—I would not slaughter the mages for her and Meredith is coming with every templar in the city to slaughter us instead. We’re just waiting—I want to go and meet them but Fenris says we’re more defensible here. She called the Right of Annulment. She

Fenris says

I can hear pounding on the gates

I don’t know what time it is. Near dawn. We’re on Isabela’s ship, sailing who knows where—away. Fenris is here with me, standing at the rail and watching the seas behind as I write because my mana’s sapped dead to ashes and there’s not a damned thing I can do for anyone but sit here and seep blood. Merrill is here too, and Carver, and Varric. Aveline stayed. Anders—Maker knows where Anders has gone. Sebastian is probably whipping a horse into a frenzy on some northward road to raise a Starkhaven army in revenge. He sang the Chant to me, held my hands when my mother died. He made pancakes for all of us that morning after Satinalia. He gave me gifts on the annums and told me he trusted me, and we walked Sundermount once arm in arm because it made him laugh

Meredith is dead. She went mad. Orsino went mad, and he is dead too. Kirkwall glories in its feasting tonight.

Anders

I’ve lost track of the days. Three we’ve been on the water, I think. Anders blew up the Chantry. The sela petrae, the drakestone—he used me. Used my affection for him, or at least for who he used to be. He killed Elthina and a dozen sisters preparing for evening vespers. Scarlet light blossomed into the sky when it happened and blew a ring of rubble into the city around us; I’ve no idea if others died in the wake. Probably so.

Meredith stabbed me as I fought her at the end. It reminded me of the Arishok, but this time I’ve no Anders to take the weight of the healing for me. Just my own blunt instrument and enough regrets to bend the back of a high dragon.

This is such a mess. What a burning mess I’ve made of all of this.

We’ve stopped in Ostwick for supplies and to post a few inconspicuous letters. The postmaster said it’s the 30th of Justinian. Five days since

Fenris has gone into town with Carver to see what news they can find. Merrill is in the galley trying to make something edible. Let me try to make sense of this.

We went to the Gallows. A mage there sent us to Lowtown, where we met Orsino and Meredith in high dudgeon and higher argument. They fought; I took sides; Anders intervened and said there could be no half-measures, no peace.

The Chantry exploded. Elthina died, and the sisters with her...

I told Meredith I would not allow her to kill every mage in Kirkwall because of the actions of one madman. Anders flinched when I said it, and I was glad it hurt him. She left to gather her army. Orsino asked me to deal with my mess, though not in so many words.

Sebastian was furious. He wanted to kill Anders in that moment; he would have, if I hadn’t stopped him. I think he only refrained because he thought I would do it myself.

I was going to kill him. I had the knife in my hand. He sat before me like a prisoner awaiting execution, and he told me he deserved it. He did deserve it. Sela petrae and drakestone, and my insipid bumbling distraction of a conversation with Elthina, no thought in my head that I was consigning her to death with every word.

I did not love Elthina. Not in the way Sebastian did. She let Petrice die, which I was glad of, and she gave Sebastian a heart when he needed one. She fed the poor and housed the homeless and led the pyreside service for Mother when she died. She stood aside and watched Meredith and Orsino tear the city apart and did nothing. She placated and soothed and murmured and did not act and—

Flames! This hardly matters, does it? She died, and any hope for peace died with her.

There can be no peace, he said.

I called him a murderer to his face. He agreed with me, and he was ready to die at my hand. He saved Carver’s life in the Deep Roads for my sake, and he played Wicked Grace with us and bought us drinks and saved my life a thousand thousand times over the years. He kept me alive after the Arishok. He helped the poor of Darktown for a decade. We danced the Remigold together on Satinalia. He was my friend...

I couldn’t kill him in the end. I tried. My arm would not move, and Toby came up and leaned heavy on my knee and whined, and I couldn’t kill him. I told him to leave and never come back—I never wanted to see his face again.

Sebastian shouted at me. It all fell apart so quickly.

Sebastian left in a black rage. He will return with an army to the city to—I don’t even know. To raze it to the ground, perhaps. To finish what Meredith began. To annex it into Starkhaven’s rule and come down with the iron fist upon all those unholy in its borders. What revenge would satisfy him? Even the Harimanns came up empty in the end, when we learned the demons were behind it and taking their lives became a hollow thing. I don’t think I’ll see him again without fury between us. I loved him, as I loved Anders, and I’ve lost them both.

Maker, if only I could lay this work at the feet of a demon. If only I could find one clear spark and say this, this was the cause, this evil and no other. Even Justice’s wrath is not enough to bear the blame alone.

Fenris is back. He says word of Kirkwall’s uprising has spread quickly. The Seekers are looking for me; there is a reward. We will take to the water again within the hour.

A thousand sovereigns, I’m worth. Alive, at least. No word on the price for the dead.

1st Solace. A clear day, cool, with a southerly breeze

Carver has decided I have, in his words, moped quite enough about all this, and has taken me under his arm and rapped my head with his knuckles until I cried uncle three times. Fenris only watched, bastard that he is, and by the time Carver was satisfied I was red-faced and livid. Nice to feel something though—anything, to be honest—and when he pulled me into a monstrous bear hug after it was all I could do not to break down and burst into very soggy tears right in the middle of his fancy Warden blues.

I had no idea he’d been so worried.

Damn Anders. Damn them all! Damn Meredith and Orsino and the whole bloody Circle. This didn’t have to happen!

Fenris says I’m not allowed to write again until I can do so without tearing the page apart with the pen. Andraste’s pyre, teach an elf to read and suddenly he’s got Opinions about everything literary, I swear to the Maker!

2nd Solace. Light drizzle today, enough to cut the heat. I’m huddled under a tarp on the stern deck and very grateful for it

Everyone else is belowdecks besides Isabela, the cowards. What little rain ever hurt anyone? One drip off an eave and Fenris hunches like an angry bedraggled cat. He’d never survive a Lothering spring.

Isabela says we should reach Wycome this evening. Aveline is to have posted letters for us there, we hope. Any news would do me good at this point; I can’t stop thinking about Orana, and Bodahn and Sandal. We had plans for this, contingency ideas to make sure they were away safely, but until I hear from her and know—

Enough. Worrying is nothing but borrowed misery. My mother taught me that. Where was I?

We fought through Lowtown and the docks. Carver appeared in the midst of the fighting like a gift from Andraste Herself and told me that if I were to start any wars without him, he’d take me to task and no mistake. I won’t lie; if the ferry had sunk on the way to the Gallows, I wouldn’t have minded overmuch. But it didn’t, and we landed...

There were abominations everywhere, mages desperate and dying in scores. Templars too, who attacked on sight, and Varric took a resounding crack to the skull that nearly robbed him from us before the real fighting even began. Thankfully I had enough lyrium draughts on me to get him back into fighting shape and still be square after, and then we stormed the Gallows in a fury that would have made Anders proud, if he hadn’t become, you know, a riotous murderer.

(Is it fair for me to say that? How many have I killed over the years? Were they all as guilty as I hoped?)

We were pinned deep in the Gallows. That’s when I wrote the earlier entry, when we had nothing to do but distribute potion and wait for death to come. It was—dare I say—nice in some ways to speak to everyone at last, one by one, and say—well, not goodbye, but...thank you, perhaps. Isabela stayed with me and did not leave. Merrill wanted to know if it was all a dream. Varric said he wasn’t one for long goodbyes. Aveline said she never doubted me (almost never)—which was nice to hear since I was half-certain I was about to make Donnic a widower. Forgive the smear on that last word; the ship dipped in a trough and a great slop of rainwater fell from the edge of my tarp cover to the page. Still legible.

Carver said it was good to be at my side again, the way a brother should be. And Fenris

Fenris

I suppose I should just say that if Stinton Fucking Forrester had been there, he’d have had no doubt of our relationship left.

He stayed with me to help the mages, and I loved him for it. I asked, and he stayed. I never doubted he would come with me when I asked, and my heart aches for some inexplicable reason at that understanding.

I love him; I know he loves me in return. That’s all. That’s enough.

Later—pulling into the dock at Wycome, still cool from the earlier rain

I had to stop earlier for lunch, and then Fenris & Carver wanted to discuss our plans with Varric. We have some now—plans, I mean—which is more than before, and I’m grateful to them for taking the lead here. It’ll just depend on if Aveline’s been able to send word.

Anyway, Orsino lost his mind to blood magic and turned into an absolutely disgusting many-armed monstrosity that took a thousand years to kill. I don’t know why. I don’t know—we killed the templars that came so quickly, and we lost no one in the doing, and still when it was over he looked despair in the face and welcomed it, and he gave in. We killed him, and everything he knew died with him.

He knew of Quentin...he knew...

But enough. That’s done. I can’t change it now.

We fought our way out to the courtyard again, the Gallows cleared and what mages survived huddled in a pitiful pile behind Carver’s watchful back, and then Meredith came to meet us with curly-haired Cullen at her shoulder. He wanted to simply arrest me, he said—as if that would have been any better under Meredith’s gauntleted thumbs—and she pulled a gleaming red sword from her back and slung it towards me, and even from across that little distance I could taste the iron ring of red lyrium baked into every inch of that blade.

I heard Varric swear. I saw the madness take hold in Meredith’s eyes when Cullen defied her orders and relieved her of command, when she ordered them to kill me and they would not. I saw the power leap from the sword into the cobblestone of the courtyard and slither into the statues watching, the great guardians with their many faces and the twisted, tortured bronze slaves that Fenris misliked so many years ago.

There is something deeply and ironically funny about that. That a penniless Fereldan refugee who came to this city with nothing but the clothes on her back and half a dead family ten years ago somehow grew important enough that the city’s erstwhile ruler wanted her dead among all others. Is this what they call making it?

In any case, the statues came alive. We fought them, and they—died? Is that the right word? I do wonder how deep her reach ran, if the great Twins that guard the harbor mouth came alive too, and, since they’re fixed knee-down in stone, settled for throwing stones at passing ships until the chains were raised. They all died, regardless, and at the end it was only Meredith and the red mad light of lyrium as she quoted Benedictions and called on the Maker to smite me dead where I stood.

She

Why is this so difficult to write

She got me by the forehead, once, near the end. I’d been caught up in a fight with one of the great hulking bronze slaves, its faceless head bearing down on me like a tidal wave as it fell in death, and then next thing I knew I’d been snatched from behind and Meredith had my head in one burning hand and her other hand—or at least the sword she held in it—thrust right through my gut.

After all this time, journal, I will not lie to you. I was absolutely furious. After all I’d done for the city, after giving up a perfectly good kidney, how dare she take my other! How dare she give Fenris even an ounce more of grief? How dare she make enforcing the people’s safety even one step harder on Aveline?

(It occurs to me as I write this that perhaps I should have simply been angry she stabbed me in the first place, but—alas. Where our hearts go, so too do our sorrows follow, etc.)

But thank Andraste it was more a glancing blow, due mostly to one of Sandal’s precious runes reinforcing the armor, and instead of skewering me clean through she simply ripped out a bit of my side and went through fat and muscle only. Nothing vital. Not that Fenris was anymore pleased by this, considering how ghost-clear and blinding blue he went as he came up behind her and swung his sword down on her neck. Not quite the impartial observer of the Arishok fight this time.

It was enough. She dropped me; I turned my staff to the bladed end; I put it through her throat. She screamed, then, and cried out to the Maker, and she burned...

She burned. On her knees, screaming upwards, and then she died. The sword withered into nothing and was gone, as beautiful as the sparks off a bonfire and as brief.

Cullen let us go. He could have stopped us if he wished; I was hardly in a position to do anything about it. Fenris was bleeding heavily from a blow to his forehead that had one eye clenched shut, and Varric’s right shoulder was dislocated. Aveline’s shield had broken clean in two and dangled from her arm. He could have stopped us.

He didn’t, and we fled. Isabela collected her crew from the docks once the ferry landed, rousing them from hammock and brothel, and we boarded without once returning to Lowtown, to Hightown, to—to anything. They were already raising the chains in the bay by the time we slipped across them.

And here we are.

Wycome is lovely in the dark. I’m not allowed to go ashore per the various threats to my personage from various interested parties, but from the ship’s rail I can see the candles gleaming in windows and across the streets, hear the calls of dockworkers to each other and laughter spilling out of bars as they go home to their families. Green bunting hangs over most main streets, shining gently in the lamplight. A lovely town. A quiet town, at least so far. Carver hasn’t come tumbling out of some tavern with half the village swarming like bees behind him, so I suppose they must be succeeding in their goals. All I can hope for, now. I gave what I had to Kirkwall and it wasn’t enough.

Maker and his blessed Bride, how twisted is it that I still love that city despite its horrors?

3rd Solace. There is no entry for this date, only a series of letters, many times folded and unfolded, tucked into the crease. The first is from the captain of Kirkwall’s guard, assuring the reader that her household is alive and well and that guards have been posted around her home to defend it from looters and rioters, and that the city is in as much order as could be expected after such events. The second is from a household maid, insisting that the reader’s home is being kept in a state ready for her return, that she herself is happy and healthy and safe, and that she has many friends looking after her in the meantime. The third is from the reader’s uncle, recommending the reader stay away a little longer if she knows what’s good for her, lest her long nose get cracked for poking in places it doesn’t belong. All three letters have rippled stains along the edges, as if they have been dampened more than once.

6th Solace. A clear day, cool, beautiful, light clouds and a clean eastern wind

The parting’s come at last. I didn’t want it to. Varric is to go back to Kirkwall. Merrill, too, to assist with the alienage and the elves there, and Carver must return to the Wardens. He’s already lingered too long—he told me that helping start a war was one thing as far as his commanding officer was concerned, but being late to muster was something decidedly worse. Isabela will ferry them back to the city in a matter of days now that the worst of the fervor has been curtailed. I wanted to go with them desperately, but there are still flyers everywhere with my face on them. My name, and a price on my head. I told Fenris it was nice to be so wanted, and he only rolled his eyes.

He will not go without me. I should feel guilty, I think, that he has given up everything he’s built to stay here with me, but—I don’t. I love him, and I want him near me. Perhaps not quite as near as the hammocks on Isabela’s ship forced us (that, I think, would strain even the most harmonious marriage on the continent), but when I said I would stay ashore and travel northward, he said without a moment’s hesitation that he would come with me.

I wanted to ask if he was sure. I know he grieves the loss of (damage to?) his friendship with Sebastian. I wanted to ask if it was worth it...

But his eyes were strong, green as glass and just as clear, boring into me like the outstretched hand of the Maker himself, and I knew to ask would only hurt us both. So I just kissed him instead, and let him hold me with our foreheads together for a little while, until we could both breathe again and pretend the salt on our faces was from the spray the ocean threw against the side of the ship with every rocking swell.

We will go back, one day. I can feel it in my blood. For better or worse, Kirkwall is the forge that made me; it’s as much as part of me as my bones and my magic. When it is safer—not safe, because if I have learned nothing over ten years I have learned that city will never be safe—we will go back, because even if it is not safe it is mine.

For now we will go north. Not too near Starkhaven, just in case Sebastian’s rage still burns too brightly, but enough that the fires spreading out of Kirkwall are more likely to be embers instead. The Vimmark Mountains are eminently passable this time of year, and there are many small villages between here and Starkhaven where we might take shelter and rest. Wildervale, perhaps. Perhaps one of the hamlets outside the city, if we need be even safer.

Ten years we spent in Kirkwall together. Fenris and me, and Aveline and Merrill and Varric, and Isabela, and Anders and Sebastian. Even Carver for the first little while, and again, later, when he could be spared from his duties. How many nights at The Hanged Man can I remember? They all blur together in the memory of warm candlelight, terrible whiskey and worse stew, and laughter so loud it shook the rafters in Varric’s suite.

I leave my mother in Kirkwall too. The house she grew up in and the one she returned to as a widow, her ancestry marked out in browning portraits hung along every wall and spidering genealogies tucked into the library shelves. The books Fenris used to learn to read are there, and the last bottle of Fereldan ale Aveline gave me. Mother’s room, and her ashes...

I leave the foundry ash in Kirkwall. Darktown always smelled of it, especially in winter when the chokedamp rose. Lowtown, too, when the wind was high and the foundries particularly hot. There’s suffering seeded through every line of iron you ever made, and that I leave behind willingly and without rancor. The passage to Anders’ clinic and its sticky key will stay a memory for me alone, still precious for all the pain of it now.

Hightown I leave to you, Stinton Fucking Forrester, and Lady Audrey and your awful husband; and to Jethann and the Rose; and to Aveline and Donnic and the rest of the guard who’ll have to clean up after my mess. I’m sorry for the wreckage I’ve sown in my wake; if you give me long enough I’ll be back to claim it. Raise the walls again, Aveline, and brace the buttresses against Sebastian’s rage. There will be blood in those streets again, but if I have any say in it it won’t be Kirkwall’s.

Give my love to Orana, Merrill. Keep her safe, and Bodahn and Sandal, wherever they’ve gone. Don’t let any Orlesian merchants come and bully her. I’ll be back. I’ll bring her a new shawl when I come, and I’ll take her to another mummer’s show, if she wants. Merrill, watch over the alienage. They need you as much as the vhenadahl for your protection.

Sebastian...be tempered. Don’t let the anger swallow you whole. If nothing else, I know Elthina taught you how to move through grief.

Keep Kirkwall safe for me, Varric. You’re the only one I know who loves her as much as I do, and you’re the only one I can trust to keep things running while I’m gone. Take as much of a percentage as you like from whatever you need of my funds. Void, take all of it. You’ve earned it and more. Isabela will bring me when we’re ready. I know the ports she sails for during a storm, now.

Anders

Anders, be well. Maker, be quenched, if not happy.

And Fenris—

I have nothing left for you, my darling, but all myself. You’ll have to settle for me and be satisfied. My love is a brutal thing, more prone to killing than kindness, but you knew this when you took me on. Let the thunder roll down around us as it will; I can bear anything so long as you stand beside me.

I do love you, Fenris. You don’t even need to tear my heart out to see how deep you’re written in me. Call me avis every once in a while and you’ll keep me in love for the rest of my life.

All right. All right, that’s enough. The ship has raised anchor with a rush of green seawater and the gulls are screaming, and Fenris keeps trying to steal my pen so I’ll wave the Call off. A good day for a parting, clear sunny skies and a clean wind, even if Varric’s too short for the rail and Isabela won’t look back at me. At least Merrill and Carver are waving.

All right. We’ve coin and food and a plan. More than I had the last time I fled my home. Fenris is with me, and that’s enough. He’s smiling at me even now, infinitely patient as I finish these last few words. How grateful I am! And he knows it, too, if the curled smile is any indication as he leans over my shoulder to read the last bits along with me. Avis, he says to me as he reads that passage, a bit surprised, though there’s still open tenderness in his voice.

That’s enough. I’m ready. Whatever comes next, I’ll meet it gladly.

I’m ready.

—

end.

#fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #dragon age #quark writes #hawke's journal tag #i'm going to do a wrap-up post this morning if i have time before getting on the road #but this has been a fic seven years in the making #almost eight #and #written entirely to the blue whale by steven price #thank you again #theherocomplex #for sharing your wonderful writing playlist with me #oh my i'm emotional about this

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xfeliciahardyx · 3 years

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Summary: What happened in the bakery changed you. The next few years would force you to harden and build so many walls that you vowed to never let anyone in. You can probably guess what happens when a certain soldier starts to scale those walls so that he can get to you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: mention of blood, intense details about ww2, side character deaths, traumatic backgrounds, mention of Nazis, mentions of broken bones and bullet wounds, children suffering due to the war, imprisonment in a concentration camp, someone does get stabbed, and angst (Warnings will be added as the story continues if need be. This is just for the first chapter!)

Taglist: ~Here~ (Feel free to add yourself to any other categories!)

Word Count: 9k

Author's Note: Okay everyone reading I first want to say thank you for reading my imagine. There are some things that I need to clarify before you start reading this. The entire series will be me going through the Captain America movies. It first starts at The First Avenger and continues through the places in time where Bucky is and where he is not OoOoOoO plot twists. But yes this can be overwhelming to read because some details are VERY graphic. i did use techniques from my medical skills class so all the medical procedures are researched and correct. Please enjoy The Winter Soldier and The White Feather or as I like to call it WSWF

The war was changing you and everyone around you. It was making kind people turn green and bad people even worse. You learned that the hard way of course. When you’d had been taken to the facility you didn’t know what to expect. Now you had been in it for God knows how long and you didn’t know what would happen. You had no way of contacting your family. Of contacting anyone you knew really. You were lost, scared, hoping for a savior that didn’t seem to be appearing. Lost traveling in a fog ridden meadow without any sense of direction. It killed you to see how many people died and suffered at the hands of the Germans, but your screams were of no use. The way they treated everyone was as horrible as a cat chasing a mouse. Like you were the filth on their boots, the scum of the earth. Any time someone said something to them they’d react as if a fire touched their skin and recoil away. They acted as if they didn’t have enough money to feed anyone properly. The food was sure to break several health codes back in the city but that didn’t seem to stop you all from eating it. If it wasn’t stale bread that you could knock someone out with, it was week old soup that had hints of green to it. The water was as piss pore and was a dull gray. Not your best moments or the biggest feast for the holidays but it was for survival. It was meant for you to get on through the day and do as you’re told. The inmates had started to call it the end of the world. You didn’t blame them because it was. That didn’t stop them from constantly complaining about every little thing. You on the other hand couldn’t give a fuck. It was like every single one up and flew away with the happiness that had been your life in France. You couldn’t even speak after the horrors the world and slammed into your life. You avoided everyone and everything that lived, scared and desperate to stay hidden. It was the way to go and others followed your lead. You weren’t one to speak or do anything with another person and the others around you knew it. So, they cleared their distance and you appreciated it. You had never been one to stay quiet for long around people. Eventually you’d try to get to know them. But you had changed just as times had. Even now you knew to keep your cool and to keep up with your manners. At any minute they could kill you. Or they could do something to shatter your already scarred mind. You knew you weren’t like the people who decided to suck up to them. Kissing the floor, they walked on for a little bit of clean water, or a bowl of soup that was freshly made. They were horrible to the suck ups and laughed at them as they did their best to seem appealing. You would never stoop as low to be a person who supported the people who had made this sad reality your life. Despite everything your parents had done to you, you always managed kindness. The girl who was secretly the crush of every guy because of her brains. The kind of girl that went to the library in her free time. The girl who never dated because she claimed she wanted to focus on school but could never know how to talk to guys. Went to the movies with her one friend who she cared about more than anything. The girl who made life positive because her family had always made it negative. Yes, you were over all kind but when you needed to be you could be as sharp as a spear. So, why did they kidnap you? It was simply a case of being at the wrong place in the wrong time. But that didn’t excuse their actions following the moments they walked in that bakery with their rifles held high and their voices screaming in curses. Why did they have to kill one of the most important people in your life right in front of you? Shot her straight through the heart at the bakery around the block from the school. All because she was Jewish. Their logic didn’t explain why they had the right to take her life. Her younger siblings had been complaining about food and you had an extra food stamp to use. You’d despised the stars they had to wear on their chest that prohibited them from having the normal things every person

needs. You all had practically skipped to the bakery in hopes that they’d have chocolate. It was a nice moment thinking that everything was back to normal. She had only been 21 and you 20. That was 3 years ago. Even so long after you could still imagine the events that had occurred. Her blood had splattered all over your polka dotted yellow dress. All she had asked for was food for her siblings. Sure, sweets would have been kind but you were all hungry in general. When the soldiers had come in, they’d been attracted to her star. You should have been on guard more, but you’d been naive to think they wouldn’t harm them. One had grabbed Ciera and pushed himself against her. In her reaction she’d kicked the German away and his comrade shot her. Her siblings that had been clinging to your side as they shot her cried out for their sister as she dropped to the ground. Siblings that had their throats slit as they clung to your arms. You had begged for their lives. They were just two children. You thought they would have a little mercy. You knew you would take care of them for their sister. You tried to explain that Tommy and Cassandra had been hungry, and their sister had been killed right in front of them. The trauma they had suffered was enough for their minds to endure. All of what was happening was enough to make anyone mad. It was necessary that they cry and mourn. But as heartless as they were, they showed no remorse. That two children crying for their dead sister would never and hadn’t stopped the Germans. They’d ripped the children from your hands and pressed their silver knives to their throats killed them. You wanted to fight for them. You loved them like your own siblings. They didn’t deserve the fate that had been handed to them. The third soldier had held your arms behind your back to stop you from tearing them away. You had tried to fight him, but you knew he wouldn’t let go. You watched the blood slip from their throats, and you sagged against the soldier. He had been the kinder of the three. A recruit perhaps. You didn’t realize until later that he’d held you in his embrace throughout the car ride to the place where you’d be transported. The screams that left their mouths still haunted you and you saw their terrified faces in your dreams. Sometimes they would come together as a group. Other times Tommy would visit you with blood seeping from his throat asking you for his sisters. You blamed yourself for not fighting hard enough. You watched as the life left your eyes when you knew it should have been you. You should have been dead on the ground with them as they lay dead next to their sister on the ground. Yes, life was unfair. But if life was unfair than war was no comparison.

“Gurl!” A German soldier yells pointing his finger to a spot in front of him. Most of them could barely speak English and when they did it was so slurred. Half the times you had to watch their hand motions to understand what they wanted. His eyes are locked on you from your spot by the back of the courtyard. It was a quiet place that everyone avoided because of the sun that would beam on you. They preferred the shade, but you just needed the quiet heat to cleanse your mind. You cursed and grabbed onto the chain fence behind you to lift yourself up. It bent with your weight but you knew it wouldn’t break. It was a trashy fence that if you tried to climb, you’d either be shot down or just get so scratched that you’d just end up doing more harm than good. The fence traveled around the vast courtyard that was rundown and brown. The fence had rust in certain spots from when it rained but it never did anything for the concrete. Blood stains covered the floor from where prisoners had been shot and dragged away. There were splatters and puddles all over the already dirty floor. Even on the ground leading into your cells you’d find the lengthened blood beneath your feet. The courtyard was the only time you got to see the outside world. They also had a calendar on the wall that told you what day it was. You weren’t sure why but maybe it was to bring down the spirits of everyone. You on the other hand had been there for 3 years 2 months and 25 days. Since the beginning of the German’s invasion of France. It was made up of mock punching bags filled with paper plates and hard pillows that no dared to sleep on. People sat in cliques all around speaking in different languages. Most of them spoke French and in your time there you’d picked up bits of other languages. Nothing too major but just enough to understand.

“Ve dount ave foreevare vittle gurl.” He yelled again and you picked up your pace. You didn’t want to do anything to cause any more attention to yourself. His accent sent prickles of fear up your spine and the hairs on your arms stood on end. As you walked by a few whispers drafted into your ears and people glanced away. Being called over by a soldier wasn’t a good thing and people avoided it as much as they could. There was always the possibility of someone getting shot or having to do something you weren’t mentally or physically prepared to do. So, the terror that was filling up your mind with endless possibilities wasn’t a fun thing. Anxiety tightened the space in your chest and your throat was constricted with worry. You stopped a few steps in front of the soldier who towered over you and said nothing as his eyes trailed over your body. Once upon a time you would have blushed and shifted awkwardly where you stood but now you stand still and stare straight at the wall behind the soldier to avoid eye contact. The mic on his shoulder beeps and he holds out a finger to you. You don’t respond and continue to stare straight ahead. He responds to the German voice in his native language rapidly and you fiddle with your hands behind your back. You could feel the tension rising around the two of you and it wasn’t good. His eyes had begun to harden more, and his posture grew rigid. His eyes darted around the dirt filled courtyard until he turned around and stared at a man. He had been beat up. On his eye was a purplish hue with hints of green. You saw a small limp in his walk as you turned your head in his direction. He stopped and leaned against the fence with his arms crossed a pair of tags dangling around his neck. The green Henley he wore was matted and had spatters of dried blood. His pants hung off his body, still fitting but with tears. Looking from the outside in he looked just as bad as every other prisoner of war. He had an unreadable expression as he surveyed his surroundings. You caught a small calculating look in his eyes as he scanned people that walked by. His eyes caught yours and your breath caught in your throat. He didn’t just stare at you from afar. He seemed to bare your soul out in front of everyone to see. His gaze was intense, and a hint of curiosity was in his dark eyes. The soldier beside you muttered something into his radio and your gaze snapped away from the handsome stranger and you turned back at attention. You couldn’t get the image of him out of your mind even as the soldier gave you your new group to follow to your cells. Everyone was given a number when they were placed in the camp. Each cell was alphabetized and most of the time people didn’t even pay attention to them. They did it to give themselves a feel of control. The only one you didn’t follow. You didn’t say anything back to him and when he dismissed you, you promptly walked back to your spot. You didn’t want to turn your head in the direction of the stranger you knew was walking over to you. You wanted to disappear, and you knew the moment he talked to you your tough exterior would break. There was something different about the way his head was held high and his shoulders never slumped. You could practically feel his confidence from across the courtyard and out of your peripheral vision. You slid down the fence with a sigh as you put your head in your knees. You took a few breaths to keep yourself calm as a pair of shoes came into view. They were brown and matted and looked like they’d seen better days.

“You okay?” a voice followed. It was low and soft, but it sent shivers down your spine. You slowly raised your eyes up the body that was wearing them, and your eyes widened in surprise where the man from before stood in front of you. He’s much taller than you initially realized and his eyes a deeper brown. He stares down at you with worry and you just stared at him not knowing what to do. He was around your age and it was rare you found anyone your age and that spoke a language you could speak. Sure, there were people who spoke your language and had tried to talk to you. Soon enough they stopped coming around because staying in a group too long would strike fearing the people because they wouldn’t want the Germans thinking new company meant rebellion. He moved to your side and carefully slid down the steel fence. You stared ahead at the people who stood in the middle of the courtyard.

“So, you people watch.” The stranger says motioning to the people in front of you both. You nod without looking at him keeping a close eye on the people in front of you. Something felt wrong about the gathering. It wasn’t anything good. Someone was shoved across into another person and you heard the stranger suck in a breath. He felt the sudden shift too and he pointed a finger towards a short man in broken glasses. His eyes flipped from each side of the courtyard where the two soldiers stood. His hands were clasped together, and his feet were headed in the direction of the crowd. You nudged your elbow into your newfound companions’ arm tilting your chin up in the direction of the people. The air felt stiff in the courtyard more than normal as the crowd began to step into a circle the short man now joining them. The soldiers seemed to notice it too because their gazes were hardened, and their guns were pointed. Your heart began to pound as you knew what was coming next. It haunted you every night ever since you had seen it the day you’d been kidnapped and taken to this camp. The images of Ciera’s body falling to the ground flashes through your vision and you shake your head, feeling your heart squeeze. The screams of her siblings were in the wind you closed your eyes tight and took in a deep breath. They were screaming out orders in German, but the group paid them no mind. You couldn’t breathe. Your hands rubbed against your rugged jeans completely lost to your nightmares that were coming to life. You opened your eyes slowly and looked around to see if anyone else was witnessing what was going down. A few other small groups of people watched from afar with dead eyes, but none made a move to assist. Your eyes were locked on the German soldier directly across from you that was walking towards the group. With each footstep your breathing became faster and your mind screamed for them to heed the warnings the Germans were giving. The group was large and growing by the minute which in the eyes of your captors was a bigger threat. The German nudged one of the people in the group with his gun and what happened next you had never expected. The stringy thin man with blood hair who had been poked spun around and stabbed the soldier in the neck with a foreign object and someone screamed. His hands went to his throat and he dropped his gun. The man dove for it as the soldier fell slowly bleeding out on the concrete. Everything was chaos as the gun dropped and a single bullet escaped from its chamber. The bullet flew across the courtyard and your eyes flew with it watching it impale a single child.

“No!” you screamed bolting up from your place by the fence. The soldiers burst into action firing down anyone who had been in the huge crowd. Everyone went running towards the inside of the prison, trying to avoid the bullets. It was pure chaos as people from everywhere were getting shot as they tried to escape the rage of the soldiers. There were screams of all different languages and you heard the cry of the mother above all. Her cries for her baby filled your ears as you raced across the courtyard toward the downed child. The man followed you close behind, and you paid him no mind as you shoved through the on rush of people. People were getting into meaningless fights as they tried to get away. A man stops in front of you making a grab for your waist. A hand presses against your chest shoving you back as the stranger jumps in front of you. He throws a hard punch at the man who’d made an attempt touch and he gets knocked to the ground. You grabbed his hand and started running again. The mother’s screams in French guided you through the crowd. You felt your foot hit something before you went flying. Your hands moved out in front of you to stop the fall by instinct and on impact you hissed in pain. You had landed hard on your free hand but was yanked back up just as quickly.

“We have to go.” The man from before whispered in your ear.

“The child needs help.” You whispered back and he didn’t say a word back as he supported you on the remaining distance. The child lay on the ground holding his mother’s hand as she screamed for help. The brown-haired man set you on the floor beside the child and you immediately began ripping your jacket off your arms. You ripped the sleeves off the jacket and used the back to apply pressure to the wound. The single bullet hole was small but on the size of the boy was enough to cause a lot of damage. You quickly felt it become wet with blood and pressed down a little harder as the boy cried out in pain.

“Mon garçon, s'il vous plaît, sauvez mon garçon.”(My boy, Please save my boy) She sobbed as her eyes covered her face. Her hands were covered in his blood and your mind flashed with the memory of your own hands covered in Tommy and Cassandra’s blood. You ignored her cries but that didn’t stop you from helping her. You kept a steady push on his leg to slow the bleeding. After a few checks you eyed the wound and you couldn’t help the feel of triumph that flowed through your heart. The slow of bleeding meant you could check the wound for any other injuries it could have caused. You ripped open his pant leg and wiped the blood away to get a good look at the wound. This wasn’t the first time you’d be a medic and it wouldn’t be the last. Your father had gotten plenty of hunting wounds and you had been the one to take care of them. His leg only held one bullet hole, but his leg was so skinny it could fit in the palm of your hand. Your heart ached that this would be the childhood he remembered and not one filled with days of running in a field with his mother or being in school with his friends. He was one of the lucky ones you had to remind yourself. He was alive and you were determined to keep him that way. Your hands moved with remarkable speed as you lifted the child’s leg and looked for the exit wound of the bullet. A small hole was in the back of his leg and you wiped it clear of blood. You lifted the sleeve from earlier to your teeth and made a big enough tear that you could rip it with your bare hands. The long piece of clothing dangled between your fingertips as you examined the length. From the way the threading looked it wouldn’t hold for long, so you’d have to find a more permanent solution. But that was later and the thin cloth would do good for now.

“How can I help?” The man whispered in your ear again as your mind whirled with adrenaline. Your instincts in healing were helping you move through the steps you’d done so many times before with ease, but you couldn’t help the storm brewing in your feelings. You were enraged, scared, and so many other feelings all at once. You had gotten lost in the moment as you rushed to save the boy that lay before you. People were still running inside, and the screams had begun to slow. The courtyard was filled with sobs of families returning to their loved one’s bodies that lay dead on the floor. The blood on the ground would haunt them for the rest of their lives as the bodies were carried away by the ‘healthy’ prisoners.

“Lift his leg carefully. I need to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.” You said softly showing him the places to place his hands. He placed his above and below the wound just as you’d asked and lifted slowly. The boy screamed in pain and the mother began to reach her hands out to stop you. You glared at her, but she ignored your attempts to stop her from distracting you. She was screaming at you in French, begging you to stop hurting her boy. You ignored her cries and curses and continued to work. Her hands were gripping yours now as she tightened them around your wrists, and you struggled to tie the knot.

“Si vous ne retirez pas vos mains, votre fils mourra!” (if you don’t pull your hands away your son will die) you snap back at her in French and her nails stop digging into your skin. She pulls away quickly but doesn’t move her eyes away from your face. You sigh in frustration as you tighten the knot around the boy’s leg. You can hear the boy crying for his maman and she’s trying to calm him but it’s no use. You grab the jacket and place it over the boys wound again and apply pressure. The mother is sobbing as she holds her sons face and you watch knowing that you can only help minimally. You motion for the man to lower his leg softly and he does. He watches you carefully as you wrap the torn jacket around his leg and tie it again in the back. The bleeding has slowed to minimal trickle, but you’ll have to find something to clean the wound to keep away infection. You sigh in relief collapsing on the back of your heels as the woman steps away from her boy and walks over to you. She offers a hand over to you and you stare at it not sure what to do. She smiles weakly and shakes her hand again. You realize she’s trying to get you to stand up and you take it willingly. She helps you stand up and as soon as you’ve got on your feet, she pulls you into a hug.

“You…help…. me Henry.” She whispers in your ear as she pulls away. There’s a new look in her eyes as she apologizes for hurting you in French. She pulls your wrists to her mouth and places small kisses over the crescent moon shaped marks. Her fingers run over them in a silent guilt and you pull away and give her a small smile. Her hand brushes your cheek leaving a trail of blood, but her eyes are locked on yours. She leans in placing a kiss on your cheek before releasing you from her embrace. She quiets quickly once you tell her that it’s alright and that you have something to tell her. You start to give her basic instructions that will keep her son alive. How to clean the wound and tell her the signs of infection. Her hands grip onto her fingers, and her eyes are eager to make sure she doesn’t miss a word. You tell her your cell keep so that if she may ever need your assistance, she can send someone. The man who helped you stands beside you as you give her these instructions nodding as you list off everything. Once you trust that she knows everything you bid her goodbye and tell her to stay safe. She doesn’t respond as she looks away from you down to her son whose hand is out reached for her. She rushes to her knees and grabs his hand and doesn’t give you another glance. You know she won’t leave him alone for a minute. The fear of losing her family wasn’t a good one and it had scarred her heart forever just as it did to you months ago. She would hold on tight to his hands and watch for any signs of sickness. She would not sleep through the night but would tell her boy that she did. She’d do anything to protect her last light in the dark world. Your eyes travel from their joined hands to the boys’ face. It’s pale, most likely from the blood loss but he smiles at you. He opens his mouth to say something, and just as quick as it opens it closes as a grimace of pain flashes over his face. You shake your head giving him a weak smile. You kneel beside his head and place a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead and murmur a good-bye. You give the mother and son a small wave before standing once more and turning on your heel to walk away. Your tail follows you as you make your rounds around the courtyard. People cry out to the two of you as you try your best to help anyone and everyone. Most people have died by the time you reach them, and you close their eyes for the dead to mourn. Some don’t accept that their loved one is dead and continue to scream their fury at your insistence. One man almost attacks you because he refuses to believe his wife was killed and the stranger has to stop him. Tears stream down your cheeks at the sight of each body that lies on the floor. There was so much blood on the court now that it was rare you saw an old patch that was dried. It runs underneath your shoes and covers each piece of cement with ease. It soaks the clothes of the people lying beside their families and friends crying their hearts out to someone who is no longer there. Their pain has become apart of you and you can feel the shock of it numb you by the time you reach the last patient. Your tears have dried up and your hands are covered in so much blood that pieces flake off when the wind blows through the courtyard. You stand beside the teenage girl that holds her arm limp as her companion stands nearby attempting to talk to you in German. You attempt to converse with him in French the only language you’d been able to learn in your months of imprisonment but it’s no use as he doesn’t understand you. The girl cries softly as you touch her arm trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Was ist mit ihr passiert?” (What happened to her?) your partner says in German earning a glance from the boy. He speaks faster now the urgency in his hand motions clear. You can’t help but watch in awe as the man who has been helping this whole time stays remarkably calm. He nods and continues to ask him questions and gives him responses without hesitation. He doesn’t interrupt when it becomes clear that the boy is in full out panic mode. You place your hand on the girls’ shoulder and she flinches away before you give her a small smile. She stared at you with a suspicious glare in her eyes, but you tapped your eyes and then pointed to her shoulder in hopes that she would understand. Her eyes are wide with understanding and she leans in closer to you. You press your fingertip towards the top of her shoulder, and you feel her flinch. Doing this a few more times as you examine her shoulder you realize it doesn’t look like the other. It’s bent at an odd angle and you curse yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Her shoulder is dislocated presumably from being trampled in the panic. I know how to put it back in place, but it’ll be a two person job so I’ll need your help...” you trail off not knowing your assistants name. He glances over his shoulder giving you a smile makes you look down at your hands tat have begun to fidget.

“Call me Bucky.” He winks but you can tell he immediately regrets it because he turns away and starts muttering something under his breath. You catch a small huff of frustration that he cuts off quickly with ‘idiot’ following in English. You chuckle a little and his eyes brighten at your show of emotion towards him. Besides the subtle nudges of worry from before the attack, it was the only one you’d shown. His whole demeanor changed then, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to the sudden beam of light. He was trying to hide his ear to ear smile as he shifted in place. You shake your head slightly and notice the two people that had been forgotten for a short moment. The man from before is quiet now as the girl talks to him in a soft voice. You motion Bucky over, and he leans down to your level.

“She needs to lie on her back. I’m going to pull it back into place.” Bucky gives you a single nod and begins talking to her in German. She stares at him in confusion but then as he explains it even more, she begins to nod her head in understanding reaching out to her boyfriend for assistance. He grabs her lifted hand and Bucky grabs her waist. Her boyfriend kneels beside her and the two exchange soft words that you don’t attempt to hear. Yes, there were things worse than what she was going through but what you were about to do wasn’t about to be as painless as she’d think. Besides the love that you could see when they looked at each other felt like you were intruding every time they looked at each other. When both men have settled, they both slowly lay her down onto her back, but your eyes don’t miss the flinch she gives once Bucky goes near her and her partner has stepped away. You slightly nudge Bucky out of the way and lightly grab her arm. You can see the gratitude in her eyes, and she tries to grab your hand most likely to thank you in the only way she knew how. You gave her a small nod and remained silent because somethings were better left unsaid. As you go through the steps you tell Bucky what you’re doing and in turn he translates. She doesn’t take her eyes off her partner the entire way as you begin to move her. Her arm is causing her a lot of pain, so your touches are featherlight. She is squeezing his hand and you take a lot of breaks to offer her some relief. Once her arm is outstretched towards you, you place your foot underneath where her shoulder is. You take a deep breath and without warning pull her arm at the same time as you push into her side. A loud pop sounds from her arm and you immediately stop pulling on her arm and let it sit on your lap. A blood curdling scream leaves her mouth and she begins to sob in pain. You can see her body shake as her free hand covers the tears that stream down her face. The three of you aren’t the only ones that heard her of course and a German soldier runs over to you all and starts yelling commands that you don’t understand. The girls companion starts responding to him much quieter than before most likely being careful with what he says. Even with the man explaining the soldier still has his eyes locked on you with a hatred you’d never seen before. It’s as if the soldier doesn’t care that you helped her and that she’d be better off in pain. You glare right back at him without a second thought before he turns his gaze away. He doesn’t respond to the boy before walking back to his post near the corner a few feet away from you. You let a breath you didn’t know you were holding in as he leaves the four of you alone on the courtyard again. You look down at the blonde girl who lies with her hair matted in blood from the concrete. She looks at you with a blank expression on her face that soon turns into gratitude. It’s not the first you’ve gotten but something about the way she put her trust in you makes your heart jump for joy. She lifts her arm into the air slowly but gives you a thumbs up, which in turn makes you laugh a little. She grins at you as you return her thumbs up right back and she looks away reaching out to her lover. He grabs her hands quickly and helps her to her feet. It’s a slow process as she slowly tries to get a handle on her pain tolerance, but eventually she stands up. She holds onto his hands to balance herself and gave her shoulder a roll. She let out a soft laugh in triumph and glanced over to where you and Bucky stood. Her eyes warm with happiness that would only last in the moment but were well deserved. She directed her eyes to Bucky and gave him a small smile as she spoke to him in German. You took the chance to finally look at the man who’d introduced himself to you. Here he was in the middle of a war willing to trust you and take care of all these people and be your assistant and he didn’t even know your name. You could tell by the hard built of his shoulders and the way his jaw tensed was because he was strong. Not in a physical way but in

a mental was as well. He could be one to give support and be just as willing to take it away. He was strong but not with many walls. He was determined but not without conscious. He was a good man. A handsome one at that you think before turning away and blushing. Here this man was helping you as a translator and you were thinking about how strong and physically built he was. You shake your head biting on your bottom lip to avoid the smile that wants to appear on your face.

“What have I got something on my face?” he jokes placing his bloody hands to his mouth. You shake your head but can’t help the small laugh that leaves your mouth. Even as a good guy who’d helped you save 20 people who were either bleeding or needed something fixing, he was a dork. The couple gives you a wave before walking off the courtyard towards the yelling Germans. It was time to go to your designated area. The cell of which you’d have to stay in until mealtime which would be in about an hour. As if on cue your stomach growls extremely loud and you place a hand over it. Usually you could hold your hunger over with some water, but it didn’t seem like there would be anything clean for a little while. The usual stream that came out of a hose was used to clean the victims’ blood away. You turned towards the hose where it had only on clean spot on the concrete. Today had been horrible and you knew there would be more days just like this to come. You still felt the ache for the people you couldn’t save and how their blood was still on your hands. You looked down at the floor and your eyes connected with the blood that covered your shoes. You felt the sudden urge to rinse it off and clean them with bleach, but you knew they would never truly leave. The stains would wash off physically, but it would stay with you forever and trap you in its horrors.

“Don’t let it scar you more than it already will.” He whispered into your ear. You didn’t have the strength for words as the day’s exhaustion hit you. You felt your knees buckle and Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist quickly, keeping you up. All the adrenaline was dying out and you could barely keep your eyes open as he attempted to have you walk. You couldn’t though and it made your feet hurt 10 times more. You groaned and forced him to stop for a minute. You were blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out.

“I got you.” He murmured placing an arm under your knees and swooping you into the air. His arms pulled you closer to his chest and you placed a hand on your stomach. You wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come. You were burnt out of all your energy and your eyes lazily rolled over the man who was walking you across the courtyard. He looked straight ahead, and his gaze sharpened at the people who passed by. It was clear he didn’t trust the people around you. It wasn’t something anyone should ever give out willingly but the thought that he had given you such a fragile thing made your mind whirl with possibilities. You kept staring at him in wonder and you weren’t sure if it was from the lack of food and water, but you felt a sort of friendship growing with Bucky. He made you feel safe and he hadn’t abandoned you as you fell but instead, he’d picked you up. He’d let you work and hadn’t tried to take over either. Your hand gravitated towards his cheek and you held it there. Something about the action felt right and it comforted you. From what you saw it had the same effect on him. He looked down at you with a sincerity in his eyes and a small smile formed on his lips. It warmed your heart that you were able to get that reaction from him after such a long day and you couldn’t stop the smile you returned. He looked up and his gaze sharpened once more but there was something else displayed across his face. It was more lie… astonishment. You turned your head in confusion to see what had made him look such a way and you let out a small gasp. The area around the only source of water wasn’t crowded like it had been when you’d glanced at it. The people had made two lines directly to the water hose. You recognized these people as the ones you’d helped. Men and women who’d lost their loved ones and had found some broken but ready to be helped had stepped aside so that you could get some water.

“No.” you croaked nudging Bucky. You needed them to know you weren’t any special. You weren’t some savior. You’d been able to save them, but you couldn’t save your best friend and her siblings. That their ghosts still haunted you in the depths of the night. You began to squirm in his arms your energy suddenly making its way back into your body. He glanced down at you as you struggled to get down. He lowered your legs and planted them on the floor without a word, but his arm didn’t leave your waist. You were glad because if it weren’t for the support you were sure to fall. You pointed to the hose and Bucky nodded and began walking the two of you towards it. The area was clear as the people watched you from the sides. You could feel your terror rising as you looked to the guards that watched from afar. Your heart was beginning to pound with anxiety. You didn’t want another shoot out. Too many people had died already, and you wouldn’t let any more die. You urged Bucky forward and soon you reached the front to where the boy, Henry stands as his mother washes his wound. He looks up at you and gives you a small wave and begins tapping his mother. She looks up from her action with a look of annoyance, but it vanishes the minute she notices you. Her gaze softens and she smiles urging you forward. You kneeled beside them and murmured a silent hello as Henry proudly held back the torn-up pant leg. He was telling his maman in French about how he would be a strong boy and protect them both from harm. She said nothing but only let a smile and a few laughs through her tough exterior as she let you inspect the wound. There never was a lot of talking in the prison except for the quiet whispers between the terrified families. People weren’t the chatty types when they’d be kidnapped out of their homes and forced away from their families. You shook your head as images of Jews being thrown out into the street and onto a bus in your hometown flashes across your mind. Just like you couldn’t save Ciera and her siblings you couldn’t even save them. But you could save these people. Some part of you hoped that you could help push the everlasting guilt away, but you knew you would always feel that pain. So, you internalized it and turned to the wound on the boys’ leg again. The flesh surrounding the wound looked clean which was already a very good sign. You checked along his leg for any red lines that would travel up. It was a common sign of blood poisoning but seeing as he had none you knew he would be alright for the time being. If there were any of the blood red veins trailing along his pale skin, it would be a sign of infection and with no antibiotics would be the death of him. She pulls the pant leg away from the boy at your request because he dances away from your touch. He giggles because your touch is warm against his cold skin and you smile at her and her boy. Giving her the good news is probably a moment you’ll never forget as she wraps her arm around her son tightly. You can tell from the way she’s beaming at being able to stay with her son for more time means that in some way they’ll get through this together. It makes your heart jump for joy and you can’t help but let the happiness consume you. The mother hands her son to Bucky and he kneels on a rock nearby holding the child. At one point while the mother washes a wound you catch Bucky letting the boy squeeze his cheeks and pull at them every which way. He doesn’t let this stop him from tickling the boy and the sight is so pure that you’re smiling for the rest of the time. More and more patients leave to go towards their cells after you give them direct instructions. They all come to the water and you and the mother wash out their wounds and they walk away. It’s a process that soon you start to do without realizing how many people you’ve helped. Some were far worse than her son with multiple wounds that fill with blood at the touch. It takes a lot to break a person and seeing multiple scrapes and bullet wounds would make anyone sick. After about the 15th person she ran away to throw

up because of the smell of cooking flesh from the sun above. Bucky immediately took her place in helping you clean the wounds. You looked over at the woman in concern but found her son rubbing her back as they sat on the concrete holding each other. You felt for her because this scenario was nothing good or that pleasing to see. Knowing all these people were hurting and that the men who guarded you all watched from afar and refused to help was making you feel 20 shades of green. You wanted to just react at them. To hurt the people who were hurting all these innocents. You despised them and with each wound that began receiving care by your hands the hatred began growing bigger and bigger.

“Neutralize your expression. Showing you’re angry will upset the Nazis even more.�� Bucky’s hushed voice interrupted your thoughts. You lift your eyes to meet his as you turn the faucet off and dab at the patient’s jacket to dry his wound. The confusion you felt must have been visible on your face because his eyebrows raise as his head jerks to his right. Your eyes slowly follow the trail to where a German soldier stands with his gun in his hands. His eyes stare directly at your actions as if you were a criminal about to attack.

“They’ve been watching the entire time. Through the cameras in the corners. They have orders to let us be but to shoot if they see anything wrong.” You immediately drop your expression and place a blank look on your face. Bucky’s nod confirms that your expression is fine and you both help the man who’d been stabbed on the right side of his chest. The panic of knowing you were being watched never quite faded so you dived deeper into doing whatever you could for the people’s wounds. He’d been lucky for the knife to not puncture his lung because if that had happened his lungs would have filled with blood and he would end up choking on his own blood. If that had been the case, there would have been nothing for you to do at least long term. You were slowly coming to realize that all those trips spent in the library studying the multiple medical books were coming to work out in your favor. Bucky calls out the information in which you’ve told him to tell the girl who accompanies the man. She nods vigorously before grabbing his hand and helping him walk over to the opening that leads to the cells where you all would be holed up. The prison inside of the prison. How ironic. You call out for the next person to step forward but are met with silence. You look to the previous line to be met with open space.

“Come here.” He urges. He’s kneeling in front of you from where you sit on the high-rise rock. You ignore the outreach of his bloody hand and you walk around him. He sighs as you reach down to the faucet. The cold water greets your fingertips and you don’t move away from it. Bucky taps your shoulder and you turn around to see what he needs. He’s staring at you like you’re the smallest child in the playground and that if you don’t listen, he’ll throw you in time out. He points to his raised knee and you scoff shaking your head.

“Either you do it willingly or I force you.” You shake your head again and he groans throwing his head back in mock pain. You giggle and lean forward to reach the faucet again but you’re swiped off your feet as hands grip your waist tightly. He sits you on his lap and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from falling. You whip your head around to glare at him because you’re certain he’s a mad man and he grins leaning towards the faucet. You let out a squeal and you grip his knees as he shifts back on the rock sitting you square between his legs. You know you look beyond pissed because he avoids your eyes. He’s still grinning though at your reaction as his hands release your waist and reach towards the faucet. You move your hands away quickly and lean forward with him, eager to get the remaining blood off your skin. Bucky turns the faucet to the left and water starts spilling from it. He tuts when your hands almost touch the water and he grabs your wrists. The interaction makes your skin tingle and interlocks your fingers with his. In that moment you feel the firs spread throughout your body. Everywhere he touches you sends a different burn straight to your heart. His chest presses against your back as he washes the blood off both of your hands. When he breathes you can feel it hit your ear and it makes the hair on your skin rise. His hands caress yours as they wash 30 or more people’s blood off. His fingers slide into between yours with ease that you watch in awe as your hands become yours again. Except with his hands on yours you aren’t exactly sure where he begins and where you stop. Funny thing is, you don’t ever want to figure it out. His fingers brush over yours and they move away too soon. Before you can grasp what you’re doing you grab his hands and start the same movements. You slide your fingers against his long ones and watch as they become his just as yours were yours. You hear Bucky’s breathing grow uneven and you look over your shoulder to see what’s wrong. His eyes immediately lock on yours and you can see something that you’d never seen on his face before. You can’t read it, but you know it’s something he tries to hide because his face becomes black once more and his hands move away from yours. You gasp softly at the loss of contact and swallow the complaint that tries to force its way out. The moment has disappeared, and you can feel the slight tinge of embarrassment floating its way through your senses. You wipe your hands on your pants and the sight of you and Bucky’s hands together burns itself into your mind. You know it shouldn’t be there, but your heart holds it close and locks it away for safe keeping.

“You ready?” he whispers. His hand lays on your stomach which does a flop at the sight of it and you nod not sure if you could even get through a full sentence without stuttering. You stand up and take a step away from him. You were trying to get a grasp on your emotions but the only thing you could focus on was how his scent no longer surrounded you. Your legs wobble as you try to walk but your knees give out. Bucky grabs your hand and pulls it around his neck.

“I don’t think I can walk.” You whisper. He doesn’t respond at first but you can tell he’s debating what to do.

“Hop on my back. I’ll carry you.” You nod slowly as you walk behind him and grab onto his shoulders. His hands wrap around your thighs and he pushes you up in the air. You jump and let your legs fall around his waist and let your arms hang loose over his shoulders. His figure shakes a little as he tries to steady you and start his long walk towards the open steel doors. You place your chin on his shoulder and let out a small sigh.

“My knight in shining armor.” You tease half heartedly and he laughs. The sound warms your bones more than anything else could and you don’t catch the small smile that spreads across his face as he starts walking towards the yelling Germans. It’s time for everyone to go back to their cells and if told once more there would be consequences. Your arms become heavy and feel like blobs of jello as they swing. You can feel yourself absentmindly snuggling into the warmth of the man carrying you, but it doesn’t register as your senses begin shutting down. You blink a few times as you stared down at the dog tags that swung on top of the green Henley that adorned Bucky’s chest. The faint sunlight disappears as he enters the prisoner compound and the room becomes dark. You lift your head up as shouts erupt around you. You catch people clapping and you have the urge to tell them to stop. Drawing attention of the soldiers wasn’t a good idea because they had just witnessed what happens when you cause a ruckus. You bury your head back into Bucky’s neck as you silently wish for the cries of joy to stop. Despite all the good you’d done you still couldn’t get over all the good you could have done so many years ago. Bucky senses your discomfort and starts to walk a little faster than before.

“Get some rest. You look like you could use it.” He says softly as a metal door creaks and it gets held open for the two of you. You nod slowly feeling your eyes shut again. You listen to him this time and let the exhaustion finally take over your body.

Tagging some peeps~@randomfangirl82 @stucky-my-ship @jules-1999 @starkssnarks @dallaswinstonswife1109@notsosecretspy @kyn-lyn-blog @alltoowell-taylorsversion@creecree-4-life

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chibisidesm8 · 3 years

Note

I think the only pirates AU's I have seen are centered around the twins, but I just imagine how nice would it be if Janus' scales were because being half merman! Or some other sea creature! A sea sneak?

True. Still interesting pirate AU ideas tho

I've been thinking about one too and idk if I should ramble about it here but I will anyway just cause I can.

Here's a ramble about a roceit+analogical Pirate AU:

So imagine a pirate AU with Janus being raised in a fishing town

He doesn't know anything about his origin other than his "aunt/uncle" adopted him and treated him like a son alongside their child Logan, so the two are like siblings to each other

Logan tells Janus all sorts of stories and legends of creatures of the sea

So they decide to study those together

Janus is always curious about where he's from and why he's half-reptile. His relatives don't know the answer

So fast forward, Logan and Janus are all grown up and are able to operate their family fishing ship

Janus is captain as he seems to have an affinity for the sea. Logan is his first mate

During a sail, Janus spots something on a rock, and secretly took a rowboat to get a closer look

He gets close and realizes it's another sailor who seems to have been lost at sea and was clinging to the rock

Janus rescues the sailor and takes him back on to their ship

Logan is all "Where have you been?! Who is this???"

They take the sailor back to their home to recover

Upon waking up, the sailor introduces himself as Roman. He doesn't recall much of where he came from but he knows he needs to go somewhere far across the horizon

Janus is theorizes that the place Roman is thinking about is a place where he may also find answers about himself as well

So that night, he asks Logan to go with him. Logan says if they do, they may as well be pirates

Janus is willing to take the risk. Their relatives don't stop them but instead wish them a safe journey in finding what they're looking for

So with their loyal crew, Logan, Janus, and Roman set sail

Roman is their navigator

During their voyage, Janus and Roman take a particular liking to one another as they're both trying to find answers about themselves

They have a few misadventures on other islands to resupply and all that

A crewmember is like "so are the Captain and Navigator dating?"

To which Logan responds with "the only people who don't know they're dating are Janus and Roman themselves"

Back to the action:

They suddenly encounter another ship containing more experienced pirates

They try to navigate to avoid each other

They manage to escape the first time but they take notice the ship now seems to be hunting them down

So soon, they're caught during one of their resupply stops:

Roman and a few crewmembers were out while Logan and Janus were thinking about what they've accomplished in their journey so far as they still haven't found any answers

The two get into an argument as Logan is getting frustrated by how they don't know where Roman is bringing them

"So what now? Are you going to make me choose between you two," asks Janus. Logan is silent but responds "No, I won't. But I just want you to rethink this voyage. Ask the question of where we're going and what are we really looking for? What are these answers you want?"

Janus enters deep thought but is interrupted when a crewmember bursts into the room, saying the ship was being overtaken by the pirates

Before the crewmember could return, they are interrupted by a pirate entering

This one had a purple motif, telling the siblings to surrender as their captain is waiting for them on the deck

Janus and Logan knew they were surrounded so they do

They're brought to the deck and a greenclad pirate greets them. They're shocked at his resemblance to Roman

He introduces himself as Captain Remus, and Bosun Virgil

Remus explains how frustrating it was the first time they got away that he just had to catch them for fun

Logan murmurs to Janus about how much Remus looked like Roman

Virgil, hearing the name, repeats the name. This catches Remus's attention, and his demeanor seemingly shifts from chill to hostile

With that reaction, Janus infers that Remus knows something about Roman and so in a voice of faux confidence goes "So you know Roman, too?"

"I did, once" Remus says as his glance briefly turns sullen, like he had a sort of regret, before going back to being serious. "I was going to let you live but...."

Janus starts panicking but that's when Roman and their remaining crew made themselves noticed that they were back

Remus is shocked, but moves to embrace Roman. He is apologizing a lot, holding him tight

Everyone else is stood around them. Virgil has a soft smile on his face

"What's going on? Who are you? Why are my friends tied up????" Roman asks.

Remus allows Janus, Logan, and their crew to be released and then explains to them that Roman and Remus are twins

Remus was Roman's first mate but during a battle against some mythical creature, Roman was thrown overboard and they couldn't find him, so Remus became captain

Remus explains they were heading to an island told in legends to be home to a sort of mystical siren who had answers to the deepest mysteries their heart wishes to know or could even grant a wish if one desperately wanted it

So they come to an agreement to journey together. Remus hopes the siren could restore Roman's memories, while Janus wanted answers to his origin

Janus convinces Logan that it would be worth it so now the ships set sail

Virgil and Logan come to find each other's thoughts to be relatable to their own (worries about their captains, the long aimless journeys, other pirate encounters, etc.), and some feelings may be developing between them

So through a long tough journey across the sea, they finally find the mystical island

So Janus, Logan, Roman, and Remus enter the caves while Virgil stands guard

They meet the siren named Patton, who seems to be very warm in welcoming them

He invites them to have a seat in his chamber. Logan is hesitant but Janus and Remus seem adamant about being friendly to keep the siren appeased, so they all do

When Patton asks what they came seeking for, Remus goes first and explains his regrets after Roman fell overboard and how happy he was when he found his brother again, and he wanted his brother back. Roman adds on with his side of feeling lost, not knowing where he was, and wanting to know who he once was again

Patton senses the truth in their wish and so he grants Roman his memories back

Next, Janus explains how he's been trying to find himself all his life: how much he wanted to know who he was and why he was the way he was

Patton is silent but explains they already used their wish and would have to find him again if they wanted another wish. Patton parts with the final question "Is that what your heart truly wants?"

The cave glow vanishes, leaving the group in the cave with their torchlight

Janus is angry but they don't have much time for that as they sense the island shaking

They all rush back to their ships. They make it back on time and the island vanishes

The group are left to discuss everything that happened

Janus is understandably upset. Roman apologizes to him like "I'm sorry, the wish should have been yours"

Janus looks at him, softly caressing Roman's face. He brings their heads closer, foreheads pressing. He couldn't bring himself to be mad at Roman

"I know I've been searching for it my whole life, but I can live with it. I know who I am now, I'm captain Janus [surname]. I braved the seas with you, my brother, and our crew by my side. And I am yours. I wouldn't want to change that." Janus declares, pressing his lips on Roman's

Bonus dialogue (marked with **):

**"Wait, they were dating????" Remus interrupts.

**"Well now there's three oblivious idiots," Logan replies, getting a chuckle from Virgil

**”I didn’t get to give him the ‘dont hurt my brother’ talk,” Remus pouted

So anyways, they set sail again. They already found answers, now they search for a new adventure

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guesst · 3 years

Text

some of the best fantasy au fics for bnha that i've read

i decided to make a fic rec list of one of my favourite aus/fusions. mostly midoriya-centric, there are some crossovers (with hp), and a lot of different ways in which the authors have taken them - so it could be Quirks, ghosts, outright fantasy aus, spirits, witches etc etc. there isn't a specific order and there aren't a tonne (these are the ones i could find buried in my bookmarks lol), but the ones on the list are all really well written i love them.

i've tried adding relevant information, the summary (shortened if it's pretty long) and just. adding some random tags that may be important. not all of them though. obviously this is not a complete list and there will most definitely be more fics out there, if there are some really good fics that you know that aren't on this list, feel free to tell me, i'd love to read them!!!

i hope someone enjoys these!

Faith Becomes You by SugaSuga

oneshot | gen dfo, quirkless midoriya summary 'There's a tiny shrine in Musutafu that's overgrown with kudzu vines between Izuku's apartment and his middle-school. There may very well still be a god inside it. There may be nothing but the myth of a man from when Quirks were first emerging. Izuku hides in its walls for a while and ends up tending to the forgotten shrine. All good deeds have their impact, don't they?'

Of Mythos and Men by Oceanbreeze7

oneshot | gen spirit animal au, kinda summary (shortened) 'When he was young, Midoriya always wondered what his mythos would be. The matching half to his quirk, the ancestry of its power. Mythos were strange things, not linked genetically like quirks seemed to be. [...] Midoriya hadn't met his mythos. Even in UA. (In his dreams, something called to him, 'Chase me!')'

what a lion cannot manage by LadyLiterature

multichapter | ongoing | f/m, m/m kitsune au, female izuku, future bakudeku summary (shortened) 'She wants to be a hero. Wants to save everyone she meets and even the people she hasn’t. [...] A smart fox avoids fights. A smart fox does not seek them out. A smart fox does not fight for everyone. A smart fox, when they absolutely must, only fights for themselves and what is theirs and nothing else. Izumi, for all that she tries to be, is not a good fox.'

My Magic Academia by Kiterou

series | oneshots and multichapter | ongoing | gen HP crossover, wizard midoriya, platonic bkdk, some ocs summary (shortened) ' [...] In which Midoriya Inko is a witch and Izuku a wizard and even after 150 years of quirks taking over the world, Izuku still couldn't tell Kacchan that he isn't worthless and that he still could become a hero all on his own.'

A Lonely Windchime Makes No Sound by Musecookie

multichapter | ongoing | multi reader/shinso, total fantasy au, very wholesome summary (shortened) ' [...] You enjoy visiting your slightly creepy local library. When you accidentally befriend the elusive owner's familiar, he begins to appear more and more when you visit. You don't really mind, and he doesn't seem to hate you, even when the two of you become tied up in each other's fate as you pursue the secret to reviving a magical species of flower. Soft Strangers to Friends to Lovers type beat with lots of fluff and naps! Sleepy cuddles included.'

The grapes of friendship by Gentrychild

oneshot | gen crack, dfo, vampire izuku summary 'Izuku, a dhampir hiding his real identity as he goes to UA, the best wizard school in the country, spends the day with his friends. None of them are aware of it.'

Yesterday Upon the Stair by PitViperofDoom

multichapter | complete | gen less supernatural, izu's quirk lets him see ghosts, he still has ofa summary (shortened) 'Midoriya Izuku has always been written off as weird. As if it's not bad enough to be the quirkless weakling, he has to be the weird quirkless weakling on top of it. But truthfully, the "weird" part is the only part that's accurate. He's determined not to be a weakling, and in spite of what it says on paper, he's not actually quirkless [...] Not that anyone would believe it if he told them.'

sum of all (and by them driven) by Elemental

series | multichapter | ongoing | gen dadzawa, spirits give quirks, izu sees these spirits series summary 'Quirks aren't what you think they are.' first part summary (shortened) 'Midoriya Izuku is medically quirkless, not technically homeless, perpetually exhausted and doing his damned best despite it all. He also sees spirits, which might be cool if not for the fact that a) no one else does, b) they really don't like him very much, and c) he's pretty sure the heroes now think he's a villain working for the League [...]'

The Struggles of a Modern-Day Vampire by miraculousemily47

oneshot | gen crack, 1-a shenanigans, vampire midoriya summary 'After Midoriya Izuku is turned into a vampire towards the end of his first year at U.A., he decides he wants to tell his classmates about his condition. The only problem is that he can't physically say the words, and his classmates are fucking idiots.'

Lights in the Dark by FrostKitten

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen supernatural au, izuku can see demons etc, quirkless/magic au summary (of first part) 'Midoriya Izuku, like most young kids, knows there are monsters. They live in closets, under beds, and occasionally in the park. As he grows older, his friends stop seeing them...but he still does.'

Hand in Unlovable Hand by jumbletea

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen vampire midoriya (and aizawa), dadzawa, toga n dabi n mido being siblings summary 'A collection of stories surrounding a not-quite-human Izuku and everyone he meets along the way.'

Simply Superstitious by CryCaladrius

multichapter | ongoing | gen lots of folklore and yokai and stuff, 'quirkless' magic user izuku, decent dad hisashi too summary (shortened) 'Izuku Midoriya’s father is a Hou-ou — a Japanese phoenix. For some reason, this means yokai have a standing invitation to pester Izuku with their existence. Birds assemble choirs for his birthday. If there’s no cedar leaf under the welcome mat, the amazake babaa that lives two apartments over will be knocking on their door by evening. His yokai-purifying excursions get mistaken for vigilantism far too often. [...]'

Cuckoo Bird (anonymous author)

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | gen it may be discontinued but theres lots of fae folklore, deku is a changeling, deals etc, plus some platonic shindeku building up?? summary 'There's something off about Midoriya Izuku. (change·ling /ˈCHānjliNG/ noun a child believed to have been secretly substituted by fairies for the parents' real child in infancy.)'

tread softly as you go by IceEckos12

oneshot | gen if you read any fae au please let it be this! has faeries but mido is not one summary 'Humans used to be good at the old ways. They used to know how to bait the trap, to spin a web of words and lies that would ensnare even the most wily. Humans used to be able to twist deceptions around knots of iron and turn them into weapons of power. They forgot a long, long time ago. A boy unwittingly makes a deal with one of the fae, severing his ties to humanity. However, he finds that the fae world is far more strange and complex than he ever could have imagined.'

Hell is just a shoujo manga by supercrunch

multichapter | complete | f/m fantasy au, bakudeku, fem!izuku, isekai, dekusquad stuff, also some iidachako summary (shortened) 'Izuku wakes up crushed under a statue, trapped in the body of a princess who doesn't exist. Turns out she's a demon, which is weird. What's even weirder is the déjà vu that surrounds Kamino palace, reminding her of the events of this one manga she used to love. [...] But that's probably just a coincidence. [...] The problem here, obviously, is that Izuku's the demon princess. Ergo, she's a villain. And that means she's going to die at the end of this manga. Again.'

hold your breath as you cross by cassiopeia721

oneshot | gen dadzawa, another 'quirks are from spirits au' (expect more of those actually), mido is sad :( summary 'As the bridge between the world of guardian spirits and the quirk users who are blessed by them, Izuku's duty is to clean up the mess his predecessor left. It's taken what feels like an eternity worth of work, but Izuku's finally finished, and he's ready to rest at last. Unfortunately, the pro heroes who just watched him take down the Scourge of Kamino have no intention of letting him just wander off, and he finds himself stuck in an interrogation room with a bunch of humans who he's sure will never believe a word he says.'

To See with Eyes Unclouded by CrazySatan

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen witch au, witch midoriya, quirkless mido, bkg is not a good friend series summary 'Midoriya Izuku is a witch. A powerful witch. And even though he doesn't have a quirk, and magic doesn't Work Like That, Izuku ends up a hero. Somehow.'

Demons and Darkness by wolfsrainrules

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen dadzawa, shinso and mido and bkg are becoming friends, they can see monsters/spirits/bad things summary of first part 'Izuku has believed in the things that go bump in the night since he was small. That means he can see them, and almost everyone he knows....can't. So he decides he's going to be the shield humanity needs, no matter what. Eventually, he finds others that See too.'

know what i've made by the marks on my hands by simkjrs

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | gen dadzawa, quirk spirit au (this inspired most of the others on this list), also eri summary (shortened) 'Midoriya Izuku just wants to lead a quiet, peaceful life. This is foiled by the fact that a) he can see spirits, b) his good nature demands that he help anyone he sees in trouble, and c) he, by all rights, should not exist. [...]'

Izuku haunts class 1-A by Artistic-Gamer

series or multichapter whichever floats your boat | incomplete (hiatus) | other there are some triggering themes! such as suicide, blood, body disfigurement! please take care of yourself and avoid reading if this will hurt you! in other news: so much dadzawa, so much friendship, hurt mido summary (of first part) 'Class 1-A is rumored to be haunted, only the residents are aware it’s more than just a rumor..'

U.A's Resident Ghost by BeyondTheClouds777

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | gen ghost midoriya, dadzawa, friendships!!!! summary 'There is a ghost at U.A. Not haunting U.A. Not even hanging out at U.A. There is a ghost. Enrolled. As a student of U.A. And it's just Shouta's luck that he has everything to do with it.'

and now, the weather by xylophones

oneshot | gen CRACK, paranormal/ghost hunters au, dekusquad stuff summary 'Izuku runs a fictional horror radio show. Because ghosts aren’t real. Right? (“Holy shit, ghosts are real,” Izuku whispers. Then, with the smugness of a sixteen-year-old who just won a decade long bet, “I knew it! Kacchan owes me five hundred yen!” “Midoriya,” Todoroki sighs, “this ghost is trying to kill us.”)'

U.A Unsolved by handcrusher(ameliafromafairytale)

oneshot | gen (it's a fic of a fic, so if you've read yesterday upon the stair then you'll understand better) izuku can see ghosts thats his quirk summary ' "Hey there, ghosts," Midoriya says, "it's me, ya boy." The dorms are haunted. Shenanigans ensue.'

The Haunting of Class 1-A by BritishRobutt

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | n/a ghost midoriya, vigilante au, crack, the ghost bit is izu's quirk summary 'Everyone always told Izuku he couldn't be a hero, so when he dies and discovers his quirk, he becomes a vigilante out of spite. Whoops. After becoming Spectre, Japan's most wanted vigilante, Izuku realizes he can just fulfill his dreams of going to the top heroic school- after all, who can physically stop him from attending UA when he's a literal ghost?'

Caged by SternStunde

oneshot | gen tododeku, fantasy au (todo is a dragon, mido is a princess), genderbent deku (fem deku) summary 'Then she held up one of the books and smiled. "Want to learn an ancient language with me?" She was kind of a nerd, and she really hoped the dragon was too.'

Magic Runs Deep by draconicschinx

multichapter | ongoing/probably discontinued | gen mido has a quirk and he can see mythical creatures. summary '"Midoriya Izuku has always been good at making friends. Not human ones, really, but they are good friends nonetheless. " Izuku can see and talk to and interact with mythical creatures. It's not exactly the quirk he was hoping for, but he's going to use it to help humans and his non-human friends all the same.'

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turtle-steverogers · 3 years

Note

she is very long so. enjoy😌

- Steve n Bucky going to the bodega down the street from their apartment. it’s open till like 4am and they go at all hours. sometimes they’ll go separately but they always go together when they go in between 12-4 am and no one who works there questions why

- they get a cat that they treat her like their child. it’s Alpine ofc😌 steve loves her so much but he knows it’s Bucky’s Cat and he’s fine with it

- you know how some siblings or partners or friends can communicate with their eyes and basically have telepathy? they totally have that and it annoys the shit out of every single person they meetjdksndks. someone will be talking to them and they will just make eye contact with each other bc it reminded them of an earlier convo they had or they both got annoyed by the other person or it reminds them of an inside joke or something and it just irritates EVERYONE. no one is able to intercept it and it’s just a thing that no matter what - even though they don’t mean to - you’ll feel a little left out when you’re with steveandbucky. it just comes with the gig. i like to imagine that depending on if it’s an au or not, its either really obvious or not. like in an au then yes it’s obvious they can have non verbal conversations, but if it’s not an au then it’s not entirely obvious bc they’re enhanced humans and they know how to hide their secret conversations. but everyone they talk to is essentially an enhanced human or has special abilities so it’s obvious to them and they catch them in the act LOL. if they’re interacting with regular people then it’s not very obvious though

- DATE NIGHT!!! yes they’re old yes they have date night. when they go out it’s usually to places in their neighborhood, but a lot of the time they like to stay in bc. they’re old men <3 steve is better at cooking and bucky is better at baking bc you can get creative with cooking and steve likes that more. he enjoys baking a lot too but he thinks bucky’s stuff tastes better. whenever they stay home though there’s ALWAYS a movie. always. they alternate choosing but there is always a movie to watch. bucky usually falls asleep nearing the end and steve plays with his hair😌 he rolls his eyes cause it happens every time but he actually likes when it happens bc he can braid strands of hair together

- pet names oh my god. so many pet names. every single one. mainly from bucky. steve uses them but maybe like two. he favors sweetie and buck and that’s it really. sometimes he uses hon. bucky though oh my god. every single pet name under the sun. so many variations of doll you wouldn’t believe - baby doll ofc, dolly, stevie doll. sweetheart. sweetness. blondie. pretty boy. hot stuff. stevie. baby. hon. honey. sunshine. angel. it’s just so many. and it’s like very sickening insane twisted etc but hot at the same time. most people are like jeez barnes do you ever shut up… but most of these people secretly think it’s a little hot theyre thinking damn where is that affection for me…. i need me a bucky barnes :| steve is the only smitten kitten outwardly even if he huffs and puffs sometimes but it’s obvious he enjoys it. like they are so annoyingjdkssn for real they aren’t a pda couple really but the petnames….. so many. so so so many it’s sickeningly sweet but bucky dgaf! steve is his sweetheart his dolly his baby his angel so he’s going to call him these things!

- steve knows his body is what is considered “perfect” but he still is insecure about it around most people and bucky knows this so when steve lounges at home in bucky’s boxer briefs and his own tee shirt or he kicks off his pants when he’s too hot at night in bed bucky is reminded of just how much steve loves him and feels comfortable around him which is something he always strives for - to make steve comfortable. not baby him because steve bitches at anyone that does that to him but to make him feel comfortable

- and on the subject of feeling comfortable i imagine that they always check in with one another but it’s very subconscious they hardly realize they do it. like steve will bitch at bucky to pick up his shoes from their doorway or to clean his hair from the shower drain but the next second he will ask him if his back still hurts from being kicked by sam and from where steve AND alpine scratched him (in very different ways)

- steve is the sweater husband and bucky is the sweatshirt husband. they trade off a lot but that’s just how their closets look

- steve takes a liking to crop tops 😌 but ONLY around the house bc again he’s really truly only comfortable around bucky. he wears em with boxer briefs or sweatpants but you can guarantee that the briefs and sweats usually just end up on the floor 9 out of 10 times

- hair ties everywhere. they can be found on the floor in the laundry in their bed in the couch on top of the fridge on their fire escape. they are literally everywhere. steve just picks them up and puts them in the bathroom but they always make their way back. he doesn’t say anything to bucky until he finds alpine chewing one and she ends up smacking herself in the face with the hairtie

- their fridge is always full with leftovers and food from sam or clint’s or whoever’s house or takeout. they always eat it all but they get and make a lot of food so the fridge is always full

- subconsciously bucky always has a hand on the back of steve’s neck. like it’s not ENTIRELY a possessive thing but he used to do it a lot when steve was small because it was easy and it was comfortable. for him and just for him and steve. it was like swinging an arm around steve’s shoulders or putting a hand on his shoulder. it was just natural and easy so he did it. a part of him back then prewar did it possessively too, but he always tampered that down bc steve wasn’t his. now he does it without shame

- steve really likes tofu and vegan meat, non dairy milk like almond and soy, and overall a lot of non dairy vegan foods, and a lot of fruits. he gets made fun of for a lot specifically about the vegan stuff but his reasoning is that there’s so much food accessible for people with allergies in the future that he wished existed a hundred years ago so he’s going to try it and stick with it if he likes it. people shut up after that

- he also tips a little more than he needs to everywhere he goes. everywhere. like it’s cool when steve rogers walks in to a restaurant bc he’s a superhero or whatever but its REALLY cool because he leaves a generous tip and that’s what really makes peoples day

- before they get legally married they are still very much married. like “i packed you lunch, meet me at the restaurant instead of me going to pick you up bc it’ll take longer, i got takeout let’s bitch together while we watch shitty reality tv, let’s bitch at EACH OTHER through the phone in public, let’s send each other ugly pictures of each other or funny texts while we’re right next to each other, i’m out with a group and you’re not there and i say multiple times ‘i miss steve/bucky’, let’s yell at each other from opposite ends of the apartment instead of getting up to see each other, steve i’m going to fuck you on the couch bc our room is too far, etc.” they are just very much married without the documents and legalities and it’s very obvious

okay all of these were ABSOLUTELY wonderful and im really going to restrain my urge to respond to each and every one but that might be futile

-okay YES they definitely go to that bodega at all hours, and usually it's for normal things when they go separately: milk, cereal, toilet paper. but when they go in the middle of the night, they almost always purchase some like odd assortment of candies and deli meat. also, they're always in their pajamas. like bucky's in plaid pj pants and a star wars sweatshirt, and steve is in like 5" shorts and a huge crewneck and they're both in slides and they definitely only speak russian to each other when they're in there after hours

-yes alpine! they also have a dog, that is more steve than bucky's!! his name is norman in my headcanon (and a couple of my fics) and he is best boy

-okay i need more of this in my general stucky life: steve and bucky being like,,, best friends as well as lovers and being so seamlessly close. like yeah, they definitely talk with their eyes, or just one glance, or half-sentences ("hey, did you ever get to--" "yup, on the way home. it was so--" "yeah, good. glad to hear") and they know exactly what the other is saying.

-yes to the date nights!!! and when they stay in to watch movies, they make Tons of popcorn. and they Have to make separate batches, because steve will Only eat his with like half a bottle of that powdered white cheddar on his

-YES we share the same fucking headcanon for petnames on god

Steve: love you, buck:)

Bucky: love you, pumpkin

-Steve definitely has body dysmorphia, probably even post serum (I have lots of thoughts on this, that might be a different post) and yeah, Bucky definitely knows its Big that he feels comfortable enough to be exposed around him (and he's even more honored that steve lets him be intimate with him, because that's really hard for steve, too)

-yeah! and easy check ins like "ur stomach still bothering you from last night?" "oh, no it was just a little bug turns out" or like "my head hurts:(" "i have meds in my bag. you want?" "yeah, just two" or like subtly checking on injuries, yeah

-yeah the sweater versus sweatshirt tracks tbh i picture steve in a lot of crewnecks so yeah

-STEVE IN CROP TOPS STEVE IN CROP TOPS and i raise you they're often ones he's cropped himself and he's also painted on! or bleach painted!! and theyre so cool and bucky never wants to make a big deal out of it, but he's so proud of steve for expressing himself like that

-ALPINE SMACKING HERSELF ALKFJALSDKFJA also steve always has a hairtie on HIS wrist in case bucky forgets one for himself

-they also always have Steve Staple Foods cuz i headcanon steve as a picky eater (adhd!steve + serum enhancements, it's down to a formula) so they have a lot of Kraft mac and cheese and easy heat up meals and lunch meats around for when he's having bad food days

-OMG and steve absolutely MELTS i raise you, too, bucky will especially hold the back of his neck when he needs to get steve to Chill Out. so like if he sees him stressing he'll put his hand on the back of his neck and squeeze and literally feel the tension drain from him or like if steve is having a panic attack, he'll hold the back of his neck while they breathe together

-yes and also any time that steve is Choosing food for himself and feeling motivated to eat it, it's a win, so people learn to back off there, too

-yes! he tips generously, but never awkwardly or offensively. he's also super kind and patient to food service workers!

-this last point is so perfect i cant. like yeah, back to steve and bucky just being,,,, the best of friends. ugly selfies galore, shoving their feet in each other's face, flicking each others ears. and yes, all the fucking gossiping. on the phone gossip, venting, fun gossip from around work. they talk about it all. and it's so great for them

thank you again for stopping by! your thoughts are impeccable!

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #stucky headcanons #long post #domestic anon

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sylvie-writes · 3 years

Text

Evans Family Christmas

pairing: chris evans x reader ft. Dodger hehe

requests: I need all the ugly Christmas sweaters, hot cocoa, Christmas cookies, everything in my life with the avengers or with Chris and his family 🥺 -anon

2. Just imagine that you and Chris are spending your first Christmas together and you’re decorating cookies and singing Christmas songs together and dancing around the living room with the fireplace going and of course hanging a stocking for Dodger. @aubreeskailynn

warnings: just chris being the dirty minded man that he is

word count: 2,079

author’s note: pardon any mistakes! this is also for @fangirlovestuff‘s birthday challenge! I’m so sorry for the long wait :(

challenge prompt: 25. that couple where one cooks and the other can’t cook for shit

PART OF MY CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION (check the tag for the masterlist)

gif below was found on giphy

From your spot in the kitchen, you could hear the deep chuckle of the man you have loved for the past two years. He was currently on the phone with his mother who you assumed was inviting you both to the annual Evans’ family Christmas get together.

Chris rushed into the kitchen a giddy smile on his adorable face and fists excitedly curled into his chest like a small child. You didn’t even need to hear the words spill from his mouth to confirm your suspicions that the two of you were, in fact, going to the party.

One who cared for Chris as much as you did, could easily tell that the bright grin on his lips was the genuine one he sported when around his family. A career such as his, made time with family limited and you were always more than happy to go along to any event with Chris’s family. Even if that meant you’d see them once a year or twice a week.

The Evans family truly lived it up on the holidays, something definitely instilled in your boyfriend who acted like a frat boy at parties. (You have many videos of him being the happy drunk that he is, to say so.)

With this being your first Evans Christmas, Chris literally went all out once his mother called him that week before. You were unaware of this until an ugly Christmas sweater was laying out on your side of the bed just the day before Christmas. As you had been working all day, Chris had run out to accomplish some errands but you had no clue it actually meant this. With a small giggle, you decided to amuse yourself and try on the sweater. The sweater itself looked like it had been pulled straight out of any cheesy 90’s holiday movie you could imagine. Decked in lights attached to a battery pack and lots of gaudy tinsel, the sweater was the literal embodiment of any office Christmas party attire. Even the Grinch would have turned his head at all of the very questionable, yet somehow eye catching, components of the knit top.

You decided to venture down the stairs in the sweater to surprise Chris, but oh how the tables had turned. Instead of surprising the man, he shocked you first and not for a good reason. Jaw half dropped, you slowly walked into the mess of a kitchen. Various cookie making ingredients spilled among the counter and you found the culprit’s back turned your way. His entire black sweater was covered in flour and somehow even the back of it. At the mess you let out a tiny, but very audible, shriek causing the man to cautiously turn.

A nervous smile graced his lips and he held up two mugs of hot cocoa.

“Heh heh. Your sweater looks nice, honey...” There was no sign of amusement on your face, and you just horridly stared at the colossal snow storm of flour in the kitchen. “...hot cocoa?”

You just slowly turned your head in his direction and if an eye can invisibly twitch, then yours was doing so. An insane chuckle left your mouth and you just walked closer, snatching the mug from him. The last thing you wanted to do was clean this damn kitchen, especially after a long day at work. You loved Chris, but that man never followed through with things. Of course it wasn't intentional, but if you did wait for him to do said things, they’d never get done in a timely manner.

A timer sounded from the oven breaking your small staring contest with the man who nervously gulped from time to time as you were yet to say a word since entering the kitchen.

“Sounds like your cookies are done, lover boy.” You turned on your heel heading to the living room, but not without looking over your shoulder to utter a quip.

“Wouldn’t want to burn those things. Especially after the mess you’re going to have to clean all by yourself.”

Chris knew you were teasing, as confirmed by the discreet wink, and he just shrugged his shoulders, laughing. He had already planned on cleaning the kitchen, but this time he actually meant it.

An hour later, Chris joined you on the couch, a plate of decorated cookies in hand. He threw an arm around your shoulder and kissed your forehead. You decided to take a cookie and hummed in approval when the sugar dissipated on your tongue.

“My, my, Chris Evans. If you weren’t an actor, I’d say you could become a baker!”

In thanks, he once again kissed you, but this time on the forehead, making you crinkle your nose a bit. A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I see you found the sweater. Do ya like it?”

You looked up at him with a dazzling smile and pecked his lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Against the plush lips of the man you murmured, “I hate to ruin the moment, but is the kitchen clean?”

Chris pulled back with a deep chuckle that seemingly lasted for minutes. He tried to speak between the choppy laughter, but failed and instead gave you a simple nod of his head. Leaving the man to his giggles, you quickly snuck off and then rushed back into the room in no time as Chris was finally ceasing his howling.

Arms secretly folded behind your back and a large, corny grin on your face, Chris’s eyebrows raised in suspicion. He cautiously reached out to pull you closer to him, pretty much to the point where you dropped to sit on his lap.

Once seated, you brought your arms around to your own lap and opened the glittery Christmas gift bag. Just as you were about to pull the final piece of tissue paper from the sack, you called Dodger who loyally came running in from the next room. At the point Chris was so utterly confused that he wasn't even aware Dodger had joined you both. Although, the man did wear a smirk that was borderline concerning.

The pup then curled up next to you on the couch after venturing in. Finally, you started to rummage through the gift bag, revealing its contents that had suspense looming in the air for a good while. Honestly, as you pulled out a beautifully embroidered stocking, which was for Dodger, Chris released a shaky breath that he had been unknowingly holding in.

You turned to see his reaction and instead started laughing at his tremendously cherry red cheeks. His smirk had also dropped and he now partly resembled a sad puppy. Even though he looked downcast, you could spy a sea of playfulness in his eyes.

“Oh my gosh, babe! Why are you so red?” It was now your turn to try and talk in between laughs.

Chris shook his head in a manner of disappointment, dramatically sucking in air and widening his eyes as one would do when traumatized.

“Let’s just say I had assumed there would be stockings in that bag, but...not that kind.” His ears were all red now and the two of you were cackling loudly, causing Dodger to leave the room.

“You dirty man! I swear for a few seconds I thought I was looking at Clifford the Dog!” you continued to tease him for a good five minutes and Chris just accepted it until a feel-good, Christmas classic came on the radio and he scooped you up.

For a quick second you squealed in shock, but then the man set you down on the floor in the middle of the living room. He held out a hand and you accepted it.

Of all the songs that could have graced the radio, it had to be Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You. Thank the heavens the blinds on the windows to the house were shut or the whole neighborhood would have seen you and Chris dancing like fools. The two of you energetically bounced around the living room. Your hair was flailing around as Chris’s arms madly waved up and down. Off key singing resounded from the you both and poor Dodger became the unsuspecting victim to the horrid sounds. Regardless that he was all the way in another room.

From then on, you and Chris spent the rest of Christmas Eve alternating between decorating cookies and doing some Christmas themed karaoke. The night ultimately ended when the both of you crashed from your sugar highs on the couch, not even waking until Dodger came and nudged you in the face, annoyed.

----

Christmas morning came quick and unfortunately that meant both you and Chris had to be up bright and early for the party at his parents house. It had been a good couple of months since you’d seen them all last.

After a couple of groans and tossing around, you managed to find the legs to leave the bed as Chris did the same. The two of you went your separate ways and did the necessary tasks before you later met at the front door. You and Chris both had your ugly sweaters on, even Dodger had one on as he was coming along too. In your hand, you held a bin of the cookies from the night before and in the other you held dodger’s leash as he practically pulled you out the door. Chris, who was chuckling at the dog’s excitement, trailed behind with the many gifts for his family members.

The Evans clan greeted you both with open arms, quite literally, as you were engulfed by all of his siblings at once. Poor Dodger was thrown into the mix and got a bit squished, but he enjoyed the embrace nonetheless.

As soon as you and Chris stepped foot into the house and the door shut behind you, Chris’s sisters ushered you into the kitchen where you just looked back to your boyfriend who gave you a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. Little did you know that you were about to learn the most sacred thing about the family, which is their gingerbread recipe. For a good couple of hours, you chatted with the ladies and helped tediously decorate gingerbread while Chris and the guys were in the other room. Occasionally he’d pass by and steal some cookies to which you’d smack him. The man would quickly retract his hand and like a child in a cookie jar, he’d dash away, but not before placing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Once dinner was served, everyone sat around the table, quieted down, stomachs full and feeling a food coma from the endless amount of servings. You and Chris managed to fight the urge to rest and instead collected dishes to wash. Just as you started scrubbing the dirtied plate Chris had handed you, he nudged your hip with his own. In confusion you turned to the man who motioned for you to look up.

Resting above your heads was a tiny piece of mistletoe, delicately hanging by a little silk ribbon. You lowered your gaze back to the man who had turned and now placed his hands on your hips. Pulling you flush against his chest, Chris kissed you deeply, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck. Suddenly, you heard some cheering and could feel a protruding smile on Chris’s lips. Looking towards the direction of the sound, you saw the shutters on the kitchen pass through open, allowing everyone in the dining room to peek in.

“I was just about to give you guys some more dishes, but I should’ve known you both were up to no good. Thankfully your niece and nephews are in the other room!” Scott then set down the dishes and dramatically shut the mini doors making both you and Chris laugh.

“I’m hoping you won’t remember your first Evans’ Christmas for this.” Chris still had his arms wrapped around your waist and smiled down on you with a glimmer of hope.

Letting out a breathy laugh, you replied, “You and I both know I will, but hopefully there will be plenty more of these to come.” With that, you trailed your fingers up to his hair and gently tussled the locks, earning yourself a soft kiss on the temple from the satisfied man.

taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

#Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans oneshot #chris evans x female reader #sylvie writes christmas celebration #fangirlovestuffbdaychallenge

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

Text

Salt & Snow - Chapter 6

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader (?)

Summary: Ned finally returns to his childhood home, to the happiness of his siblings and Y/N ... though she’s also beside herself with nerves. As it turns out, the two of them are awkward teenagers.

Use this chrome extension to replace “Y/N” with a different name :)

“That’s the last of it, milord.” The servant tightened the leather straps on the wooden trunk, ensuring they were secure. Once satisfied, he nodded to the guide that would be taking the young Lord Stark down the mountain. The man was withered, but he expertly steered his mules, or so they said. Ned hadn’t realized how many possessions he’d collected in his years in the Eyrie, and felt bad for making the beasts carry so much.

The old mountain guide said it was fine, and it wouldn’t unbalance them. “You worry about stayin’ on that mule, milord. When’s the last time you descended?”

He thought about it. “Four years, mayhaps more.”

“Aye, it’s much the same. It’s still spring, it will warm quickly as we go down.” The old man guided him to one of the mules, a shaggy, dark brown one with long ears. Ned thought it was cute in an ugly way, and climbed up. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring how the Eyrie hung above them. He remembered the first time he climbed up here, terrified he’d fall the entire way, and then afraid the Eyrie would somehow fall from the sky and plummet to the ground.

I’ll be the one doing the plummeting, if this beast missteps. Ned was mostly, probably confident that wouldn’t happen. He wondered what sort of mule they gave Robert, the beast of a man. He couldn’t imagine his friend sitting quietly for the better part of the day. That thought made him smile a little, and sigh. Robert left a month ago, and now it was his turn. It was a bittersweet goodbye to Robert and then to Lord Arryn. The first month I couldn’t stop thinking about Winterfell, how I wanted to go back. It hurts to leave now.

It hurt, but it was time to go. He wanted to see his family again, to see Winterfell, and the godswood, and Wintertown and the forest surrounding them. He’d smell pines and fresh earth again — gods know the Eyrie sorely lacked in both — and the animals that ran through those woods. He wondered what had changed, what was the same.

Suddenly, Ned recalled a letter where Y/N described the repairs on one of the towers, the old one that was slowly crumbling. That made him remember the last one he sent, and he covered his face with a groan.

“Doing well, milord?” The guide asked, looking back. “Don’t look down.”

Ned merely nodded, glad the guide and the other servants were too busy navigating to notice his stupid face. Why had he written that? Why did he send it? She must be think he was an utter fool. She hadn’t even sent anything back yet.

No, letters are slow to the Eyrie, and I’m leaving, besides — perhaps it was lost.

The thought of Lord Arryn receiving it and sending it back was mortifying, even if the man would never read it. For days Ned’s mind had been racing about Robert’s departure, his own journey, and the stupid words he wrote down. He’d repeated them so many times in his head, hoping he was misremembering.

He groaned and laid his head on the neck of the mule. It smelled awful, but he stayed there. Y/N must have thought him a complete fool, how would he face her once he came home? It would be a long, long journey.

What in the seven hells did he mean by that?

Y/N stared at the words, her eyes running over them, which was a pointless act. She’d memorized these lines in particular, able to recall them in spite of her attempts to keep busy. She hadn’t responded, because how could she? Anytime she sat down and began to dab her quill, the butterflies battered against her stomach. She’d set her quill on the page, watching the ink soak into the paper, but Y/N only managed a few sentences before fumbling, misspelling a word, dripping ink everywhere and just giving up. She’d thrown several pages into the fire already.

I’m being ridiculous, I’m overthinking. Aren’t I? Hasn’t he always said kind things to me? Why is this different?

A week ago, Y/N dug through her box of letters saved over the years, hoping to assure herself. That was a mistake. She read through things she’d forgotten, phrases she remembered, looked over the little drawings he attempted, and her butterflies became relentless. She had to put the letters away and spent the entire day flustered and distracted.

She rubbed at her face and sighed heavily. She put the letter out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t be out of mind for a while. She ought to stop procrastinating, to send something back already; it’d been almost three weeks. Or was it four? She’d been procrastinating with everything imaginable — long boring books, needlework, studying maps, playing music, even riding.

I have to answer eventually. I really am thinking too much. Just write something safe! Something boring!

Instead of doing that, Y/N left her room and looked for something to do. Perhaps if she could talk about her feelings it would help, but she couldn’t. Not even to Lyanna. Her friend had stopped reading the letters, preferring to send her own, and Y/N was sure they weren’t as frequent… That, and she couldn’t imagine letting anyone read what she wrote or drew now.

Is it strange, how often we write? Has anyone noticed? A little voice nagged at Y/N. She and Ned were well past the age of innocent friendly correspondence. She didn’t speak much about it, secretly worried she’d be told to stop. The idea of getting “caught” wasn’t pleasant, but the idea of stopping was worse. The correspondence had become a comfort, a way to raise her spirits, warmth and confidence in her heart. She understood how some would find that emotion improper.

A servant hurried past Y/N, nearly hitting her and knocking her right out of her thoughts. The boy called an apology and kept running. In the great hall, she saw half a dozen men moving boxes, and one of the elder servants giving them orders. Savory smells came from the kitchen, and peaking inside, Y/N saw the cooks and their girls busy chopping and stewing.

She tried to recall the last time Winterfell was this abuzz. The death of Lady Stark cast a dreary curtain over the castle, and while it was gradually lifting, a feast still felt out of place. Brandon was away again, but there was never a big to-do for his return.

“Found you!” Lyanna called to her, and Y/N jumped. It was absurd how much she’d been lost in her head as of late. She was glad Lyanna didn’t tease her; instead, the girl asked, “Why is everyone so restless today?”

“I was just thinking that. Did you see the kitchens? I can’t imagine why we’d need so much sausage and stew.”

“They’re making dessert, too! I’d ask my father, but I can’t find him anywere.” As they talked, Lyanna and Y/N walked outside to one of the many yards inside Winterfell’s walls. Just like inside, there was a flurry of activity, things being moved and cleaned. Lyanna said half the horses had been taken, perhaps on a hunt for fresh stag. A sudden thought struck her, and she turned on her heels to face Y/N, nearly knocking the girl over in the process. “Y/N, what if… what if my father finally decided—?”

“He didn’t,” Y/N replied instantly. “He would tell you, Lyanna. It won’t be a surprise. Maybe something happened and he’s gathering some bannermen on short notice; maybe it’s about Brandon’s wedding. He has been gone for the better part of a month.”

“That’s all true,” Lyanna said, although she didn’t sound comforted. “Perhaps Father is entertaining some ladies for him. Oh, gods, we’ll have to make smalltalk with them…”

They sat on one of the many carts strewn about the yard, following the activity. Predictably, Y/N’s mind wandered to Ned, and she kept her sigh from escaping. She glanced at Lyanna, half-listening to her friend chatter about a hedge knight that visited months ago. He showed off some jousting in the yard for their amusement, and Lyanna was still enamored. Y/N’s thoughts were wholly preoccupied with the terrifying idea of telling her about the letters, the ones that had gradually become far less proper and more personal.

Suddenly Lyanna asked, “Did you have any plans today?”

“I have a feeling if I did, you’d pull me away.” Y/N said. “Why?”

“Do you still have your old brown cloak?”

Those grey eyes were gleaming with some sort of mischief. Perhaps it was the restlessness of the people around them, or her own anxious thoughts… but rather than steer away from trouble, Y/N turned toward it.

There were small collections of cottages directly outside the walls of Winterfell, mostly farmers and butchers who directly served the castle, and offered board to travelers during the large feasts. But if someone really wanted to find something interesting, they’d go to Wintertown. These were the more prosperous smallfolk, the merchants, innkeeps, blacksmiths, and so on. There was even a small sept, although most Northern townspeople had little use for it. Y/N had come here only a dozen times; to go, she and Lyanna would need an escort, and Brandon wasn’t eager to follow two silly girls around.

As far as they were concerned, the matter of an escort was silly now that they were women. Lyanna had no fear as she put on an old cotton dress and her grey cloak, while Y/N wore her brown and black dress she saved for riding and a deep blue cloak. Y/N tucked her pearl and jewelry away, and Lyanna pulled her own dark brown hair out of its braid until it was all around her shoulders, wild and free. The girls snuck quietly out into the yard, avoiding servants and guards, then drew their hoods up once they reached the gates. They waited, then Y/N pointed. Three sworn guards were distracted with a complaining merchant, and they slipped past the gate.

Once outside, they kept their hoods up, but giggled to one another. After walking a mile, they came across a farmer on the way to Wintertown, and asked if they could ride in his cart. The old man squinted at them, trying to focus his gaze.

“Are ye girls the swineherder’s daughters? Jeyne and … Milly, was it?”

“That’s our names. Can you take us to town?” Lyanna asked, putting on a false voice. When the old man agreed, she grinned so broadly, Y/N had to nudge her and give her a warning look. They hopped into the back of the cart and chatted while it swayed and hobbled along. The last time, it was an hour of walking before a cart passed by.

It’s good to see her like this, happy again. Y/N thought, glancing to her friend as Lyanna chatted. It’s been a dreary six moons. Or has it been longer?

Lyanna hadn’t been herself the whole time. Since her mother died, everything was bleaker. For the first moon, she just wanted to stay inside. After that she’d go out riding for hours at a time, and for once, Lord Stark didn’t scold her for it. Sometimes she’d rage, pick fights with Brandon or a guardman’s boy. Sometimes she’d just stay in bed. Those days were always the bad ones, Y/N knew, and she’d stay with her, writing or drawing or doing needlework while Lyanna laid there.

They’d get far worse than a scolding if they were caught at this game, but she just wanted Lyanna to be happy again. Wintertown was in sight, and they thanked the old man and hopped off his cart, too excited to wait for his mules to take them any farther. Y/N took Lyanna’s arm so they’d at least stay together, and they were off.

Just like the last time they visited, the town was buzzing. Thoughts of Ned’s words and Lyanna’s sadness quickly faded in the back of Y/N’s mind as they followed whatever interested them. A girl half their height was herding a group of sheep through the middle of a wide street, a woman was selling bolts of impossibly colorful fabric and thread, a blacksmith was loudly working on a sword. The girls watched all of it.

“Wait!” Y/N patted Lyanna’s arm excitedly, distracting her from the molten-hot red sword and the hammer that was beating down on it. “Do you see that?” She pointed.

Lyanna squinted. “That stall over there?”

“Yes, let’s hurry! Maybe he still has some!”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna laughed, but followed along. She quickly realized why Y/N was so excited: There was a variety of colorful, fresh vegetables, but more importantly… fruit.

“You buying?” The man asked warily, mistaking them for the lowborn girls they were dressed as. Back in their bedchamber, Y/N had to remind Lyanna to tuck away her direwolf pin. “I’m selling, not giving. You girls got coin?”

Y/N ignored his tone and asked, “Are these from White Harbor? My father worked the docks.”

“That so? He on one of the merman’s ships, or the ray’s?”

“The manta ray, at the Whitetide docks.”

The man grinned, showing some missing teeth. He nodded his head like he was familiar with this mystery sailor. “Aye, with Lord Caspian’s fleet? His ships are good ones. These fruit come all the way from Dorne and the Arbor, but they’re still fresh.”

Y/N could see that. Her heart was racing at the sight of peaches, oranges, limes, figs… of course, Lyanna’s eyes went straight to the lemons. She giggled and shook her head. “They’re better when they’re baked in cakes. Have you had an orange before?”

“Never. Let’s get some. Four, if we could?” Lyanna asked the man, and he handed them over. Four was all he had, and Y/N paid, feeling a little sorry for taking so many. She wondered if the common folk could afford fruits. This cold preserved them well.

They walked around the market idly, more interested in the treats they just acquired. Y/N taught Lyanna how to peel the orange and the wolf-girl was delighted with how sweet and juicy they were. “This is wonderful! Why aren’t we baking these into cakes?”

“I suppose someone tried, and it didn’t work out well,” Y/N mused. “My mother liked to squeeze them into her water, or she’d just drink the juice itself. When you preserve the peels and dry them, you can scatter them amongst your things to make them smell good.” She thought about her mother’s hugs, and her favorite parlor, and the strong smell of citrus and exotic flowers that permeated both. She was a Northern woman, but took to the wonders of Dorne and Essos and the Reach, little treasures brought in on her husband’s ships. It was how her father courted her: With baskets of fruit, tropical flowers, strings of pearls and giant conch shells. Y/N smiled, remembering how her mother lit up when she told her about it.

“I can promise you, my little pearl, one day you will have such kindnesses paid by someone who truly adores you.”

“You know so many things. All I know is passable dancing, and horses.” Lyanna said, breaking Y/N’s reverie, of which she was grateful for. The Stark girl rubbed at her chin where some juices at dribbled, and Y/N handed her a handkerchief.

“You know swords and lances well.”

“Aye, but I’m not allowed to use them.” Lyanna frowned, but it didn’t look like her mood was lowering. She eagerly bit into a second orange instead. Y/N sighed and put the handkerchief back into her reticule.

“Can I have the peels?” She asked.

“Are you going to put them into my riding boots?”

“Gods, I’d need a bushel to mask that scent.”

Lyanna didn’t want to throw her precious orange, so she settled for lunging and chasing Y/N instead. Y/N shrieked and ran, glad for the headstart: Lyanna had to chew and swallow her orange pieces properly before tearing after her. Lyanna’s old dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull up the skirts, but Y/N had the lighter cloak. She shrieked again as Lyanna grasped for it, but missed. “I’ll get you for that!” The girl hollered. “Come back, Y/N!”

They laughed and chased each other around the town like children, and no one cared. Some older women noticed and scowled, and a few children laughed and followed for a while, but no one stopped them. No one grabbed their ears and admonished them for the messy hair, dirty clothes and sticky orange-flavored fingers. They were little girls again, not proper ladies of five and ten, daughters of Stark and Caspian.

Y/N stopped suddenly, then yelped as Lyanna tackled her to the ground. She squirmed and coughed. “Lyanna! You’ll kill me!”

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Lyanna responded. She realized Y/N was still winded and moved off her. “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No,” Y/N sat up and blinked the dust out of her eyes. Satisfied, Lyanna flicked an orange peel at her. Y/N picked it off her lap and ate it. Lyanna made a face, like Y/N just ate the peel of a lemon — then she remembered she saw her friend do that, too.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N asked. It was the entire reason she stopped. Both girls kept still and listened. They were on the edge of Wintertown, their game taking them to the very end of it. Out here was a few modest homes and small gardens, a crumbling wall, and the road leading to Winterfell.

“Horses,” Lyanna said. She listened. “Several of them, moving at once. It’s probably a retinue.”

“Is it Brandon? I can’t recall when he was supposed to come home.”

“It would be bad for Brandon to find us like this and tell father,” Lyanna said, but she laughed. She was like her old self today. Suddenly, she said, “Oh. We should have saved an orange for Ben.”

“But not Brandon?”

“His Lordliness can get fruit whenever he wants. He can ride to the Reach and pick it himself.” Lyanna scoffed. She stood up, pulled Y/N to her feet and they both dusted their dresses and cloaks off. The horses were closer now, easy to hear without them staying quiet. It had to be Brandon, or a nearby lord. It was too much commotion for farmers bringing food.

The girls walked to the crumbling wall and crouched down, eager to peek at the banners. They weren’t foolish enough to openly stare, even if this was Wintertown, they weren’t entirely safe. Y/N had a vague thought that Lyanna might have a dagger in her boot, but that wasn’t real protection. She kicked herself for not bringing something of her own, even if she had no idea how to use it.

“They’re taking their time,” Lyanna muttered. “Has to be a lord. A lordling wouldn’t bring so many wagons, and a merchant wouldn’t be so slow. If it is Brandon, let’s throw rocks.”

“Let’s not.”

“Fine, a single rock. I won’t hit his horse, she deserves better. It could always be Ser Roderick, or the Pooles. Maybe even Cerwyn —”

Y/N pulled her back, lower against the stone wall. “Shh.”

Two horses passed, carrying modestly protected Northern guards. Then four more guards followed, dressed in different leather and armor. Y/N squinted, not recognizing the arms on their surcoats. It wasn’t anyone sworn to House Stark. Then, what they wanted: The banners.

One man held a direwolf, and another one held a blue falcon. Lyanna shot up, and Y/N stumbled, as she was still holding onto her.

Then she looked up, and jumped to her feet just as Lyanna had. They both stared.

It was Brandon, as they guessed, and someone else. They rode ahead, followed by a few more men, one of them a fully-armored knight who wore the crest of a sky-blue and white falcon.

“Ned!!”

Lyanna was gone. She tore across a small field to the road, and the guards stopped all at once, their hands flying to their hips. That action snapped Y/N to attention, but she could only stand and stare. She watched the boy — no, young man — beside Brandon turn in his saddle, and his grey eyes lit up with surprise and happiness.

Y/N thought someone was sitting on her chest, then something was trying to get out of it. She was choked up, the world was spinning, and she could barely hear the words Lyanna, Ned and Brandon were all saying. Lyanna nearly jumped up on the horse, but Ned swiftly dismounted. He only had a moment before he was being strangled in a hug.

Brandon got down from his horse and said something to the guards. The horses shook their heads at the commotion but Lyanna shouted again, and two of the knights laughed, and Y/N was still.

Then Ned looked up over his sister’s head, and met eyes with her. Y/N took a step forward, then another. She forgot she was wearing an old dress, a cloak that was now dirty from running about, that her hair was out of a normally tamed and styled braid. Ned held out his hand, as though she was close and not ten or fifteen feet away.

Y/N shyly walked down the field to the road, trying not to look at the guards, or Brandon. Lyanna pulled away from Ned and grabbed her arm, pulling her the last two feet. “What are you doing, Y/N? Come over here!”

She was pushed in front of him. He was different in some ways, but not many. Brandon towered above him and Lyanna was just a little shorter. Y/N smiled at that, but quickly looked to her hands, which smelled of oranges and still had a little stickiness on them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Y/N could only say. She thought of all the clever and interesting words she sent before, and how they were failing her horribly now. Her mind scrambled for something to say, something she had written before, something good, but it was all jumbled.

She didn’t look at Ned as he replied, “It’s good to see you too, Y/N.”

It was quiet, like they were the only ones, but that was quickly interrupted. Brandon was beside them, loudly teasing, “It’s Lady Y/N, brother. I thought the South was supposed to teach you all those stuffy manners.”

“She’s always been Y/N to us,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “More importantly, were you and father keeping this a secret?”

Her brother replied with a small smile. “Yes, it… it was supposed to be a surprise. I never imagined we’d meet you here.”

“And why are you two here?” Brandon crossed his arms. His good humor quickly left, as if he just took in their location and their clothes. He looked at Lyanna, then Y/N, and kept his attention on the latter. “Did you sneak out without a guard? Do you know how dangerous that can be? And why are you dressed like that?”

Y/N self-consciously pulled at her cloak as he questioned them, remembering the state she was in. Brandon’s words didn’t bother her, it was the realization that Ned hadn’t seen her in years, and this is what he saw as soon as he came back. Didn’t I have silly daydreams of him seeing me in the gown I made, or a new one? Why am I even thinking about that?

She was glad Lyanna and Brandon got into a little spat, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped behind Lyanna, half to shield herself, half to put some distance between her and Ned. She was steadily being overcome with an urge to hug him — wouldn’t that be natural? He was home now, but … it wasn’t that simple. So, she kept at Lyanna’s side, redirecting her attention on calming her friend.

“When I tell father about this, he’ll have words to say, especially since tonight he wants to hold a feast —”

“— If you tell him, I’ll tell about all that extra time you spend at the Rills!”

“It’s my job as heir to visit our bannermen and listen to their grievances!”

“Oh, yes, the pretty Ryswell daughters have much to say, I’m sure —”

Brandon went red and was ready to retort hotly, when Ned cleared his throat. He inclined his head to the men around them, all visibly impatient. Ned himself had some of that energy as he said, “Let’s go home.”

The way he said it, how could anyone continue to argue? Brandon stopped at once, knowing it had been years since his little brother had seen Winterfell properly. He patted him affectionately on the back, and Lyanna beamed. Y/N met eyes with Ned again, and they both turned away.

Brandon took his horse’s bridle. “Whose riding with whomst?”

“I’ll ride with Ned!” Lyanna blurted excitedly, and disappointment shot through Y/N so quickly, she felt a little sick. Don’t be stupid. That’s her brother, and she’ll just quarrel with Brandon, besides.

Brandon offered her a hand and easily swept her up on his horse. He asked if she was comfortable before swinging up himself, settling in like it was as easy as sitting in a chair. The problem is he put her in front, so his arms were loosely around her as he gathered his reins. Nervous as she was around these beasts, Y/N almost preferred riding behind him, although that was not always considered proper for a lady. Y/N had to hold onto him, especially with how far up she was. Brandon had a fine old destrier, once a great warhorse, still mighty and tall in her old age. She was perfect for taking him around the North, but Y/N thought she was entirely too big.

Lyanna happily settled in behind Ned instead of in front of him. Again, Y/N met his eyes. He had expressions that said so much, especially since he himself said little. She couldn’t read this one, though. Brandon called out, “Move on!” and the small escort went on the road. Y/N was thankful for the easy pace, and the steady gait of the destrier.

Her nervousness slowly settled as the four of them made conversation, with the Vale knight occasionally speaking up. Before long, the walls of Winterfell appeared before them, the proud white banners flying above. Ned looked up at the direwolf, and Y/N could swear some fatigue just melted right off him. The gates opened, and the guards keeping their station happily called to the boys, not noticing the state Lord Stark’s daughter and his ward were in. By the time their escort entered the yard, several servants, men-at-arms and children had come to see Ned come home.

Benjen pushed through all of them, eagerly running at his older brother. There was no shortage of hugs as Lyanna, Benjen and Ned reunited, while Brandon helped Y/N off the horse. Unlike his oldest brother, Benjen hadn’t developed an avoidance to his sister and her companion. He was only two years younger than them, and looked hurt as he said, “You all met him without me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ned said again. “I crossed Brandon on the road by chance, and then these two—”

“Isn’t it a wonderful coincidence?” Lyanna grinned. She was still standing close to Ned, all but hanging off him. Y/N allowed Benjen to squeeze past her to get to Ned.

While the three chattered, Y/N asked Brandon, “You truly didn’t know? Where were you coming from?”

“Returning from the Karstarks. Father didn’t tell me a thing.”

Lyanna and Benjen began dragging Ned to the great hall, and now servants and guards started gathering, having realized who he was and all were eager to see him. Y/N smiled, pleased he was so missed… and only slightly glad he was moving further from her. She was anxious of what would happen if they were in a small group again, or worse, alone. She almost wanted to stay behind, but Brandon called to her, lingering back so she could catch up.

Being alone happened far sooner than Y/N anticipated.

The next morning, she stepped carefully through the snow, watching for roots just slightly sticking out. The sun was beginning to peak over the stone walls, helping her navigate the quiet yard. This route wasn’t yet familiar to her. She’d only made it recently, and often without Lyanna. Her friend wanted to mourn in quiet.

Y/N descended into the crypts. She shuddered instantly, feeling a far stronger cold take hold of her. Her footsteps echoed off the stone and she walked steadily toward her destination, passing statues of long dead Lord Starks and their sons.

Lady Lyarra did not have a sculpted sepulcher, but she had a beautiful tomb and marker for her bones. Y/N held her reticule close, bringing it to her nose so she could smell the crisp, dried oranges and give herself peace of mind. She hadn’t even visited her own family’s crypt.

She gasped as the shadows shuddered, nearly dropping the dried peels. The torches were scattered about, some not lit, making the shadows grow and recede with every second. She heard something just a few feet away.

Y/N bit down a curse as Ned came into view, the shadows circling around him. He blinked at her, his grey eyes almost looking black in the limited light.

“Y/N?”

“Y-You scared me,” She shuddered. “I didn’t — I didn’t think there would be anyone here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Y/N paused. She couldn’t seem to steady her heart, not with Ned looking directly at her. He was so much taller than before. She turned away. “I wanted to pay my respects. To give a gift.”

He didn’t respond right away. Y/N thought of the letters, of the reassurances, the kindnesses she sent him when he finally heard the news of his mother’s passing.

Why was it failing her now? She squeezed the fabric bag between her fingers.

“You brought something for her?” Ned asked quietly. “Could I see?”

Y/N nodded. She stepped closer, but not enough to feel any warmth from him. The cold of the crypt was cooling her nerves. “Orange peels. I dried them. They… they smell nice.”

She felt foolish, but he smiled. It was slight, but it was there.

“This way.” He said. He took a torch off the wall and led her deeper in. Y/N forgot how far it truly was. The Starks had been dying for centuries, and soon they would have to dig deeper into the cave to make space for the future generations. Lyarra was buried next to her parents, neither of who had a statue either.

There were fresh blue roses on the grave, and older, smaller blossoms that had begun to dry and decay. Y/N recalled Benjen brought those. She arranged the orange peels neatly, happy with the fragrance they gave off in addition to the roses. Ned must have brought those.

She quietly prayed, and Ned kept quiet beside her, perhaps joining her, perhaps not. When she finished, her hands fell to her side. Her cold, bare fingers brushed with Ned’s, and she felt the soft wool of his gloves. His finger hooked around one of her’s, and she curled it.

“Ned, I don’t presume to know your feelings, but I can only imagine how much you must hurt. If I could only help — if you were only right here, instead of far away —”

“When I home come, I want to see you, and do all the things we said we would do. I want to watch you paint, and dance, and maybe ride a horse — because I know Lyanna will make us — but most of all, I want to hear your voice.”

Y/N felt her throat was dry, but she stayed put, wondering if her heartbeat could be heard bouncing off the walls. She knew if she looked at him, even with a glance, she’d lose all composure and just run away.

She almost did that, when a loud noise made them both jump nearly two feet apart. Ned instantly took her hand back to push her behind him, then touched his sword. He grasped the hilt and lifted it just an inch out of the scabbard.

“Gods!” Y/N let out a hard breath. The skinny orange cat that knocked the unlit brazier over. It didn’t have coal in it, but it still made a terrible racket. The cat hissed and ran back into the shadows.

“I see he’s still here,” Ned mumbled. He set his sword back, and his shoulders were still tight. “Damned creature.”

“He gets lost down here so often. If he were kinder, I’d carry him out.”

“If it’s the same orange cat from when I was a boy, he’d rather freeze to death than be touched for even a moment.”

Silly smiles graced their faces, in spite of where they were, in spite of why they came in the first place. Ned nervously touched the hilt of his sword. “Shall we return?”

As they stepped out of the crypt, Y/N had to lift her skirts to climb the stairs easier. Ned offered his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He didn’t immediately let go, and she didn’t comment on it. Instead she asked, “Did they make you learn those manners in the South?”

“There’s all sorts of manners and noble bearing they expect. It’s exhausting,” Ned admitted with a shy expression, and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine him trying some sort of silly, formal dance she’d heard about.

“Give me an example.”

He stared at their connected hands, his ears and cheeks slowly growing redder. Y/N didn’t pull away, even if her own body was threatening to explode with nerves and heat.

She expected him to kiss her hand, like she’d hear the other girls gossip about. She felt his warm lips against her fingers, through her thin gloves, and it made her jolt. Some of his brown hair brushed against her arm. I might well and truly die now.

Ned coughed and hastily turned away from her, utterly embarrassed at his own behavior. “Th-that’s what Lord Arryn… what Lord Arryn said to do when … when meeting a lady…”

“Are you kissing other ladies?” She couldn’t help it. She giggled, the warmth in her chest bubbling up to her lips. Her hand felt like it was on fire. “Should I be jealous, Ned?”

Ned covered his face with his hands, and she laughed. She covered her own face to settle her silly, foolish giddiness. “Of course not,” He grumbled. “You’re the only one I ever spoke to, besides.”

“Oh, you must have talked to some in the Eyrie.”

“Some.” Ned’s grey eyes glanced to her. She met his gaze, and they held it as he continued, “Though I kept wishing you were there.”

Y/N had to look away again. She couldn’t giggle, her throat was stuck, her chest hurt and she hated how tongue-tied she was. She never imagined it would be this hard — whatever this was —

“What in the seven hells are you both doing?”

Looking through her fingers, Y/N watched Brandon saunter up to them. The older Stark tilted his head to his brother.

Ned could only manage to suspiciously avoid looking at him. Brandon glanced between them, and Y/N felt like she had done something wrong. She quickly said, “We were visiting the crypt to pay our respects.”

Brandon’s face fell, and he said little else. Y/N understood it would be time for breakfast soon, and the morning sun had long broken over the tall stone walls. The three of them walked back to the keep together, Brandon pointedly putting himself between Y/N and Ned.

#ned stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #salt & snow #libra fics

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